The chopper dropped down into the dusty camp and discharged its human cargo. Two helmeted figures held the litter as two others gently deposited their wounded comrade between the blanketed poles. Done, the two big troopers transported the wounded soldier to the waiting ambulance.
"Who's the casualty, sergeant," said the lieutenant.
"Corporal Carlisle, Madigan Carlisle," said the sergeant.
"He gonna make it?" said the lieutenant.
"He has to. The twenty men he saved won't stand for anything else," said the sergeant. The lieutenant nodded.
"Hear he's getting the Distinguished Service Cross," said the lieutenant.
"Yeah, to add to the two purple hearts and two bronze stars he already has," said the sergeant. "He's gonna look like a Mexican general with all of that stuff on his chest going home, and he 'is' going home. He'll go kicking and screaming, but, General Snow is not going to stand for anything else this time; he is definitely going home: too many holes in his body already. " 'Fraid he's going to lose that arm this time though. But, maybe not, we'll just have to see, I guess," said the sergeant.
Transit from Rhine Main took fourteen hours. I'd spent three weeks in the hospital there. I had forbidden the powers to alert my wife until I knew the status of my arm. I was already gimpy from Taliban shrapnel; I wouldn't be doing any line dancing for sure; I really didn't want to be going home armless as well. But, I'd done my job, and I felt good about things; well, about some things. Now to get home to Jessica and resume life in the real world.
I hadn't called ahead. Jessica would be surprised. The arm was going to take some time to get back to anything like normal in terms of its usage, but doc Savage had assured me it would come around. Hell, I guess I didn't look too bad, others had it worse. She'd cry a little, but she'd also be glad I was finally home from the war zone, that, I knew for sure.
The cab turned onto our street. I could see our home ahead at the end of the cul de sac. There was a strange car in the driveway alongside our Ford: Jessica had visitors. I was a bit disappointed. I really wanted to have a little time with her myself, time alone; fifteen months this time around was already way too long.
I paid the driver, grabbed by bag, and stood back and surveyed my home for a moment as the cab pulled away and down the street. I headed for the single story ranchstyle and entered.
Though I knew that my wife was home and obviously had a visitor or visitors, it was very quiet—at first. I headed down the hall. Ours was the last of the three bedrooms. As I got close I heard a man's voice. Getting closer I heard his words.
"Your husband have a tool like this," he said.
"Hell no, now get busy and put it in me," my wife said. "I need it bad."
"Whose pussy is that?" he said. "You don't get any till you tell me whose property your pussy is?"
"Just fuck me okay. Forget my husband. He ain't here. Okay. It's yours today," said my wife.
"I wanna hear it," he said.
"Okay, it's your pussy. Now will you fuck me!" said Jessica.
"Uhhggg." I heard her grunt as he obviously was penetrating her. I had left my bag by the front door. I was wearing my dress uniform—kinda to impress my wife. But now—I sagged to the floor against the wall just outside the door.
The tears were already coming. My heart was broken in two and there would be no repairing it. I could hear him slamming her. She, for her part, was moaning and grunting and swearing as he fucked her.
I supposed that he was slowing down. He started to talk normally again. "Maybe I should come around and give him lessons when he gets back," he said, and laughed. "Oh wait, that wouldn't do any good. His dick is, how did you describe it?"
"Shut up and fuck me harder you asshole!" she commanded.
"What was it you said about his dick?" he insisted.
"His dick is dinky, okay. He's mister dinky-dick. Okay now! Hurry up and fuck me harder," she said. "Yeeesssssyeeeesssss!" The bed was rocking and creaking as he screwed her to the max.
They must have climaxed. The bed stopped rocking and squeaking and the talk was quiet now. I could hear them breathing hard. I could hear her whispering something, but I couldn't make out the words.
I was in a state of near shock. I had had some very close calls in Afghanistan, and I had nearly been killed more than once, but I had never felt this bad. Helluva a welcome home. Helluva a welcome.
"I gotta get me a towel from the hall closet. I'll be right back," she said. He muttered something. The bed squeaked and I heard her bounce of the bed and hit the floor. She came storming out of the bedroom and froze in her tracks.
