Ask the Right Questions Ch. 01

Author retains all rights to this original work of fiction.

Additionally - there is not a lot of sex contained in this 6 chapter story. The sequel - a TBD story yet - will likely be a little heavier in that regard. This story does reference an abduction of one of the main characters and there is inference to sexual activities occurring. Please don't read this if these things may be triggers for you. Thank you... Rachel M. Moore

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Ask the Right Questions - Chapter 1 of 6

-- Six years and 5 days ago --

June 3rd, 20:23 Local Time, Patsah Melah, Afghanistan

I had been connected on and off to the sat-link laptop since arriving an hour ago at our position on the outskirts of Patsah Melah. Colonel Flagg's delegation was just east of our position over the Afghanistan / Pakistan border and had arrived about three hours ahead of our making it to Patsah Melah.

Flagg wasn't a Colonel, he was CIA, and our chalk team of twelve Rangers was his escort for this op. No one knew his real name, so Colonel Flagg was what we called him. He didn't seem to mind and it probably wouldn't have mattered anyway because that's what we were going to call him regardless.

No big mystery about what we were doing on the Afghanistan / Pakistan border. Flagg was buying information about some Taliban shit head or some other bullshit like that. One of our Humvee' had three duffle bags with five-hundred grand split between them - so this wasn't a small-time buy operation. The meet with the Pakistani delegation was to occur in a jog in the border between the two countries - three hours ago. We were a little over two hours late making Patsah Melah, which is typical for an Op this deep in country because nothing ever went as planned.

We would have been on time if one of the Humvee' hadn't taken a dump on us. Sergeant Brady figured out the issue quickly, which was a good thing, because the village we'd passed through just before the Humvee went down seemed to take great interest in our passing through. You could feel the tension amongst the team. There was a feeling we might have to ward off some local warlord-chieftain and his band of stooges from that village.

I had eyes on them via the radar-based Lacrosse C299-12BR series satellites every thirty-six to forty-three minutes those things orbited the earth. We had access to other satellites, but if you wanted to know the shoe size of one of these guys, the 12BR was what you wanted to be connected too. Luckily, the warlord's assets never mustered before we were on our way again. Flagg assured us that with a single call, drones on station for this operation would take out any threats.

We'd worked with Flagg a number of times and no one seemed overly impressed with him. I talked to him more than the other team did and I found him easy to talk too. Felt good that he recognized I had advanced tech skills and wasn't just a grunt with a weapon. All his 'spook' shit, the stuff he could talk about, was interesting and some of it skirted the crazy side of being in the CIA.

Our detachment had been this deep in country too many times to count and we always had close-in support. Flagg probably wasn't blowing sunshine up our skirts about being able to call in assets to save our asses; I mean this was a really big information buy. More to the point though, the pentagon was covering all our asses because of the five-hundred G's we were transporting out of their sight. The word on Flagg was he was the best at whatever spook shit he was doing in the 'stan (Afghanistan). We just wanted to get this shit done and back to our base.

June 3rd, 20:38 Local Time, Patsah Melah, Afghanistan

Shit, "Captain, didn't notice this earlier, but we've got a small group forming just west of Writse..."

"How many," Captain Pratt asked looking over my shoulder.

"Four right now, one vehicle, looks like two-clicks further west we got another vehicle inbound. There appears to be a few people milling around with that first group, here in the shadows," I said pointing to a group of trees, "Got some small arms, likely an RPG (Rocket Propelled Grenade launcher), and maybe one Russian machine gun. Sorry sir, I was so focused on our Pakistani group I didn't look much outside our perimeter position."

Having to say that out loud was embarrassing, but Pratt wasn't one for excuses or ass covering - he wanted the straight shit, nothing candy-coated.

"What are our friends across the border doing?"

"Haven't moved, Sir," I moved the thermal image capture so he could see the six heat signatures were still gathered around the one truck they'd made their trek to this remote location in. Six potential hostiles weren't much of a concern, but if those forming west of us were a contingent force - that could be problematic being pinched between two groups.

Pratt turned toward Flagg, "We doing this or what?"

"Waiting for the call," he said pointing to his satellite phone as if it controlled all our destinies.

