Heroes - Chapter 8
Chpt. 1 , Masterlist , Chpt. 9
Pairing: Sgt. Elias Grodin x Female OC (Alexis Ryder)
Fandoms: Platoon (1986), Cherry (2021)
WARNINGS: I'm just going to put down a blanket for the entire book/all chapters: graphic depictions of violence and gore, torture, explicit sexual content, attempted sexual assault, language, marijuana use
The adrenaline was still tapering from my bloodstream when the supply chopper landed and I was tasked with handing out empty letters to the soldiers – those who had survived, anyway.
Our platoon had launched our ambush on the Taliban village this morning, seizing it and its hostages. Most were Afghan, though a couple Americans had been flown back on one of the medevac choppers.
We were instructed to stay here for a few days to a week, to maintain our presence and convert the village into a U.S. camp, which meant that we needed more ammunition, medicine, and rations. Someone in authority had provided paper and envelopes for us to write home to our families in case we wouldn’t be able to call back at base anytime soon.
New soldiers would arrive in a couple of days. Slowly, and yet all too quickly, the faces of my platoon were becoming strangers; fresh faces filled the roles of the dead as if replacing the rusted cogs in a machine. It was both a relief and a tragedy when I locked gazes with someone familiar, knowing that they were still here, and knowing that they might not be the next day.
Barnes and O’Neill’s squads had been clearing out the rest of the camp for any Afghans that had hidden; we’d had to pull a few out from under the floorboards of one of the huts, and I’d watched Barnes throw a frag into a hole that still had a screaming child in it. Lerner had tagged along with us, to translate, and I could tell from the grim, about-to-hurl look on his face when he was dismissed that he hadn’t yet witnessed the complete horrors and moral ambiguity of the Two Bravo sergeant’s commands.
When I handed him his letter, I told him that if he wanted to keep his job, that he shouldn’t write about anything he’d witnessed today.
Though he hadn’t been on clearing-duty, psychologically-speaking, Cherry was probably in the worst shape. The whites of his eyes were glazed red, still watery with tears – they’d been like that since the firefight. Crawford had been one of the unlucky casualties this morning, and the friend he’d made in his squad couldn’t seem to shake his death. Taylor and I had been the ones to drag him off of Crawford’s corpse, his entire body shaking as he tried desperately to resuscitate him.
“I’m supposed to hand out letters,” I told him as I approached. He was sitting cross-legged on the ground, staring blankly at the dirt. Dark, glossy eyes that had shone so brightly with mirth in the Underworld were now as hollow as the sky. Gone was the man who’d slung his arm over my shoulder and danced to CCR and laughed at the stories of his fellow soldiers; I almost felt as if I didn’t recognize him, as if he were one of the replacements, or perhaps a ghost of the Cherry who had really died in our last battle and was now haunting the village with his blank stare and the sullen slouch of his shoulders.
Cherry didn’t answer me, his gaze still fixed somewhere on the dirt, but he swallowed, which was enough of a sign that he’d heard me, at least, so I handed him a letter.
“No,” he spoke, swallowing again against the broken fragments of his voice and shoving the envelope away.
“You don’t want to write to Emily?” I asked. She was one of the things that Cherry hadn’t been able to stop talking about during basic, and there had been more than one occasion when I’d given up my phone time so that he could spend more time talking to her, since I didn’t have anyone to call, myself, and since he’d gotten in trouble the first time he hadn’t hung up the phone when he should’ve. He was crazy about this “Emily”, the girl he had waiting for him at home.
Cherry shook his head, gaze flitting down to his boots. “I’ll call her back at base,” he said. But he spoke it as if it were an afterthought, each syllable as hollow as his eyes. I knew that his thoughts were elsewhere.
I knelt down next to him, hugging the stack of envelopes to my lap. “You know, there was nothing you could have done to save him, Cherry,” I spoke hesitantly, but as soothing as I could to my friend.
Finally, his gaze met mine, though it drilled a hole through my heart. He blinked, some of the moisture of his reddened eyes collecting into a tear that suspended itself in limbo beneath an eyelash. For several moments, we sat like this, as he held my gaze, and then he looked back to the earth and said absently, “I know.”
