Missing In Action - Closed

Jess's Backstory

Money had been incredibly tight for 19 year old Jess Sanders' wedding. Her drunk ex-marine father hadn't got two pennies to rub together and her mother was too focused on her second marriage and family to make more than a token contribution. Jess spent the better part of a year hunting down everything she needed for her special day on eBay, in the sales and through friends etc. One of the last things she purchased was her wedding dress, a beautiful and simple ivory dress that the eBay seller insisted had 'never been worn.' Jess waited anxiously for it to arrive but the end of the week came with no sign of her precious parcel. She emailed the vendor to chase them and the woman apologised for not having shipped her dress yet. Jess shot back a curt reply.

"My wedding is in three weeks, so I'm sure you can understand how important this is to me. Please ship my purchase as soon as you possibly can."

But with only a fortnight to go, there was still no sign of her dress. Jess had used her meagre savings and there was simply no money for another dress.

"What the hell am I going to do?" Jess drank deeply from her beer bottle and fought the urge to cry. She had planned everything so carefully and stuck to such a tight budget. She didn't know whether to hope the stupid eBay vendor came through in time or demand a quick refund so she could get something else.

"We'll figure it out. If I have to make you a dress myself, I will." Naomi replied. Naomi was Jess's oldest friend and matron of honour. She had helped coo-ordinate the wedding from almost the moment Jess's boyfriend had proposed.

"Yeah, cause I have the cash for fabric, patterns, thread and all that stuff now." She snapped sarcastically. "I'm sorry Naomi, I know you're just trying to stay positive."

A couple of days later, Jess resigned herself to a plan B wedding dress. Naomi demanded to see everything Jess had that could conceivably be sliced up and turned into a wedding dress. It was then that Jess remembered that she did indeed have a load of fabric. Naomi's brother Nathan Scott, her fiancée's army buddy and best man, had supplied swathes of camouflage fabric to cover the tables at the barbecue they'd celebrated their engagement with.

"Are you sure about this?" Naomi asked, fingering the military grade uniform fabric.

"Why the hell not?"

Jess and Naomi, together with various friends and relatives, put together the wedding dress according to the pattern Naomi had used for her prom dress. Jess's own prom dress was sacrificed in order to make the underskirt. By the time they had finished, the made to measure gown was striking in a way the simple ivory sheath Jess had originally picked could never have been. They drove the poor groom crazy because once he knew they were making a back-up wedding dress he expected his bride to show up looking like a ragdoll. Jess was tight lipped right up until their wedding day, when she walked down the aisle in Naomi's creation. [pic1 pic2] She wore her long dark hair half tied back and kept her jewellery minimal.

Her husband to be had been utterly speechless, and for all the right reasons.


Jess had had only a few weeks with her husband before he left for his first tour of duty. While he was away she had discovered she was pregnant. They had two children in fairly quick succession and after their 5th anniversary they bought a house to give the kids stability. Three months before their 6th anniversary Jess's husband was sent to Afghanistan, not for the first time, for a six month tour of duty.

He never came back.

First Jess received the news that he was MIA following a raid on a building believed to be an IED factory. Two other men were unaccounted for. Then the rest of his troop came home and a few weeks later, Nathan told Jess that her husband was presumed dead.

She had to be strong for her children. Jess couldn't face telling five year old Will that his daddy had died, not when there was no body, no funeral and no closure to offer him. Two year old Becky was way too young to grasp that her daddy had gone. Jess eventually told Will that daddy was 'lost' but that the army were going to find him.

The months turned into years and Jess's life remained in limbo. The kids grew older and began to understand that daddy wasn't going to come home. Will asked her if his father was dead and Jess honestly replied, "I don't know sweetheart. The army never found his body but they haven't found him alive either. He might have died but we have to hope and pray that he hasn't.

One year bled into five, so swiftly that Jess had no clue where the time had gone. She felt like a shell of a woman, married to a ghost. Her weight had plummeted and she took no pride in her appearance. The wives of the other two men who had gone MIA along with her husband had their spouses declared legally dead and went on to remarry. But when Jess tried to talk to Will and Becky about moving on they were adamant that she had to wait. She didn't have it in her to extinguish the last vestiges of hope in their eyes. And it wasn't as though she wanted anyone else, her husband had been her whole world.

Naomi and Nathan began to get concerned about her, pushing her to seek counselling and taking turns to visit Jess frequently. Jess had withdrawn from the military wives social circle because everyone looked at her so pityingly, either like she was a martyr or as though she was some kind of moron for keeping a candle burning.