I was looking at the floor, when she came out; a small puddle of tears was pooled between my legs as I sat there. Her hand went to her mouth. "Oh my God!"
"Please tell you lover to leave," I said so softly that I wasn't sure she could even hear me. She disappeared back into the room. I could hear her saying something to him excitedly but very softly. Then I heard him.
"What the fuck!" The conversation continued in very muted tones for another minute. I just sat there. He was fastening his belt as he came into the hallway. He looked down at me as I sat there; our eyes met briefly. He said nothing. He edged past me literally rubbing against the far wall and then he ran-walked down the hall and out the door.
My wife came out and looked at me. "Madigan—" she was apparently at a loss for words.
"I'll sleep in the guest room tonight," I said, sniffling. I couldn't help it; I was ready to break down into uncontrolled sobs. Someone who has never been at war and returned to what I returned to could not know the heartache, the sense of loss, that I was feeling at that moment.
"Madigan, I am so sorry. How—how—how long were you..."
"I heard it all," I said. "But, don't worry, dinky-dick won't be bothering you anymore."
"My God! I am so ashamed, Madigan," she said. She'd slipped her sundress on while she was in the room talking to her lover, but I could tell she didn't have on any of her under things: bra, panties. She was sexy as hell, and I needed what I now knew I wasn't going to get. Still, my four-inch thunderstick, for the life of me, was rock hard; I had no idea what that meant.
"You? Ashamed? Why? I'm the one with the worthless cock. I'm the one who should be ashamed, and I am." I rose and headed back to the door to get my bag. My limp was accentuated because I had sat so long on the floor in that scruntched up position. She noticed.
"Madigan! You're hurt," she said. "And why is the sleeve of your shirt so fat?"
I turned toward her. I smiled, if somewhat weakly, "Just a trophy from Afghanistan. But it's all right. I guess you'll be having big dick get things off the top shelf from now on," I said.
"Madigan, please. It isn't what you think; it really isn't. He just—I don't know—he gets off on the stupid talk. I humor him.
"Madigan, I was lonely. You'd been gone so long..."she said, running out of words.
"Yeah, well, I hope it was worth it to you. I just hope it was worth it to you.
"I'll be sleeping in the guest room till I can find a place. I wasn't well—I wasn't ready to—I'll just need a few days to get my stuff in order. I just need a little time. I'd be grateful if you could have your—meetings—with him—somewhere else while I'm still here. I'd be grateful," I said. I was choking up.
"Madigan, there won't be any meetings with him, not anymore. Please don't leave, and you have to sleep in your own room, our room. I know how this must look—seem..."
"No, no. I'll be leaving, and I could never sleep in there again, not after..." I was having a lot of trouble talking.
"Madigan, baby, I love you. I don't want to be with him. I'm cutting him off and out of my life right now. You're back. I need you. Don't leave, Maddy, don't let my stupidity ruin us. Give me a chance. Please!" she was the one crying now.
"I gotta lie down for a little while. I'm tired," I said. "You know, all I could think of those weeks in Germany—oh, you don't know about those, that's right—but anyway, all I could think about was you, us, together for the first time in a long time. Jess, I really needed you. I just don't know how you could have..."
"Maaaddddyyyy! Please forgive me. Let me make this up to you. Pullleeezzz!" she was desperate. I actually wanted to take her in my arms and comfort her, forgive her, try to get by it. But, it was all too fresh—and her words. But, even as I thought that, she rushed me. Clung to me, her arms wrapped around me. I howled in pain as she crashed against the special splint that held my wreck of an arm in place. She jumped back in shock at my obvious pain.
"Maddy, I'm sorry. You really are hurt. You're hurt bad; I can tell," she said. The pain was so bad I was seeing stars. My breath came in short gasps. Finally, I was able to more or less pull myself together.
For the first time since walking in on her, I almost had to laugh. "Really, what makes you think I'm hurt?' I said, I grimaced when I said it. I was being sarcastic, and she caught it.
.... There is more of this story ...