The Breeding Bundle, Vol. II

by Natalia Darque

  “Well, we’re in one hell of a shitstorm,” Mills reported calmly. “I’ve got the men under cover, but I suspect we’re gonna get hit hard when this barrage lifts. The men are fine. We’ve got a couple of walking wounded, but no big deal. But our crew-served weapons are probably fucked.”

  “Mills, I’m going to leave you and two men here to guard our back. I’m gonna take the SAW and the rest of the men over to Mills’ position when the barrage lifts.”

  “Huah, sir,” Cox said simply, using the Ranger made-up word that means “Heard, Understood, Acknowledged.”

  Bob ducked out of the bunker and looked around. His men were staring back over their shoulders, watching Mills’ position get pounded.

  “Sims and Smith, you stay here with Sergeant Cox. Everyone else on me! Bring the SAW and all the ammo you can carry!” Bob struggled to keep his voice calm as adrenaline surged through his body. He stepped forward and grabbed two six-foot long bandoliers of belted 5.56 ammo and slung them over his neck. The others did likewise.

  Bob sensed that the barrage was beginning to slacken. Instead of the continuous roar of exploding artillery, it quickly tapered off to a few stray crumping sounds as the last of the shells hit home, pounding the lonely bunker containing his men.

  “All right, let’s go! Spread out, keep 10 meters between each other,” Bob ordered making sure his men didn’t bunch into a tight target that would attract more artillery. He began running at a low crouch across the two hundred meters of rough ground between the two positions.

  As he ran with his small group of reinforcements across the intervening ground, he heard Mills and his men open up with a barrage of small arms fire. Unfortunately, the lack of machine gun fire indicated that Mills’ assessment of his crew-served weapons being destroyed in the barrage was probably accurate.

  After about a minute of running, struggling under their heavy loads, Bob and his men neared the crest of the small hill on which the bunker sat. The fire intensified, both the staccato sound of U.S. M4’s, commingled with many more of the deeper roars of the AK-47’s favored by the Taliban. As they closed on the crest, Bob began to hear the bumblebee-like sounds of projectiles passing through the air just over his head.

  “Get that SAW to the bunker! Take all the ammo!” Bob shouted, handing his ammo off to the heavily burdened Ranger carrying the SAW. The others began handing their ammo to the SAW bearer and his assistant.

  “The rest of you come with me!” He led the rest of his men in a wide sweeping movement around the crest of the hill to enable them to take up a flanking position to bring fire into the vulnerable side of the Taliban attackers.

  Within seconds, Bob got to the crest, and the small valley below came into view. Still lit by the illumination shells, Bob could see Taliban fighters swarming up the hill toward the bunker. He fell heavily to the ground and began taking shots at any Taliban fighter he could see. Without orders, his men did likewise. They began to swiftly winnow down the enemy formation.

  “Shit!” Bob heard the strained voice of one of his men to his left. He turned that way, and saw several Taliban fighters attacking HIS vulnerable flank. He began scrambling to his feet to face the threat. In horror, he saw the soldier closest to the Taliban take an AK-47 round to the head. Entering under the lip of his Kevlar helmet, the bullet traversed through his head, exploding out the back in a shower of blood and brains.

  Bob began firing at the attackers, charging toward them in a near-frenzy. He leveled his M4 at an attacker and squeezed off two quick rounds at the enemy’s center of mass. The fighter buckled in the middle and flew back, as if he had been a ball hit with a baseball bat.

  He quickly aimed at a second target, and squeezed a round off at the man’s head. He saw the man’s head snap back violently as the round took him in the forehead, his turban flying off as it was unable to contain the violent explosion of his cranium caused by the tumbling 5.56mm round.

  As he swung to a third target, he was horrified to see an Afghan pointing a handgun at him, and he had the sinking realization that he wasn’t going to be able to engage the target before the man fired.

  As if in slow motion, he saw the pistol barrel pointed at him. It looked like it was two feet in diameter, but he knew that was the perspective of a man coming to realization that he was about to die.

  As he continued to swing the M4 onto the target, he saw a bright flash from the Afghan’s handgun. He felt a savage blow strike his midsection, driving all the air from him.