One night Nathan found her sat in front of the TV beside a log fire that had long since died to ashes. Jess was cold but had made no move to fetch a blanket or more wood. She just sat their shivering, staring at the TV screen but seeing nothing. Nathan fetched her a blanket and built up the fire, hen pushed a mug of coffee into her hands and rubbed her shoulders to warm her.

He looked into her sorrowful eyes as the blue tinge faded from her lips. Jess lifted her face just as Nathan tipped his downwards. It was coincidence but that was all it took. His lips claimed hers, scalding her with heat from his coffee. Jess's body liquefied and she moaned into his mouth as Nathan pulled her onto his lap, trailing a line of fire across her jaw and down her neck. Jess's body arched helplessly, grinding her down onto the bulge forming in Nathan's jeans. His hand lifted and groped at her tits, making Jess gasp as his calloused fingers forced their way up under her vest top and into her bra.

"Fuck Jess... I have wanted you for so damn long."

Jess started unbuttoning his shirt but Nathan stopped her, gripping her left hand.

"Look at me Jess... you are a widow."

She dropped her gaze, tears spilling from her eyes. "I know."

Nathan pushed her hips down and ground up against her where she straddled him, making Jess moan with indecision.

"You wanna fuck me Jess, you take that goddamn ring off your finger."

Tears rolled down her face but Jess complied, dropping her wedding ring on the coffee table beside their mugs. Nathan tumbled her sideways off of his lap and laid her down on the couch. He stripped her naked and gazed at her flawless pale skin and tight little curves while he yanked off his shirt. Nathan swigged his coffee and brought scalding hot lips down on her throat and nipples, trailing down over her belly button to her pussy. He dove between her legs and growled into her slick flesh as he lashed his tongue across her clit. Jess bucked incoherently, utterly lost.

Nathan couldn't wait. As soon as he had her close to orgasm, he tore open his jeans and freed his cock. He kissed Jess deeply and made her taste herself as he found her molten core and thrust into it.

"Ah!"

Jess felt like a virgin again as Nathan took her. She was impossibly tight form her years of celibacy and it took considerable force before he could work himself into her. She bucked and clawed at his back, so close to cumming.

"I don't care if it hurts Nathan... fuck me, please just fuck me."

He needed no further encouragement and pounded into her like a man possessed, nailing her to the couch and silencing her with kisses when her moans got louder. Jess tensed and then convulsed in his arms as she came, spurting hot juice onto his cock and balls. She was totally abandoned, bucking onto every hard thrust. It didn't take long for Nathan to follow her over the edge and he only just remembered to yank himself out of Jess before he came. He sprayed cum all over her upper body, jerking himself at the sight of her splayed beneath him, taking his load.

They cleaned up and snuggled back under the blanket. Before too long Nathan began to harden against her once more. "I could do this all night." He sighed.

"Your wife might not be too happy about that." Jess replied, puling away from him. "Put some clothes on, one of the kids might wake."

"If you didn't wake them, they're out for the night." He said but did as he was told. When they were both dressed he kissed Jess again, making her yield to him despite herself. "Things between Michelle and me aren't fantastic but I do love her. When she gets some leave we're going to try and work things out. But until then... well it's been a while since I got any and WAY too long since you did. It's... it's always been you though Jess. If you hadn't got with my best friend and then married so damn fast I would have moved heaven and earth to make you mine. I love you too Jess, always have. I will always be here for you. But you're not superwoman, everyone needs love and sex in their lives."

From that night Jess began piecing herself back together again. She ate better, worked out, took pride in her appearance and bought some new clothes. She finally decorated the house and it felt like she was building her world anew, one without the ghost of her husband watching her every move. Nathan was always there to help out and when Michelle wasn't around Jess welcomed him into her bed. They had to be very careful that her kids didn't suspect anything but he always came over late and never stayed the night. Naomi was also unaware of their affair.

A year on and Jess was dating a non-military guy called Anthony. He was making a name for himself in business, buying and selling stock from bankrupt stores, a recession proof business. Jess liked very much that she didn't have to worry about him getting shot in the line of duty. He was charming and attentive. She still slept with Nathan when they could get together but it wasn't long before she wound up in Tony's bed. Jess had never felt so alive.

Though they could see the drastic change in her, Jess very carefully kept her private life private. Naomi was always a willing babysitter since she stopped working to have her own first child with her husband Chris, a 2 year old girl called Talulah.