"Fuck... Calvin, tell Jenkins and Carey, to be alert on our six. Ruiz, they can't make it over these hills, no clear path for vehicles," he asked pointing at the group of mountains and hills south and west of us.

"No Sir, they might be able to cut the corner into Patsah, but no clear route to our position," I flipped views on the screen, "Their easiest route to us is through Patsah."

"What's this," he asked pointing to a group of thermal signatures on the screen closer than he probably thought should be there.

"That's two shepherds and a flock of 8 goats."

"Too close, they still there?"

"This is from our last sat pass Sir, thirty-," I looked at the time, "two minutes ago..."

"I want to know where they are now."

And I'd like to be anywhere but out here, "Next pass is in couple minutes, Sir..."

June 3rd, 20:46 Local Time, Patsah Melah, Afghanistan

"Hands! Hands!" I screamed at the kid first in Pashto, then Dari. He had strolled into our perimeter like some silent mist as I was trying to take a piss next to a small scrub brush. Fuck! I'd snapped my weapon to the ready, dribbled piss on myself, and had broken the silence of the early evening.

My heart was thumping through my chest and was amped-up by the sounds of others moving to converge on my position. The kid slowly began to raise his hands smiling, but in the dim light of the fading sun I could see he was holding something and it was tethered to something beneath the loose Pashtun clothing he was wearing. FUCK!

The kick of my weapon didn't startle me as much as the other weapons that joined in the volley. I hadn't realized how quickly the team had moved up in support and how that first round began a combined effort to eliminate the threat. Three of us had fired on the lone target, controlled bursts of three rounds each. No telling how many hit the kid, but likely most. He went down in a heap, thrown back off his feet - he was a crumpled mass less than twenty feet from where I stood.

Someone whispered, "Any other contacts Ruiz?"

It took me a moment to answer, "No, but there were two shepherds on the hill behind us...," I had crouched between firing on the kid, waiting to engage other targets, "I'm moving in to check him..."

"Right behind you," a voice whispered.

Another voice, "Got our six..."

Jennings was moving after me, and Calhoun had our six (the area behind us). As I approached the kid, he was sucking in his last breathes, holes in his chest gurgled loudly as he strained and coughed to take those breathes. At ten feet I could see he still had something in his hand and as I focused my weapon on him, his arm moved - instead of unloading my M4a1 into the kid I turned and...

June 3rd, 20:49 PM Local Time, Patsah Melah, Afghanistan

The explosion blew all of us head over heels fifteen feet over rock and scrub brush. The blinding flash made it impossible to focus, the concussion sucked my breath away and every breath that followed was dirt and dust filled. On top of all that there was searing pain in my right leg. I could feel a thick wet ooze pooling at my knee. There was stabbing pain with every cough, gasp for air, and my leg felt as if it were on fire.

"Kindred!", Jennings yelled and I could see him looking down at me, "You're good Ruiz... Just stay down..."

Where did you come from, I wondered? I hadn't moved, it hurt too much, I knew I was bleeding. I could only half hear Jennings through the ringing in my ears, then I felt pressure at my knee, bucked uncontrollably and tried to writher away from the pain of his grip - all that while moaning much louder than I should have been if we were under attack. I tried to...

June 3rd, 20:55 PM Local Time, Patsah Melah, Afghanistan

When I came too, I couldn't see anything but a red glow against blackness. It took a second to figure out that I had been covered with a couple ponchos and Kindred was doing something with my leg. I couldn't feel a thing. I reached out and grabbed his arm.

"Hey Ruiz... Let me finish up," he turned back to dressing my wound, "You in pain," he asked.

"Jennings, Calhoun...," I said as if pondering the weather.

"They're fine, couple bruises and scratches. Calhoun might have a broken collar bone. We'll medevac you two..."

I didn't need to ask about the kid...

June 8th, 15:18, Landstuhl Regional Medical Center, Ramstein Air Base, Germany

"How's it going Ruiz?"

I looked up shocked to see Colonel Flagg standing at the entrance to my room, "Good sir, what are you doing here," I asked surprised to see him and happy to have some company. Never in a million years would I have thought he'd be my one and only visitor in the hospital.

"Just passing through on my way states side, thought I'd stop by to see how you were doing."

