Behind The Lens

11. We'll Be Back After These Messages

Unedited! Sorry for any mistakes!

"There, love, you're all patched up." Niall says while as he helps Liam out of his shirt and pants. Niall blushes slightly at the sight of Liam's body. Every curve, every dip, every inch of  Liam's skin is enticing... exciting and Niall wants to know what it will feel like when their naked bodies are separated only by a thin layer of sweat. Niall relishes the thought, but frowns when he sees the large bruise on his love's side. "Lay down." Niall says pulling at the duvet. Liam complies and just wants to feel Niall's warmth beside him. Niall crawls into bed next to him and surprises the brunette by pulling him into his arms. Liam's head is pressed up against Niall's chest and he's got his arms around his waist and their limbs are tangled up, but they don't mind; it feels so good to be so close. "Goodnight Liam," Niall whispers before kissing the top of Liam's head. "Goodnight love" Liam says and Niall can feel the man smile against him as they drift off to sleep...

The dream was always the same.

Liam could feel differences in the heat beneath his desert boots as he crosses from sand to asphalt to rubble. His full battle rattle ("Battle Rattle:" the maximum amount of army gear that a soldier can be expected to carry.) made the heat worse with the weight of his combat load, his weapon and the body armor Command had mandated all holding the sweat and furnace-heat close to his body. It was only May, and he dreaded the "real heat" of a Baghdad summer. (You have no idea how nasty it is.)

But none of that mattered at the moment. He took a few big gulps from his warm Camelbak (water bottle) and pressed on.

He didn't know where he was going – he never did at first - but his feet did, and he grew closer.

He could hear the constant rattle of gunshots in the background, like a Kalashnikov (A type of rifle or submachine gun. Think AK-47) birdsong and knew he was on a mission. He turned a corner and joined the rest of his squad. He slid into the commander's seat of the Humvee, twisting to get his weapons and armor situated. The net was up and the radio chatter was heavy. The Blue Force Tracker (Military GPS. Blue typically denotes friendly forces.) was down, again.

His driver and RTO  (Radio Telephone Operator) Sandy was pumped and edgy, a crushed Ripped Fuel package on the dash, his eyes scanning the radios as he tried to reactivate the BFT. His gunner was in the turret, and the rest of his team crowded in behind him.

"Sandy, fuck the BFT, we gotta go now," he said. His voice sounded harsh and parched. "JTF-7  (joint task force 7) is coming in and we're route clearance."

They'd made the drive from George W. Bush Airport (NOTE: This is the joke name for Saddam International Airport when we took it over in April of 2003) to the Green Zone dozens of times, but he felt more uneasy than usual. Something wasn't right. Something was about to happen and it was familiar. It played on a loop, like a broken record.

There it was. He knew it would be there and it was. A pile of trash on the roadside, and just as he reached to call in a suspected IED (improvised explosive device) the blast swept over them, rolling the Humvee. They were rolling, and on fire.

Seconds later from the second story of a building nearby came a rain of RPG (rocket-propelled grenade) and AK fire. Liam can't understand how he ended up in the road. He can't understand why the Humvee was on its side, burning. He can't find his weapon. His radio is dead. His legs won't support him and RPG fire keeps raining down.

His team. He can't see his team. There's his M-4, a solid touchstone. He rolls on his side and fires burst after burst into the windows at the RPG and machine gun crew in the building. He's exposed and when his M-4 jams he knows it's the end.