//------------------------------// // An Afghan Alley // Story: Steve and Scoots // by gmen15 //------------------------------// [A/N] Just a heads up to all readers, I am not in the army or any division of the armed forces. So if I butcher anything army-related please let me know. Otherwise, I hope you enjoy the story :) And another thanks to RainbowdashEpicness for the help in editing this story. *********************************************************************************************************************************** Chapter 1- An Afghan Alley Sand; that’s all that there was out here in the Afghani desert, fucking sand. My eyes scanned the landscape, barren, as it might have been, with the hope of finding something that would make this place seem alive. Save for the occasional village of course, which usually had more of a reputation for taking lives rather than preserving it. My breath fogged up the window of the truck I sat in as I stared outside. My head began to itch from the dryness that serving in the Middle East created. I began to claw at the top of my head, moving my thick helmet slightly so I could scratch my scalp. I then put my hand back down onto my M4 Carbine, as it lay across my sweat-covered lap. I licked my lips, dry as my scalp, and turned to see Charlie looking out of the window on his side of the vehicle, biting his nails and muttering to himself. Knowing him, I guessed that it was a prayer of some kind. Charlie was always into that stuff, seeming to find some hope in his prayers, thinking that maybe someone up above would listen to him and protect us, though I wasn’t so sure. After all, he’s been praying since we’ve been here and more than one of our close friends has had their lives taken in some of the most brutal ways imaginable. I still remember the day that Vincent, a guy that Charlie and I were close friends with, had been unfortunately close to a car that some crazy bastard equipped with a bomb. Not only that, but the vehicle was later revealed to have a box of sharp, silver knives within it, which explained the numerous civilians and soldiers who had been killed by the flying blades as they were shot off in every direction. Vincent had a knife in his jugular; the poor bastard was still alive when Charlie, I, as well as the rest of our team, reached him. Our medic, Brad, began to press gauze to the wound, whispering comforting words to Vincent, though even he wasn’t fool enough to think that he’d survive such a wound. Nevertheless, Charlie, as he did everything that Brad told him to do, continued to pray to God to spare Vincent’s life, to let him get back home to his mother, who already had the pain of losing her husband to cancer the pervious month. Charlie closed his eyes and prayed as hard as he could for our friend’s life. Everyone else was whispering words of reassurance to Vincent as he took his last breath. His eyes closed as the blood continued to soak through the gauze and stain his camouflaged military uniform. To say that was a horrible day would have been the understatement of the millennium. But it wasn’t the worst, at least for me. I loved Vincent like a brother, being in the same unit usually meant that everybody there thought of each other as family. We faced death together, we survived together, and some of us even died together. But there was one day that topped that about three months after Vincent took his last gasp of the air, most likely taking in his fair share of sand as it blew around him, and died in the middle of that tiny Afghan town. As my memory of that day with Vincent flooded back into my mind while I sat in the vehicle, I looked down at the purple band that went around my bicep. On the band was the face of a cartoon pony, smiling with big, pure, purple eyes. As I looked into her innocent face, I was reminded of them. I was reminded of my family. I remembered my wife, Carol, and our beautiful daughter, Amy. Amy was the sweetest, most expressive and intelligent daughter a father could ever ask for. I remembered the days I watched her play soccer while I was on reprieve from duty for a month or two, and being in awe of her skills. Her raw talent and ability to completely fake out each and every defender as she made her way down the field. She wanted to be the best she could be in soccer. She was determined to make a name for herself, to lift herself up to the level of the players and other people she saw as heroes. That’s why I wear a band with the picture of the orange pony on it. Scootaloo. Amy had gotten into My Little Pony back in 2010. She was always the tomboy type and hated My Little Pony up until that point, only watching it when she heard her friends talking about it at school. As soon as she started to watch the show, it was all she could ever talk about. Well, that and soccer. Because of her obsession with the show, I decided to watch some episodes with her, as a little “father-daughter time” before I had to go back overseas. I wouldn’t be back for another few months, my break being relatively long compared to others I’ve had, so I told her that we could do anything she wanted before I left. She chose watch the show, and I didn’t fight her. After all, it was what she wanted, and I wouldn’t be seeing her all that often anyway. I didn’t realize how much I’d get into it, though. Maybe it was the great animation, or the quirky storylines. Maybe it was