Chapter Two

Well, I'm back from the desert, and back on the Bolance already. I'll post some pics and stories later, when I find the time. It's a busy week, I still have an Army Weekend among other things. For now, here's the 2nd chapter in my story:





“Amy,” I said to her. “I want to quit. I want to find a job where I can be here for you. Last night was too close for comfort, and they don’t pay me enough for that.” I looked up into her brown eyes, and they were full of worry. Her brow creased a little as she tried to frown at me, but I’d never seen her frown. I don’t think she was capable of it. She settled into a rueful smile instead.

“Paul, in the six years I’ve known you, I’ve never heard you talk like that. Not even a word of it. You are a great EMT. I knew that’s what you were when I married you. That sense of purpose you carry around with you all the time is one of the things I love about you the most.” She slipped into a chair next to me and started to undo the buttons on my uniform shirt. It fell to the back of the chair, and crumpled. She ran her hands up my arms, her fingers pausing on the tattoos on my upper arms. A caduceus painted on one shoulder, A soldiers cross on the other. I’d cut my teeth as a medic in Mosul straight out of high school. Underneath the boots that made up the cross were the words “We bury our mistakes.” She read that aloud to me. “Don’t bury yourself with them.”

Her touch, her words shot across me like a wildfire. I still wasn’t sure what I planned to do, but I knew she would be with me anyway. I needed her at that moment more than anything else in the world. I kissed her forehead gently, and she leaned up, pressing her lips into mine. Her hands tightened against my arms and slipped up my back, scratching my skin and sending shivers up my spine. I stood up with her, felt her tense up and I pulled in closer. Her robe fell away from her body at my touch and we made love right there in the kitchen. I was able to forget everything. My world was Amy, and nothing else could be a part of it.

We laid there together on a blanket on the floor and she drifted into a contented sleep. My arms moved with the slow rise and fall of her breathing and my mind wandered back to six years before when we’d met. I was a 21 year old just back from a war. I’d taken home a few scars and a devil-may-care mentality. I had a brand new Chevy pickup and all I wanted was to get drunk and crawl into a hole, to wallow in failure for the guys that didn’t come home with me. Some of my buddies tried to get me away from the house for awhile. They took me to a bowling alley on the main drag. I wanted to be anywhere else. I sat on the side, with a pitcher of beer to myself.

Somewhere after my first few cups I decided it was time to step out for a cigarette. I sucked at bowling and knew it. I stepped outside into the cooling September air and reached into my pocket for my smokes. They weren’t there. “Damn,” I said aloud to nobody in particular. There was another pack in the truck, so I began to walk out to the parking lot. Alongside it was a girl fiddling with something in her trunk, cursing worse than some of the infantry guys I’d run with. I unlocked the door and she turned around a little startled.

“Didn’t mean to scare you. Just needed a smoke.” I told her. The lights in the parking lot were dim and flickering. All I could see was a slim shadow in the dark, and I was pretty sure she smiled. I inhaled a long drag off the Marlboro. “I didn’t even hear that much profanity from my drill sergeants. Need help with something?” She paused for a moment. “My name’s Paul, by the way.” I couldn’t see more that a vague shadow in the dark. She came to about my chin, and she looked thin enough. Probably white. She had dark hair tied back into a ponytail that stopped about her shoulder blades. In the dark, there was nothing more to see.

“Just having a bad night. My friends and I had a falling out. I’m trying to get out of here and relax, but my fishing lines are all tangled up. And I’m Amy. It’s nice to meet you, Paul.” Her voice was clear, and musical. Not too shy, not overbearing. She held out her hand and I shook it. Her grip was soft, but not limp. My hand dwarfed hers, and the contrast between the calloused, scarred hand I’d offered, and her soft, warm skin was striking.

“Going down to the river to hit into some stripers?” She nodded again.“I have an extra pole, if I can get it untangled. I saw you in there, I don’t think you like bowling too much.”
“That would be a very astute observation there Miss Amy.” I crushed out the butt of my smoke. “I have a few poles in the truck myself though. We can use them if yours are too far gone. I’ll meet you at the sea-wall jetty then? Right by the park.” I climbed into the cab as she pulled away, and followed her out onto route 9W, through the main drag of town, stopping for a six pack of Budweiser. Just down the hill from town was the Hudson River marina district and this time of year Striped Bass ran back down towards the ocean for the winter, on the tail end of their yearly spawning run. The fall return to the Atlantic was often better than the initial spring run, and I hadn’t gotten a chance to fish in over a year. I never did tell the guys that I’d left.