He didn’t believe me, and he was telling me this only because he didn’t want to be convinced he was wrong. He would likely think for the rest of his days if things would have been different if he’d gotten to Crawford a little sooner, if he’d cinched his bandages tighter or if he’d administered more morphine.
I didn’t know what to say – what could I have said? – and carried on to the next soldier with a certain heaviness to each step that I hadn’t possessed before.
Taylor was tying his combat knife to the barrel of his rifle with a piece of twine from one of the huts, wrapping the fabric several times around the now-bayonetted weapon. I wondered if it was because he’d watched Crawford die from a similar invention.
“Mail’s in,” I said, and handed him one of the envelopes. “Do you want extra pages, for your manuscript?”
Taylor’s hands stilled on his rifle, and his eyes darted to the envelope, but he didn’t reach for it. “Nah, it’s okay,” he said, and went back to fastening the bayonet. “I don’t know who would wanna write about this place.”
I frowned, and settled the envelope back on the stack. Ever since he’d arrived at basic, Taylor had been writing letters to his grandmother, with the hopes of someday turning the pages into a novel that documented his experiences in the war. He’d been pretty consistent with it, always writing away in his spare time. For him to pass up the opportunity was unusual. Though I understood not wanting to write any more about Afghanistan, I didn’t understand why he wouldn’t want to give his grandmother the peace of mind that he’d made it another week.
“You’re not even gonna write to your grandma?” I asked, and took a seat beside him on the log pile underneath one of the poplars that he’d made a small haven.
Taylor shrugged. “Don’t know who would wanna read about this place, either.”
My heart sank a little bit. I was no literary genius, but if I had someone to write to, I’d be writing every day, even if it was just about how much I missed them.
But he seemed disinterested enough that I didn’t argue with him, and I could feel stares on me; I was meant to be carrying out my mail-duty a lot swifter than I was.
“That reminds me,” I said, and dug into the duffel that contained letters and "care packages" for the soldiers. “Something came in for you.”
I handed him the small parcel, and his hands stilled on his rifle again. He took it in his hands and went to set it to the side, but I raised my brows at him, and he gave me a confused look.
“Are you gonna open it?” I urged. I didn’t want him sitting here all day stewing in whatever thoughts were plaguing him, mindlessly wrapping that twine around the barrel of his gun over and over and over.
He gave me a bit of an uncertain look, and tore at the outer plastic of the package, revealing a vintage copy of The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.
“You can read it,” he said, and handed it back to me. “I got in shit for humpin’ too much stuff on my first day. Had to send back a bunch of my grandma’s books.”
I took the book in my hands, which was only maybe a half-inch in width, and said, “Taylor, this barely weighs anything.”
Taylor bit his lip, and fumbled with the knot of the twine, before deciding to loop the ends beneath the material a few more times. “I don’t really feel like reading,” he said, and I nodded, though my actions were separate from my thoughts. It seemed that it wasn’t just Cherry who’d taken a serious hit to his morale today. And now that I looked out over the village, I noticed that many of the soldiers were hanging their heads and busying themselves absently with cleaning their rifles or opening mail.
“You should, though,” he said, still fixated on his little project. “It’s a classic.”
“Alright,” I said, reluctantly. “Tell you what, I’ll read this, if you write something. Doesn’t have to have anything to do with this place. Doesn’t even need to be addressed to anyone. Just… something.”
Taylor finally set his rifle aside and met my gaze for more than a few moments. “I appreciate it, Ryder, but I don’t need the therapy.”
“It’s not therapy. It’s accountability.”
“Yeah, right.”
A light sigh escaped my diaphragm, and I looked across the clearing of the village as King shouted some string of obscenities at me, of which I was only able to decipher half of.
“I think that means I have to go,” I said. “Look… just… think about it, alright?” I set a few of the envelopes down on the log beside me before I took my leave.
King was as chipper as ever, impervious to this morning’s grueling battle. “You fuck the sergeant yet?” he asked me as I handed him his mail – an envelope, which contained a letter and some nude photographs of a lover that he had no issue with ogling in front of me.
I nearly choked on my own spit, and I glanced around, but thankfully, I didn’t think that anyone had heard.
“It’s been a day,” I said to him.
“That don’t sound like a ‘no’.”