the great characters, or maybe it was just because of my need to watch something wholesome and innocent after seeing so much death and destruction in my relatively short thirty-five years of life. Or maybe it was because it made me feel closer to my daughter. No matter what the reason was, I was hooked, and for the rest of my time home with Amy and Carol, I watched episode after episode, until we had caught up and had finished the end of the first season by the time I had to go back. Amy loved Rainbow Dash; she always talked about her like she was some sort of goddess. It reminded me of how she seemed to look up to players on the U.S. women’s’ national team, such as Hope Solo and Abby Wambach. Hell, it reminded me of how she seemed to look up to Cherry Reese, the star high school soccer player from the town we lived in who was going to UCLA that fall. This led to me calling her “Scootaloo” and “Scoots’, something that annoyed her, but I personally loved. I mean, come on, she was just like Scootaloo. The little orange filly worshiped Rainbow Dash like Amy did, not to mention both Amy and Scootaloo were very tomboyish and always determined to achieve greatness no matter the cost. This continued until I had to go back to Afghanistan in May of 2011. I said my tearful good-bye to Amy and hugged her tight while Carol covered her mouth, letting out small sobs as she tired to keep herself from breaking down in front of Amy. Once we broke the hug, Amy and I looked at each other. I managed to hold back my tears for Amy, but she wasn’t holding anything back and just kept sobbing. “I don’t want you to go back there daddy.” “I have to sweetie.” I muttered back. “But…but what if something bad happens to you?” Amy whimpered. I shook my head, “Nothing bad will happen, I’ll be back home faster than you can blink your eyes.” Amy quickly wrapped her arms around me in another hug, which I returned almost instantly. I could feel as tears began to fall from her eyes and land onto the fabric of my shirt. She pulled back and reached into the pocket of the jeans she was wearing. When her hand came out, I saw what appeared to be a purple armband, about an inch in width, and a familiar orange face on it. She handed it to me and I looked down into the face of Scootaloo, which was smiling back up at me. “So you’ll think about me.” Amy said with a smile, though the tears continued to flow down her cheeks. I looked up at her and put both of my hands onto the sides of her face and smiled, “I would never forget you sweetie.” With that, I leaned in and kissed her on the forehead. I then stood back up, Amy reaching up as if she wanted me to stay down with her, hugging her without ever letting go. I turned to Carol, who was crying herself. I gave her a big hug as she kissed the side of my face. I heard her whisper into my ear, “Please don’t break that promise you made to Amy; when you do come back, don’t let it be in a body bag.” “It won’t be.” I said as we broke off and kissed on the lips. Normally Amy would find this repulsive, but whenever she saw Carol and I do it before my deployment it would only make her cry harder, and wish that this usually “mushy-gushy” kiss could last forever. I waved to them as I walked down the long, grey tunnel that led to the plane. The lights on the ceiling, as well as the sunlight that crept through the small spaces in the tunnel, managed to give the walk some hint of optimism, even if I was heading to war. I got onto the plane and sat down with some other soldiers, most of who were in different units. Charlie, who happened to live in the same city that I did, hence why were got along so well, was in my regiment, and we had become best friends since serving. I took my seat next to him and buckled the seat belt as I continued to look down at the band that Amy had given me. Charlie looked over and chuckled, “Dude, what’s up with the pony band?” “Amy gave it to me.” I answered as I continued to look down at it. I sighed as the thoughts of Amy flashed into my mind. I kissed Scootaloo’s face on band for good luck and pulled it over my right arm so that the orange pony’s face was pressed against Charlie’s side. It may have been hidden now, but once I got off of the plane and entered the desert; everyone would see her face on my arm. I didn’t give a shit what others thought; all I knew was that it made me feel closer to my daughter. My daughter that I knew I’d be separated from for a long while. But I never expected “a long while” to translate into “forever”. About four months later I was laying in my quarters, tossing a football up and listening to music on my iPod. I had gotten some songs from ‘My Little Pony” that I would often listen to after a hard day. It always managed to cheer me up no matter what horrible turn of events had happened. After Vincent was killed, I listened to “Winter Wrap Up” until my emotions began to settle down. I was still miserable, but the sadness was more bearable with the cheery songs playing. I listened to “At the Gala” after a young boy was used as a living bomb. An explosive was strapped to his chest and detonated in the middle of a small town square when the EOD team couldn’t reach him in time. It was like a scene out of “The Hurt Locker” But there was one time nothing, not even the cheery faces of colorful ponies or the optimistic songs that they sang, could cheer me up. I remembered the day he was