Blind Eyes, Black Hearts - A GWOT Story (On Hold)

Chapter 6, Part 2 - Jalalabad Airbase

When he woke up next to the naked, curvy-backed Pamela Simpson, he took his watch from the table and looked at the time. 1415 Hours. Rick wanted to visit the wounded men who came to base with him, and visiting hours began at 1430.

After doing a bit of teasing with Pam, Rick told her that he was going to go to his wounded men who were at the larger field hospital.

“I’m staying here for a while. I’ll hold the extra keys.”

“Alright.” Rick replied, and wondered that earlier was something real or simply a thing to get rid of boredom. Either way, it was some good sex.

Rick went over to Pam to ask her, as well as retrieving his uncle’s M1911.45 Pistol from the desk, that was set near the bed. “Nothing personal, right?” Rick said, as he tucked his pistol into his holster after putting his belt around his ACU pants.

“I don’t know.” She said. “I enjoyed it, though.” Pam was lying on her chest, and she had got rid of the blanket, so Rick would be more tempted to do it again. Her back, her legs… It was amazing. Rick had never seen in his sexual life such perfectness; but why in the military? And why him? He kept asking himself that as he walked through the door that led to the outside, to Jalalabad AFB.

He asked a passing US National Guardsman where the field hospital was. “Just some three hundred meters from here. It’s just two blocks before the chow hall. Damn this place is getting bigger every day.”

Rick said his thanks to the man and headed to the 300 meter-away Field Hospital. He was astonished on how large the hospital was. It was a four-story building, perfect with tan tents with red crosses in front of it. It was bustling, and people were running here and there. When he entered the tents, in which he had to enter if he was to go to the building, he could smell the foul flesh and blood of both American and Afghan soldiers. Thank God, though, there were not a lot of blood nor bodies, but the lonely bodies and heavily wounded that were being treated there was a sight hard to forget.

Rick entered the double glass doors of the hospital, and directly went to the counter. It was manned by a military policeman, a staff sergeant, who quickly went to salute when Rick passed. The police officer seemed to notice the rank and both the Ranger Tab and his 1st Battalion 75th Ranger insignias on his sleeve velcroes.

“Take it easy, sergeant. I’m here for a visit.”

Rick asked with a notion. “The rangers who were MEDEVACed here?”

“Oh yes, sir, of course.” He took a look at his LCD monitor. “We have those guys in the recovery room on second floor. There’s a Sergeant Jean LaHoye and Private First Class Alexander Munro, along with ten others. That the one you looking for, sir?”

“Yeah. Recovery room, second floor. Which side is that?”

“It’s on the far southern end. Big sign at the front of the door.”

“Alright. Thanks sergeant.”

So Rick went up the stairs and tried to find the recovery room, where his men lie wounded, but thank God none of them died, and thank God all of them were in recovery. But he regretted the deaths of Specialist Stark and Sergeant Cortez.

***

Rick, after twice going back and forth on the second floor, finally found the recovery room. It was a room with double doors, and whatever its earlier function was, it was used because it had a big room that could fit more than thirty patients.

The room had strolling nurses, around twenty five resting men, and clean white sheets everywhere. It looked like heaven.

“LT!” somebody called him, and it was LaHoye’s voice. He saw that one of the wounded was lifting a hand and waving it to him. “Rick!”