“Is fucking all you ever talk about?”
“I’ll have you know I’m a man of variety, little lady. I also don’t mind a lil’ bit o’ rimmin’ action, and I’ll tell ya what, the things a woman can do with her feet – “
“Please stop talking.”
King flashed me a toothy grin, and I felt my mood lighten, if only slightly. “I really do look forward to our talks, King,” I said, as I turned to start towards one of the other men, my steps not feeling quite as heavy as they had a minute prior.
“So that’s a ‘yes’ on you fuckin’ Elias, then?”
I stilled, and turned my head, and though I should have felt more anxious than anything, I was focused more on the blush that rose to my cheeks. I continued on my way, sucking a breath in through my nose and channeling it from my pursed lips. From behind me, the last I heard of King was him shout,
“Hey, Manny! You owe me ten bucks, man!”
After finally making my way through the camp, Wolfe was next to last; he sat on one of the ammo crates near the LZ, working on packing mags. He accepted one of the envelopes with a gentle smile and asked if he could have another.
I took a glance at the stack in my hands, which had seemed to get no smaller, and then another out at the soldiers that I had already delivered to.
“Yeah, there’s plenty to go around,” I said, and sifted off a few from the stack. “Who are you writing to?”
Normally, I wouldn’t have been caught dead talking with the lieutenant of the platoon, but last night had broken a barrier I’d spent so long forging; a piece of my cowardice had chipped away, and a part of my soul felt just a little more free – free, like Elias, who wore his heart on his sleeve; free, like a deer, bounding through a meadow; free like that eagle, soaring over the jagged peaks and the love and the hate. Perhaps the freedom I had found was courage.
Surprise registered on Wolfe’s face, but he replied affably, “My parents, and a girlfriend back home.”
I nodded, the faintest of bittersweet smiles crossing my lips. I thought of him returning to his family when this was all over and hugging and smiling, laughing over a dinner table. And though it tugged cruelly at my heart, I could not help but feel the slightest bit of contentment that at least one soldier would be making use of these letters.
I didn’t get to dwell on this thought for long, however; Elias, who’d been nowhere to be seen during the supply drop, had appeared, having walked from the huts. He was standing with Lerner, who was chatting his ear off about something, but his attention wasn’t on the translator; it was on Wolfe and I.
I noticed the way his eyes seemed to trace over the letters in our hands, the way the mirth disappeared from those pretty blues and his shoulders sunk a bit, like Cherry’s had. He turned to Lerner to utter something briefly, and then he was off, back in the direction of the huts.
“Ryder?” Wolfe’s voice snapped my attention back to the lieutenant, but I was no longer present; I turned back to him with a furrowed brow and a distant stare.
“Here,” I said, sifting one of the letters off and leaving the rest of the stack beside him on the chopper gate, alongside the emptied duffel that had contained the packages from home. “I only have one more delivery to make.”
Wolfe didn’t protest when I left, hurrying through the clearing, past Lerner, through the door of one of the wooden huts, letter in my hand.
The floorboards creaked beneath my boots as I entered the ingress that Elias had disappeared through, and immediately, I recalled the women and children that had been herded out like lame sheep. But I pushed those thoughts to the back of my mind, focusing instead on finding my blue-eyed soldier in the now-barren building.
Subtle, but still audible in the silence of the hut, was the groaning of fabric stretching, and as I rounded the corner, I caught sight of the swinging hammock from the Underworld. Elias’ weight had sunken into it, and he merely flopped his head to the side so blue eyes could witness my approach.
“Got mail for me, sweetheart?” he asked.
“You tell me,” I said, and handed him the envelope. “Are you gonna write?”
Elias’ eyes wandered from me, to the envelope, to the dusty floor, and he said, “Haven’t spoken to my family in over a decade. They’d be gettin’ a letter from a ghost.”
Elias had never spoken of anyone back home – I’d assumed he had no one, but from the pain in his poorly-veiled gaze, I could tell that a part of him, however buried, did want to write to someone.
“Why don’t you come up here and join me, sweetheart?” he said, his eyes now glittering with their usual playfulness. He sat up in his hammock, motioning for me to take a seat on his lap.