at the base, laying on his cot while tossing a small football up into the air playfully, boredom having driven me to find the most repetitive task exciting. The flap to my tent had opened and I initially thought that it was Charlie, who went out to grab some of the guys and bring them to our tent for our nightly game of poker. Instead, I was greeted by the sight of Captain Will Shore, the head of my unit, and two other soldiers, walking into our tent with the most somber faces I could imagine. Regardless, I treated it like any other time when Captain Shore was in my presence. I hopped off of the bed and gave him a quick salute. Once I did this, he let out a deep sigh and nodded, “At ease Private.” I nodded and kept looking at Captain Shore as he made his way over to me. He placed his hand onto my shoulder, “Private Clint, I’m very sorry that I have to be the one to report this horrible news to you.” I raised my eyebrow, “Horrible news sir?” The sad look in the captain’s eyes, a look I never saw on his face unless one of our men had been killed, and even then he usually would mask his true sorrow for the sake of the dead, believing that it was more respectful to be strong for those killed in action, rather than let oneself be reduced to a blithering mess. “It’s your wife and daughter.” He said. My heart froze, and I could feel the blood drain from my face. It’s a strange feeling; the moment before you knew some terrible news was about to be laid on you. I I wanted to run, I wanted to cover my ears with my hands, hell I wanted to plug in my earphones and listen to music! Instead, I stayed still and squeaked out a question. “What…what about them?” I asked this, but in my gut I already knew the answer. “There was a car accident yesterday, some drunk teenager went down the wrong side of the road and hit a Ford.” Captain Shore responded. Carol drove a Ford, a blue Taurus sedan with a cracked, right headlight. Captain Shore continued, “The teen survived, but the people in the other car…they weren’t so lucky…” I shook my head as Captain Shore put his hand onto my shoulder and looked into my eyes, knowing that I realized what had happened. “I’m sorry, Steve. But your wife and daughter are dead.” Anytime the captain called us by only our first names, you knew that he felt your pain, and this time was no different. However, I still doubted he could feel the exact pain that I felt at hearing those words. My stomach turned and clenched, I bit my lip as I tried to hold back my tears; keeping strong in front of the captain. But I knew that my eyes, which were now red and watering, had betrayed me. I nodded before I took a step back and sat onto my bed, burying my face in my hands to hide my tears. Captain Shore and the other two privates left the room as I cried, tears making their way through the spaces between my fingers and landing on the ground at my feet. When Charlie and the others came by, they all heard the bad news and tried to console me, but eventually realized that it was best to leave me be and play poker in Butch and Davis’ tent. Charlie offered to stay, but I waved him off and told him to go play poker with the others. He insisted until I told him that I did appreciate how he was there for me, but I preferred to be left alone. He nodded and left me alone. For the next few nights, I did everything I could to cheer myself up, but to no avail. I listened to more songs from “My Little Pony” and even watched some of the episodes I had with Amy, but all that did was make me more miserable. The knowledge that only a few months before I had enjoyed the show with my now deceased daughter, who happened to remind me of one of the characters, made the songs like a dagger to not just my heart, but to my soul. As the months passed, I became more reckless. I did everything I could to stay in the battlefield, including trying to give up my space to go home to someone else, so that they could enjoy more time with their own families. People who cared about them, something I didn’t have waiting for me anymore. Captain Shore refused and forced me to go home, thinking that it would help me get through the pain if I was able to be away from the hectic nature of the war. But all it did was remind me of it. Amy’s now empty room, filled with merchandise from “My Little Pony”, little figurines of Rainbow Dash and her friends scattered all over her room. But mostly I saw the cyan pegasus, Amy’s favorite character, and the occasional Scootaloo figurine that I bought for her as a joke. She was initially annoyed, but a pony figurine was a pony figurine, and she did like Scootaloo. The pictures of all three of us that hung around the house, Amy’s soccer uniform that was in the hamper, apparently waiting to be washed before the accident. Was Carol taking her out for ice cream after her game when it happened? Did Amy stop by home to shower and then leave with excitement as she thought that Carol and her would just grab some ice cream for a game well played? These questions made me cry more, and soon I was calling the army, begging to get sent back early. Eventually, they caved in and upon arrival to the plane to be sent off, they just looked at my like I was some kind of loon. Who can blame them; I mean how many soldiers begged to go back to war? It’s now summer 2012, and I have been on tour for four months now. My shifts were different; usually I was away from