Brendan "Phantom" Howell knew he wanted to be in the military for as long as he could remember. It was all he dreamed about, what he told everyone when asked what he wanted to be when he grew up. As he developed into a man, he discovered he was not the strongest or the fastest, but he was one of the smartest, and an amazing shot. The life of a sniper, identifying and stalking a target, concealing himself and his spotter, and taking the perfect shot at the perfect moment, seemed to be calling him. He embraced it, fully.

He signed up the very day he became eligible, and after a series of tests to determine what he already knew, he was assigned to a sniper section of Reconnaissance Troops of Command Company in 42 Commando of the Corps of Her Majesty's Royal Marines. A Royal Marine Sniper. He wore the patches on his sleeves proudly, and everything about his life seemed to be pointed in the direction he'd intended since he was a small child. Then he met Jess.

Something in him had virtually called out to her the moment he saw her, and he knew with the same certainty he'd had as a child regarding his future military career that he would marry her. Their courtship was fast, passionate, and they were married before both of them had left their teens behind. In an ironic twist, it was only when he actually wanted to stay at home with Jess that he was finally called into action, and he missed both the discovery that she was pregnant, and the birth of their first child. The latter he didn't even hear about until three days later, as he and his spotter had been cut off from communication for a short time while working to take out a mid-level Taliban operative that had been coordinating bombings in Qalat, near the border with Pakistan.

He was happy to hear about the birth, sad to discover he missed it, but couldn't allow himself to feel either too deeply. When you were scoped in on someone so closely that you could see a mole on their face, you had to turn your brain off to the fact that you were about to blow a hole through another human being's head, or else you might hesitation. Emotion had to be left behind, only the motion of what was necessary to get the job done left in your head. It wasn't a person, it was a target. They weren't harmed by the pull of the trigger, it was simply an objective completed. You could actually sleep at night that way.

He returned home and allowed himself to feel what he hadn't while in the field, overjoyed to see both Jess and their new child. They wasted little time making a second, and this time he was around for the discovery, but a second tour of duty made him miss the birth. Again, he had to shove away the mix of emotions by this so he could focus on his job. Not only did his life depend on him doing this, but the life of his spotter did as well, and he couldn't face telling his wife that her husband was dead because he wasn't focused on his job.

The fact that his best friend since late in elementary school, Nathan Scott, was there to keep an eye on Jess and the kids made things a little easier. She could take care of herself, sure, but he still felt a little more comfortable knowing Nathan and his wife Michelle there. The fact that Nathan was also in the military also meant he could get a message to Jess a little easier than it might be for some people, which helped to ease the strain a bit.

He made it back home only a couple months after Will was born, and for a short time they were a family and he was there to watch Becky learn to talk and Will learn to walk. But Afghanistan wasn't going away.

Sent back for his third tour, he was only in country for a month and a half when they discovered a site that insurgents were creating IEDs to be planted along roadsides. Two sniper teams were sent in, one made up of Phantom and his spotter Owl, the other stationed about 400 yards on the opposite side of the building, made up of Sharp and his spotter Rainbow. They had a decent line of sight on each other, and would provide cover fire for the entry teams while watching each other's backs. The setup of the building made it difficult to do much recon without giving themselves away, but they thought they'd been able to watch them enough to know where they had guards posted and had a pretty good idea of what to expect. They were wrong.

Coordinating with their throat mics, the snipers began picking people off the top of the building, effectively blinding the people inside that anything was coming their way. Between Phantom and Sharp, six bodies fell in about twelve seconds, and the roof was clear of anyone without a hole in their head. The entry teams moved in and made it into the building with little incident. Both snipers watched the building intently, waiting to pick off anyone that tried to escape through a door or window that hadn't been breached yet. Neither of them were aware there were enemy snipers until it was much too late.

Brendan heard the throat mic of his counterpart crackle in his ear, and then fall silent. He glanced at his spotter next to him, who shook his head silently and kept scanning through the binoculars, searching. Phantom's eye went back to his scope, and he continued scanning himself, certain something was off. He attempted to raise Sharp and Rainbow both, but got only silence in reply. He realized with sudden and chilling horror that the enemy had snipers they'd never seen, a fact he became all too aware of when Owl's blood hit his face and he slumped over dead next to him. He was completely stuck. Trying to move meant sure death, but the fact that his spotter had been taken out meant they knew his position.

He glanced down at the building, the spaces between shots growing larger as the clearing of the building was nearly finished, and he realized then how the snipers had been able to take them out without arousing their attention: By firing only when the entry teams were firing, they effectively hid the sound of their own gunfire. Motherfuckers, he thought bitterly. Either the fact that the firing inside was winding down, giving them a less predictable chance of hiding their shots, would save his life, or the fact that he was the only one left out here would mean they'd care less and just take the shot to finish him off.

