Reconciliation

We are back to the land of dragons. Not too hefty or fire breathing, but more of the nasty creatures that prey on your mind… There isn’t a lot of sex in this story. It’s more of a MindFuck. Hope you enjoy.

Boris arrived at the cabin near dawn. He parked the car under the carport and pulled a tarp over it. In minutes, he was in the house, and began to uncover furniture and fold away the covers. Exhausted, he lay down on the bed and was asleep in moments. The early afternoon sun coming through the window woke him. He got up, grabbed a drink of water and headed outside. He grabbed the ax and headed to the woodpile.

“Thud, swish, Tunk!” Boris listened to the repeated sounds as he worked through the woodpile turning logs into split wood. When there were no logs left, he replaced the maul and picked up the splits and piled them in the shed. He stopped only for water. By the time the sun was ready to set, he had enough wood split for nearly an entire winter. He grabbed an armful of splits and ripped them into kindling with the hatchet. Those he stacked in the firebox.

After replacing the hatchet, he closed the cabin door and started to jog down the road towards the lake. He ran with ease even though he’d barely stopped for anything all day. When he reached the water, he stripped off and began to swim. Half a mile out was a rock that stuck up out of the water. He reached it, turned and swam back. He did five laps. Dressing, he jogged back to the cabin.

Lighting the lantern, Boris made himself a dinner of crackers, hard salami and water. He’d seen the bottle of Scotch in the cupboard, but ignored it. He cleaned up his dinner crumbs and then began to clean the cabin. He scrubbed windows, dusted, swept and mopped. As dawn began to break once more, he had just finished making the bed. He grabbed more salami and water. He’d eaten all the crackers. Sitting on the ground outside, he watched the sun work its way up the mountain. He sat.

For the first time in hours, he let himself think. In his mind he played over the scene all those years ago when he rescued James the first time. He walked himself through the battle.

Gunshots. Running towards the guards. Slice. One down. Slice. Second one dead. Carried the corpse through the door as a shield. Felt the thud of the bullets as they were stopped by the corpse. Dropping the corpse as the guns clicked empty, he saw James, his friend, his brother with a gun held to his head by that Ukrainian bitch.

“Drop the weapon, he said.

“Drop yours,” she answered.

“I ask you first,” said Borys.

He saw her wrist relax for a fraction of a second and fired his gun catching her in the chest. The impact threw her back against the wall. She dropped like a stone. He cut James free and carried him out.

“Should have double tapped that bitch!” he cried to the pines. Boris went back to his memories.

James standing in the parking lot of the hospital crying. Asking for Borys to give him a gun. Borys refusing and driving to Lord Duncan’s.

“Wait here,” Borys told James. James nodded.

Borys locked the doors and headed for he front of the mansion. How he loved this place and yet loathed it as only someone could who had served here. He rang the bell and waited. When it was answered by a pretty young thing, he simply handed her a card with two words on it. Borys Chunko. She took the card, leaving him on the doorstep. A few moments later, Lord Duncan stood at the door.

“Welcome Borys, I’ve missed you. Come in,” said Lord Duncan.

“Neyt. I have man who needs your help. I’m asking favor,” said Borys.

“Oh. Just one?” asked Lord Duncan. He smiled and leaned against the door.

“Stop. Would not have come if any choice,” said Borys.

“We are so serious. Did something go wrong?” asked Lord Duncan.

“Da. Take this,” he said handing a packet containing pound notes to Lord Duncan.

Lord Duncan looked at the amount and nodded. “Bring him in.”

Borys turned, got James and handed him over to Lord Duncan. “You have questions, answers are in his head or in letter. Call when it over.”

“Of course Borys. Do you need any help?” asked Lord Duncan.

“Nyet,” he said and turned on his heel and left.

Boris stood up, walked to the cabin and pulled out the bottle of Scotch and a glass. He poured himself a shot and drank it down. It still hurt that he’d had to leave a friend, albeit a broken one in the hands of Lord Duncan. He took another shot. He knew that in order to heal, that Lord Duncan would break him and then rebuild him. Not a pretty thing. Not a good thing, just necessary. Just as it had been for him all those years ago. Boris drank another shot. He walked out to the yard and sat down again. He brought the bottle with him.

SERE training had been ugly, but necessary. Language school had been a breeze. People forgot he was American. His first assignment had been brutal, but okay. So were the next ten. Then the nightmares started. He didn’t want to wash out of his unit, so he began to drink. David learned he could drink most of his fellow soldiers under the table. He was putting away a liter of whiskey a night when it was bad. During the day he was a cool, calm killing machine. He could run all night, fight, clear the objectives and run home. Once he was off duty, he was a surly bastard that everyone soon learned to stay clear of once he started drinking.

His commander called him on the carpet for his drinking and gave him two choices. Sober up or ship out. David chose to sober up. This made him an even meaner bastard. Deadly, professional, and brutal. During an assignment deep in that no man’s land between Serbia and Bulgaria, he slipped up and was captured. It took three days for the British team to rescue him and the other members of his team. Two didn’t make it out alive. David wasn’t sure he wanted to live.

The physical scars healed quickly. It was the mental ones that were rotting his brain. He’d walked out into a field and was ready to blow his brains out when a voice behind him commanded him to stop. SAS Lt.Colonel Duncan spoke to him in a voice that was neither harsh nor loud, but drilled into his soul. He lowered the gun.

Boris reached for the bottle to find that it was empty. He stood, walked to the cabin and threw the bottle in the trash. His head spun. He felt hot, sweaty and then threw up against the outside wall of the cabin. When he was finished, he fell across the bed into a deep dreamless sleep.

6 thoughts on “Reconciliation

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