Wow, you really blow my mind every time I post a new story. Thank you all SO much for your kind words.

I hope I will be able to live up to your expectations.

Here is the next chapter. Hope you will enjoy it.

Purple Heart – Chapter 02

Northern Iraq – March 2006

Steve and his team were walking down another dirt road, one of hundreds they had walked down in the last two weeks. Their Intel said they should encounter one of the main insurgent groups in this area. But so far they had only seen small, empty villages; a few left behind old people and nothing but destroyed dwellings. And they encountered dust, more dust, and then even more of the same. They were covered in it from head to toe. It got everywhere. And every time the wind picked up they would even breathe the dust.

The dust was more intrusive than at home, and it even tasted different. This dust tasted of despair, destitution and death. And after two weeks of nothing but walking along those deserted dirt roads, seeing nothing but gray wherever they looked, it was getting to them. It didn't matter how highly trained one was… this kind of environment was getting to everyone.

Sure, they were doing their job, and Steve was certain they all would perform their duty at the highest level. But he was thinking about giving all of his men a little break. Just to see a different color in front of their eyes would help. He knew that just 30 miles north of their position was a larger camp manned by the Army. He had been there before and planned to get his men a night in a bed… and a shower. Steve had to laugh at what kind of small things could make one happy. Not sleeping on the hard rocks and having a few minutes under a spray of warm water. What a luxury for teams like his, who were often out on their own for a long time without ever seeing a camp. When they had tracked down their target they were extracted by helicopter and relocated.

But they very seldom got to spend any length of time in a well-equipped base camp.

"Yo, LT! What has you in such a good mood?" his Chief came up to him and asked after hearing Steve's chuckle.

"What do you think of a nice shower and even a bed tonight?" Steve looked at his Chief Petty Officer, or short 'Chief'.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. I think we all deserve to get out of this dust for at least a few hours. I mean we were supposed to have a few days off a week ago. And we're still stuck on these damn dirt roads."

His men had not been thrilled when he had to tell them last week that their leave, the first after six months, had been canceled. Steve thought they deserved a little break; it would recharge them.

"LT, that would be really great. You think I could get a line home?"

"Last time I was there, they had a really great com-center. If you're lucky…"

Steve looked at the happy face of his second in command and hoped he would be able to call home. If he was really lucky, he might even get a video call to his very pregnant wife. Steve had tried to get him emergency leave when his wife was rushed to the hospital two weeks ago with early contractions. But that was not going to happen. They wouldn't even let him leave for the birth of his first child, due in four weeks. Steve's CO promised to look into it and get back to him, but he wasn't holding his breath. The situation in Iraq was very tense at the moment, and leave was pretty much canceled all around. You practically had to be as good as dead to get any leave. Something like a wife in the hospital was not considered a personal emergency right now.

"You think you can pull it off?"

"I'll get on the horn after we canvass the next target," Steve told his buddy.

The target Steve was talking about lay just ahead of them. It was another one of the deserted very small villages. Consisting only of very few houses; one could hardly even call it a village. This one, however, had a slightly bigger, two-story house in the middle of 'town' with about ten smaller houses scattered around it. None of the houses had any windows or doors left. They had encountered hundreds of these deserted 'assortment' of houses on their way through Iraq.

The group spread out, like they had done every time they were to check a possible base for the insurgent group they were after. They moved in closer in the trained formation that proved to be the most successful and safest way to clear the area.

Steve was about fifteen feet from the house standing idly in the middle of town when all hell broke loose. Steve never even saw it coming. There were no warning signs whatsoever. No noises, no movement, no nothing.

An incredible force suddenly slammed into him and threw him almost fifty feet though the air. Smashed him into a wall and buried him under half a ton of rubble.

H50 – H50 – H50

Steve blinked his eyes open, or at least tried to. He wasn't sure they were open; he couldn't see anything but gray dust. There was a huge weight on his chest, and he was having trouble breathing, the air he managed to get into his lungs felt like sandpaper grinding along his trachea. His breathing would have ended in a coughing fit if he'd had the energy to do so.

He tried to listen to any movement around him, or at least to see where he was, but he didn't even manage to lift his head. There was an incredible pain in the back of his head, but after a moment, he realized that the pain was not just in the back, but even worse in the front and left side. His head felt like it was being crushed. Like a belt was around it, and someone was pulling it tighter every second.