All too late, he realized someone was moving behind him. He remained unmoving, hoping his camouflage would keep him hidden and they'd pass by, but he knew the chances were slim. Unfortunately, they were coming for him, directed by the snipers he had yet to find, and as the butt of an AK-47 came down on his head, he lost all connection to the world around him.







He awoke with no idea where he was. Naked, bound to a chair, his arms tied behind his back. He was in a dark room, a single bare bulb hanging just behind him casting the only light in the room. His body was sore, his muscles ached, and as he gained his bearing he realized his facial hair had a couple days growth on it. How was it possible he'd been out that long?

A voice spoke suddenly, out of the darkness, and then another replied. He couldn't understand either - being a sniper didn't give him much contact with the population, and so he never truly tried to learn the language - nor could he tell where they were coming from. A door opened, the following footsteps sounding like someone was leaving the room. The door closed.

The yelling started soon after. It was still in a language he didn't know, coming from a person he couldn't see, and so he could only endure it. The torture started soon after, and it was intense and painful and scarring. They tortured him physically, for days, without letting him sleep. Every time they'd pause and he'd start to drift off, the pain would begin again, jarring him out of it. He felt like he was losing touch reality. Things soon quit making sense, and he found himself struggling to remember who he was, what was happening, or why he was bound to this chair, bloody and scarred and bruised. The human mind, it seems, can only endure so much, and through a concentrated and continuous effort, they broke him.

He wept, he begged for mercy, for sleep, for water, for food, for an end to the pain, for an end to his life if he could have nothing else. Eventually, someone began speaking to him in English, and he clung to the words like a life raft in a vast ocean, the only familiar and comforting thing in what seemed like an eternity.

The English-speaker, whose face he never saw, gradually became his ally. He was desperate for one. They would talk quietly when it seemed his torturer was out of the room, with the subject gradually turning to the comforting embrace of Allah. Brendan was told that the man might be able to convince his captors to release him, at least from the chair and the room, if he would consider joining them for prayers. He happily, willingly, agreed, and felt not a moment of hesitation due to his Catholic upbringing. The clothes they gave him were light and cool on his battered skin, the prayer rug soft compared to the chair he'd been bound to, and he was more than happy to spend time in prayer with the rest of the men, most of them faces he'd never seen in all his time spent there. After the hell he'd endured, it was a paradise of the kind he'd never experienced. He embraced it fully, whole-heartedly, and happily.








His beard had grown long, his hair with it, to the point that he was barely recognizable. He was in Asadabad, a town near the border with Pakistan, and made his way toward a small U.S. Army outpost he knew to be there. He was dehydrated, sunburned, his clothes were tattered, and he had clearly spent a lot of time in the harsh desert sun.

He approached the outpost guards, who watched him closely, their hands gripping their M-16's and ready to use them at the first sign of a threat. He posed none to them, which was made obvious when he collapsed at the feet of a guard, too weak to continue. The guard managed to help him to his feet, the other still watching him intently for any threatening movement, and he leaned heavily against the man. In a voice that could barely escape from his dry, cracked throat, he whispered to the man who held him up.

"My name is Sergeant... Brendan Howell. I am in the R... Royal Marines. I was captured. Please help... help me..." It was all he could get out, his body too weak to continue on. The guards looked at each other, eyes wide, and both carried the man deeper into the outpost, calling over the commander as they did. They were quickly able to pull up a picture of the missing British soldier, missing for five years it turned out, and while there had clearly been changes, through the beard and dirt it looked very much like him.

An IV was quickly started to get fluids into him, and phone calls were hastily made up the chain of command. The Americans had stumbled on a missing soldier from their closest ally, and he would no doubt be seen as a national hero now. There was no way they were going to let him die while in their care. A helicopter took him from the small outpost to a hospital that could better care for him while the British forces were informed of the find, and more phone calls were made up another chain of command. Quickly, it was realized that his wife had to be told before news leaked out to the media, because no one could expect them to sit on the story once they had it.

As Brendan was transferred into British care, more phone calls were made. It was hastily decided that the Minister of Defense should be the one to make the call to Jess, to inform her that her husband was coming home after all these years. He would be a national hero, an inspiration to the country, and the call had to be handled right. It was a story that would be told over and over, to national and international press, and it was important that they be able to honestly tell how she found out he was alive. Inconsistencies in the story would become obvious the most it was repeated, and would only serve to undercut the triumphant story of a hero's return home.

