Everyone Hates Wasps

By Lloyd Andrews

Sergeant Larry Hopkins controversially emerges from the military scarred by the things he has seen and done and fully aware that something is very wrong with him. Larry valiantly attempts to get ahead of his past and forge a future for himself, battling to balance himself out and erase his horror and guilt. Unfortunately events unfold that unsettle and manipulate him, forcing him to revert to type. His past problems stalk his disturbed and confused mind, chasing him down, way down, trapping him and putting him on a mission to protect and seek justice, with nasty, vicious and tragic consequences.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Dec 21, 2012
• ISBN: 9781624886379

Book preview

coincidental.

1

Highly recommended

I had been travelling for months now; well I call it travelling, but its no gap year, or year out, funded by mum and dad. Not a well earned break because I’ve had such a stressful time on my media studies course. Fat chance of that, you won’t find the likes of me champagne backpacking, taking in the sights on a road well travelled, that would be for a different life altogether, one with some sort of designer destiny. What I am talking about is supporting reconnaissance and intelligence gathering patrols, moving through what is deemed to be hostile territory. The truth is, the hostility factor gets amplified tenfold when we are on the ground.

As everyone knows travel broadens the mind, and even the military geniuses behind this action are unable to impose restrictions on mind expansion, in fact on this journey there were to be no restrictions whatsoever.

I had been highly recommended for this particular operation, it was my mission to escort and assist intel officers from the coalitions forces. I would be helping them in their endeavours to scoop up and squeeze the life out of what was left of the Taliban, mind you just about anyone was on their shopping list. We had been full on since American forces and the army of the North had marched straight through to Kabul.

We escorted them anywhere they wanted to go, nowhere was off limits to us we were special; caution and boundaries were for others. I certainly didn’t find the intel fellas scary or frightening. Mind you I couldn’t spot a dentist on the street either, what happened to those they selected for their programme of enlightenment was a mystery to me, and that was exactly how I wanted it to stay. After all, as a teenager, I had gladly surrendered my freedom for three square meals, a uniform and less pay than a traffic warden, and I was so proud to serve, it would have been my privilege to do it for less. I utterly believed in my role, my life’s calling.

On my first day of service the god corporals loudly lined us up. We were all lurking about, a good cross section of youth and freedom; life’s little all sorts, haircuts and fashion victims, the fat, the thin, the tall, the short and the very, very spotty. We were to be inspected by a drill sergeant; this was a real moment in our careers, a proper baby step.

He stood in front of us, we were in complete awe of his presence, and he looked us over without directly catching anyone’s eye. He was better than any x-ray machine, he could see through us all, and into our beyond.

He barked gruffly, forget what mummy told you, you are all ugly fucking lumps of coal, I will be applying my pressure, you will conform, and you will become my little diamonds! he turned and marched himself off. From that moment on I took too military training like a fatman to darts. Institutionalising me was no chore, the courses were run on fear, your own fear of failure, and my young bones lapped it up. I was a simple young man with simple pleasures, and I took playing tidily-winks seriously, winning was everything to me, second place did not exist, this environment was set up so the likes of me could excel.

Decades on and I am the man, and I love it, other people have their cardboard cut out roles in this world, not for me. Respect me and I’ll respect you back in bucketfuls, and my respect was worth your life, especially if your arse end was hanging out, skirmishing on some grubby little mission. Being there when people really need you and stepping up that’s what counts in this lifetime.

2

Everyone leaves this place

This is such a beautiful place, I wondered what astounding things would have come out of her if she hadn’t been repeatedly violated and retarded by so many foreigners, art, music, inventions, Nobel prize winners, fashion, food, joy and pleasure all popped on the backburner. She was overdue a lucky break, but as the saying goes if it wasn’t for bad luck she would have no luck at all. The retardation of her dreams and hopes, building new frontiers of hatred, obstacles to any future for her today’s. They are still acting like clans killing over territory and grazing land. There will be no butterflies of happiness winging us any good news from her, not for this generation, only the rocks and dust will last long enough hear of it.

