Written in collaboration with StangStar06

I'm sitting in a seedy bar on the opposite side of town from where I live, mainly so that no one recognizes me or my two friends. We are plotting the revenge of some guys who have ruined my life. Well not my whole life, just the last few weeks of it. Why are we plotting the destruction of these men and their lives? That's easy; it has to do with a woman. Of course don't all of men's problems stem from a woman? Didn't Adam get kicked out of the garden due to a woman? Well, we've been kicked out of every Eden ever since then.

This time my Eden was Barbara, Barbara Price. I met Barb during my senior year of college down in San Marcos, Texas. Oh yeah my name is Darrell Briggs; I'm 26, 5'-11" and 190 pounds. I'm as fit now as I was when I was in the Marines. I spent three years with them and would have maybe gone for more, but an incident over in the sand killed that prospect. And yeah, that was caused by a woman too. Let me get that part out of the way first before I get to our plotting.

I had been in the Corps for a little over a year when this happened. We had been getting a lot of children with bombs strapped to them approaching a bunch of military guys and gals and then blowing themselves up along with as many of us as possible. Our Colonel had warned us about watching out for children doing this, so we were now wary of any kids coming up to us, especially if we were in a bunch.

Anyway, one cloudy day, yes it gets overcast over there. It don't rain but once every blue moon, but it does get cloudy. Okay so there are about ten of us walking along this street and talking about home when I notice a kid about three or four walking toward us with his hands out. Now we see a lot of that, they mostly want candy, but then I saw this string or wire behind him moving. I look closer and I can see a wire following him, and I traced the wire back to another kid of about ten, holding something in his hand and I see a wire attached to it too. I think the older kid sees what is happening and shouts something to the first kid, and he starts running toward us. I raise my rifle and ping, right between the eyes of the big kid, and before he can fall Steve Pender, my best friend pings the little kid. Sure enough the tot has a bomb strapped to his back that would have taken all ten of us out along with maybe half the wall near us. He had probably over two pounds of C-4 strapped back there.

Well, since a kid was involved the politically-correct police were right there Johnny on the spot. So both Steve and I are brought up on charges of voluntary manslaughter for the killing of civilians. Civilians my ass, there isn't a single fucking civilian in that whole damn country, but there it is. The charge was voluntary manslaughter because the kid did actually have a bomb strapped to his back, otherwise it was murder. Our lawyer got it moved from murder to manslaughter. However, whatever it was; it was BS piled higher than my eyes.

During our court martial, the lead judge was some Army Provost Marshal Do gooder bitch by the name of Agnes Bristolmyer that is trying to railroad us into a dishonorable, with brig time until we get stateside and then off to Fort Leavenworth for a good long stretch. Our JAG lawyer is trying to get across to the judges, that have never even seen combat, what it is like on the streets over in the sandbox. He is getting nowhere; in spite of bringing up the fact that we took well almost two pounds of C-4 off the little bastard's back, and the other kid had the detonator in his hand, and they don't even flinch. Our JAG Lawyer called our commander in as a witness. He read the panel the riot act once he heard what is happening. He said that we were briefed on the new way that kids are being utilized to kill more military personnel than the snipers, or insurgents, or IEDs. After all is said and done, we each get an Article 15 and time served until the trial, demoted, and sent back to the states. The ball-busting bitch was called on the carpet from the scuttlebutt we heard while still awaiting sentencing. Hell of a lot of good that did us, getting us busted down, and an Article 15 in our records to boot for saving nearly ten people.

I had been a Corporal (E-4) and was busted down to Lance Corporal (LCpl - E-3), and Steve was a LCpl, and went back to private. Needless to say we were pissed. We saved at least ten guys plus the three we were approaching, and we get shit on because of a fucking ball bustin' bitch. Well, Steve and I decided that the way the military was going it was not the most intelligent thing in the world to continue. Yeah the retirement would have been nice, but pussy footing around the PC police was not worth the hassle.