  “Oooommmph!” the sound of his lungs being voided by the blow was the last thing Bob heard.

  Everything went black.

  Chapter Three

  “Wake up, sir!”

  Bob opened his eyes. Sergeant Mills was looking down at him.

  “Shit, what happened?”

  “You got shot! What the hell do ya think, sir?” Sergeant Mills said with a laugh.

  Bob, still confused from losing and then regaining consciousness looked around. His men were moving about the battlefield, checking the remaining Afghans to see which were dead or alive, and disarming those still living. A lone shot rang out, probably due to a wounded Afghan that didn’t know when to quit.

  “Sir, you took a pistol round to the chest. But your flak jacket stopped it. You’ll be sore as hell for a while, but you’ll be fine,” Mills told him.

  “You’re not just saying that reassuring shit to the wounded guy who’s about to die?” Bob laughed, and then winced when he realized that laughing made him hurt like hell.

  “Shit no! I never bought into that crap. If I see you’re fucked up, I’ll tell ya the truth and tell ya you’re gonna die!” Mills grinned down at him with his usual smartass smile.

  “Well, shit I feel like I’m gonna die!” Bob groaned. “Jesus, this hurts like hell!”

  “Ya probably got broke ribs, sir.” Mills told him. “The medics are on the way, so just hold still ‘til they get here.”

  “Yes, sergeant!” Bob raised his hand in a mock salute, causing pain to shoot through him. “Aw, shit that hurt!” He quickly dropped his hand back to his side.

  “That’ll teach ya to salute me. I work for a living,” Mills’ sarcastic tone was evident. Non-commissioned officers in the U.S. Army are not entitled to a salute.

  “Aw shit! Where’s that fucking medic?” Bob’s voice was coming in a strained groan. His breath was coming short and rapid because of the pain in his chest.

  “Here he comes, sir.” Mills glanced over as the medic came on the run.

  “How are the men, Mills?” Bob asked as he finally began to awake from his grogginess.

  “One KIA, sir. Smitty. Two WIA, but one’s minor.” Mills reported officially.

  “Yeah, I saw Smitty buy it. What about the other WIA? How is he?”

  “Sir, the medic’s here. We’re about to find out,” Mills told him.

  “What’s the situation?” The medic arrived huffing and puffing and out of breath.

  “Took a bullet in the flak jacket,” Mills reported. “Didn’t penetrate, but knocked him on his ass. He’s in pain, Doc, and his chest looks like someone took a sledgehammer to him.”

  “Is he coughing up blood?” the breathless medic managed to squeak out.

  “Not that I’ve seen, and I’ve been with him for a while now.”

  “Sir, on a scale of one to ten, how do would you rate your pain,” the medic asked, turning his attention to Bob, his face thrust down into his.

  Bob hesitated. His eyes darted back and forth between the eyes of the medic and Sergeant Mills. He fixed his gaze on the medic.

  “A twelve,” he told him calmly.

  The medic paused, and then reached into his bag and pulled out a styrette of morphine. Bob felt a slight sting in his thigh. A merciful blur began to take a hold of him, and the pain receded from the forefront of his mind, finding refuge further to the back of his consciousness.

  “Sergeant Mills?” Bob asked groggily.

  “Yes, sir,” Through
his grogginess, Bob could make out tears streaming down the cheeks of his hardened platoon sergeant.

  “I’ll be back. I promise. I’ll be back,” Bob managed to gasp out as the pleasures of Morpheus took hold of him.

  “Yes, sir. We’ll be here.

  “I promise!” Bob added emphatically.

  He heard the sound of incoming choppers moving toward their position.

  And then the morphine-induced blackness overtook him.

  Chapter Four

  Bob heard the binging sound, indicating that it was acceptable to unfasten his seat belt. He reached down and unbuckled his seat belt. He stood and reached over him to the overhead luggage bin. A pain, albeit faint in comparison to those in the past, shot through his ribcage. He winced and then more gingerly lifted his arm to lift down his carryon rucksack.

