Suffering of Joy (eBook)

Alexei McConville (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2023 | 1. Auflage
214 Seiten
Bookbaby (Verlag)
979-8-3509-1382-8 (ISBN)

Infos

Plunged into a life mired by war and trauma, a man seeks peace and happiness in Alexei McConville's gripping novel, 'The Suffering of Joy.'

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A man can only hope to find peace of mind after a long military career. Unfortunately, life can be cruel. The brutality of war ingrains itself, and the trauma of childhood returns as a ghost. What goodness the future may hold shall be taken away. When that happens, the lengths a man must go to to get it back will challenge his morality. He will face the monsters, both the real ones and those born of maddens.

Textauszug

Something’s not right.

All sound had been overtaken by a high-pitched screech that stabbed through eardrums directly into the brain. Such immense pain felt like a needle slowly being pushed deeper and deeper. Warm, red fluid trickled down cheeks. Wide eyes were held open even as the stinging sensation filled them with tears. Vision turned tunneled, distorted, and cloudy as if looking through a dirty spyglass. Face was hot. Skin was seared. The entire world was spinning.

What just happened? Let me think. My company was on assignment to eliminate insurgents garrisoned in the . . . the . . . where am I? Iraq? No. Iran? No. The Middle East? Maybe. The East? Sure. We boarded the helo and proceeded to our mission. Before we reached the drop zone, there was a flash and . . ?

“We’re hit!” A pilot screamed. “Fuck! Our tail is completely destroyed! I can’t . . . keep this . . . hold tight! We’re going down!”

“Shit!”

The nine soldiers in the fuselage held on to whatever they could as they braced for impact.

The helicopter screamed like a banshee as it billowed thick black clouds of smoke while spiraling uncontrollably. It swung toward a nearby building, its nose crashing into the wall. The rotor blades bent and shattered. The cabin jerked suddenly and bashed against the side of the structure. The hit ripped the exterior door off as the helicopter bounced in the other direction. Air surged into the interior.

Faces were torn at by the wind. Two of the soldiers lost their grip and were sucked out of the opening by the pulling force. They desperately tried to grab hold of anything, but nothing stopped them from being tossed. One was thrown into the building that the helicopter had crashed into. His fate was unknown, but he was presumed dead. The other fell quickly, his body slamming hard against the ground. Blood burst out of him on impact, red spraying in all directions.

“Josh! Cane!” A different soldier screamed to no avail.

The helicopter collided against the roof of another building. Weakness in the structure allowed the machine to crash through the ceiling, along with several walls and multiple floors, before coming to a stop. The landing was disastrous. A miracle would be needed for anyone to have survived.

What just happened?

 

 

What’s that? It’s bright. It hurts my eyes, but my skin feels warm. Am I dead? In Heaven? Wait, that’s . . .

Marcus realized he was gazing up through a hole in the ceiling as he stared at the sun. Raising a hand overhead to block the rays from his eyes had his own hand catch focus. His black man’s complexion seemed darker in his mind. Looking closer revealed why. He was covered in blood, dirt, and soot. His fingers curled slightly with grief as this filth reminded him of what just occurred.

After taking a moment, he rested his hand down at his side as acceptance. There was no more time to waste. He needed to get going.

Lifting his head and bracing on his arms allowed him to look forward. The destruction was clear to see. The helicopter had torn in half with the front end on the other side of the room. He was lying on what was left of the back end. A cloud of dirt filled the space with a brown haze. Loose rocks, shards of glass, and twisted pieces of metal were scattered about, as were the corpses of his fellow soldiers. He appeared to be the only survivor.

A warm, wetness slowly soaking into his clothes became noticeable. There was also a dripping sound right beside him. Looking over, he was filled with melancholy. One of his fellow soldiers, his friend, had been crushed underneath several rocks, and blood slowly pooled over the floor. The man was disfigured, his arms and legs twisted, bones protruding from torn flesh, and his head smashed into red mush.

Silver flickered in the pulp. Marcus reached a hand forward to retrieve the dog tags from the fallen soldier. Bringing them close to his face, he looked intently at the name on them, Bill Sanders. Grip tightened on the thin chain as anger rose. Only one word was given before the identification was pocketed, “Sorry.” Unfortunately, there was no more sympathy to give.

Marcus began to stand to get out of the crimson puddle, but pain rushed up his leg, causing him to fall back down as he clenched his thigh and gritted his teeth. Exhaling harshly helped to rid some of the agonies. He used the reprieve to look at the cause. The problem was a broken leg so severe that bone stuck out of his skin. In a way, he was happy. Going uninjured would not seem fair to those who did not survive such carnage.