"Oh... Well, I'm supposed to be out of here and shipped back to Fort Benning in a couple days. Hoping to be through rehab by the New Year," I said with more confidence than I truly felt. The doctors were positive about my recovery chances, but the amount of work I would need to do for rehab would be extensive and no easy hump.

"Hey, that is good news, really glad to hear it," Flagg said, a look of relief on his face.

He sounded genuinely happy with my prognosis, which made me even surer he was a good guy under all that cloak and dagger shit he hid behind. Since he was here and I hadn't talked to anyone about the op I decide to ask the five-hundred-thousand-dollar question, "What happened with the op?"

"It was a bust. Turns out there was a contract on my head. Their reward was the money if they took me out and the twelve of you Rangers. Think they quickly figured out their plans were fucked and sent the kid in. I should have known it was a bullshit buy," he replied sounding a little dejected.

"Whoa... I don't remember much of anything after the kid blew himself up," I said absently. While I might not remember how the op ultimately ended, I saw the kid clearly almost every night when I tried to sleep.

"Yeah, really sorry you and Calhoun got the worst of that. Heard he is already on his way back to Benning."

"That's what one of the nurses told me. Probably there by now. Guess he had to have a couple screws and a plate put in his collar bone, but should be good in a couple months."

"That's good news. Well, I just wanted to stop by to see how you were doing," he walked to the side of the bed and stuck his hand out. We shook hands, and afterwards handed me a business card, "You need anything after all this I want you to call me. That's the number, leave a number I can get back to you at, and as soon as I can I'll call. With your tech skills you should consider coming to working for us, just saying," he said smiling, "Really glad you weren't, you know... Get out of here and back in the saddle soon, okay?"

"Yes Sir... I'm anxious to get back to the regiment, that's for damn sure. Thanks for stopping by Sir," I said smiling and feeling good about him recognizing I had skills.

Without another word Flagg turned and headed out of the room. Pretty sure he felt bad about the op going to hell. Couldn't have been prevented, it is what it is. This was just a momentary setback for me, I'd be back doing my thing by the new year.

December 5th, 13:59, Columbus, GA

It always came down to orders in the Army. The Army shrinks had contacted me after the orders were cut informing me, I was being medically discharged due to my leg injury and slow recovery. My company commander encouraged, interpreted as 'ordered' me, to attend this appointment with a civilian shrink and make the most of whatever help was being offered before my separation date.

I felt betrayed and angry that those in command talked positively about my recovery and said they were going to bat for me. Then seemed to turn on me and were now supporting my exit. If I had a couple more months, maybe they could see cutting me loose was a mistake and I was still viable, valuable to the Army, my Ranger regiment...

I didn't need mental health counseling; I needed to get back to doing what I did best. What was this counseling shit going to do for me anyway? Make my transition to civilian life a smooth one? Smoother for whom, civilians? Fuck, nine years flushed. I looked up as the office door opened slowly and a woman smiled at me, "Sergeant Ruiz..."

It wasn't a question; I was the only one in the small waiting room. I smiled back and stood, "Yes, Ma'am..."

"Welcome, come in and have a seat please," she replied gesturing to chairs in front of her desk.

"Thank you, Ma'am..."

I entered the office and took the left chair of the two. I watched her return to her side of the desk, close one file and moved it to a small stack of files near the corner of the desk, then pull another from the top of a smaller pile on the right, open it, sit, and smile...

"So, let me start by saying I'm not here to psychoanalyze why you choose the left chair over the right chair," she paused as I turned to look at the chair to my right - it was a pale yellow and the one I was sitting in was a pale green. Did that mean something, the color of the chair?

I was right-handed, why did I choose the left chair? Was it because selecting this chair allowed for her to walk around to her side of the desk easier after closing the door? A security thing, was I less exposed to the door behind me should it open suddenly? Was this her attempt at humor, an opening chuckle to set me at ease? She continued before I could fully slip down that rabbit hole any further.

"I'm not here to report anything discussed between us back to the Army, so feel free to rip or praise the Army, anything said in this office stays here unless I deem you to be a danger to yourself or anyone else," she moved the file slightly as if to straighten it in front of her, "Are you a danger to your person or anyone else Casimiro?"

What? Wait, she used my first name and pronounced it correctly, even rolling the 'r'. Did using my first name mean something? I stared blankly at her for a long moment and answered, "No Ma'am, I am not a danger to my person or anyone else..."

