Battlefield Morality

Dear reader, This is another category conundrum. There are elements of so many categories in this story, loving wives, romance, erotic coupling. It is an adventure story. Enjoy!

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Photojournalism was my calling in life. At thirty-five years of age, I had built a solid reputation as a journalistic photographer. My photos and the byline, Patty (Patricia) Cooper, had graced the covers of many magazines and newspapers around the world. I had been in many trouble spots in the world. I had photo documented wars, revolutions, famines, protests and more. It was dangerous work, but it was what I lived for.

I met my husband Greg at the first newspaper that hired me. We have been married for eight years. Greg went from journalism into politics and eventually worked in the intelligence community. He often joked that he could tell me more about what he did but he would have to kill me.

When a country is undergoing a threat to the ruling regime violence and bloodshed are never far behind. A battle had been brewing and I felt a deep calling to go and do what I do best.

Because of my reputation, I was allowed to be attached to a company of regime defenders. I was warned that it was dangerous as hell and that I would be assigned a minder. That minder's job was not so much to defend me as it was to make sure I didn't get photos of anything the regime didn't want me to see.

Greg asked me not to go. It would be more accurate to say he begged me not to go. He suggested that at my age I was too old for this kind of work. I told him that I needed to do this and I'd be back in no time.

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The company of soldiers were located in one of the outskirts of the second largest city in the country. I wore a safety orange vest with "press" plainly printed on both sides. I had my trusty camera and my home-packed battlefield backpack.

I was introduced to my minder, a big hulking lad, armed to the teeth and in body armour.

During a skirmish with some rebels, I got some good action photos. I was surprised at how ill-equipped the rebels were. They were cut down quite quickly. We turned a corner and a rebel popped out from behind a garbage can and levelled a big shotgun at my minder. The rebel was either very lucky or very skilled as the shot was placed at the neck of my minder, in the small space where the protection was weakest. The minder fell dead at my feet. The rebel ran away. I turned back to where the company of soldiers had been, but they weren't there. A stream of bullets hit the wall beside me. I ran. At the end of the building, I turned a corner and was pulled into the building as a shot rang out. The man who pulled me to safety inside the building caught the bullet in his lower leg. He fell but remained conscious. I helped him up and moved him further inside the building.

I heard explosions not far away, and they got louder and louder. I couldn't tell what direction they were coming from. I glanced around and saw a corner of the building that looked to be better built and reinforced by concrete. I helped the man over to that corner and we sat down. The next explosion was so close that the ground shook. Everything went black.

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I began sensing things, mostly discomfort and pain. I couldn't see so I questioned whether I was blind or whether we were buried alive. My battlefield backpack was still on my back. I unzipped it and felt for my waterproof matches. The air didn't smell like anything combustible so I struck the match. I wasn't blind, we were buried.

We were under what must be tons of concrete and rubble. I lit a long-life, slow-burning candle from my backpack. The man who pulled me inside was beside me, unconscious. He bled from the bullet wound in his lower leg. I cut off the fabric on that pant leg and used it as a tourniquet. I reached for a first aid kit in my pack and I cleaned the wound. The man's leg was bleeding, the bullet had passed through him. I couldn't tell if it hit a bone on its way through. I doused the wound with rubbing alcohol, glad he was still unconscious because the alcohol on a deep wound like that would sting like a bitch. Then again a bullet hole would probably trump the sting of alcohol. I wrapped the wound in gauze.

If there was no fresh air coming in I would have to douse the flame of the candle to save oxygen, but I could feel air movement but no light. The cavity was large enough for me to stand. The man beside me began waking up.

"You've been shot in your leg. I've cleaned and bandaged the wound. I'm trying to stop the bleeding with a tourniquet."

"Thank you," he said groggily.

"Do you speak English?"

"Yes, I was educated in an English school. You're a journalist?"

"Photo Journalist, why did you pull me inside here?"

"You were wandering right into the line of fire. I paid for my good deed with a bullet."

"Then I should be thanking you. You saved my life."

"Well, we may just die together here, buried alive."

"Surely your comrades will be looking for you. They'll dig us out."

"That depends on a lot of factors. None of which I'd count on. Does it look like we could dig our way out?"

"I moved us into this area because it was concrete reinforced. We're blocked in by concrete slabs. It saved us from getting crushed and buried but now it's a prison."

I noticed him screwing his face up.