I smiled faintly as a heat suffused my cheeks, and I found myself tempted by the way his eyes shamelessly raked over me and a few locks of wild hair flopped over his headband at the motion.
“Fine,” I said around a broadening smile, and I clambered up onto the fabric, the ropes groaning again at the stretch of the added weight. Elias made room for me between his legs, forming a little crook by pulling his left knee up to support my back and letting the other lay flat so that I could swing my calves over it. I settled in, a contented sigh nearly escaping me from the way his body heat percolated through his fatigues. I could’ve been in the desert, and I still would’ve ached to feel it seep through my pores like honey.
My world swayed beneath me, the lines of the wooden planks and the woven straw of the walls undulating like the waves of the sea. So I let my head rest against Elias’ chest, sinking into him, my hand loosely gripping his shirt for stability. He untied my hair, letting it tumble in loose waves over my shoulders, and hot lips brushed my cranium as he blessed me with a soft kiss.
“Tell me about your family,” I said, my other hand fumbling idly with the envelope in my lap.
A sigh escaped from Elias’ lungs, disturbing the strands of hair on my skull, and bringing my torso up and down with his own.
“Is that really what you wanna talk ‘bout right now?” he murmured into my ear, voice husky and sparking something in my gut. His hand slipped from where it had threaded into my hair and down to my spine, fingers tracing it through the fabric of my shirt and travelling lower and lower and lower. His groin, where it cradled the underside of my thigh, rocked slowly upwards, his khakis stiffening beneath me.
I breathed a little moan of yearning as I felt my heartbeat drop to my lower abdomen, and I bit my lip as I pushed back from his chest to stare up into blue-black eyes.
“Yes,” I told him, my voice light and almost scarce. Though I wanted nothing more than to repeat last night, I knew that this letter business would weigh on me until he gave me a better reason for not writing.
The line of his lip twitched, and something shifted in his eyes as he stared down at me – their tragedy pained me, tightened my chest – but I continued to stare up at him expectantly, my thumb running soothingly over the bare flesh between the buttons of his shirt.
“You’re a real piece o’ work, y’know that?” he said to me, and I chuffed out a laugh.
“Yeah, I know,” I said.
Another sigh rolled from his lungs, moving my body with it, and he said, “My old man was always sayin’ I didn’t work hard enough, didn’t dream big enough. Didn’t get the right grades, or the right girls. Nothin’ was ever good enough for him. I think he was bitter, think he was tryna project onto his sons. One of them took it. I didn’t.”
Elias paused his story to root through a small pouch of woven weeds and tossed a wild strawberry onto his tongue. I could smell the sweetness as he popped it in his mouth, and I looked curiously at the pouch. So that must have been what he’d been so busy doing. Picking wild berries.
“Always knew my mom didn’t agree with what he said, but she never stepped in. Just made our dinner every night and tucked us in and wished us good luck in school. She was real sweet, y’know. Can’t say I blame her for not sayin’ nothin’. My dad was a scary guy.
“My older brother, he came home one night, drunk as a skunk. He’d lost his apartment, lost his job. Even lost his girl. My parents were out and he was lookin’ for our dad and I was the only one ‘round, so he started yellin’ at me, blamin’ me for his failed marriage and his student loans and his empty bank account.”
He chewed at another strawberry, as if they were pills to numb the memories, before continuing,
“I don’t like takin’ peoples’ shit. Especially since my dad had been tellin’ me earlier that I should be more like him, just ‘cause he was a good boy and did as he was told. So when my brother started takin’ everythin’ out on me, I told him to go to Hell.”
Elias seemed to still then, his exhale lingering beneath me.
“That was the last thing I said to him before I walked out that door and never came back. Haven’t seen or spoken to him since,” he said, a remorseful waver in his tone.
I looked up at him again, my cheek grazing the rough fabric of his shirt, but his gaze was fixed somewhere past me, blue eyes glittering with sorrow.
“What did you do after that?” I asked.
“Got a job in the oil fields,” he said. “I was young, hadn’t finished school. Just needed somethin’ to keep the rent money comin’ in.”
I nodded in understanding, and asked, “Is that why you got involved with drugs?”
Elias chuckled, and shook his head. “That was my ex-wife. She was all into psychedelics – the hard kind, mainly LSD. Blew all my money on drugs and gurus and all that shit, pinned the evidence on me.”