None except the tribes people from here could ever-lay claim to her, it is simple, everyone leaves this place. Even Alexander the Great, who brought the magical flying army to the party, fades into their history. The Soviets had been their latest greatest casualty, two superpowers settling their differences in this dazzling place. How clever of them to arrange their ideological rumble in someone else’s garden, and what a magnificent arena for a fight it was. A tiny brave part of me wished I had been in amongst it back then. If it was rerun again, it would probably only be available on pay-per-view, I am a tight bastard but I’d pay to see it. As if landing on the moon wasn’t proof of superior ideology enough, and who’s got the hairiest nuts, they decided to fuck up other people’s lives instead of inspiring them to greatness. We were in clover now, blissfully snuggling under the comfort blankets of delusion, illusion and audacious smug arrogance, believing we could succeed where others had failed, and we should never underestimate mans capacity for self delusion. We are ignorantly forgetful that some places are just like people and they never change.

Before I came here I thought it was US Stinger missiles and the heroism of the Mujahadeen, that had sent the mighty Soviet military machine packing. But having experienced her for sometime now, I feel I know what went through those sent to meddle, a large portion of them were medically evacuated with not so surprising stomach complaints.

There is a shortage of what we would call clean water, and it is poisonous to anyone but locals. Toilet roll is not a local requirement, and most other aspects of personal hygiene are a bit of a luxury, and of course every piece of bread is carried on a young boy’s head, supported by a sticky hand. For centuries she had been overrun by nature, infested with life itself. In time all occupying invaders would develop sickness, it is inevitable, and it will seep from them relentlessly, draining them of all hope and their desire to win. Nature is its guardsmen, the ultimate gatekeeper to the graveyard of empires, watching over her beauty, and making her completely repellent, to all those without a true birthright.

Her tribes people were so brave, they fought so hard to liberate themselves time and time again, at a massive cost to life, and then just to turn on each other and trap themselves in flawed religious and political ideologies, this made no sense to me. It makes no difference what religions or political views you have been brought up with, or developed for yourself, recent history seems clear. The western capitalist system is the only one that has definitive proof of function; it actively encourages go forward. Anyone with good health and enough time on the planet will exceed any expectation that their mother or father had as a child, providing that expectation has a monetary value of course.

I once heard a television interview with a billionaire philanthropist who started out with nothing, his evidence was clear and well presented, he simply stated that if you were to select any profession from say the eighteen fifties to the year two thousand. Those people will have a standard of living now five to eight times better than they had back then, and there is no reason why this shouldn’t continue. Because its despite natural disasters, disease, wars, great depressions, the insatiable greed of the banksters and the never ending clop of the hooves from the four horsemen of the apocalypse.

Its on the telly twenty-four seven so it must be true, we are all pulling the top off it in ecstasy, thrapping away on cloud nine, delirious and oblivious to the plight of others, watching capitalism consume itself.

3

Joining the dots

We had been in the field on mission (oscar mike), running desert patrols for weeks, working between Kandahar, Delaram and Zaranj, mainly in vehicles, and if we were with high-ranking yanks we got helicopter support. I didn’t mind either way; in fact I wouldn’t have minded being on foot permanently, I was extraordinarily fit, I believed I was special. I always liked the yanks though, think about it James Dean how cool was he in just a donkey jacket in Time Square, and these guys are kited out to the max. They all seem, well not special like me, its more than that, they are just so enigmatic, its like as if they can just light up moments in time. They are bathed in light, they seem to be able to draw it to themselves like sunlight magnets, and then they flourish in its radiance, they all have their own personal sunshine, and such nice teeth too!

I felt comfortable in the desert, not homely comfortable, fuck the day to day living conditions on the ground were shit. We would set up A.R.D (all round defence), centred on our vehicles, we always had constant coms, these intel fellas had more coms kit than the BBC, so we would just cam up, and hotbed, two hours on two hours off. My rancid mate had given me herpes in my forehead from his rice crispy lip. He had been using the sleeping bag, the maggot, as we called it for the two hours previous to me; my head gets messy about once every six weeks, a tingling unwelcome reminder of my adventures, its one of the many gifts I have got that keeps on giving.