"How is your pain?"

"It hurts, throbbing actually. It looks like you did a good job with bandaging and the tourniquet. You've had training haven't you?"

"I've had lots of battlefield experience."

"Do you have any pain relief meds in that magic bag of yours?"

"Nothing serious. Acetaminophen with codeine. I have a local anaesthetic in there too."

"Could I have some of the acetaminophen?"

I gave him the acetaminophen and he dry swallowed them. I had a full canteen of water. I wanted to conserve that as much as possible. I also had a six-pack of protein bars. It would maybe hold us for four or five days if necessary.

"I don't even know your name."

"Patty Cooper, and yours?"

"James, Alessandro.

"James, not Diego? That's odd.

"English school, my homies call me Diego but I go by James."

"Well James, do you have any way of signalling your buddies that you're trapped in the rubble?"

"No, but they might come looking."

"My phone got crushed. I seem to have lost my camera. I have some protein bars and a little water. We will have to be very careful and conserve."

"Patty, I recognize your name. You are a famous photographer. You husband is Gregory Cooper, right?

"Yes, that's right."

Both of us fell asleep. The candle lit the space with a dim glow. I woke up and unwrapped his bandage, There was no sign of infection and the wound had stopped bleeding. I doused it in rubbing alcohol again which woke him.

"Easy, James. I'm just sterilizing your wound and I'm going to rewrap it."

"You make a great nurse."

"No, I'm not cut out for that. An army medic maybe. How is the pain?"

"It hurts but I'm fighting it."

"Don't be a hero, if you need the pain relief or the local anaesthetic just let me know."

He noticed the watch on my wrist. It was a Swiss Army Watch that my father gave me long ago. It had been with me in so many conflict zones it was like my good luck charm.

"What time is it? How long have we been down here?"

"We have been here just shy of twenty-four hours."

"Time flies when you are having fun."

"Yeah, when does the fun start?"

"Soon I hope."

We decided it was time to eat and drink. We halved a protein bar and drank some water.

I pulled a large ziplock plastic bag from my backpack.

"This bag will have to do as a latrine. I only have one so we'll need to share."

"You really do think ahead don't you?"

"I've been in need and not had one, now it's part of my standard kit."

"How long have you been a photographer?"

"Since I was a kid. I was always interested and of course, I studied that and little else I'm afraid."

"Does your husband approve of your dangerous career choice?"

"He hates me doing this kind of work but it's what I live for. What about you, are you married or are you too young?"

"I'm twenty-two years old and single. I worked in a textile factory but the regime has closed it down. If we are successful we will reopen it again."

"No sweetheart at home worrying about you?"

"No, sadly not."

We heard boot falls outside, but not knowing which side they were on made it dangerous to call out for help. We stayed quiet.

According to my watch, we were now forty-eight hours into our confinement.

It would be night so I suggested that we sleep. It was pretty tight quarters for the two of us. He used a rolled-up jacket as a pillow. I used my outer shirt and press vest.

In the dark of our cave, we snoozed on and off. James seemed to be managing the pain well and the wound looked good. He rolled over towards me and his arm fell over my chest. His hand lay between my breasts. It felt intimate. I could tell by the rhythm of his breathing that he was asleep.

When I woke up again his hand was now cupping one breast. His hand looked enormous compared to my smaller breasts. Then his finger moved. It brushed over my nipple and back again, making my nipple harden under the thin fabric of my T-shirt. He continued fingering it. I felt myself begin to get moist between my legs.

James moved slightly and snored. He settled back down and returned to the breast but instead of fingering it, he began rolling it between his thumb and a finger. It felt so good I let out a little moan and he woke up.

"Oh shit, I'm sorry Patty. I didn't mean to... I was sleeping, dreaming."

"That's okay James. It was rather nice and I was enjoying it. It's not often a young man takes any interest in me."

"That's a shame, you're very beautiful you know."

"Especially with concrete dust in my hair and probably all over my dirty face."

"Regardless, I apologize."

I took his hand and put it inside my T-shirt and up to the breast he was playing with. He gave it a light squeeze. He then moved closer still and kissed my cheek. I turned my head towards him and I kissed his lips. When I felt his tongue on my lips I opened my mouth and our tongues met.

I reached down to his stomach and undid his belt and fly. I reached in and felt his swelling erection growing in my hand. I stroked it gently as he continued to stimulate my nipples.

