Friendly Fire
I don't think I've ever really gotten over those four months I spent in Iraq. I mean, how can you 'get over' something like that? It's just not gonna happen. It scars you for life. My team thinks that I don't care how much I go through to keep them safe. The think that I just bounce back from it without a mark. I've purposely created that image.
While we're on the topic, they bombed that Iraq prison while I was there, you know. They even have a name for it, when a country tries to kill it's own people, it's called friendly fire. As if. They just want you dead so you can't spill all of the country's secrets.
I don't need there- well, six actually, if you count the doctors and the general- concerned people all trying to get me to talk, 'for my own good'. I don't need to talk. What I need is time for my body to heal before I take my gun and waste the sorry bastard who opened this whole can of worms for me. His has just lumbered off into the trees, probably to find the rest of my team to torture. Why is it that every third or forth new world we travel to has aliens that love to torture people. Me in particular?
You see, although I'm always ready with a sarcastic comment or a smart ass remark, there are some situations that can't be made better. Take this one, for example. I'm currently tied to what feels like a large wooden post. My team has scattered to god-knows where on my order and I'm hurt- again. I'll spare you the gory details on that part. It think it's suffice to say that I'm gonna be in the infirmary for a while when- if- I get back.
I sigh heavily, which is a bad idea as it draws the attention of the alien, who looks like a cross between Jerry Springer and a squid back to me. He's just got back form his foraging expedition in the trees and has what looks like green slime with him. I wonder what he's gonna do with that.
I smile brightly and that turns out to be a bad idea as well, because of the squid arms lashes out and slices open a lovely new gash on my arm. Great, now I'm bleeding all over my BDUs again. At this rate, I'm probably gonna get eaten by some native predator that we don't know about. No w, that'd make a change.
My radio, which like my pack is lying at Jerry the alien's feet, crackles with static. Jerry the alien looks curiously at it as Carter's voice breaks through the heavy static. She told me that we where gonna have a problem with the radios, something about the planet's atmosphere interfering with the signal. To be honest, I wasn't really paying attention.
"We're at the Gate, sir." She says, and waits for an answer. Like I can answer her when Jerry the alien has me tied up and is looking at my radio as if it's an all you can eat buffet.
"Sir? Can you hear this?" Well, duh. I can hear it just fine, but there's about six foot of strong, itchy rope and Jerry the alien stopping me responding. I notice a note of panic in her voice, and it makes me angry that another alien race is making Sam Carter worry about me.
Jerry the alien looks at the radio again, then back at me. I look at him and suddenly our Jerry walks over to me. He pauses again, and then unties the rope. Okay, what the hell is going on? Clearly I'm being released, but why? Actually, let's not worry about why. I cautiously stand and walk to pick up my pack and radio.
Jerry the alien watches me, but makes no move to stop me. Oookay then. I grab my pack and radio, and walk quickly away.
"Sir?" the radio squarks again, nearly scaring me to death. I'd forgotten it was there.
"Yeah, major?" I answer. There's a brief clatter before she speaks again. I think she was so surprised that she dropped the radio.
"Where are you, sir?"
"On my merry way back to the gate. I'll be there in ten." I say as I walk back stiffly.
When the general gives us our next mission, I'll take it. I'm willing to fight for my country. I'm just not willing to die for it.
I don't think I've ever really gotten over those four months I spent in Iraq. I mean, how can you 'get over' something like that? It's just not gonna happen. It scars you for life. My team thinks that I don't care how much I go through to keep them safe. The think that I just bounce back from it without a mark. I've purposely created that image.
While we're on the topic, they bombed that Iraq prison while I was there, you know. They even have a name for it, when a country tries to kill it's own people, it's called friendly fire. As if. They just want you dead so you can't spill all of the country's secrets.
I don't need there- well, six actually, if you count the doctors and the general- concerned people all trying to get me to talk, 'for my own good'. I don't need to talk. What I need is time for my body to heal before I take my gun and waste the sorry bastard who opened this whole can of worms for me. His has just lumbered off into the trees, probably to find the rest of my team to torture. Why is it that every third or forth new world we travel to has aliens that love to torture people. Me in particular?
You see, although I'm always ready with a sarcastic comment or a smart ass remark, there are some situations that can't be made better. Take this one, for example. I'm currently tied to what feels like a large wooden post. My team has scattered to god-knows where on my order and I'm hurt- again. I'll spare you the gory details on that part. It think it's suffice to say that I'm gonna be in the infirmary for a while when- if- I get back.
I sigh heavily, which is a bad idea as it draws the attention of the alien, who looks like a cross between Jerry Springer and a squid back to me. He's just got back form his foraging expedition in the trees and has what looks like green slime with him. I wonder what he's gonna do with that.
I smile brightly and that turns out to be a bad idea as well, because of the squid arms lashes out and slices open a lovely new gash on my arm. Great, now I'm bleeding all over my BDUs again. At this rate, I'm probably gonna get eaten by some native predator that we don't know about. No w, that'd make a change.
My radio, which like my pack is lying at Jerry the alien's feet, crackles with static. Jerry the alien looks curiously at it as Carter's voice breaks through the heavy static. She told me that we where gonna have a problem with the radios, something about the planet's atmosphere interfering with the signal. To be honest, I wasn't really paying attention.
"We're at the Gate, sir." She says, and waits for an answer. Like I can answer her when Jerry the alien has me tied up and is looking at my radio as if it's an all you can eat buffet.
"Sir? Can you hear this?" Well, duh. I can hear it just fine, but there's about six foot of strong, itchy rope and Jerry the alien stopping me responding. I notice a note of panic in her voice, and it makes me angry that another alien race is making Sam Carter worry about me.
Jerry the alien looks at the radio again, then back at me. I look at him and suddenly our Jerry walks over to me. He pauses again, and then unties the rope. Okay, what the hell is going on? Clearly I'm being released, but why? Actually, let's not worry about why. I cautiously stand and walk to pick up my pack and radio.
Jerry the alien watches me, but makes no move to stop me. Oookay then. I grab my pack and radio, and walk quickly away.
"Sir?" the radio squarks again, nearly scaring me to death. I'd forgotten it was there.
"Yeah, major?" I answer. There's a brief clatter before she speaks again. I think she was so surprised that she dropped the radio.
"Where are you, sir?"
"On my merry way back to the gate. I'll be there in ten." I say as I walk back stiffly.
When the general gives us our next mission, I'll take it. I'm willing to fight for my country. I'm just not willing to die for it.