Old Wounds Ch. 01

Author's Note

This is a new story Idea. Not sure where it's going to go. One day I was taking a number two and the idea hit me. It's funny how things just come to you at random moments.

I'd like to thank my girlfriend for all the motivation. If it wasn't for her I probably wouldn't be doing this. It'll never happen wouldn't have made it past chapter three without her. I can't help but put a little bit of her into these stories I write.

Like I always say at the beginning of everything I write, If you don't like the characters or what they do, then you won't like me. I base these thing's off my life in one way or another.

I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 1

Bullets were flying everywhere. Men screaming. The ground was covered with blood, both ours and theirs. They'd made it through the wire and were right on top of us. It was hand to hand in most places.

I felt a searing pain on my left side. No time to check what it was. Turning to my right I fired off two quick rounds at an enemy who took down my battle buddy. Another searing pain on my left. If something didn't change soon we'd be overrun.

I climbed out of my fighting position and hustled to the fall back point. We were long past any form of organized fight. It was pure instinct now. When I reached the inner perimeter it was me and six other soldiers. A fresh lieutenant, two other sergeants, a specialist, and three privates. Where the hell was everyone else?

There were still gunshots coming from the outer perimeter. Still screams of pain and battle cries of the dying. We still had guys out there. Fuck. 'I will never leave a fallen comrade.' That's part of the warrior ethos. Nobody wanted to go back out there, but hell it looked like we didn't have a choice.

We were getting damn near black on ammo. The ammo bunker was halfway across the FOB, right where the majority of the fighting was taking place. The Isis fighters came from the east. It was strange, seeing a coordinated attack of this size from them. They were usually a 'hit it and quit it' sort of people as we called them.

"Alright guys. Mount up!" The LT called out. He knew what had to be done.

The lieutenant was a good one, as rare as that was. Most fresh officers were chicken shit soldiers who didn't know their head from their ass. LT was different. He made it up to Sergeant before he went green to gold and got his commission, so he knew the ropes pretty good.

Without saying anything more, he hopped out of the bunker and made his way across the small opening and dove into the next fighting hole. One by one the rest of us followed, the others giving suppressive fire.

Once they saw us moving, we were the new target. Rounds popping over our heads so close they sounded like bees flying by. You almost wanted to reach out and swat at it if you didn't know any better. Moving down the line we fired off rounds only when we had a certain target. We were red on ammo. I had a mag and a half, the rest of the guys weren't much better off.

I saw a group of soldiers out on the outer perimeter, clearly wounded, some mortally, but they were still putting up one hell of a fight. I looked to my left and saw Doc, our medic, making his rounds with no concern for his own safety. He just wanted to make the dying more comfortable with morphine, and save the ones he could, granted we get out of this alive. Where were the damn reinforcements? A QRF should be here by now. It's been nearly fifteen minutes.

Just as I popped up to make my way to the group of soldiers out front, an explosion rocked the earth to my right, picking me up and throwing me against a barrier. As soon as I hit the ground I felt what seemed to be a sledgehammer blow to my chest, and the world went black.

**

I woke up screaming. Sweat covered my whole body. I looked around frantically and realized I was in my room. On my childhood bed. My dad burst through the door just as I had started to calm down. My chest was heaving. I was out of breath. The look on his face was one of understanding. He fought in the gulf war. I never heard much about it, but I did hear him wake up with a start every now and again during my childhood, and loud sudden noises still set him off.

It was then that I thought I might wind up like him. No. That won't be me. The only reason I was still having these nightmares is that it happened only two months ago.

**

My name is Sergeant Matt Richardson. Most everyone in the army that knew me called me Danger Snake, or some variation of it. The story behind that is that one time, on my first tour in Afghanistan I crawled into a little enemy camp and eliminated three of their guards just because someone bet me I couldn't. I was a little careless on my first tour. It's a wonder I made it out alive.

The nickname eventually spread into my civilian life after a few of my childhood friends met some of my Army buddies. I joined the army straight out of high school, and found myself 'across the pond' as they say a few short months later. At two years I made specialist, getting sent to BLC and promoted to Sergeant with a waiver four months after that.