There was a bar across the street from the river, mostly for older folks, and guys with boats on the smaller marinas without their own clubs. I never went in there much, but it made parking convenient. I pulled in next to Amy’s little Jetta. My heavier vehicle sank slightly in the mud but I could get out no problem. I grabbed a pair of cheap Eagle Claw surf rods and stuck a can of beer in each of my jeans pockets. The rods were already rigged up. I stepped onto the jetty next to her, and we each hooked a bloodworm on, then cast out into the inky blackness of the river. I caught the sliver glisten of water droplets as the weight splashed through the surface of the water and sank down slow, then parked the rod between some rocks, sat down on the bench and waited.

It was a dark night. There was a tiny sliver of a waning moon, mostly shrouded in clouds. Across the river, some lights from the next county fought a loosing battle to be seen. Even the lights from the power plant across the way offered little illumination. Some small boat lights added a little definition to the black water. It seemed thick, like oil as the breakers hit the rocks a few feet below. The water seemed to pull at them and leave reluctantly, willing them to slip back, underneath the surface and sink to the depths. At night it always looked like the river could swallow you whole. For a long time it seemed that the water was calling me too. I felt like sinking into the unknown beneath the black slick. Somehow that night, it became less appealing. I wanted to feel the chilly breeze on my face and listen to the whistle of wind blowing through the guides of my rod. In fact, I needed it.

“Want a beer?’ She took the can I offered her and sipped slowly.
“Thanks. I wondered where you went. Are you going to be able to drive home?”
“If the bite’s any good I’ll be here awhile anyway. I can always sleep in the back of the truck if I have to.” As I said that, her rod suddenly bent double. The reel started buzzing as line played off. She set the can of beer down and reared back sharply. The rod began to bend and twist, she had a fish on, and a decent fighter at that. I watched for a few moments in admiration. She could handle the drag like a pro, and despite her thin frame, I didn’t see any signs of weakness as she fought him in. Then my rod began to arc wildly. “Looks like we might have hit into a school!” she yelled. I grabbed my rod and began to fight.

We caught four good keepers that night but let them all back. I didn’t trust the fish from the Hudson, no matter how many times they tried to clean it. I just liked to catch them. We moved back across the street when the bite slowed down and sat down on the tailgate of my truck. I lit a smoke and we opened up the last of the beers. We hadn’t talked a whole lot while we were fishing. I liked that, but I could sense the questions coming. We were both dappled in shadows. I felt like Amy could see right through me anyway.

“You don’t talk much. And you walk like you’re carrying a big weight on your shoulders.” I never expected her to be so blunt. I figured the least I could do was return the favor. I’ve been home from Mosul about a week,” I told her. “But not everyone made it home.” I saw her stiffen up a little bit, like she had just made an embarrassing mistake in a public place.
“That’s not your fault though. You know that right?” her voice had softened. She’d lost some of her initial confidence. It was a little patronizing too. Her tone reminded me of my mother, trying to tell me a nightmare wasn’t real. No matter what was said, it never made the fear you felt any less real.
“I was a medic, Amy. My job was to bring my boys home. They didn’t all come home. So that’s on me.” She didn’t say anything for a long moment. I’m not sure what she could have said. I came home certain that people had died because I wasn’t good enough. I knew that came through in my voice.

“Are you a religious man, Paul?” I shook my head.
“I used to be. I believe in God still, if that’s what you mean.”
“I know it’s cliché,” she started. “But sometimes there are things that are out of your control. You’re still here for a reason. So don’t let the war take you. It wasn’t supposed to.” She had a way with words, and I wanted to kiss her at that moment, but I didn’t. I needed to keep talking, and she seemed willing to listen.