His ears were ringing, and he couldn't hear anything but this high-pitched ringing tone. It was driving him up the wall. He couldn't see; he couldn't hear, and he couldn't move. Steve had tried to move his leg, but the pain that caused in his back made him scream. At least he thought he screamed; he was not sure. He was not sure of anything, not even which way was up and which was down. The earth seemed to move around him, or maybe he was moving. The constant shifting made him incredibly nauseous.

Steve tried to remember what had happened, but it seemed that the longer he lay there, the less he could remember. It felt like his memory was slowly slipping out of his head.

He became aware that the gray was becoming darker and that his breathing was labored. It was the last coherent thought he had, the pain in his head was suddenly all consuming. His vision was almost black by now, with a tiny white light in the middle. Is this how it ends? Is there really a light to go to? Steve had held many men in his arms as they died, and he always was amazed that most of them smiled right before they drew their dying breath. He wondered for a second if he was smiling right now.

And just as suddenly the tiny light was blinding, and hurting so incredibly bad. This time he was sure that he screamed. Then there was a terrible jostling and then… nothing.

"Get him out, get him out… LT! STEVE!" Chief Myers pulled with all his might to get his CO out of the rubble. They had to hurry; the unstable pile of debris threatened to collapse any second. If that happened, his lieutenant would be crushed, and they would only be able to dig his body out.

They couldn't believe it when they found a strong pulse when they had dug out his arm. Getting him completely out of the mountain of rubble he was buried under was another thing. One last tug and finally, they had him out, just when there was a crunching noise and the small 'cave' Steve had lain in, gave in.

Myers threw himself protectively over Steve's prone form in the hope to protect him from any more hits. Luckily, nothing but another huge cloud of dust descended on them.

Four men grabbed Steve as best they could and carried him away from the still unstable rubble and behind cover, in case the insurgents who planted the bomb were still nearby to finish the job.

The team's medic got to work right away. Put a C-Collar on, cleared Steve's airways and after realizing what kind of trouble he was having breathing, inserted a tube with an attached ambu bag. The youngest of their group started squeezing the bag, successfully helping Steve get some air into his lungs.

The medic cursed when he saw the blood coming out of both of Steve's ears. That could mean a lot of things, and none of them were good. But his worst suspicion was confirmed when he lifted the left eyelid. A blown pupil greeted him, a clear sign of a serious head injury with possible bleeding inside the skull. And from one second to the other, it was clear that Steve's injuries were life threatening, even though he didn't even look injured. Covered in dust, yes, a few spots of blood on his collar from the ears, but that was it. No broken bones, no blood gushing wounds.

But still, he was in danger of dying on this god-forsaken dust road if he didn't get medical help as soon as possible.

They all breathed a sigh of relief when they heard the unmistakable sound of a nearing helicopter. Steve's ride had arrived.

H50 – H50 – H50

Steve jerked awake with a gasp. The room was spinning, and he lay back down with a groan. Coming up into a sitting position like that was a really dumb idea. It always gave him a severe case of vertigo. He still had trouble changing positions without getting severely dizzy, but doing it fast would cause him to fall flat on his face for sure.

And not even to mention what it did to the pain in his head. On most days, he only had a very mild constant headache, which increased gradually while he was reading or working until it suddenly changed into intense pain from one second to the other. That was usually when he had to stop whatever he was doing and lie down. But moving from horizontal to vertical too fast, the pain shooting through his skull was still overwhelming.

The dream about getting injured always woke him up in this sudden fashion. And always at the point where he blacked out in the dream. Steve knew going back to sleep would cause him to continue dreaming, and that part of the memory was starting to become a nightmare. Living through it almost every night was slowly driving him nuts. He wished for some uninterrupted sleep, just once in a while. But that had not been happening these last few weeks.

Steve threw the covers to the side and looked down at his body in disappointment. He still hoped to wake up to some kind of reaction from that part of his anatomy, but so far it had never happened since he had been injured. Maybe it's a good thing that you're not aroused by those kinds of dreams. Steve told himself with a snort. Actually at this point he wouldn't care much what his body would react to as long as something happened.