He scanned over the scrap for anything that could help. When he checked over his shoulder, as if a gift from above, he found a medical kit beneath the rear seats. It was only a short distance, but dragging himself over to it was agonizing as his body scraped against the grated metal surface. The effort was illustrated by the trail of blood left behind. Exhausted, he had to take a breather before opening the box.

Click. The latch on the medical kit made a satisfying sound when released, and the satisfaction was made greater by what was inside. The case was like a treasure chest: there was a shot of morphine, a bottle of pain pills, an antibiotic spray can, several bandages, and needles plus thread.

Marcus popped five pain pills and shot the morphine directly into his leg to numb the pain as much as possible, as fast as possible. He needed to avoid going into shock. The drugs also served to prepare him for the next part.

He readied to set the bone. A tight grip on his leg would make the action fast. Afraid, he froze for a moment. CRACK. The two halves of the fibula fit back together like puzzle pieces. He gritted his jaw so hard that his teeth almost crushed against each other. His eyes dropped, and he thought he was going to vomit. But the feeling was forced away. There was no time for that.

Treatment continued. Antibiotics were sprayed on the injury to prevent infection. The stinging sensation was almost comforting compared to the broken bone. He sewed the gash shut with the needle to reduce bleeding. As he held the bandages, he believed that simply dressing the wound would not be enough. He looked around and found two pieces of wood to act as splints. They were placed against his leg as he wrapped himself up. Standing once more was bearable, barely.

He gripped his leg as he hobbled his way to the front half of the helicopter, kicking up dirt and leaving a trail of both footprints and blood drops.

Reaching the twisted heap of metal and looking into the cockpit had him find both the pilots dead. Another despair to add to his conscience. But, as some sense of fortune, the radio remained intact. The handset dangled off the receiver, tapping against the metal frame and humming with frequency. There was a chance he could get out of this.

Leaning in between the two bodies, he took the line, adjusted the knob back to where it was originally set, and called, “Sergeant Joy requesting an emergency E-vac. Repeat. Requesting an emergency E-vac. Alpha team has been shot down by anti-air fire. I’m the only survivor. Repeat. I need E-vac.”

. . .

A man on the other side of the line addressed as a proxy for the military, “We read you, Sergeant. We will not be able to secure the lo-cal. The helo will be zeroed to prevent the enemy insurgents from retrieving any vital data from the crash site.”

“How far out are the Raptors?” Marcus asked.

“ETA twelve minutes,” the military provided the approximate time.

“I’ll need an extraction point,” Marcus requested, knowing he was capable and would be out of the blast zone.

“Understood,” the military accepted his request. “Make your way to the nearby market by twenty.”

“Coordinates?” Marcus needed.

“Three-two-stop-five-zero-five-six North, four-five-stop-eight-two-four-seven East.”

As the man spoke over the radio, Marcus punched the numbers into the helicopter’s GPS to get the exact location. Where he needed to go appeared on the screen close to his current position.

“Received,” Marcus acknowledged and clicked the handset back onto the receiver.

The remnants of the helicopter were searched before Marcus headed to the rendezvous. He began by patting down the pilot for supplies and to take her tags. He did the same with the co-pilot. Nothing of use was found on either of them. Searching beneath their seats provided a weapon, an MP-5 submachine gun with two spare magazines. He unclipped the currently loaded mag to check the bullet count. Not a round had been fired. He reloaded the gun and slung the weapon over his shoulder. With nothing left of value to take, he stepped away from the wreckage.

Sadly, there was no time to retrieve the tags from the other soldiers among the rubble. Finding a way out was his new and only priority. He quickly staggered across the room to the only door as he made his escape.

On the other side of the entryway was a sandy staircase. The upper part was destroyed by the recent crash. That left down as the only way to go, which was the only place he intended. He rapidly descended the six flights by pulling his body using the handrail. His gimp leg dropped off each step and landed hard on the one below. Even with the numbed pain, the anguish of the two broken halves of bone scraping against one another could not go unnoticed. His eyes dripped with tears of pain, but he never paused until he reached the ground floor.

What stopped him at the bottom was a series of sounds. Glass was being broken, and orders were being...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 1.10.2023
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Romane / Erzählungen
• ISBN-13: 979-8-3509-1382-8 / 9798350913828