The silver tiger Ch 3:
"..We are such stuff/as dreams are made on/and our little life/ is rounded with a sleep…"
The Magician Prospero.
In: "The tempest" .
By William Shakespeare.
Where is that the dreams end and real life begins? He doesn't know… and neither do I. Enjoy your dreams !!! .
Dolphinsiren.
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Chapter 3:
January 15, 1991- Dessert Storm- morning of the second day. Some place near the West Coast of Kuwait.
The worst is not the increasing heat, neither the thirst … not even his pain. He can resist them all quite well. He is trained to put aside physical as well as psychological pain. He is able to bury them in a dark deep corner of his mind and continue his mission.
The worst is the LIGHT….
Light that shines, blinding him mercilessly and his sore eyes after one night wearing the infra red goggle.
Light that cause tears from his eyes, each photon piercing fiercely to his brain.
Minutes, hours, centuries of light. He grits his teeth and feels the sand crunching into his dry mouth. His gun fells more and more heavy, digging his shoulder. He changed its position as he walks, take a glance at his commanding officer… who, as each one in the little group is wondering, where in hell the damn it helicopter is? Which is supposed to take them out from the heated hell?
They had been separated from their Unit fifteen hours ago, after a short combat that had caused two casualties. They should have been evacuated by the air support or by the nearest tank unit division. "Where are they...?"
He sighs and looks at the shinning blue sky.... dark spots fly around following them...watching them, just waiting. He looks at the vultures with hate, knowing that the smell of blood attracts the damn birds … yeah… the dried blood on his clothes, the smell and sight of the two bodies they are carrying … "no one is left behind"…
He can smell the blood himself… like the dark butcher birds do. His own blood, the blood of his brother in arms…his friends.
Good God ! If they are extracted on time, they could still be alive.…
But war is war, even the vultures know it. They will come soon... hundreds of them, sprinkling in dark of the white the burning sand… squeaking ... just waiting.
A flashlight.....
It's a dream.
Now he knows. Just a dream.
The same nightmare, over and over again…
It's a dream…
He is going to be awake in his basement… under his boat , nestled under her skeleton of amorously sanded wood guarding him… protecting him.
Just a dream. He knows it.
" Now… I'm sure… it is just a nightmare, Jethro"… .
The squeaks increase in frequency and tone; acquire rhythm and intensity. The increasing intensity of the chopper's rotors approaching them from the sky… is a friendly one. He recognizes the sound.
But... it wasn't just a dream... Jethro?
The same repeated nightmare?
The same repeated and damned dream?
IS NOT the same because.....
Now... all is silence.
His eyes opens to the sky… blue in blue.
He is alone in the middle of the silent land.
Under the shining sky.
And seconds go by….one by one.
His weak heartbeats are the only sound under the sky… into the light…
And the silence is all over around him.
Suddenly, the scenery changes,
There is a warm breeze in his ears coming along with a smooth murmur… a well known and rhythmic murmur … attracting him, cradling his feelings of abandon and solitude … caressing his loneliness…
He permits himself to be attracted … runs to the top of the next dune and there at his feet it is:
THE SEA.
Slow waves break in white foamy surface under the sunlight.
He walks along the waterline, the sand gives out, under the thick sole of his combat boots and his footprints are filled with salt water as soon as he walks …
A little crab, spotted in yellow and blue, flees as fast as possible and enters its hole keeping the funny protruding eyes over him as it runs.
He falls down over his knees and sinks his hands in the water ... washing out the dried blood with the fresh liquid… bliss …
Then, wets his face feeling the stings of the salt brushing his sore wounded skin
It's a vivid sensation: pungent and alive it's REAL.
It's not a dream...
It's reality.
A very well known laugh from his back makes him jump on his feet.
In confused disbelieve he blinks focusing in the amazing features in front of him…
His heart beats powerful and strong, miraculously recover from his sadness and pain.
AND THERE SHE IS.
She is real.
His angel
Smiling to him... her beautiful bare feet on sand, the dark brown hair lighted with red streaks from the sun, undulates over her shoulders captive into the warm breeze.
Her skirt, made of thin pink chiffon snakes around her tanned legs, her beautiful slender but strong legs splashed with seawater and foam…
He couldn't help to be attracted to the sight ... he walks slowly ,closer to her... he approaches until the wide shadow of his own body covers her entirely being. And she just looks at him smiling with certainty and trust of who is truly loved.
IT IS NOT A DREAM. IT IS REAL.
" REAL!" … shouts his body, resurging untouched from the exhaustion and pain.
" REAL! " … shouts his brain, coming with new hopes from the loneliness and disillusion, and from this old and so well hidden pain that brings to his night dreaming the loved voices and faces of which he isn't going to see in life again, just to be awake every day knowing that they are lost forever while he lives on earth.
But now… the only thing that is real… is his angel.…
Her skin is so smooth under his rough hands
Her wet lips so tempting
Her hair so fragrant
As he always had imaged and more…so much more.
Only reality is so strong... so real
.
Her slender and smooth body, leaning over his chest, diving into his embrace, is real…
Her wet and pink mouth opening for him, is real
Her small hands sliding around his neck, into his hair… are real….
The urge of his want is real... out of the time… real forever.
He needs her.
Imperiously…right here, right now.
He embraces her , impetuous , almost rude... crushing her thin but strong body against him with no care and she yields in… pleasing him like a sail answering the wind , guiding his ship to the open see..
HE IS ALIVE.
HE IS FREE.
Her eyes wrap him into dark velvet … calming his sore eyes with her smooth caressing …
Her mouth opens to him warm and wet… a promise of the next coming total union of their bodies
He can round her thin waist just with his span of arms as he had always known that would be. The sudden movement makes the strap of her dress slipped down her shoulder, exposing a triangle of milky skin, and emerging proudly from the smooth roundness is the delicate dark pink of the nipple, hard and firm in his calloused palm.
He is almost crying from the intensity of his want… and falls down over his knees, dragging her… decided to make her pleasant body lie down over the sand at the edge of the murmuring waves.
A shadow.
In the limit of his vision
An alarm ring sounds in his trained mind.
Even before he could feel its weight, sees the hand making prey on his shoulder, strong, fast and furtive.
The steel blade is just a shine under the sunlight, and he reacts instantly. Years of practice make it as easy and effective as breathing.
The force of his defensive twist brings him to fall down over the sand on top of his enemy, pinning him against the wet sand under his weight, the soldier trashes his dark head side to side helpless, his armed hand trapped under his own body in a painful angle.
Ducky's voice sounds vivid … echoing in his mind: ___ "Marines kill with bare hands" …
He makes prey on the skull and mandible with expertise handling. Now he is going to hear the crushing sound from his vertebrae and… that'll be the end.
Author's Chapter Notes:
He is going to open his eyes at his basement, under his boat, nestled under her skeleton... the amorously sanded wood ribs guarding him.... protecting him....