Fourteen hours after he walked out of the desert and back into the land of the living, Jess' phone began to ring.

"But why do I have to go to aunt Naomi's? I'm not a little kid any more mum!"

Eleven year old William Howell yelled down from his bedroom doorway. Jess bit down on the urge to tell him he wasn't too old for a slapped arse. She stalked out of the lounge to the bottom of the stairs and glared at him, deepening her voice to an authoritative bellow.

"You're too young to be left indoors Will. Now pack yourself an overnight bag."

"You're always going out now, this is so unfair!"

"Keep right on talking to me like that young man and you'll lose your pocket money next, then you can whine to me about fairness. Now do as you're told."

Will's door slammed shut, which Jess decided to count a victory even though she itched to tell him to have more respect for his home. She went up to see how eight year old Rebecca was getting along.

"I'm nearly packed mummy." She announced proudly, pointing to two pink rucksacks.

"What on Earth have you got there sweetheart?" Jess looked through the bags and pulled out about a dozen dolls and teddies. "You can't take all these. Where are your pyjamas?"

Fifteen stressful minutes later Jess had unpacked half her daughter's things and checked her son had everything he needed. She heard a horn toot outside and breathed an audible sigh of relief. She went out front with the kids to where Naomi waited on the kerb, unwilling to unstrap her daughter from her carseat.

"Thanks for having them Naomi, you know I'll always repay the favour."

"I'll have them back after lunch tomorrow." Naomi told her. "Have fun."

Jess smiled and tried not to feel too guilty. She waved them off as they drove away. Back indoors, she poured herself a large vodka tonic and tidied up the house. After that she poured another V&T and got into the bath, sinking down into the bubbles.


It had been about a month ago that Anthony had asked her if she was going to go on the pill so they could ditch the condoms. They had been dating for months and it seemed the next logical step. Jess had been evasive and non-committal, which had made Anthony worry that she wasn't serious about him. A few glasses of chardonnay later she had confessed everything to him.

"I'm so sorry Anthony, I love you so much. But Nathan has been a part of my life and the kids lives for so long. I was depressed and lonely for a very long time and he brought me to realise that I couldn't wait my entire life waiting for Brendan to come back from the dead. Bizarrely, if it wasn't for him, I would never have dated you. I love you both."

Anthony was shocked but he took the revelation very well. Once he understood that Nathan was committed to his marriage and that it was a friends with benefits thing rather than a romance.

"I suppose I have him to thank then, in a roundabout way."

When they made love later that night he started teasing her, asking her if he sucked her pussy as well as Nathan did. He flipped her over and kissed her arsehole too, asking her if Nathan had ever been back there. Jess was drunk and wanton and pushed back against him, telling him she'd never had anal sex. Anthony worked wet fingers into her and gradually opened her up, then worked his cock gently into her while she moaned and bucked. Anthony fucked her arse while Jess stroked her clit. He asked her what Nathan would think of her if he could see her like this. Jess came hard with him deep in her backside and the orgasm was totally different, it swept her away. Her empty pussy flexed on air and Jess wondered in that moment how it would feel to have a cock in each hole, fucking both the men she loved.

Afterwards they had drunk more wine and canoodled. Anthony had coaxed other fantasies out of her and told her some of his own but eventually Jess blurted out that she had been fantasising about a threesome. Anthony wasn't interested in making it a reality at first but by the following week it was filling his thoughts, the idea of watching Jess get fucked by another man, of seeing her filled by two cocks. They both agreed that this was an opportunity that only came once in a lifetime. Talking Nathan round wasn't as awkward or difficult as Jess had expected. Now all of a sudden tonight was the night and the two men in her life were about to meet one another.

Jess laid out snacks and booze and soon the men arrived. She was dressed for the occasion in a slutty dress she had bought online. Just putting it on made her feel horny. She sat between the guys as they got to know one another, saying little. Then Anthony kissed her. Jess's gaze slid sideways to Nathan and she saw that instead of looking jealous or awkward, he wore an expression of lust so primal that it took her breath away. Jess pulled away from Anthony and turned to Nathan. He kissed her hard, mauling her body. Jess broke the kiss and sank down onto the floor.