"If you keep doing that Patty, I will cum."

"Do you want to make love to me, James?"

"You're married."

"You and I are trapped in here together. We might die tonight. I want this, I want you."

I unbuckled my own pants and took them off. Moving that injured leg would be bad so I let him stay lying where he was. I got up on top and I slowly pushed myself onto his now rock hard cock. He felt huge inside me. My husband is not a small man but James was even larger. I fucked him with passion but being careful of the leg.

The feeling of an imminent orgasm built inside me, and when I thought it would burst it just kept building. When he came he grunted loudly and I orgasmed right after him.

I rolled off of him as we both caught our breath.

"Why, Patty?

"The battlefield has its own rules. You live life as it comes because death could come at any moment. We live in the moment."

"You've done this kind of thing before?"

"One other time, many years ago."

"It was something I'll remember as long as I live, even if it's only a day or two."

"So will I, James."

We ate and drank again, then slept. It was the third day that I woke up because James was poking me.

"I hear boots but I hear them speaking in the local patois. I am going to call out."

"Okay, if you think it's safe."

He yelled out and the digging began. It took half the day but they got us out. We were transported back to their headquarters where we were separated.

I was taken down several staircases and put into a small room and the door locked. I expected someone to come and question me but no one came. They took my bag. They stripped me and left me naked in this small locked cell. It was dim, damp and cold. With no natural light and no watch. I lost track of time. I was thirsty and hungry. I had a bucket that I had to use as a toilet. I don't have to use the toilet much now because I haven't eaten or had any water.

Someone opened the door and left a bottle of water. There was enough light coming in through the door that I could see that the water was cloudy. It smelled of piss and dirt but it was water. It could make me sick but if I didn't drink soon I'd die. I held my nose and drank.

Food was not forthcoming but there was the occasional insect that walked along the walls or floor. It wasn't exactly gourmet fare but the protein they provided would maybe keep me alive a little longer.

I was tired and weak. Two men came into the cell, one stood by the door, the other held me down.

"Please don't. I croaked out.

That fell on deaf ears. He flipped me over onto my stomach, I didn't have much in the way of strength but I didn't make it easy for him. Before he could take it further there was a crashing noise and my jailer was pulled off me. I looked around and both men lay on the floor, as I was picked up and taken upstairs.

James carried me to a room, he gave me a robe to wear and we left in a truck. We drove for maybe half an hour before stopping at a small house. He carried me into the house and a comfortable bed. I fell into a deep sleep.

When I awoke I was surprised to find myself on an intravenous drip. James sat in a chair near the bed. My voice came out as a croak.

"Where are we?"

"In a friend's home. She is one of our medics. You were held captive. I kept asking where they had taken you, but they refused to tell me. I was interrogated. They didn't believe you were a journalist. A friend inside this group told me you were being held in the cellar and the talk was that you were going to be raped and killed. It seems that I made it just in time. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry James, you saved my ass, literally."

"Once we get the fluids into you we have to move. They know I've taken you and they'll be coming for us."

I passed out again but apparently it took two bags of saline solution to get me rehydrated I was mobile again. James dressed me in appropriately common clothes that were slightly too big.

"James, it might be safer for you if I can find some regime soldiers. You can go hide and I'll be out if your hair."

"No, that won't be safe for you. You don't have your camera or identification. Without any proof, you will be as vulnerable as you were in that cellar."

"Where are we headed?"

"Into the woods, the fighting is in the urban areas. Once in the woods, we can disappear."

We had to be careful dodging both regime and rebel fighters who commanded the streets. The woods seemed so close but we didn't dare make a run for it. Once night fell we slipped into the wooded area and disappeared.

We slept together underneath a rocky overhang. A light rain fell. I missed my bag, we could have used a plastic bag to catch rainwater.

It was getting cold so we huddled together for warmth he was a strong and resilient man. I felt comfortable in his presence and his arms.

As dawn broke and we woke up I was surprised to find his lips on my throat. He kissed my throat over and over. I lifted his head and kissed his lips. Everything just flowed naturally from there. I straddled him and we made love once again. His leg felt less troubling so he turned me over and he mounted me. He controlled the depth and the tempo as if he could read my mind. We came together in a fit of passionate kissing, stifling the sound of our orgasmic groans.

"It feels good making love early in the morning, Patty."