I’d never thought about Elias having a girl back home, or being married. I supposed it made sense; he was in his early thirties. I admonished myself for the slight twisting of jealousy in my gut, though I was more concerned in this moment how Elias must have felt, betrayed by both his family and his lover.
“So that’s why you’re here,” I breathed against his chest, and he chuckled again, notes a low rumble in his diaphragm.
“Surprised King didn’t tell ya. That’s one of his favourite stories,” he said.
“That’s an awful story,” I whispered. “I didn’t know, I’m sorry, I wouldn’t have – “
“Shhh,” he said, stroking his thumb over my hair. “Not your fault, sweetheart.” A pause, and then the wry quirk of a smile. “I think King tells it better, though.”
A slight smile graced my lips, and I sank back into his chest, running my fingers this time over the chain of his dog tags.
“You got family, sweetheart?” he asked me, and cold seemed to seize my chest.
“I used to,” I murmured, half into the fabric of his shirt, half into the stale, dusty air. “They’re not around anymore.”
“That have anythin’ to do with that Bowie song you listen to so much?”
I’d nearly forgotten how intuitive he was, even without those piercing eyes eviscerating my soul.
“I sang it to my mother…” I began, words so quiet I wondered if he could even hear them, his hand stilling where it stroked my hair. I swallowed, and continued, “…when she was dying in her hospital bed. It was her favourite song.”
“It’s a beautiful song,” he said, hot breath soothing against the top of my head, and slowly, the warmth of his body began to seep past the cold that seized me, and I relaxed.
“Elias,” I said, tilting my head back up at him as his thumb resumed its languid motion over my skull. “Do you still love your brother?”
He looked down at me, sadness darting through those pretty blues once more, and he said, “Yeah, guess I do.”
“Why don’t you write to him? Or call him?”
“Alex, I’ve been through a lot o’ shit. Run headfirst into firefights, gone head to head with Barnes, went through tunnels with IEDs. But whenever I pick up that phone, I just… I can’t do it.”
I settled my head back against his chest. A moment of silence passed between us, and in that moment, I thought of my parents, of my mother’s lips parting gently to form the lyrics to her favourite song as her heart rate slowed, and my father, wrapping an arm around me and grinning at me in my youth.
“I think you should,” I told him. “The things I wouldn’t give to hear my mother’s voice again. See my dad’s smile.” I tipped my head back again, making sure to capture his gaze in mine. “Don’t let those things slip away from you, Elias. ‘Cause when they’re gone, they’re gonna make you ache.”
Maybe I should’ve let it go, let him live his life, but yesterday, he’d taught me something I wouldn’t have been able to realize myself, had released me from a demon I had forged. It was my turn to impart some of my own wisdom, the words I’d wanted to say to Cherry, to Taylor, to every soldier out there who’d turned their noses up at the envelopes I handed out.
I remembered the paper now, and pressed it to his chest where my head had been.
Slowly, a lazy grin spread across his lips, and Elias gently pushed the envelope away. “Don’t worry ‘bout me, sweetheart,” he said, his eyes glittering again with affection rather than regret. “I got all I need right here.”
My heart swelled with warmth, and my mouth quirked again into a smile. Though part of me thought that he was just saying that to distract me from the unpleasant subject, another part of me – the part of me that ached for family, for a bond – eagerly accepted his words, let them sink in and spread along every nerve of my body, making my skin fuzzy and my gut all giddy with electricity.
And I decided that in that moment, I didn’t need to hear my mother’s voice, or see my father’s smile. All I needed was Elias. Maybe it wouldn’t last – though I wanted it to –, but it would be enough to get me through.
I tucked the envelope away into the hem of my khakis, and smiled back at him as I watched him catch another strawberry between his teeth, tipping his head back to let it land on his tongue.
“Can I have one?” I asked, licking my lips. The MRE I’d had earlier was still settling in my stomach, though I reckoned that the dry bread and cold beef stew wouldn’t even compare to just one of those little red delicacies.
Elias smirked at me, and plopped one of the berries on his tongue, sticking it from between his teeth invitingly.