“I killed people too, you know. They were trying to kill me. I didn’t really have a choice.” She nodded, and I kept going. I didn’t want to. I’d just met the girl. She didn’t even know my last name, and she was sitting there next to me, a slightly drunk, psychologically distraught veteran. Once I started talking about it, I found that I was unable to stop myself. “The thing is, I felt good about it. I didn’t feel bad at all. I’m not a psychopath, please don’t think-“ I stopped when she pulled me into her arms. I started sobbing openly. Once the floodgates had opened they were stuck for good. There was no holding back, no sanctity of manhood, or macho urge to keep from loosing it in front of a female. She just held me there in silence until it passed and we both fell asleep.

I woke up a few hours later as a drop of rain exploded on my face. It was still dark, and the cold blast caught me off guard. It took a moment or two to get my bearings and figure out where I was, and why there was a woman next to me. Then the rain came hard and fast, like a summer thunderstorm. Amy awoke with a start, and laughing, we ran through the deluge and into the crew cab of my truck. For the first time, in the soft illumination of the truck’s overhead lights, I could see the wonderful woman that would become my wife.

She had a clean, plain face. Pale skin, dotted with the occasional freckle. Her nose was small and gently curved. Her lips were thin, pink. They looked soft, not chapped. There were two pale blue stones, set in silver in each earlobe, standing out from brown hair that was probably much lighter when it was dry. Her eyes were dark, and deep. There was a mixture of emotion in them I found hard to read, and I was so lost in them for the moment that I almost missed it. There was a long, jagged scar curving up the right side of her neck and across her cheek. It looked a few years old, and she’d tried to cover it with wisps of hair, but they’d peeled away in the rain. I noticed it just as she reached a trembling, hand behind my neck and pressed her lips to mine.

She kissed me deeply, each tiny movement of her lips sent an electric feeling shooting through my body. I could feel our wet clothes sticking together as she pulled me closer to her on the bench, and shivered, half with cold, and half with excitement as she started to slide my hand up her thigh. Then I pulled away.
“I’m not sure this is right,” I told her. I watched her face twist in mild confusion, and noticed for the first time her inability to frown. Then her eyes flashed with anger, despite the curling of a smile on her lips.
“It’s the scar, isn’t it? This is the same reason I left the fucking bowling alley. I wouldn’t have guessed you’d be so shallow!” Her accusation hit me worse than if she’d slapped me. It was worse than being shot. I tried to play it down.
“I didn’t even notice…” She saw right through that in no time and called my bluff. I guess my eyes had lingered there just a little too long.

“Bullshit.” Something stopped her from leaving right then though, maybe curiosity, or maybe she believed me for a moment. I never asked. “What is it then?” That blunt, indelicate part of her showed up again.
“I’ve been pretty empty for awhile,” I told her. “I’m not really myself at all. Fact is, I’ve been with a couple women since I got back. And you’re the first one who’s ever made me feel like the bottom of the river isn’t a better place for me to be.” For a few moments she froze, and there was no sound but the raindrops smacking the roof and the windows, sending streams of cascading water all around. It was a lonely sound to me, creating a tension that I wasn’t sure I was ready for. She kissed me again, and lingered on my lips at the end. Her hand slid up my thigh , then withdrew quickly. She climbed out of the truck abruptly afterwards.

“Stay in touch, Paul.” I watched her drive away, then slid up to the drivers seat and watched the sun break through as the clouds drifted away and the rain eased off. My hand reached down to where she had placed a crumpled piece of notebook paper into my pocket. In small, neat form, was a phone number, and her full name: Amanda Reese. At the bottom she had written two words. “Stay Strong.”

I had since forgotten when she had gotten a chance to write that down, but I kept that paper with me always. I let her sleep on the kitchen floor and moved to the chair where my uniform shirt lay crumpled against the back of the chair where it had fallen. I reached into the front pocket for that crumpled piece of paper. “Stay Strong”, it said. Maybe I had a little bit of strength left in me now. But I was going to give her a normal life. She deserved that much. It felt like the easy way out to her, she didn’t want to force me to choose. I knew that it took more strength to give up the career I love for the woman I loved even more. She’d understand, given the time. I sat down at my laptop that morning to type up my resignation letter.