I went back to Afghanistan at about three years into my contract, and made it about four months into that tour before being wounded and sent home. A month later I was cleared for duty, and much to the disapproval of my superiors, I was back on a plane across the pond to rejoin my unit. My unit was infantry, and we specialized in small team and squad operations, occasionally moving as a platoon, and even less frequently as a company. We weren't special forces, but we were as close as you could get without actually being the real thing.

Three months after I got back to Afghanistan for the third time, my company was moved to FOB X-ray to reinforce a special forces unit. They were expected to get some action in the near future and needed all the help they could get.

The SF unit was out on a mission the day of the attack. They left at o-three-hundred hours, and by sun up, we were under attack. That's when I got hit. After the explosion, I got shot again, and blacked out. The QRF team got there a few minutes later and scattered the remaining Isis, re-securing the FOB and extracting the wounded. I was shot four times and had at least half a dozen shrapnel wounds in my arms and legs. I'd definitely wind up with some nasty scars.

I was twenty two years old, had six bullet holes in me and some left over shrapnel in my body that would set off metal detectors for the rest of my life. I was in the hospital in a coma for two weeks after the attack, and had been released to go home after I woke back up. At this point I was on medical leave until I was back to full strength, which the doctors predicted could take months. I could still move just fine, but I wasn't a hundred percent. I doubted it would take months.

**

"Another PBR?" Asked Frank, the bartender at the Crossroads, the only bar in my hometown. He knew me growing up, just as it seemed everyone in this town did.

"Yea I'll take another. If you see the glass almost empty, fill 'em up. I'll be here a while."

"You got it boss." He said with a smile.

He was a great guy. Everyone said I should see a therapist ever since I got home, but why did I need one when I had Frank. He listened. Gave advice, and since he fought it Vietnam, shared his stories when he saw fit. He was helping me a lot.

I wasn't an alcoholic. Sure I was drinking most days, but it was just beer, and I never really got drunk. Just had a few and talked to Frank during the day when it was quiet in the bar. It was honestly helping a lot to talk about it, but I wasn't going to talk to someone who didn't know what I went through, and I certainly wasn't going to talk to someone I had to pay to listen. I didn't need any of that fancy psychology stuff. Just needed someone who would listen, and could relate.

I had been home about a month and was honestly feeling pretty good. I had a board to go to in two weeks to get cleared for active duty, and I was starting to get impatient. I wanted to get back and get back to work.

Right as he was setting down the beer I saw the door swing open and a group of people walked in. Instantly I was on my feet and headed towards them.

"Boys!" I called out as I approached them. "How the hell are ya?!"

"Snake!" They all called out when they saw me.

I hadn't seen the group in over a year. Growing up, all through school we had our own little posse. I met Jack and Jason in kindergarten when the teacher sat us all in alphabetical order, since their last names were only one letter off mine. They were twins.

Todd Smith was my neighbor for as long as I can remember, meaning he, Katie and I were the original three since before any of us can remember. Though we grew up next to each other, for some reason or another we weren't as close as I was to some of the other group. We had our own things to do, but we always had time for each other.

Then there's Katie. Her mom and my mom went to high school together in the next town over, and were inseparable then, meaning that logically, me and Katie would be the same. Our dads got really close after their girlfriends introduced them way back when, and they even had a double wedding.

Next up was Allison. She was Katie's kid sister. I say kid, well, more like Katie says kid just to piss her off, but in reality they're only eighteen months apart. She was the baby of the bunch, being two grades below the rest of us, but it seemed like she was around more times than not.

Last but not least you had Danny. He was a bit of a wild child. When you found trouble you found him. Never anything to end him up in jail or anything, but the cop in our little town knew him a little two well. Great guy. No doubt. He'd give his left nut for you if you asked him too. Real down to earth. Just seemed to like to have a little fun when he could.