We got sent back stateside to NAS Pensacola, Florida for the rest of our hitch. Steve had always wanted to be a cop, so he started school at the University of West Florida (UWF) working toward a criminal-justice degree. I decided I didn't want to be a laborer for the rest of my life, so I enrolled too. Currently, I had been pretty good with computers, so I worked toward a degree in computer engineering. We had about eighteen months left on our hitch now and Steve and I were both from central Texas, Steve from the Waco area and me from Pflugerville, just outside Austin. So anyway with all our military training we had enough credits to be through our sophomore year, so we continued. We wangled night shifts, and went to school during the day, just like any other student and kept a full load of classes. That is where we met up with Dave Herbert, another central Texas boy. He was from San Antonio. We became fast friends and buddies. Steve is 6'-1" and 205 and Dave is 6 even and 195. All three of us have kept up our working out and training with some martial arts classes and working out in the base gym.

We had finished out our junior year and about to start our senior year when our time was up, and we got out and went to San Marcos to finish up at Texas State. All our courses transferred so we were good for that. Dave followed us six months later when he got out too. We planned on being close friends and maybe be close like when we were in.

The comradery in the Corps or about any service really, is something that you never expected, but once you had it, it stayed with you the rest of your life. Suddenly, people who you barely knew became fast friends, someone you would stay in touch with forever. Each of you watched the other's back in the Corps or out. It's like the BFF thing only there is almost no way to break this BFF lock. It has to do with Semper Fidelis, always faithful. That oath we take is more important than anything, especially if you have combat experience with someone. Who you are, is now something greater than who you ever were before.

So now that we are kind of caught up with who we are, we can proceed with the why we are here. So we are back to plan the demise of three ass holes that are fucking up my life. Well actually it is four ass holes, but one of them is the woman who is fucking up my life.

Okay here is what has made this planning necessary. I met Barbara Price at Texas Sate during my senior year. Barbara is from Brownwood, about 140 miles north-northwest as the crow flies but closer to 175 if you drive. Barbara was a junior and a real party girl. She loved to drink and loved to partake of a little weed. Me, I tried it and all I got was a headache. I understand that the THC affects some people like that, but for Barbara, its pure party. I guess you've heard of that song, "Tequila Makes Her Clothes Fall Off" by Joe Nichols, well pot makes Barbara's clothes get flung off, and she will fuck anything with a stiff dick. I found that out when we were dating and boy what a party. But then too we were just dating, and nothing was looking permanent at the time, so it didn't bother me overly much. But now yeah, hell yeah, I mind.

So after ten or twelve dates I sat Barbara down and said that I wanted to see about us being more of a couple like maybe getting married. She was ecstatic and said of course she wanted to marry me. "But Barbara: no more wild parties, no more booze, and no more pot. That is the only way I will marry you. If you give up those three things, then we are good, if not, it's good-bye. I'll not marry a woman who gets high and fucks everyone in the room."

"Darrell I love you too, and I can give all that up for you; I promise."

Well, that is how our life together started. Fast forward about three years and I am working in the IT department of a big insurance firm in Austin, and Barbara is working at a marketing and advertising company in Austin as well. On an occasional Friday night, Barbara has come home kind of high, probably from alcohol. I mean she's not drunk-drunk, but feeling very good. She was also horny as hell and so was I.

But then last Friday night she didn't get home until about two, and she didn't drive home; she was dropped off. I heard a commotion in the drive; and since I was up anyway and about to tear into her for being so late; I looked out the window and saw a car with two women in it. Barbara about fell out of the car she was so impaired. She weaved a path to the house and staggered in. God I could smell her from ten feet away; she had either smoked pot or been around it, and she was out of it. I helped her to the bedroom and started taking her clothes off for bed when I noticed, no panties and white stuff running down her legs.

I dropped her where she was and just stared at her. She was on the floor spread out making a puddle between her legs. I couldn't help it, I added to her puddle with my dinner, and I even think some of my lunch as well. I ran to the bathroom and worshiped the porcelain god for the next hour or so. I got to the dry heaves for the last half-hour or so. My god how could she be such a slut? As I crouched there holding on to that cold porcelain trying to make some semblance of sense of this whole thing, I vowed that I was going to find the ass holes that fucked her tonight, and I was going to deal with them very harshly. Now for her there would be retribution too. She would not get off scot-free.

Once I could stand again I drew hot water in the tub and then went into the bedroom, picked up the whore, finished undressing her and put her in a tub of warm water. I left her there while I debated if I should clean up the mess or not. I decided not; I would leave it for her to clean up later today. I made sure she was not drowning in the tub and sat on the toilet to await her brilliant answer as to why she was late and why she was high.

It took about another half-hour of soaking in that tub before she came around and was lucid enough to talk straight. The water became cold, and I think that woke her up more than anything.