I never felt to chuffed at having to kip near the vehicles either, they were real bullet magnets, and I definitely had no hero complex. I had been specially selected all right, but what is special about being dead, one ricochet and its over, and if your dead a day, you may as well be dead three thousand years, try asking Tutankhamun if he fancies a pint.

There were never more than six principal intel men and two of us grunts. The intel men were an unusual entity; differing from anything I had met before. Amongst them they had a cocktail of skills, some could speak in the local dialects like natives, others could call in and direct wicked fire missions at a moments notice. It wouldn’t surprise me if one or two of them weren’t seen in reflective surfaces, and drank blood, apparently they were all on my side, thank fuck! Like I said earlier enigmatic.

Rice crispy lip and me were just a solid little interference factor for any quick up surprises that might be encountered. We just had to keep spotting our fashionable enemy of the moment, and if need be, keep them occupied and brass them right up. If we spotted them earlier enough we could out range them, so they were kept at arms length. But these blokes were hide and seek world-fucking champions, and often things could get up close and shitty enough, even for the very best of scrappers. That is until the intel men call up a heavyweight show of force, and what a show they could muster, no publicity required this was the only show in town. Our encounters were getting less and less, no longer the hard core just unfortunates with an AK and a resolute prayer regime.

When I say I was comfortable in the desert, what I mean is that for the first time in my life, I really felt hushed. It’s a bit like the feeling you get when you see a new born child, when I say you see it, I mean you really look, and it feels like something breaths on you. You can feel the wonder of it all, and as it fills you up, your understanding sings silently with deep bliss, love and hope. I think my dry soul was quenching a long awaited thirst or some such bullshit. I felt no anguish here, I was just impressed in her beauty, and that is despite having to slot the odd target. Its no surprise to me that hippies used to backpack around here in the sixties. I now feel quite strongly that everyone should spend some time immersed and intimidated by awe, it should be on a special mandatory life prescription, for the betterment of mankind.

In the mornings her burning sun wakes you, it warms your bones right up, the days feel longer, the sunset is spectacular, every day really feels like a brand new one, and you are a brand new you. I get why people thank their God or whatever, at sun up and sundown. But its at night for me that she comes into her own. It’s the star bright sky you see, those stars, a tiara of priceless jewels that nestle glistening on our empty bucket of wishes. Some people wish so hard that they can’t see the miracle of it all. Its like having your own personal giant dot the glorious dots, eternally expanding with no possibility or probability of an end in sight, and I was a keen observer. If I concentrated hard enough, studying her starlight, draining back out into her moment in the explosive dark ages, my nights in the maggot became hypnotic, but this was no wish you were here moment.

I could hardly ever sleep because of the cold, some nights it felt like it was down to minus ten. With only my imagination for night-time entertainment, I often joined my dots into two stickmen images. I had named them phoney Tony, and Bushy boy, tonight Phoneys getting dry humped doggy style by Bushy boy, both of them screaming in ecstasy we don’t care if it rains or freezes, as long as we have our plastic Jesus! My desert star bright moral compass or shit stain scale, as I preferred to call it. The stick man leaders having, a total conviction and absolute belief, that they hold claim to a universal truth. I hope for their sakes that they are right. Because those cosmic winds blow relentlessly, and one night, all their stars will be in position, and everything will be revealed to them. On this day of reckoning, its going to be Colonel Saunders and Bernard Matthews giant wet dream when their over inflated chickens come strutting home to the roost.