home for six to seven months at a time. Sometimes the duration was longer, and other times it was shorter. Either way, I no longer dreaded war, and actually looked at it as my sole reason for living. Instead, I dreaded going home to my empty house, a house that only served as a reminded of the life I had lost. I even considered moving out at a point, but the hassle of packing and unpacking, I just wasn’t up for it. I spent my entire time in Afghanistan worrying about my own safety, worried that I wouldn’t be able to make any more of Amy’s soccer games, that I’d miss her graduation, that I’d miss her grow up into the beautiful woman that I knew she’d be. I never knew that I’d be the one alive, and they’d be gone. Now, I’m a shell of a man. My main goal in life is to make sure my comrades in arms make it home to their own families, no matter the cost to me. I have run into gunfire to save them, I have done crazy things that no man with something to live for would ever consider doing. But I wasn’t one of those men. I had nothing and I knew that I had friends that had everything. Friends who died beside me and had to be send home to their families in a black box with a folded flag draped over it. Why should they die and I live when I have nothing to live for, and they have something? That was my creed, and anytime I felt fear build up within me, I’d look at the little, smiling face of Scootaloo that was on my armband and think about Amy. Think about all the other soldiers’ kids who could be fatherless if I didn’t step up to protect them. “Hey, we’re here!” My mind came back to reality when I felt Charlie tap me on the shoulder. I looked over towards him as he pointed out of the car. “Looks like they weren’t kidding, this place is a fucking crater.” “Great, another confirmed homicide bombing.” I thought with a groan as I got out of the Hummer, my gun in my hands and ready to be fired at a moments notice. “Just more death I guess, nothing new here.” I exited the Hummer and immediately felt the blazing desert sun radiate off of my exposed skin as I stepped into the Afghan afternoon. I took a deep breath in and surveyed the area. Save for the tiny, run-down town, it was desolate. I could hear screams and cries coming from the front of the convoy. I saw Captain Shore exit the Hummer that was in front of us. Our caravan had four trucks, and two Strykers, one in the front of the line and one in the back. Captain Shore motioned for us to come forward. Charlie and I walked on to join the captain, as well as the other members of our unit. Butch, Davis, Chris and Ben were the four that hopped out of the hummer that was behind the one Charlie and I had been in. Brad, our medic, got out of the hummer that we were in and followed us to the front. We could see that other units had arrived to clear the area, including an EOD team that was busy checking around, making sure there were no other bombs that were planted. It wouldn’t be the first time a primary explosion had been used before a second one went off, killing those who stopped by to clean the mess left by the first one. As we got closer, we also noticed the smoke that billowed up into the air, making the otherwise bright day much more gloomy and grim. The smell of charred flesh and fuel of some kind, most likely used as a means of detonation, filled the air and made all of us start to gag as we reached the captain. I even had to use my shirt collar as a makeshift mask when the air quality became almost un-breathable. “Gentlemen, we are here to survey the area and make sure there are no other bombs or threats around. Understood?” We all gave him a “yes, sir” before he gave us the areas he wanted us to go to. Charlie, Brad, Davis and I went to one area, while Butch, Chris, Ben and Captain Shore went to another. And I was finally able to pull my shirt collar down and get some air as my nostrils got used to the slightly more smoky air. Our main assignment was to keep an eye out for anybody who could pose a threat. We reached an area that was relatively close to the site of the explosion; the walls of the surrounding buildings were charred black. As I pressed my hand against the wall, I could feel the grime on my glove. My observation was confirmed when I looked down at my gloved hand and saw the black from the building had made its new home on it. “So what are we supposed to do exactly?” Davis asked. “Don’t you ever listen to the Captain Davis? We’re supposed to survey the area to see if we find any other bombs or insurgents.” Charlie answered as he turned to me, “right Steve?” “Huh?” I asked, looking up from my blackened hand before I nodded, “Oh yeah. He said that.” “Dude, we’re in a warzone. Stop looking at your God-damned hand and be vigilant.” Brad muttered, “I don’t really want to have to piece you back together because you were too busy admiring your gloves.” This earned a laugh from Davis and Charlie, though I just gave a small smile. I haven’t laughed in months, and wasn’t going to start here, in a small down that had been bombed only a little while before. No, this was no time for fun and games; it was time to get work done. “Let’s check out the alley.” I suggested, pointing to a small alley in-between the two buildings that were right near the site of the explosion. “No man, it’s too risky.” Charlie answered, “Besides, if there’s a bomb, it’s more likely to be in the street than an