"It is because of who we are with and our circumstances. How long will we have to hide out here?"

"I don't know, a few days at least. If the fighting lets up a bit we can try to get you to your embassy. You should be able to get replacement documents there."

"Good idea. I think it's best I get back home rather than reinsert with the regime."

"Yes, it will be much safer."

"I can make a shelter here beneath this overhang. It will be warmer overnight."

The next three days were spent searching for a clean water source, foraging for edible plants and hunting. James set snares. I was impressed by his understanding of survivalism in these circumstances. We ate well, got exercise, built the shelter, and made fires which were small to avoid broadcasting our location. We bathed in the small fresh water creek we found.

Each night we would strip off our clothes and hang them to dry out. We would embrace each other to keep warm, but of course, it never ended once we warmed up. We made love to each other each night we were in the woods.

That final day we ventured back into the city. We were able to avoid areas where there was fighting. When we got to the embassy, James met man who handed him a bag, he kissed me goodbye, turned and walked quickly away.

The embassy did their due diligence and I was given a provisional passport so I could get back home.

Thanks to my husband I was able to arrange a flight and was on my way back to civilization.

Greg met me at the airport and he embraced me in a bear hug when he saw me. He took me to the hospital to be checked over. Thanks to James' survival ingenuity I was given the go-ahead to go home.

It took a week to decompress. My stomach began giving me problems, I put it down to the water I drank from the creek in the woods or the cloudy water that tasted of piss my captors had supplied. As the week went on it got worse so I had my doctor check me out for any parasites.

The doctor confirmed that I tested positive but not for parasites but for pregnancy.

That evening I sat down with Greg and confessed it all.

"So he saved you, then you saved him. You got shelled and buried in the rubble. You had sex with him. You get captured, nearly raped and then spent three days in hiding and having sex with him?"

"Yes, that's right."

"Do think you're a superhero or what?"

"No, it was a hell of an adventure and I'm sorry about my infidelity with James."

"What did the doctor say about your stomach?"

"That's something else. The good news is there is no parasite but I am pregnant."

Greg looked away, not saying anything for the longest time.

"We had sex the night before you left. You had sex with your rebel boyfriend several times since then. The fertilizing sperm could be his or mine. If it proves to have been mine then we will stay together until the child is born and then we'll determine what we do from there. If it isn't mine then we will separate once we know."

"I'm so sorry, Greg."

"Patty, I understand an infidelity under pressure of battle or imminent death, but you repeatedly fucked this man, knowing that I'd be here worried sick about you. I can hardly believe your callousness. I'm glad you are back home safely and I'll always love you but Stockholm Syndrome or not, I can't let this slide."

"I love you Greg and I feel horrible about what happened. Please give me a chance. I will see about getting a prenatal DNA test tomorrow."

The test was completed and the results showed that Greg was not the father of my baby.

Greg took the news as well as I expected, poorly. After several shots of whiskey, he calmed down enough for my next conundrum.

"I need to decide my next steps and I need your input. I have options. I could carry the baby to term, I could have the pregnancy ended or I could give birth and put the child up for adoption."

"Patty, those choices are up to you and you alone. If I were the father there would be no doubt I would weigh in on it but it is not mine, so it's your call, your conscience."

"There is my career to consider, photojournalism is unpredictable, it can be dangerous."

"Yes, it can even lead you to make stupid decisions leading to dire consequences. There is more to this story, more than you know."

"Your point is taken. I hate the thought of aborting my son or daughter but my career and lifestyle just don't work as a single mother."

"All things you might have considered at the time."

"If I don't have you anymore I don't know what I'd do."

"I guess you'll find that out. I've had too many whiskeys to head out for a hotel so I'll stay the night but leave in the morning."

"Please, please reconsider your decision. I don't want you to leave."

"Tell me the truth, did you fall in love with James? Did you think that you two might be happy living in his environment, in a state torn apart by war? For someone of your intelligence, you do some very stupid things."

"I never loved him."

My husband wasn't wrong, syndrome or not I was insane not to have considered the consequences. I wanted to talk to James but I had no way of communicating with him. He knew where I lived, maybe he would seek me out but I doubted that would happen.

Greg wouldn't sleep with me. He left in the morning with a couple of suitcases. I cried tears of sadness and tears of rage but he still left me there to map out my life without him.