She sucked their cocks, Nathan's the longest but Anthony's eye wateringly thick. She was so wet. Then everything happened at once; they groped and sucked her tits, kissed her lips, sucked her pussy, pushed their cocks into her mouth. Finally Anthony was the first to take her pussy and she sucked Nathan at the same time, thrilling at being buffeted between the two men as they both tried to get deep inside her. Anthony laid down on the floor and Jess straddled him, pushing her arsehole down onto his cock in a reverse cowgirl position.

"Oh... oh that's so good."

Her back arched and she watched Nathan approach as she bucked up and down on Anthony. He flashed her a wicked grin and then dove between her legs, sucking her clit hard while Anthony took the opportunity to pump in and out of her.

"Oh fuck, I'm going to cum..."

Nathan stopped abruptly and moved up her body, his chiselled body looming over her. He kissed her with a mouth covered in pussy juice while he gripped his cock and sought her hole. Nathan looked her in the eye and held her gaze while he slammed his whole length into her slick depths.

"Aah! Oh my god!"

Jess's body arched helplessly. Anthony held her hips in place and then both men began fucking her in unison.

"Fuck... you are so tight." Anthony growled beneath her.

Jess was beyond speech, she just moaned incoherently but her hips urged them on. The two men pounded into her until she came, her body clamping down on the two cocks inside her. She convulsed on them, screaming.

A hand clapped over her mouth and nose, Anthony pulled her head back into his shoulder.

"Fucking hell Jess, someone's going to call the police."

Her juddering body was too much for Anthony. He came hard into her impossibly tight arsehole, grunting and straining upwards while he gripped her. Nathan was only a few beats behind, grinding into her pussy as he looked down at her sweat drenched body.

They showered together and watched a movie curled up on the sofa. When they went to bed Jess was too sore for more anal play but they had a lazier, more sensual session. Finally she fell asleep sandwiched between two strong male bodies, utterly sated.


Jess ignored the first call at 9am and only the second time her phone rang did she fight her way past Nathan to the nightstand and answer it.

"Hello?"

"Mrs Howell?" The voice sounded military rather than a marketing call but Jess was in no mood.

"Who's asking?"

"I'm Phillip Hammond, the Minister of Defence. I'm calling regarding your husband-"

Jess looked at the two men in her bed, who were both reluctantly stirring. What a day for them to tell her they had recovered Brendan's body. What a state the poor man must be in.

"I'm really sorry but could you excuse me just for a moment?" Jess put the man on hold and went downstairs to take the call.

"So have you found... I mean, have you recovered my husband?"

'my husband' the words felt so alien on her tongue.

"We certainly have," Jess raised an eyebrow, the man wasn't using the kind of tone normally reserved for bereaved widows. He was positively upbeat. "he handed himself in to an American checkpoint in Asadabad yesterday."

"He wh-?" Jess's stomach flipped over as the implication sank in. This was the Minister of Defence. This was big news. "Are you... are you telling me my husband is alive?"

"Just barely. He's very dehydrated and malnourished but nothing life threatening. Medics should clear him for travel within the next day or so. You'll understand that I can't give you any more details over the phone."

It occurred to Jess that she wasn't crying down the phone like a relieved spouse should. The pause was awkward while he waited for her to react.

"That's... wonderful, just incredible. I'm sorry... I'm just so totally shocked."

"Of course, of course, completely understandable. Mrs Howell, we'd very much like to make your husband's homecoming public. It's the kind of encouragement our troops in Afghanistan really need right now, a triumph for the British Military."

"I thought you said he handed himself in." Jess spoke before she had thought the sentence through, there was another awkward silence.

"Yes, well... he escaped the Taliban single-handedly. All those years in captivity and he still had the presence of mind and determination to escape. You must agree it's a brilliant story... and for the public to see him reunited with his wife and children after all those years. My sources in the military tell me you have been devoted to him all this time. It's just an incredible story."

Nathan wandered downstairs to see where she had got too, he was stark naked with an impressive morning erection. Jess violently waved at him to go away. The look in her eyes was enough to deflate him where he stood.

Now was when Jess had to tell this man she hadn't been celibate for over 5 years, that she was dating. But the words stuck in her throat when she imagined what her husband must have gone through. Her husband. Brendan.

She saw him then in her mind's eye, exactly as he had looked when she waved goodbye to him years ago. That was when the tears came. How could she reject him now after everything he had endured?

"Um... I'll have to tell the kids, they need time to adjust. I don't want them thrust into a media storm." Jess was choking back sobs now. "You can have your public reunion but once he's home with his family it's our time, ok?"

The Minister told Jess that people would be in touch and that a car would be sent to take her and the kids to the airport when Brendan arrived. She barely even listened, just hung up the phone as soon as she could. She turned tear filled eyes onto Anthony and Nathan, who were both regarding her with concern.