alley.” “But a person could be hiding there.” I said quietly, looking down the alley with a new goal. To search it. "Yeah, I'll check it out." “All right, but I’m coming with you.” Charlie said but I held up my hand. “No, you stay here. I’ll only be a minute.” “Steve, I won’t let you keep playing a cowboy wannabe.” Charlie growled, “Let me come with you.” I shook my head and pushed by him, “I’ll scream if I get shot at, you stay here.” I could hear Charlie’s call out to me as I crept down the dark alley, my gun held up, finger on the trigger as I was ready to fire at anything that got in my way. I continued down, the light growing more and more faint and the smell of smoke somehow increasing. Maybe it was the grime on the building? Maybe it was the narrow space that had somehow trapped the smoke? Either way, I felt myself start to cough a little. I had to pull my shirt over my nose to make it easier to breath before continuing. I stopped and looked around, eyes peeled for anything that stood out as dangerous. Nothing did. I sighed and turned to leave the alley when I heard a small cough. I quickly turned around and pointed my gun at the direction of the cough, which happened to come from behind a battered, black dumpster that was pressed to the right side of the alley. “Whose there!?!” I ordered, feeling my hands start to shake as I held firmly onto the gun. There was a brief silence before I heard another cough, followed by a young girl’s voice. “P-Please…please don’t hurt me.” My eyes went wide and I lowered my gun slightly. A girl? Not just any girl, but an American. Or at least I thought it was an American. It had an American accent rather than a local one. She also spoke English and sounded like she was about twelve to thirteen years old, close to the same age as Amy. “I’m…I’m scared.” The girl whimpered. It was now clear that she was crying. “I don’t know where I am.” “You’re in an alley.” I said like an idiot. Of course she knew that she was in an alley, she was a kid, not an idiot. “I know…I ran in here when I heard that scary noise!” “Scary noise? The bomb? Had she been around when the shop exploded and took cover in an alley? Poor kid.” I thought before responding. “Well, the noise is gone, the bomb’s already detonated. It’s safe to come out now.” I heard the little girl sniffle. I could see a shadow of a head peak around the corner of the dumpster. I still couldn’t make out her face, but she could now see me, and my gun. “Can you put…that…thing down?” she asked, waving what I assumed to be her hand at me, though it looked strange. I didn’t see any fingers. I wondered if they had maybe been blown off in the explosion, or if she had her fist clenched as she waved. “Yeah…okay…” I said as I slowly lowered my gun. Sure it was probably a stupid thing to do, but so was go into the ally and force the others to stay outside for their own safety. Plus, I didn’t want to scare the poor girl anymore than I already had. “It’s down…my gun is down. It’s safe to come out.” She slowly made her way out from behind the dumpster, her body first hidden by the shadows, but I could tell one thing immediately. She didn’t look human. I suddenly got nervous, my heart beating faster and faster as she came closer to me. Once she left the shadow, and I could see her, I could feel my jaw drop. There, standing in the shadows about three feet in front of me, was a very sad and scared looking cartoon pony. But it wasn’t just any pony; it was the same little pegasus filly that I was currently wearing on my shoulder, the one with the innocent purple eyes that were now watery. She looked up at me and sniffled a little before she ran over to my legs and hugged them tight, sobbing into my pants. She was small, but not as small as I had expected. If she stood on her back hooves, she’d be about the size of a human baby. I was baffled, how could something like this be possible. And why was she so trusting of me when I had a gun moments before? My guess was that she was scared, and now was just happy to have someone to cry on. I didn’t know how to react; I mean how many times does someone find a cartoon character in our reality? So I did the first thing that came to mind, I bent down and got to her eye-level. She looked up at me and I let out a sigh. Seeing this sweet little filly cry was honestly one of the most heart-wrenching things I’ve ever seen in my life. “It’s okay…” I whispered to her as I patted her on the head. Scootaloo nodded and looked up at me before asking, “T-thanks mister. W-What’s…what’s your name?” I smiled back at her, trying to make her feel better about the situation that she was in, “My name is Private Steven Clint, you can call me Steve though. I know my whole title can be quite a mouthful.” She wiped her tears away and looked back up at me, “I’m Sc-Scootaloo.” I nodded and decided not to tell her about anything yet. She had clearly been though enough, and learning that she was a character on a television show would most likely cause her to be even more scared. Suddenly, she pressed her face against my chest, as she could now reach it since I was squatting, and cried. All I could to was rub her back. I looked down to see that she seemed physically unhurt, even her little wings seemed to be fine, tucked up at her sides. But I knew she was miserable, and as if to solidify this idea, she whimpered out one sentence. “I want to go home.”