We got ourselves bellied up at the bar and I had Frank get them all a round. It felt good to be back with the guys again. Allison was attending college about an hour away, Northern Michigan, and Katie had apparently taken a job a few weeks after graduation and been there ever since. She was traveling at the moment so she wasn't here tonight.

"How longs it been Snake? A year? Where the hell ya been?"

"Here and there." I lied with a chuckle.

I had a habit of not telling people about his time in the service. Not because I was ashamed, or traumatized by it, but because I didn't want to seem like I was bragging. I knew how people looked up to soldiers, treated them differently, so I made sure to mention my service as little as possible just so I could be treated normally from time to time. I didn't much like people holding me on a pedestal or anything like that.

"I suppose hey?" Jason said with a chuckle, his deep Yooper accent showing through. "What's a guy gotta do to get in touch wit ya from time to time?"

"Oh ya know, just hang out, I'll find ya soon enough you know that." Matt laughed back. Man was it good to be back in familiar company.

Growing up in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, we all had slight "Yooper" accents. That's just how it was. Everyone who wasn't from here thought we were Canadians. Jason and Jack, however, had way deeper and fuller accents than the rest of us. Their family had been there for years and years. If you think of the movie "Escanaba in Da Moonlight," and think of the way the Soadys talk, you'd be about where everyone was, but take that accent and multiply it by ten, then you get Jack and Jason. At least that's how someone who wasn't from around here explained it to me one time.

"So fer real tho, where ya been bud? Ain't heard hide nor hair from ya for damn near a year, maybe more. Seems like whenever ya get sent out somewhere you go all radio silent on us and shit." Jack said with a laugh. Sure they were giving me shit, but it was all good natured.

"I got sent back across the pond. Well, more like volunteered for it anyhows."

"Boy, ain't you get shot up last time you were over there? Seemed like I remember you sayin somethin about that."

"Yea. Two bullets snuck up on me. Don't like them much. No fun." I shot back with a smile.

Just then Frank came back around with a tray full of PBR, in bottles this time. Said something about the tap going dry. I don't know what he says half the time. Unless you're having a conversation with him he just mumbles. Suits me fine, I liked a bottle better anyhow.

We sat around drinking and shooting the shit for a while, catching up on old times, when all of a sudden the front door to the place busted open and everyone's eyes snapped towards it. The place went silent except for the snickers of my buddies, which led me to believe they were up to something. I couldn't quite see the front door since it was smokey and dark, so I couldn't see who came in, but damn if I couldn't hear the fiery redhead before I could see here.

"Matt you son of a bitch why the fuck did you not call me I oughtta kill you for that!" Allison yelled out across the place.

"Alright which one of you told the kid I was home?" I asked in mock anger.

"Shut the fuck up Matt!" She yelled back. She and Katie were the only two who didn't call me Snake. "I want an answer and I want it now. Why the hell did you not tell me you were home? I had to have one of these bozos tell me, and I had to drive my happy ass an hour back home just to see you because you don't care enough to stop out and see me when you got here..."

I knew I was fucked now. She rarely cursed. She was actually pissed off at me. Why did she care so much?

"I didn't want to pull ya from your school work and all that shit." I said, trying to calm her down.

"You fucking asshole!" She cried.

Welp that didn't work. Time for plan B. I moved from my barstool and went to give her a hug. She really was a hugger. If there was anything that could calm her down it was one of these.

Before I could even wrap her up I felt the sting of her palm across my face. Welp. That really didn't work. There was no plan C. I was out of options.

"You fucking asshole!" She cried out again. "You left. We all thought you were back and then you just up and left again. How could you do that to us? How could you do that to Katie? We didn't know where you were. We didn't know if you were alive. A letter would have been nice you fucking asshole!"

How could I do that to Katie? Why was she concerned about Katie? What did I do to Katie? All I did was leave, which looking back on it now I can see is a problem, but why would it affect Katie differently than the rest of them? Why'd she single her sister out? My head was spinning, and it wasn't just from the beer or the mild concussion I still had from the explosions.