"I really need a couple of minutes, ok? Can one of you put some coffee on? Please... put some clothes on. I do have neighbours you know."

Jess shut herself in her bedroom and wept. By the time she had dried her tears and got dressed, the two men were watching the news on tv in total disbelief.

Nathan looked utterly wretched. "Is he really alive?"

"Yes. My husband Brendan is really alive." Jess gulped down some coffee and lit a cigarette. She took a deep breath and regarded them. "He's dehydrated and malnourished. He's been through hell. I can't tell the kids that daddy's alive but that I don't want us to be a family any more. I can't do that to him either, the man has been through so much. He's going to come home to find his family intact. I'm sorry, to both of you... because last night was just fucking amazing and now it'll never happen again. I'm not going to see either of you on the side, it will hurt me too much. I'm drawing a line here and now."

He was standing in front of a shitty mirror in a small bathroom on an airbase in Kuwait, staring at his reflection in the mirror. He looked like hell, sunburned and wild, his beard and hair unruly and looking as if it was jumping from his head in every possible direction. The beard had been on his face for a while now, and he'd grown used to it, grown to love it in fact, though it had been much better cared for before he went wandering through the desert. All of him had been much better cared for, really, and it was difficult to leave the comfort of his brothers to begin this journey. But he was called to serve, and he couldn't deny the calling.

With a heavy sigh, he lifted the silver scissors to his beard and begin snipping. Thickets of tangled, matted hair began to fall into the sink in front of him, and slowly the shape of his dirty, sunken face was revealed to him in the grimy mirror, sunken eyes he hardly recognized looking back at him. The scissors continued to work, the pile of hair in the sink growing slowly, the beard growing shorter and shorter until small patches of bare skin were even visible. Slowly, the Brendan Howell that had gone off to fight for his country was beginning to emerge, although he was clearly a changed man. What was not so clear was that he was changed in more ways than one.

Scooping the majority of the hair out of the sink and into a trash can, he ran water in the sink and grabbed the razor they'd given him. Wetting his face, he emptied a bulb of foam from the can into his hand and worked it between his hands into a lather. Smoothing the lather over his face, he considered himself again in the mirror, the razor grasped in his hand but not held up to his cheek yet. He stared into his own eyes, and knew what he saw in them: Resolve.

Lifting the razor to his cheek, he began to mutter under his breath as it scraped across his skin, taking the last of years of growth with it, "Allah Akbar, Allah Akbar." He rinsed the razor, moved it to a new position on his cheek, and then muttered again as it was pulled across his skin once more, "Allah Akbar, Allah Akbar." He rinsed again, then lifted the razor for another swipe across his cheek, his voice low, the words inaudible outside of his head, "Ashadu an la ilaha ill Allah..."

He continued in this manner for five or so minutes, his eyes intently focused on his reflection as his smooth cheeks emerged from beneath the white foam of the shaving cream. Once the razor had taken it all, he lowered his head to the sink and splashed water on his face to wash the remaining cream and loose hairs off, and then he lifted a towel from a small shelf next to the sink, straightening up as he dried his face. Lowering the towel, he saw himself in the mirror again, looking far more like Marine Sniper Brendan Howell now than he did before he walked into this cramped little room.

"La ilaha ill Allah," he muttered, then turned and left the room. Three people were waiting in the next room for him, each of them a higher rank than the last. He was now precious cargo, a national hero that would inspire the nation to support the killing of more Muslims, and they weren't going to risk any harm being done to him now. He was the prodigal son, and they would deliver the fatted calf to him.

He nodded to them as they rose from their folding chairs, and was then led into another room on the base where a barber waited to clean up the wild growth of hair on top of his head. Each step in this process was designed to gradually make him more presentable to the British public as the hero they were promised when news of his rescue - "discovery" sounded so passive, but if the military called it a "rescue" then it sounded as if they actively went out and recovered one of their own, an assumption they were happy to let people make despite the fact that there was no truth to it - broke, pictures of Sgt. Howell looking fit and filled out in his military uniform flashing on every television and printed in every newspaper in the country, and in virtually every other news outlet in the Western world.

The barber worked for nearly a half hour, and Brendan sat in silence, staring off into the middle distance as the officers escorting him talked amongst themselves, though every word was clearly for his benefit. They talked of what an inspiration he'd be to his fellow troops, the way they already felt inspired by him personally, the people he'd get to meet (the Minister of Defense! the Prime Minister! the Queen!), the interviews he'd do with media outlets the world over, the fact that he could make his popularity into anything he wanted, including a possible election to Parliament. It was all bullshit, none of them adding a unique or original thought to the entire "discussion," and he knew it. But it also meant he didn't have to talk, and so he was content to let them flap their gums at each other while he sat in silence.