It's goodbye again

As of very early Wendsday morning, I will be headed west to Ft. Irwin for the National Training Center in the Mojave Desert for desert warfare training. I will be gone through the 27th. I'll have the laptop with me, but not so sure how much inter-web access I will have, and I don't think I have a camera going along. We'll see. I'll do my best to try to get updates published.

Hooah! I get to live the Army life once more!

Phase V Supply

I'm in the airport now on my way back from Fayetteville, and although the romance didn't go quite so well as I'd hoped, I did get a chance to stop at a pretty great gun store down here called Phase V supply. The selection was excellent, especially from the perspective to tactical weaponry. In this age of scarcity, M1A's, FN SCAR's and AR's were everywhere. The staff were extremely helpful-one guy spent a good half an hour explaining to me the advantages of several types of tactical slings for my AR. I walked away with a hogue pistol grip and a Viking Tactics mkII with the quick adjust. I was very tempted to grab some Mag-pul P-mags, but I'm pretty sure they're illegal in NY, so I left that alone.

The best part is that the shop is owned, run, and staffed mostly by vets, who've been there, done that, and got the T-shirt. When I mentioned that in the next few months, I was headed to the sandbox, and that most of my AR accessories would be going with me, we spent another hour going over tactical reflex sights, even though he knew flat-out that I was not going to buy that day. I'm pretty much sold on an EOtech and will be arranging a purchase from them online in the near future. They put the gun shops back home to shame.

If you ever make it down there, they're located at 516 Reilly Rd in Fayetteville NC.
Website is here: http://www.phasevsupply.com/

Quote of the day

I went to the indoor range to sight in my new AR-15 today, but it was closed to the public. It was raining or I woulda just gone to the outdoor range a little further up the road. There will be a range report soon, whenever I make it up there.

The range was closed cause a nuclear powerplant security team was training inside. The following exchange was between me, my friend Eddie, and the Gunshop Guy.

Gunshop Guy: Sorry you can't shoot today, but you can come back another time.

Eddie. Well it's good to know they're getting some decent training at least, in case Bagdhad Bob comes around...

BangBangMedic: Nope, *I'm* training to fight Bagdhad Bob, They're training against dumbasses with fertilizer trucks!

I believe the Gunshop Guy might need a new keyboard, courtesy of the coffee he sprayed on it...

Chapter One

This is something I started awhile back. If you like it and want more, link it, tell your friends, and I'll try to write more soon. I'm not sure if it translates clearly, but the italics are small flashbacks, and the regular text are the current situation.

“Please save my daddy!”

A five year old girl’s tear filled voice implored me from a shadowy corner in the tiny, filthy living room.Her face seemed to disappear behind the thin pole of a floor lamp that wasn’t plugged in. The silence in the room was deafening as I donned a pair of nitrile gloves,the snapping sound as they slapped against my wrist almost startled me. I approached a limp form lying in the center of the floor. A puddle of blood had already formed beneath him, spreading and mixing with shadows to create the illusion that the entire room was now steeped in red liquid. I swept the beam of my flashlight across the stained and cracking hardwood floor, double checking that the 12 gauge shotgun that had just moments ago been pointed at me was now out of reach, should his collapse have been a clever ruse to lure me in closer. There would have been no need for that-he could have killed me any how-but crazy people weren’t rational and that was a pretty fast rule.

The old Ithaca had indeed fallen far out of reach and for the moment I ignored it, slowly approaching the body of a man who had very nearly just killed me and my partner; the man who had been-and, at least at the moment-still was, the father of the scared little girl in the corner. My partner keyed his radio, his calm voice belying the urgency of our situation. “We need a squad car down here, and have ALS step it up.” He knelt beside me as I opened up our patient’s airway. Shuddering breaths rattled his entire body once every thirty seconds, but it wasn’t enough to sustain life for much longer. Agonal respirations, they were called. They are body’s futile effort to keep the soul on the planet for just a few seconds longer. I already had the BVM in my hands and sealed the mask against his face, breathing for him, keeping him alive.

“I don’t want to die alone!” his voice came back at me. Those were the first words he had said when we stupidly walked into the house alone. The sound of police sirens approaching brought me back to a moment where I had almost died. Oscillating red lights suddenly lit up the house, like a Fourth of July show, and the terror of what had just come to pass rocked me back.