There has been so much death and destruction, overwhelming firepower, used like money by drunken sailors. Mutts like me running totally off the leash, and I worked with, and met, characters a lot more de-sensitised than I was. The scorched earth policies, actions and attitudes of the blessed political classes, with a passion for the politics of poison and killing on an industrial scale. They had made many a good soldier disappear into the horizon and beyond. So much so even their own mothers would have to struggle in the darkness ever hopeful of finding them again, no party game just a real blind mums bluff, lovingly reaching out. Just dreaming of that day when they reassemble their wonderful jigsaw, even though the picture on the box has become unrecognisable, even to them. It will take them an eternity of voiceless misery just to find the corners; this is a true test, a test that only the weeping heart of a mothers everlasting love could endure. Just watching and waiting for that glimpse of their chubby cherub of old.

I do understand that it’s the aftermath of nine eleven that has caused this chaotic interlude into what would have been a numbed and mundane end to my little epic career. I underwent serious and spectacular testing in the Gulf, and then there was the crippling confusion of the Balkans. I was a keen young squadie back then, I only had one rule if you shoot don’t miss, its in the bible, well my bible anyway, I was never found wanting, that should have been test enough for me. I should have got out then and gone back to the start, in another profession, but everyone’s life is full of what ifs, buts and maybes and even the odd regret. My resilience, and hard on experience was why I was put on mission with these fellas that’s for sure, I am a real victim of my own success.

Its more than reasonable to punch hard, and smash your opposition, fuck it should be expected, winner takes all, but as beautiful as she is in my mind, do we really want her? What will we do with her? I think all elected leaders generally start out meaning well, but power, money and self-image, the true axis of evil become their real gods. Whatever their background, or flawed ideology, they always seem to get distracted by cash, and then shuffle and stumble drunkenly more than a few steps in the wrong direction, making them arrogant, above themselves and totally forgetful of all others. There should be an annual test for them, just like I have to go to the range every year, to see if I can still shoot? It would need to be a brain scan or a DNA test, ensuring they hadn’t morphed or mutated in some way. Sixty- percent human, forty- percent politician you pass, anything less and you are culled like a badger with cough. Human first, and a politician second, perhaps then they could say that they have left the world a better place than they found it, leaving the mark of self-worth, instead of the stain of self-love. We all know we could all lead better lives, and we would all lead better lives if they did, win, win, such stupid fucking thrappers.

I don’t think they have organised anything worthwhile since the moon landings. Mind you cleverer people than me actually doubt they ever happened, but they are probably just lacking the imagination gene, and it is preventing them from believing in soul fulfilling endeavours, its probably all just part of something so big they can not understand or imagine it. Well that is what my star bright nights whisper to me, and I am definitely not alone, imagine going out there, just to see those stars.

I have no clue about my religious or political allegiances; I wasn’t christened as a child, I was aware of the miners on strike, and I didn’t really care, most of their families had more than we ever had. I walked passed plenty of churches and chapels on my way to school, but had never found any curiosity to get involved. Right now seeing what I’ve seen, I’m so glad I kept my options wide open.

I’ve had plenty of time though; studying my dot the dots, freezing hard, in my rice crispy lip infested maggot bag, contemplating religious and political callings that I might have bothered my arse with. Perhaps if I had concentrated harder in class instead of chasing after a ball like a demented dog, there would be more doors open to me, and clearer guidelines of what is right? What is wrong? What is normal? And what is real? I do know though, whatever you truly believe binds you to your life and in time to your death.

Religious callings were for other people, people who had Sunday best and liked stories from the distant past, the biblical era. The bible is the greatest story ever told, but unfortunately it seems to gather dust on bookshelves and in bedside cabinets, around the world. If it does get dusted off, it gets displayed with enthusiastic pomp and madness, often in elaborate and opulent buildings. Its wonderful words and fables when discovered, by mere people on a mission, get misquoted and distorted. Filling unsuspecting fertile minds, with ugly seeds of nasty, often twisting our futures into a repeat of the past. Thus cursing this human kind with spite and self-loathing or perhaps something worse. As for saying prayers to an all-powerful entity, what the fuck was that about? I had never prayed, not even when I came under fire, if there is a god you must pity it, junk mail twenty four seven, even more so on the rest day, give him, or her a break, for fuck sake.

I prefer my stories to come from the Holy-wood period. My favourites