Next up he was fitted into a new dress uniform, since he'd lost so much weight that his size had changed. He looked at himself in the full-length mirror as they all stood looking on behind him, and he knew to them he looked almost like the Brendan Howell they'd sent off to die for them without ever planning to meet him before he gave them his life. Now it was handshakes and congratulations, haircuts and fancy uniforms. Before, it was a sniper rifle, a ghillie suit, and his measurements on file for the coffin they'd fly him home in. If it wouldn't destroy the plans Allah had for him, he'd slit their throats where they stood grinning stupidly, and watch as their life flowed out of them and onto his fancy black leather shoes. Instead, he forced a smile at them in the mirror, and turned away from his reflection to face them.

Their pudgy faces nodded and smiled right back, wholly unaware that behind his mask of smile and civility he was fantasizing about gutting them like the pigs they were. But God had bigger plans for him. He would be reunited with Jess, and she'd prove to have remained the faithful wife he knew Allah would provide for him. He'd be reunited with Will and Rebecca, and raise them properly. He knew someday, they'd meet the great men that had shown him the way, the men his most merciful God had put there to save him from the clutches of these infidel pigs before him, and they would weep at the grace they'd been shown from above. The three before him were not worth ruining any of that.

A short debriefing was next, one to prepare him for the gathering he'd run into at Heathrow upon stepping off the plain, and one to prepare him for the longer debriefing he'd receive from MI5 over the following days to find out the specific details of his ambush, his time in captivity, anything he'd learned while there, and his escape and eventual return to their allies. He wouldn't be able to travel much during the debriefing, as MI5 wanted to get as much from him as they could before he was overwhelmed with the media storm that was sure to surround him and details began to get lost in all the excitement. He was potentially their biggest source of new national security of information in years, they told him, and they wanted to make sure he was able to help them as much as possible.

Finally, they found him a room alone, with a marginally comfortable bed, and left him to get some sleep. They'd leave Kuwait early tomorrow morning for the six-hour flight to London, and he should be walking into Heathrow by noon at the latest. Fifteen hours from now, his life would be completely different than it was now. Everyone around him knew it. Only he knew the way in which it truly would be.

He skipped evening prayers, with no idea if the room was bugged or had a camera anywhere, and either way the risk of someone walking in while he was prostrate was simply too great. Sacrifices had to be made in this war, and despite the ache it caused him, this was one he'd have to endure.

Stripping, he examined the scars on his body as he stood next to the bed. He thought about the first time Jess would see them, the reaction she was sure to have... sympathy, revulsion, sorrow. But he was ready. And he had faith in her, the same faith Allah had in him now, that she'd see that they were the marks left behind by the removal of his old self, the pain necessary to be born anew in the Lord. He was a warrior now. He'd come to love the scars as reminders of his salvation. She would come to love them too.

He slipped into the bed and was asleep in minutes. He slept soundly, waking only once.

The dream he submerged out of was hazy the moment he left it, but he was aware of Jess kneeling before him, her body naked to his gaze, submitting herself to him. He was aware of standing above her, of her eyes on the floor at his feet, and he heard her voice: I serve you, as you serve Allah... He'd commanded her to please him, and without another word she raised up on her knees and brought her mouth to his cock, and she began to suck him.

He woke up before he'd come, but he was almost painfully hard from the dream, the feeling of her lips around him so real before he'd woken up. Despite the desire flowing through him, he resisted the urge to spill his seed now, instead knowing that he would allow Jess to bring him to spill it as a reward for her devotion and faithfulness to him. After a few minutes of struggle, he was able to drift back off to a dreamless sleep, and he woke in the morning refreshed, happy with his decision to save his seed as the reward he knew it would be.

Brendan showered and dressed quickly, shaving once more to make sure there would be no 5 o'clock shadow when the world media gave him his hero's welcome, and he was on the tarmac with the same pudgy faced pigs he'd spent the previous day with before the sun was up. The plane lifted off from the runway at 5:47 a.m. London time, and Brendan watched silently out the window as they sliced through the thin air 40,000 feet above the Middle East on their way to London. On their way to the site of the 2012 Summer Olympic Games. On their way to the biggest triumph for the soldiers of Allah in more than a decade.