A cardiac arrest, the dispatch had said. The Paramedic crews were all tied up for three towns over. Police, likewise, were busy. They were on the way when we got there, but a long way out, and we were in the middle of nowhere. The house was dark, and it looked foreboding. In EMS, superstitions tend to reign wild-and I could see the grip of death on that house. Partner and I knew the protocols that said to wait for backup. But there was a man dying in that house. And the Barbie Jeep flipped over in the front lawn meant that the man was probably a father. So we went in to do what they paid us to do.

However nobly intentioned that choice had been, I cursed the stupidity of it now, as I rode the foot of the moving stretcher. We were running several races at once now. We raced to the ambulance, to the hospital,to the Paramedic Intercept. And we raced to save this mans life-for though he saw no other alternative than death, there was always life, and it was our job to keep him around long enough to see that choice. My muscles were already sore, pushing down on his chest. His ribs made a creepy crunching noise. Crepetation from cracked cartilage. It always seemed to creep me out no matter how many times I heard it.

There wasn’t a light on in the house, which my partner commented on as we entered. But fuck if it wasn’t 3 in the morning and who has lights on then? Most phones these days had glow in the dark buttons. So I twisted the cap of my Maglite and swung the beam in a slow, uneasy arc down the hallway. “Hello, EMS! Did somebody call for an ambulance? As the hallway opened up, the sound of a shotgun action caused me to freeze up. I raised my hands slowly.
“That’s alright, we’ll be leaving now,” I was speaking down the bore of the gun. A choked sob rang out from behind the wall of darkness. The gun stayed put though, and it was clear that neither of us would be leaving this house anytime soon. Thoughts about that haze of death sank morbidly deep into my brain. At least to my wife I would die a hero. Nobody would have the heart to tell her that I died because I was an idiot who ignored my training.

His arms tied to the stretcher with cravats, I struggled to keep this man alive. The blast had entered underneath his ribs, the way he had dug the barrel deep against his skin ensured damage to his liver, speen, and lungs. In fact, as far as I could tell, there wasn’t a liver left. The shell has been birdshot, from what the police officer had said. That meant something good, from an EMT perspective. With less power and smaller shot, there was likely to be less penetration and damage. But one of his lungs was collapsed. So the breaths I gave only went to one lung. I handed the police officer on the bench next to me tape and an occlusive dressing, running him through how to set it up on top of the exit wound a clump of pellets created through his left lung. It wsn't very efective, he needed decompression and a chest tube.

Behind me I could see the flashing lights of the paramedics and the lurching stop as we pulled to the shoulder nearly threw me across the stretcher and into the drivers compartment. The back door was thrown open and in hopped my medic, Julie. She looked at the body on the stretcher and then at me. "There's way too much damage. Were you able to shock at all?" I shook my head no as she placed the leads on his chest. "He's asystolic, I'm gonna call Med. Control and get permission to call it." The request was granted in just a few moments. I suppose the injuries could be reasonably considered an obvious source of death, but I'd been right there, and had to try.

Instantly, the urgency ofthe situation evaporated, but that couldn’t stop the adrenaline coursing through my veins. As I pushed my body back against the bench of the ambulance, breathing deep, my hands began to shake, then my arms.Within moments my entire body was shuddering, trying to rid itself of that flood of emotions, chemicals and stress that I had just placed on it. My job was over, as soon as the body bag arrived, and the hearse that would take the shell of a man before me over to the big city morgue. My Nextel phone beeped loudly, rescuing me from cascading thoughts of what had almost been. Dispatch. I pressed the button dutifully. “We’re clear from this job,” I noted, trying to keep as teady voice.
“You’re also done for the night Paul,” the dispatcher’stinny, perpetually annoyed voice rang out. There was a hint of sympathy in there as well, something I wasn’t at all used to hearing from that dreadful phone.“You’re a mess. Go home to your wife.”

