Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Authors Note: This story will be updated every Tuesday evening GMT
Authors Note: This story will involve scenes of self harm, self abuse, graphic violence and lemons. This story is a trigger and may cause panics to those that are sensitive to these areas. Though this is a fanfiction, it still draws on real life events
Putting the last of my clothes into my holdall on the bed, I glanced around the small room to make sure I had everything I needed pack and ready and for a change, I had. Usually I would forget something and then have to wait for the weekend to be over before I could retrieve it.
But now as I raked my hand through my short brown hair and puffing out my cheeks. This was not just a weekend at home after a long week training and being on my guard. This was the start of my pre-tour leave.
In two weeks time this division, the sixteen Air Assault Brigade and the second battalion of the Parachute Regiment were being deployed to Afghanistan for a nine month tour and since I am part of this regiment, I am heading out there with the rest of the hundred and five guys.
This wasn't my first deployment. I have served in Korea twice and Iraq once. This will be my third tour of Afghanistan, within the last ten years. But with each tour. Things never get easier. We lose men, we lose friends, colleagues, family and yet we still get up every day and serve our country.
I have worked my backside off since I enlisted with the Armed Forces ten years ago. I was eighteen years old and since that day I have worked my backside off for Queen, Country and Flag. To serve and protect and even though you wonder why you do such a job like this. When you see members of your own battalion's get killed, you do question your own motives. But I wouldn't change this. Not for anything and so I planned on enjoying the next two weeks of freedom back home in Wales, with my friends and family, because after all, for all I know, I could come home in a box.
A sly smirk appeared on my lips, at the mere thought of my own sick humour about death. But it was something you got used to. When you fought so hard to keep your country free from terrorism, to keep the people you love free from harm. You would put your own life on the line to do so. I had a very misspent youth. I was not a nice person when I was a kid. That is why I enlisted, to put myself on the straight and narrow and become a better person. The army had shaped me into that person and for that, I owe them my life.
Shoving my maroon beret into my back pocket, that embroiled the silver parachute wings to set us out from the rest. We were the battalion that was ready for anything and I was proud of that. I had worked hard to join this battalion, after being based in Catterick Garrison for so long. My trail of thought was soon interrupted as a knock came at my open dorm door.
'Yo Masen, the coach is here' my head looked up to see Chris stood before me. He was a Lance Corporal here. Even though we were known as the Airborne Infantry sector of the Army, the guys who stood on the front line and could and would be deployed with twenty-four hours notice. We all had other jobs to do within the battalion. Chris worked along side me, in Electrical and Radio engineering, we were the ones who designed, laid down and made the electricity and phone lines work when out on deployments.
'I am driving home' I smiled over at him, as I zipped my bag up and threw it over my shoulder. I had a three hour drive home from Colchester to Newport in Wales, but it was worth it. It gave me chance to unwind before I got home and meet the welcoming committee that was always waiting for me when I was going or coming home from deployments.
'Lucky you' he chuckled 'Well see you in two weeks man' and before I could reply Chris had disappeared down the corridor. Heading for the door, I glanced out of the window and down at the main car park. All the single men were lined up in their army DPM's ready to get on the coach and head to the train station's or airport, to make their way home. A few of them were married and so lived on the base, so they didn't have to go far and then there were a few like me. Who preferred to drive.
I was quite lucky that I could do as I wished. I didn't have a girlfriend or wife to worry about. To burden their fears of what they are going through back home, while we are fighting a war that was not win-able, but we could find away to control it. It wasn't that I didn't want a girlfriend, I just chose not to at present. Even if I was twenty-eight and my mother would continually nag me to settle down at least.
So shaking my head now of the thoughts as I headed from my room and locking the door behind me, I headed from the building. Giving everyone the final goodbyes and small idle chit chat, I headed towards my old and slightly beat up black Ford Focus. It was not the glamorous of cars. But it got me home every weekend and back again. I didn't need to use it other wise.
Opening the boot and throwing my bag into the back, before slamming it shut and walking around to the drivers side. There was another reason why I preferred to drive rather than take the train, or a plane back home. We had to leave the base in our army greens, it was a rule of the paratroopers, so when turning up in public places heads turned to look at us, voices turning into sniggered whispered or hushed silences.
We were killers after all. Even our home country believed that. Many respected what we did, but there were those that didn't. But they were misinformed by the media, the news, newspapers. The media only reported the bad things of war, the bad we did, and never the good. The public's true insight to what was really going on out there was clouded and that did more harm to us than good. They called us murderers, killers. But they truly never understood us, our jobs and the reason we put our lives on the line and fought to our deaths.
I would be lying if I said I haven't shot at, and killed someone in the line of duty. But we had been trained to not pull the trigger unless we were shot at first and that is what happened. I was crack shot, one of the highest marksmen in this battalion. But after ten years in the service, it was bound to happen and each one has plagued me and haunted me, but I never let it effect me once I was out on the front line.
I would die in the name of freedom, in the name of the Queen, in the name of the Flag, if I was asked to and every day I put my life on the line for one simple reason, I want to make sure that my family and my descendants remain free and be able to have the freedom of speech. But like everyone else who had chosen to honour, respect, obey and defend their country, I would give my last breath and go down fighting.
Getting into the car and starting the engine and pulling my beret from my back pocket and throwing it onto the passengers seat. I backed from my usual parking space and drove to the barrier. Pulling my swipe card from the over head sun shade and putting it into the barrier machine, before it all but spat it back out at me.
I took it and put it between my teeth as the long white barrier went up and I pulled from the barracks and onto the streets of Colchester. Heading for home and if truth be told. I was actually looking forward it, not having to think about what was happening in two weeks.