**

After a while the guys were able to get Allison calmed down, well, as calmed down as she could be, she always had a temper on her. Everyone kept telling me not to worry about it, but I had a feeling there was something else going on. Something they weren't telling me.

"Listen, Matt, I'm sorry I flipped out." She said with a hint of a smile.

"Hey, kid, it's no big deal. I just want to know what's going on round here. Everyone's acting like there's somethin I don't know."

"Can we go somewhere and talk?"

"My truck?"

"Can we go out to the creek?"

"Absolutely kiddo."

I was the only one who could get away with calling her that. Not even Katie could pull that off. As we pushed open the door to leave the bar I was already pulling out my pack of Red 100s to light one up. I know, I know, gross habit. I'm in the Army. What else am I supposed to do with my time? We all smoke.

"I wish you wouldn't smoke." Allison said with a chuckle, reaching for my pack to take one. She didn't smoke, but she'd have one every now and again.

I walked around to the passenger side of my Ford and opened the door for her. It wasn't that I was being a gentleman, but that I knew damn well neither she nor Katie could actually get up inside the truck without outside help. I built it that way for a reason.

It was a 1998 Ford F-250 that I bought from the original owner back when I turned sixteen. My parents gave me a hand-me-down truck when I got my license so I was able to take the time to re-built the Ford the way I wanted it. I finally was able to get it done about two or three weeks before I shipped off to basic training, so I was able to have a little fun with it. My hand-me-down got totaled when some guy ran a stop sign and hit me on the front drivers fender. Thank god I was the only one hurt.

After firing the old diesel up I was headed across town towards Gristmill Road, where the old road came to a "T" and one way continued on and the other turned into a two track road. Moving through town I felt a sense of familiarity, it was more than welcome. Passing the little shops and the two restaurants on Main took me back to a much simpler time, a time where my job wasn't to not get killed by the enemy.

We were moving a little two quick when we turned off Main and on to Sawmill lake, the road where we would turn onto Gristmill a few miles further. After turning onto the old dirt road I started to run through the gears once more, finally nestling into fifth gear, letting the old diesel purr. It was a sound that could always calm me, no matter what was going on in my life. The feel of the motor vibrating, the calming rumble coming from the outside, the cloud of dust in your rearview, nothing could top it.

After a few miles I looked down at the speedometer and realized I was pushing eighty. Nothing unusual for Sawmill lake to get a bit of high speed action, so I didn't think anything of it until I saw blue lights flicker on behind me. As soon as I let off the throttle to let the engine slow me down, they flicked off and turned down a side road, probably to turn around. Well, I guess Smitty knows I'm back in town. Guess I'll have to go pay the old cop a visit before I leave.

Not wanting to be an asshole after Smitty just let me slide, I backed on down to about sixty-five. I felt that was reasonable. Perks of living in a small town I guess. It wasn't long before we came up to Gristmill Road and took the right turn down it, picking up speed and running through the gears once more. While I kept my speed down on the main dirt roads, I definitely wasn't going to do that on Gristmill. Smitty knew where I was going. He had to, there's nothing back here other than the creek, on one end and Old Man Jenning's place way back down the other, and nobody goes to his house unless you have a death wish.

Back that old two track is where we used to party in high school, where we knew the only people who would be able to make it back that muddy road were the people we wanted at the party. No cop would have been able to make it back there.

After about a mile and a half of trekking down that two track road, we made it to the clearing where the creek ran through. It wasn't much, just about a hundred foot by hundred foot opening in the trees with a ten foot wide creek that ran down the middle of it. On the left side of the creek it was only two or three feet deep, so occasionally at a party someone would drive a truck or seven through it.

I turned the truck towards the shallow part of the creek, and started through it, not taking the time to get out and lock the hubs so I could put it in four wheel drive. I'd never needed it before anyhow. Once we got to the other side I pulled into the middle of the little clearing and shut the truck off, and turned over to Look at Allison.

"So, what's so important we had to come all the way out here to talk about?"

"You hurt her..." she said with a pause, leaving me to have a million things run through my head, guessing at which one it could be.

"I hurt who? How?"

"Katie. You broke her."