  Near the back of the plane, he waited patiently, with his ruck over his uninjured side, for the crowd to dissipate in front of him. Finally, the crowd began to subside, and he headed for the front of the plane, exiting at the end of what seemed like a mercilessly long ramp. He made for baggage claim where he was to be met.

  He went through the revolving door into the baggage claim area, and saw who he was looking for. He approached the tall, gray-haired distinguished man who was smiling at him. He approached, stood at attention, and saluted the older man.

  “Good morning, sir!” Bob barked.

  The old man casually, almost insolently returned the gesture. Bob dropped his salute.

  “I think I should be saluting you, Bobby,” Bob’s dad said smiling. “Don’t you remember? I’m retired now.”

  “Old habits die hard, sir!” Bob said with a laugh.

  “How are you feeling son?” his dad asked, the concern showing in his voice.

  “Fine, just sore as hell.”

  “Well, thirty days convalescent leave isn’t a bad deal at all,” his dad told him. “It’ll be great to have you around.”

  Bob’s baggage arrived quickly and he started to grab it.

  “Let me get that Bobby,” his dad piped up. “You take it easy. Broken ribs suck. I know.” His dad scooped up the bag from the carousel, extended the handle and got it ready to roll.

  “Is this it?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “All right. Let’s go. I gotta show you my new ride!” His dad was grinning from ear to ear.

  His dad led him out the door and across the street to the parking garage. He clicked a remote control and Bob heard the beep of a security system unlocking the doors of a car. He saw the taillights of a sports car flash on. His dad then pushed another button and the trunk popped open on a Ford Mustang.

  “You got a Mustang?” Bob asked, clearly amused.

  “Nope. It’s a Shelby Cobra,” his dad said, smiling.

  “A Shelby Cobra?” Bob asked, stunned.

  “Yeah. I had it going 155 miles per hour the other day. I took it out to Texas Motor Speedway and me and a driver wrung it out pretty good.”

  “Jesus, Dad!” Bob exclaimed. “Is this some mid-life crisis or some shit?”

  “No, not really. The impulse just coincided with the opportunity. Before you leave, I’ll take you to the Speedway for a spin. You can’t believe the thrill of going that fast in this car.”

  “Sounds good. But I probably better wait ‘til after I get off the pain meds,” Bob said, laughing.

  “Yeah, that would be best! You definitely want to have your wits about you.” His dad turned, opened his door and started the climb in. Bob did likewise on his side.

  His dad was a retired Army colonel. He had done nearly 30 years in the Signal Corps before retiring about a year ago. He landed a plush job with a defense contractor, working from home as a consultant. He traveled quite a bit, but was paid what for an Army officer was an astronomical sum of money. His salary was so large that when his new employer handed him his work contract, and he saw the pay rate, he had only one question.

  “Is this in pesos?” he had asked the Human Resources Director of the company that hired him. It was a story that his dad loved to tell.

  So, with his retirement pay and his new job, his dad was flush with cash for the first time in his life. Bob, following the family tradition of going to West Point had helped as well, since his college was not only paid for, he actually had gotten paid to go to college.

  On the way to his parent’s new home in the Dallas suburbs, his dad peppered him with questions about his unit, his soldiers, and the mission in Afghanistan. Finally, his dad came up for air.

  “Bobby, your mother and I need you to do us a favor while you’re here.”

  “Sure, Dad. Anything. You know that.”

  “Well, you might think that now. I kind of even hesitate to ask,” his dad was acting uncharacteristically sheepish.

  “Dad! What do you need?”

  “We need you to go to the high school prom,” his dad blurted out.

  “Are you shittin’ me? You want me to take Missy to the prom?” Bob asked, stunned. Missy was his 18-year-old sister, who was a senior in high school.

  “No, no, no!” His dad answered. “We need you to take our exchange student.”

  “Exchange student?” Bob asked.

  “Yeah, we took in an exchange student at the Christmas break. There was some issue with the host family. They were supposed to have only girls, and she got hosted with a family with a son in her class. That doesn’t tend to work very well. So they asked us to take her.”

  “Anyway,” his dad continued, “Her name is Ilse. She’s German. She’s 18. And I need someone I can trust to be her escort.”

  Bob’s eyebrows shot up suspiciously.