My gaze darted from his mischievous gaze to the strawberry on his tongue, and my gut stirred with a different sort of hunger. I giggled and leaned in to capture the strawberry in my teeth, the seeds gritting against my molars but the tart yet sweet flavour exploding across my tongue.
I’d barely swallowed the sugary syrup of the berry when Elias pressed his hot lips to mine, and tugged me closer to the warmth of his body, my thighs to the hardness that had redeveloped in his trousers. His tongue still tasted potently of the berries, and his lips were slightly slick from their juices, but every bit as heavenly as they’d been last night.
I swung my right leg around his waist so that I was straddling him, pressing my own pounding arousal against his now, grinding the coiled heat into him eagerly. We went to work swiftly on unbuttoning each other’s shirts; he had less to accomplish, since I’d never replaced the one Bunny had torn from my collar, and soon enough, I was baring my flesh to him.
He sank back into the hammock, our kiss breaking so that I could kick off my trousers and undo his belt. Beginning to tug down his khakis, I positioned myself up on my knees, but they wobbled beneath me from the sway of the hammock, and I caught myself from collapsing by letting a hand fall to his chest and my spine to curl over above him. I laughed against the bare of his chest, and his own grin mirrored mine, mirth in his eyes. His member was pressing against my stomach now, and as the laughter ceased, I caught my lip in my teeth, a devilish idea forming in my mind.
I watched as his face fell slack from sharp cheekbones and those blue eyes darken with lust as I sidled down, panting my breaths against his navel and inhaling the scent that was of both him and the wilds, my lips brushing the mound of dark hair that crowned his length.
I panted out one last breath against his flesh before letting my tongue run along his length, and he immediately bucked his hips, a moan stirring from him as his hands sought my hair, fingertips just barely managing to hook a few of the strands.
It did cross my mind that Barnes, or Bunny, or anyone could’ve walked through that door in that moment, but I didn’t care anymore. I needed this, in this place that only brought sorrow and guilt, needed to indulge myself in this thing that made me human in this place that made me a monster. And I could tell that Elias needed it, too, from the way that he clawed desperately at my hair and writhed his hips beneath me and bit his tongue to hold back a moan every time I licked or kissed at him.
“Quit bein’ such a goddamn tease, sweetheart,” Elias rasped between heavy breaths. It was oddly reminiscent of when he’d kissed at my thighs last night and I’d told him to fuck me, and I grinned as I felt him twitch beneath my lips, my tongue darting against his sensitive flesh almost wickedly.
His hips bucked again, and I ground the sopping mess that was my panties against the fabric of his leg, seeking my own satisfaction to the burning desire in my groin. A pleasured breath passed from my lips, and I drew my tongue along his length one last time to savour the taste of him before attempting once again to steady myself on my knees.
He nudged my panties aside, a shiver dancing across my flesh as his finger brushed a bundle of nerves, and I lowered myself onto him. I clamped a hand over my mouth to stifle the gasp that poured fast from my lungs as he filled me, stretching walls that still seemed to ache from last night.
It took me a minute, but eventually I got into a rhythm, and the spring of the hammock helped rock my hips up and down, a strangled moan parting from my lips every time the bare flesh of my thighs met his. I tried to keep as quiet as I could, in case anyone outside heard, but I only devoted a small portion of my efforts towards the discreetness, for I was far too enraptured by the movement of my hips, the pleasure that ran from my core all the way to the top of my head, the man who still moaned and squirmed under me as his hands grasped at my waist and his length shuddered inside of me.
His fingers curled firmly into my hipbones as he kept my thighs pinned to him, his hips bucking madly upwards as he spent himself inside of me, and I shivered around him, my head feeling light and my core flooding with the warmth that I craved.
I stayed like this for several moments, head swung back, hair teasing the line of my nude back, riding out the beginnings of my own high, walls tightening around him and my sweat-slicked thighs still trembling on top of him.
When euphoria finally claimed me, I drew myself from him and collapsed on his chest, honey-blonde hair pooling across his neck and shoulders and my fervent breaths panted across the musky sweat of his collarbone.
Elias’ thumb stroked the back of my head again, sending tingles through my overly-sensitive nerves, and with his other hand, he entwined his fingers through my own. And he murmured against me, “See, told ya I got all I need right here, sweetheart.”
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