She took one look at me sitting there staring at her to say, "I am fucked-up, huh?"

"Yeah, you could say that. It's almost four, and you were high as a kite when you came in. Care to tell your loving hubby what you did tonight Princess?"

Oh God, does she hate being called Princess. Her dad called her younger sister that all the time she was growing up, and he spoiled her sister something fierce. So when I call her Princess, she knows I'm really pissed, and she did something monumentally stupid.

"Darrell, what did I do?"

"I really don't have any idea. You didn't come home at ten like you promised, and I only know that some woman dropped you off. It almost looked like she pushed you out the door and then sped off. You reeked to high heavens of pot and when I was undressing you for bed, I found telltale streaks of semen running down your legs. Other than that, not much." All during this conversation my voice was controlled and soft.

"Oh MY GOD NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!"

"All I want to know is who were you with tonight and who brought you home? That's all, just those two things before I beat the living dog shit out of you."

"Please, Darrell, I'm not really sure who all was there tonight. It started out with Cynthia, Carol, Shelia, and I. Then I think George and Dan, and I may be Vic may have joined us. Things turn kind of hazy after that. I know Vic had a nice tight joint, but I don't think I smoked any of it. Honest Honey, I really am kind of confused about what happened after that. I know I was dancing a lot, but after that until I woke up here in the tub, nothing. But you're saying that I had something running down my legs? That can't be, I don't feel like I had sex."

"Please Barbara, don't insult me. You know that when you get high, you get horny, and you'll fuck anyone. I've seen it too many times in the past not to know what you are like on pot. However, for right now we will put that on the back burner. Believe me, we will talk again about the sex, but for right now you are cut off until further notice. No more sex, no more booze, and definitely no more pot or going out on Friday nights with the girls. Now get out of that tub and go to bed."

I left her there in the tub and went to the couch, and slept there in my clothes. Needless to say Casa Briggs was not a pleasant place to be over the weekend. God did Barbara hate cleaning up the mess on the bedroom throw rug. It was the one on her side of the bed, and she ended up throwing it into the trash bin outside. She actually added to the mess while she was trying to clean up the mess. It serves her right after what she did.

I wanted phone numbers for her friends. She had a number for the girl friends, but none of the guys. They worked where she did, but she didn't know their phone numbers. I contacted Carol and Shelia, but Cynthia was not home all weekend when I tried. Maybe she was too embarrassed about Barbara's behavior, and she didn't want to be involved; she might have driven her home, but she didn't want to know what Barbara would say once she dried out or what I would say for that matter. Carol and Shelia went home about 9:30 and knew things were getting out of hand, but could not talk Barbara into coming home with them. I described the car that brought Barbara home, and it could have been Cynthia's. She drives a car like what I described. Most women today can't tell one car from another. They might know the color of the car, but not much else. For that matter, most cars today all look alike anyway.

Carol said they were at the Tip-Top club for a few drinks and dancing just like usual when they go out to unwind from a particularly bad week. She and Shelia left around 9:30 to go home to their husbands. Cynthia is single still. The guys they normally danced with were George Conner, Dan Peters, and Vic Stubing. They work at ARS Marketing and Advertising just like the girls. It was kind of a Friday night unwind thing. They didn't do it every Friday night but maybe a once or twice a month.

From the amount of cum dripping from Barbara last night, plus what was floating in the tub told me that all three had some of my wife, and maybe had her more than once or may be added some others somewhere along the way. It would have been hard to tell. However, one thing for sure, I would be paying a visit to three ass holes fairly soon.

Barbara and I went to work Monday morning, but Barb was very nervous. I gave her a mini tape recorder that I use for my work when I am testing equipment in the field. I use it, so I can get the right data when I turn in my report of the failure. I told her that any time one of the guys or Cynthia talked to her; she was to turn it on. The recorder had a 64G memory stick inside so it could record up to several hours' worth of conversations.

For my part I contacted both Steve and Dave and told them the problem. I also said we would wait until the Intel came in as to what to do about each of the players in this scenario, but there would be some restitution coming. They said whatever I decided they would go along with up to killing the bastards. They didn't want to go to jail for life, but anything short of that, they were ready to do. See that is the kind of friends who will stick by you no matter what.