He scooted over to the edge of the bed and slowly sat up. It was way too early to start the day, but his bladder didn't care what time of night it was. If he woke up at night, he had to go, no matter how many hours ago he went. He truly hoped that would also get better with time. He wouldn't mind so much if he just were able to get up, do his business and go back to bed. But that was not how his getting up to use the bathroom was going at the moment.

Steve had nothing but respect for all the people who managed to live like this without the hope of getting past it. He 'knew' that he would get back to normal with time and hard work. But knowing that this state or even worse would be how it would be for the rest of one's life? Managing that and still lead a productive and happy life was an achievement one should not underestimate.

And Steve was well aware that he was a lucky one. He could move his legs. He could stand on them; he could use his muscles to help them move. People with 'real' paralysis don't have that luxury. Their lower, or in many cases even their upper body, was dead. And if it was really bad, they were trapped in a useless body but still felt pain from the damaged nerves. So he should really count his blessings and be happy to have control over most of his body.

He knew that, and he had met a few people in therapy who were worse off than he was. But right now, sitting on the edge of the bed, feeling the pain in his legs and back, needing to pee urgently, and not having the energy to get up and do so, he didn't feel very grateful… or lucky.

He pulled his wheelchair over to the side of his bed and put the brakes on. The first time he got out of bed on his own he forgot this important step, and landed in a heap on the floor, with the wheelchair across the room. After that embarrassing experience, he never forgot to use the brakes when he was not moving around in it.

Steve used his left leg to push himself into an almost standing position and settled back down into his wheelchair. A move he had down pat by now. It would be a lot easier if he could use his right leg, but it still refused to obey to his commands. The lack of movement of his stubborn right leg was why he was still so dependent on the wheelchair. On good days the right one was stable enough for him to stand for a few short minutes, but it just wouldn't move. His therapist recommended using a brace for it, but he refused. Steve thought if he did that he would give in to his handicap, and he was not willing to do that. Not yet.

He wheeled to his bathroom, which was almost the most spacious room in the apartment, which made him laugh at first. But he realized very fast that the room he had to maneuver came in handy. Especially for people like him, without much experience. Now he could move his wheelchair practically on the spot and didn't need any extra room, but in the beginning that was very different.

His bathroom was equipped with bars everywhere, but Steve could still only stand with holding on to bars with both hands, but not unaided. So he still had to do his business while sitting down, which he hated. Steve didn't bother to close the door; he seldom did since he was in the wheelchair. Besides he was alone, so why bother?

He still felt a little fuzzy from the painkillers; they hadn't run their course yet, and he couldn't wait to get back to bed. It was time to get moving a bit faster. Hurrying up would be a good idea if he wanted to make it in time. It wouldn't be the first time that he didn't. Thankfully, it only happened a few times at home, and never in public. But even that was bad enough. His neurologist told him that it was perfectly normal, and that he shouldn't worry about it. Yeah, right, he was not the one sitting in wet pants.

After being done with his business and freshened up, he wheeled out to his open kitchen, getting a bottle of water. Getting back into his bed only took a couple of minutes. Lying back down he could feel how his little trip to use the facilities had exhausted him. His back was hurting a little more, and his right leg was trembling again. The involuntary movement caused a deep pain from his toes all the way up to his groin. He couldn't even move his leg to try to ease the deep ache.

He knew of course as soon as he were able to get his leg to move, the pain would lessen considerably. His left leg still hurt on occasion, but moving it helped a lot, and he was hoping it would be the same with his damn stubborn right leg.

Steve lay back and tried to relax, which was not easy with the almost jerking leg. It felt like someone was using electricity to stimulate the muscles. His doctor explained that it was caused by misfiring of his nerves, controlled by bursts his brain sent out. Whatever.

Sometimes he wished his brain would just shut up, but he was not even able not to think. His brain had been in total overdrive ever since he woke up a week after the explosion. And because of that, his body was in constant, mostly painful movement. His brain kept sending out signals to the muscles, and he really wished it wouldn't.

He only had to learn to control his brain again, and everything else would follow. Right. As if that would be so easy. Frustrated, Steve turned onto his stomach and closed his eyes. He was so damn tired, but dreaded sleep a little. He knew as soon as he was deep under his dream would continue.

And he was right; it did.

H50 – H50 – H50