I thanked her and moved from the patient compartment to the passengers seat up front. We sat in silence, pine trees blowing past us on the lonely road back to headquarters. Rain began to fall steadily, increasing the closer we got to the station, blurring the glow of the headlights on the road. That poor little girl…

My drive home should have been beautiful. The storm that had started above us ended as quickly as it came, leaving droplets to glow off wounded branches as the sun rose, a fireball igniting the sky through the clouds. I didn’t notice that so much, focused solely on the glass window between me and the lonely twin lines on a beaten road. I had done everything possible, and yet I still felt the sting of failure. My job was to help people, to get them through their crises and this man had not gotten through. Up ahead I could see the house and slowed. There was beauty there I could notice. The house sat at the top of a steep hill, the end of a cul-de-sac, but the only house there. Alternating stone and blue vinyl siding,with ivy growing up towards the chimney gave the impression of a cottage on some lonesome country lane. Some mornings, like this one, the sun would catch just right and bathe the house in a warm, cozy radiance that invited me to walk through the doors to the smell of a home cooked breakfast, and back to a zone of comfort. I didn’t have worries there.

As my muddy Chevrolet turned into the driveway I could see my wife, standing on the porch with a cup of coffee in her hands, and another cup beside her on the railing. She smiled as I put the truck into park and stepped out the door. That smile melted my heart since the day we met, and this morning was no different. It lifted the weight of the night’s troubles right off my shoulders. I stumbled my tired, achy body up the three steps to the porch. It was somewhere in the brisk, fifty degree range but she wasn’t shivering as she wrapped her arms gently around me. We stood there rocking for what felt like an eternity. It had been three days since I’d gotten to see her but it may as well have been three years. By the time our arms broke apart and she handed me a steaming cup of java, I was drowning in love. She led me inside after that, flicking on the dim lamps that had illuminated her morning. Dispatch had called her, and she’d gotten out of bed just to fix me breakfast, to make sure I was alright. There were eggs and bacon there, with salt, pepper, ketchup and rolls.I fixed myself a breakfast sandwich. I hadn’t been hungry a few moments ago, but now I was ravenous.

A message...

To the other crew using my Wendsday ambulance...

Yes, my reeves was buckled to the back of the bench, so I didn't need to unload EVERYTHING from underneath the bench to slide it back in. Its easier to unbuckle a seatbelt when you need it. Yes, the Nextel was in the patient compartment. That's because I was using it to call in a run. Yes, the sheets on the cot were slightly discolored-they were, however clean. That's all the hospital gave us to work with. At least it was made.

Since those small transgressions, which happen only once in awhile, were enough to write me up this morning, I will no longer be so lenient with you, when every week, I find our oxygen empty, and the stretcher not made. I will write it up. If the Nextel is dead, I will write it up. If the fuel is a tiny bit under 3/4, I will write it up. Courtesy begets courtesy. Since you have shown me none, you will no longer get any from me.

That is all.

Fishing

Fishing is my therapy. I don't care if it's raining. I don't care if it's 100 degrees or 40....or less on the rare occasion I get to ice fish. No matter what has happened on call, or in life, it all disappears for the few hours I have my line in the water. I fish for everything-trout, bass, sunnies and crappies, pike and pickerel, catfish, stripers....depending on the season, and my mood. I almost always fish alone.

The reason for this isn't so much that I'm a brooding, burnt-out loner. That may be slightly true, but I don't think so, not yet. Reason is, I never catch anything with somebody else around. It's actually a matter of legend between myself and my friends. Because of the time spent on the water, I'm the best fisherman among us. I almost never get skunked. Unless, that is, I have a partner. Now, I have pictures, evidence that fish are caught-now and again I even bring one home, so I'm not just telling fish stories. I've been in the middle of a bite, catching crappies almost every cast, and when a buddy sees my Jeep and walks over to fish with me, it all dies. No more, the rest of the evening.

Oddly enough, it works the opposite way if I have a female friend along. The Ex used to fish with me often. I've since figured that she was just humoring me, and it was a frustrating excersize that I've learned a few lessons from.(Like don't take the gf fishing, unless she already knows how) I would spend just as much time untangling her line and giving instructions as I did fishing-but I did catch fish. Lots of fish. Enough fish to make her feel really really insecure and become moody about it the rest of the day. So fishing with The Ex(then girlfriend) became a choice between fishing and getting some. Eventually she made the choice for me and I think I got the better end of the deal. Now I can fish in peace.