  “Bob, this girl is drop-dead gorgeous. I’ve got every horny dick in Texas that wants in her pants. I can’t send her out with just anyone. I’m asking you because I can count on you.”

  Bob wasn’t pleased, but he also knew that his dad was displaying an incredible trust in him, and knew that there was no way he could let him down.

  “OK, Dad. Sure,” Bob said. “I’m just amazed that your faith in me extends to 18-year old girls you’re responsible for.” He chuckled. He didn’t have the best reputation with his girlfriends, and went through high school with a well-deserved reputation as a love ‘em and leave ‘em type.

  “Come to think of it, this is kind of like letting the fox into the henhouse, isn’t it?”

  His dad looked over at him laughing as he sped down the highway. The speedometer of the Shelby Cobra hovered smoothly at 90 mph.

  Chapter Five

  Bob’s dad pulled the Cobra into the driveway of a large, ostentatious home in an obviously well-heeled neighborhood 20 miles north of Dallas.

  “Jesus, Dad!” Bob mouthed, surprised as he viewed the house.

  “Beats the shit out of on-base housing at Fort Hood, huh?” Bob’s dad laughed, remembering the 1,000 square foot home that sufficed for their family of four during one of his dad’s tours at the Central Texas Fort when Bob was in high school.

  Climbing out of the Cobra, Bob’s dad retrieved the bags from the trunk and headed for the front door of the house. He opened the unlocked door.

  “Lisa! We’re home!” Bob’s dad called to his mother.

  Lisa, Bob’s mother, came running into the room and ran straight to him.

  “Bobby!” she cried as she scooped him in her arms. “I was so worried about you!” Tears streamed down her face.

  Bob’s dad gave them a minute. Bob just held his mom until she was ready to let go, which was a considerable length of time. Finally, she turned loose and wiped her tear-streaked face.

  “Where are the girls?” his dad asked.

  “Where the hell do you think?” his mom said sarcastically. “Out by the pool working on their tans. Again!”

  “Come on, Bobby,” his dad motioned for him to follow. He followed his dad, taking in the frickin’ mansion that his family now lived in. He was stunned by the opulence, compared to the places they had lived
during his upbringing. Retirement from the military had obviously been real good for his dad.

  His dad led him out into an immaculately landscaped backyard, with multiple levels of terraces, with the centerpiece being a large swimming pool that featured a waterfall at the far end. It was absolutely gorgeous.

  “Missy, Bobby’s home!” his dad called. Bob looked over and saw Missy clambering out of a lounge chair. She took off running straight at him.

  “Bobby!” She was squealing shrilly as she ran toward him, her arms twitching up and down in her excitement. When she got to him, she jumped on him, wrapping her arms around his neck, and circling her legs around his waist.

  “Fuck!” Bob screamed in pain as his ribcage felt like it exploded. His three broken ribs sent a rush of pain similar to an electric-shock coursing through his torso. Barely able to stand, he managed to get Missy off of him before she did any more damage.

  “Missy, did you forget that your brother is wounded?” His dad asked Missy, clearly miffed at her conduct.

  “Bobby, I’m so sorry!” Missy had her hand clapped over her mouth in embarrassment. “I’m just so happy to see you, I totally forgot.”

  “It’s OK, Sis.” Bob asked as the pain started to subside. “But if you do it again, I will kill you.” He managed a wan smile to let her know he was kidding.

  She hugged him, much more gently this time around the neck.

  “I’m so glad your home,” Missy said in his ear. “I missed you terribly.”

  “I missed you too, Squirt.” Bob addressed her by his pet name that he had called since childhood.

  “Bob, this is Ilse,” he heard his dad say.

  Bob looked up and saw a lithe, athletically built blonde haired, blue-eyed young woman walking toward him. His dad had described her as drop-dead gorgeous. That was an understatement. He could only stare at her in amazement.

  She was wearing a bikini that hid very little. She had an utterly amazing body, with curves in all the right places, and a set of tits that just about made him start drooling. The tan that his mom said she was working on with Missy was coming along nicely. Her eyes were a piercing shade of blue, almost sapphire in color, and they gleamed with excitement.