The child within me grew and I got to experience the miracle of pregnancy and childbirth. I gave birth to a baby boy. Greg wouldn't meet with me but he did send a cheque to help me from time to time. I tried many ways to find James Alessandro but it was impossible to get any leads.

One day my doorbell rang and I was surprised to find Greg standing there.

"Come in. What brings you around?

"I wanted to talk about a few things and maybe meet your baby. Have you named him yet?"

"I'm glad you've changed your mind and want to see him. He's sleeping right now. I haven't decided on a name yet."

I was still recovering from childbirth so I didn't look like my old self. I was flabby, my small breasts looked huge and they leaked at the drop of a hat. I wore no makeup and my hair was more of a rats nest than styled.

"Sorry for my appearance, I'm in new mother mode."

"Nonsense, you are as lovely as ever. Seriously, you look wonderful."

"You're a horrible liar Greg. Would you like a coffee or some tea?"

"Tea please, I'm trying to reduce my caffeine consumption."

Greg looked as handsome as ever, maybe a touch more grey hair at the temples but he looked fit. He struggled not to look pensive. I feared he had bad news.

As we sipped our tea he told me he had been working on a major case but had also been running a side investigation.

"Patty, I was trying to find your elusive James Alessandro."

I must have blanched because he reached out and took my hand.

"I have some information. James Alessandro aka Diego Alessandro, aka Ivan Alexandrovich, is a Russian asset. He was sent into the country to organize the rebels and to foment a revolution. He was the de facto rebel alliance leader."

"He's a Russian asset?"

"Alexandrovitch contacted me the day that you two were rescued. He held you hostage. He demanded state secrets and names of operatives. I could have been charged with treason if I'd told him. He offered me your freedom in exchange."

"You didn't."

"I told him that my clearance level didn't give me access to what he wanted. He became very angry. He threatened to have you raped and murdered. I offered him a large duffle bag packed with $100 dollar bills. He accepted that offer. After we finalized the details he took great joy in telling me how many times you gave your willing consent for him to fuck you, over and over during your 'adventure.' He said he wanted to make sure I knew that my wife was a slut."

"I let the ruling regime know the details of the money drop. They had been looking for an opportunity to apprehend the Russian asset. I only recently received confirmation. Unfortunately, he was eliminated."

"Oh, my God."

"I'm sorry Patty but the father of your baby is dead. He was a spy, an agent provocateur. He caused the deaths of both rebels and regime officials. He kidnapped you, fucked you and bragged about it to the man who loves you most. We could have learned a lot from an interrogation but between you and me, I'm glad he's dead."

I rushed over to Greg and pulled him into an embrace.

"Thank you for getting me out. I'm sure you had to pull in a lot of favours. I knew that it must have been eating you alive wondering if I was dead or alive. I've been such a fool."

We talked about my career plans, about his responsibilities at the ministry. I assured him that I still loved him. He met the baby and watching him hold the little man made me smile.

He left me alone again but he stayed in touch with me. One month later he asked to come by the house.

"Patty, It's not good for you to be living here alone like this. I've been distancing myself from you to save both myself and you from having false hopes. I want you to come home with me. I have plenty of room and I can convert my old den into a nursery."

"What are you suggesting, a reconciliation or just a place to stay until we divorce?"

"I don't know. I love you very much and would like to support you through this but I'm still struggling with the fact that it wasn't a one-time slip-up. Maybe I/we need professional help. Please just come home so I can be there to support you."

"Thank you, I love you too and I agree that if you think counselling would help I'm in."

I was so happy to be back at home and Greg was very helpful and supportive. He was a natural. We decided to name him Henry Gregory Cooper, giving him Greg's family name. Henry was my grandfather's name.

The day-to-day business of caring for Henry drew Greg and me closer together. When I had a photo assignment Greg would work from home. I spent the first month sleeping in a spare room but moved into Greg's bedroom after that. It didn't happen in a day but over time our relationship healed.

My days of being the daring photojournalist were behind me. I spent more time taking photographs of flowers and beautiful landscapes and selling those to publications.

As he grew and began talking he called Greg "dada." I'll always remember the happy tears he shed that day.

We are now a happy family. Few people would understand the strain and strange bedfellows that the heat of battle can produce. I regret the infidelity and the pain it caused Greg and myself and I'll be forever grateful to a husband who struggled and overcame colossal barriers to become a wonderful father figure and an amazing husband.

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