I remember something about a best friend is not someone to bail you out of jail, but a best friend would be in jail with you laughing about the great time you all had that got you thrown in jail in the first place. Anyway, the friends you make in the military are kind of like brothers without all the sibling rivalry shit that makes brothers fight among themselves. I think that our minds become more in tune or in sync, kind of like twins; you know what each other is thinking or how each of you will act to certain stimuli.

Just like that thing in the sand. I saw what I saw and suddenly Steve saw it too, either in my mind, or actions or something, and we reacted instantly to the situation. He knew I was taking the kid with the detonator, and he was going for the kid with the bomb. If we hadn't reacted like we did, we all would have been dead. The rest of us there in that street, abruptly became very aware of everything around us, guns came up, and everyone was looking around for more dangers. It was an almost instantaneous reaction; we were joking around and talking about home and then immediately we became predators looking for prey. That happens in the blink of an eye, and it isn't something that can be taught by any book or even a hands-on course in a classroom, it takes constant danger or combat under fire and a closeness that forms to be able to perform at that level. Sometimes I think that buddies like us become telepathic because our reactions are instantaneous and correct for the situation. People that don't react like that are what they used to call 'cannon fodder', you know expendable and most often dead.

I guess it's funny but of all the guys in our squad, Steve was the one I was closest to. Maybe it was because we were both Texans, but I think it was more than that. When we met Dave, there was suddenly this third brother from another mother whom we clicked with. We had similar experiences and all that sure, but this was something more. Dave's other half was not so lucky; he was caught in a crossfire stepping out of a building that was cleared. The whole area had been cleared, and they had just enjoyed a nice lunch when Jerry Hellgreen stepped out of the door, and was riddled with AK fire. He never stood a chance. However, Dave went out the back of the building along with three others in their unit, and they split up, and swept around and killed the two bastards who had gunned down their friend. Dave said later that he felt the closeness also, when he first met Steve and then again, when he met me. It was like meeting your long-lost brother. We became triplets and almost inseparable.

I guess that is one of those things that civilians will never learn or ever have is a friend like that. That's too bad because you give each other some other dimension that normal people just don't have. It's a feeling or a detachment that allows you to operate in very differing ways to situations. I remember someone said that if you can keep your head when everyone else is losing theirs you don't understand the situation. I think it is just the opposite. While everyone else is losing their head in a panic, you totally understand the situation, and you can figure out a solution and react. That is what truly separates the men from the boys.

Okay, enough psychology and crap let's get down to business. I found out by doing some snooping on the Internet, and some other places that our three playboys are single, party animals, and Vic has had a run-in with the law with a DUI (drugs not alcohol) and a possession charge. They were all frat brothers at a prestigious local university that shall remain nameless, (I don't want to give the university a bad name due to these three alums). And according to sealed school records, they were not on the dean's list of favorite people or with the campus police either. I also found out that they like to hunt in a pack and try to cut someone out of the herd and then enjoy the fruits of their labors. Somehow I don't think their enjoyment will be lasting much longer.

Steve, on the other hand, had been asking some questions of his own to several of his friends among the local constabularies and found that they are semi known in the tri county areas of Hays, Travis and Williamson as someone to watch. That information was very interesting. I could leave early and borrowed a friend's car, but I had gotten a description of each of our suspects over the weekend from both Carol and Shelia.

George Conner was 28, 5'-10 and 200, blond hair and broad shoulders but with that, was a thin waist and medium legs. He had been a free safety, punt returner, and sometimes tight end on the football team, when he could keep his grades up. Dan Peters was 29 and the running back. He was 5'-9", about 220, and had legs like tree trunks with arms and broad shoulders like George. Dan was dark-haired and swaggered when he walked mainly due to the thick thighs. Now Vic, at 29, was their quarterback, 6'-2, about 220 pounds and built like a blond Viking. Broad shoulders and his swagger was due to his inflated ego, not due to any physical attribute he might have. They each still had puffed-up egos due to their playing days and were starting to have that middle age spread in the belly due to all the booze, pot, and any real lack of exercise except in the back seat of their cars. Each of them had pot bellies and had put on some extra weight since their trim playing days.

I got pictures of the three of them as they exited the building. They were trying to corner Barb as she came out of the building, but Carol and Shelia headed them off. 'Good work girls, ' I thought; those two will get rewarded for their efforts. Anyway, I beat feet out of there to change cars at my work and make it home to see what Barb could get on the recorder.