Fuck! Did I sound confident in my answer? Did I sound convincing? I was angry about being released from the Army, did that make me dangerous? Does someone in my chain of command think I was dangerous?

"You're over thinking my question Casimiro..."

"Ma'am?"

"Do you want me to be comfortable?"

Huh? What am I over thinking? Why does she think that? Am I really making her uncomfortable? I replied tentatively, "Ma'am, I'm not sure I understand..."

Holy fuck! This was nothing like dealing with the Army shrinks. At this rate she was going to have me fucking committed! Breathe... Slow your roll dummy, this is all just part of the mental games these people play to fuck with you up.

"Let's forgo answers that include the word 'Ma'am'. That will make me feel more comfortable as our session progresses. I'll call you by your name and you can use anything other than 'Ma'am' to address me. I prefer Doctor Kurt or Cathy or Doc or whatever - but Ma'am makes me feel uncomfortable and if we're going to accomplish anything over the next hour, we both need to be comfortable with each other," she finished, an earnest look on her face.

"I... I guess so," I replied not too confidently. What is my issue?!

"Good. The military..."

I interrupted her, "Cazz, would you mind calling me Cazz?"

"Certainly, thank you for letting me know," she smiled and continued, "I wasn't provided much information Cazz, so you'll need to fill me in on why they think you need to be here. Do you know?"

I wanted to ask her whether she spoke Spanish and delay the grilling that was about to start in earnest, but let her lead, "No Ma'am... I'm sorry," I said flustered, "No Doc, I don't. When service members retire or are discharged there are programs in place to help ease them into civilian life. I assume this is part of that program." That was the truth as I knew it, but why anyone would voluntarily do this kind of thing escaped me.

"Interesting," she said after looking at something in the file, "You've been active duty for just over nine years?"

"Yes." It took extreme effort to not answer her without including - Ma'am. It didn't feel right and made me uncomfortable - whose comfort trumps in this case - hers or mine? Was not being called Ma'am some anti-pronoun thing like she / her, they / them? I didn't get what her...

"Your file says you did tours in Iraq and Afghanistan, what's your MOS?"

MOS? She was familiar enough with the military to be asking about my Military Occupational Specialty - MOS, "I'm 25 S... Satellite Com's." I added for clarification, "Communications Systems." In case she didn't know the jargon. She also used the word 'tours' - so she's not blind to the military ways or terms. Did this make it easier for her to call 'bullshit' on my answers to questions regarding the Army if I wasn't truthful?

"Do you enjoy that job?"

"Yes." She didn't ask if I 'did' enjoy my job. Why? She knows I'm getting booted.

"Do you enjoy the military?"

"I guess..." Fuck! Am I answering these questions correctly? Yes, I enjoy being in the Army and Yes, I don't want to get kicked out! I wanted to add that but held back.

"The military supplied limited information about your injury. What is the nature of your disability?"

Disability? I'm not fucking disabled Goddamn it! I tried to breathe slowly, concentrating on my answer - rather than blowing my shit all over the office and did my best to hide my frustration in my reply, "I don't feel I'm disabled Doc..."

She looked at something in the file, looked up at me, "Then why are you being medically discharged Cazz?"

Control your shit... Just answer the question.

"I took a piece of shrapnel during an operation in Afghanistan. It did damage to my right knee. I've been recovering for six months and I feel that I'm about ninety percent," I took a breath, "I wear a knee brace, but can go without it." Did I choose the left chair because of my right knee? Ridiculous, that has nothing to do with it. It was random, right?

"You're not here to convince me Cazz, I'm not involved at all with the military's decision to medically discharge you nor would any recommendation I make even be considered," she turned a page over, read something and looked up, "You were awarded your second Purple Heart and the Silver Star?"

Jesus, I didn't want to talk about either and hesitated slightly, "Yes..."

"Afghanistan?"

I nodded.

"What happened?"

If I'm not comfortable talking about it does that matter? I could spit out a response that is total...

"You're uncomfortable, we can circle back. Did you join the Army right after high school? You're turning twenty-eight in a couple months..."

"Yes, after high school I enlisted." Another uncomfortable topic I didn't want to share details with her about. Fuck lady! Is this your normal grilling technique?