Scared

"Hey, Nick!"

Nicholas Springfield, walking towards the medical building of the army base, looked the man. Even before he saw the expression on Andrew’s face, he already knew from the sound of his voice, what mood a friend is in. Friend's vivacious voice tried to conceal the concern about Nick’s burden, but vivacity didn’t cheat Nick. And Andy knew it. As he caught Nick, he slowed down the tempo to their normal walking speed.

"You’re going to Darnall?" asked Andy after some minutes of walk in silence, during which the two men had come to honor two colonel and one lieutenant-colonel. Nick nodded slightly. "Do medicines not help?"

"No, but I need to get my sleep back before I go home. Claire can understand, however, Mandy ..." A gentle smile appeared briefly on man’s rough face, when a thought about his wife and four year old daughter passed his head. Andy patted friend’s shoulder.

Words were not needed. Weeks and months together in Afghanistan and Iraq had made understanding between the two lieutenants almost perfect. There were times when being on the enemy territory, they had been unable to say a word aloud for days, but there still were, however, the long wordless conversations. They knew how the other thinks and that was enough.

"However, there are gossips that Samuels is one of the best specialists in this field, who’s in the active service. Surely he would not be here otherwise," Andy said.

A half year, while they have not been in the operations, has made friend more talky, noticed Nick. But nevertheless, he was right. Major Samuels is a head of one department in the country's largest military base. But dozens of visits had given no result to do Nick's being better.

"Are you coming in?" Nick asked, when they came to the hospital’s main entrance . Andy nodded.

"I’ll wait in the corridor. Like usually. Hoping to see Elsa walking by," friend grinned, eyes stopped on the tag next to the door.

Darnall Army Community Hospital.

Fortunately, Major Samuels was in his cabinet and free. Nick wasn’t in the mood to wait long time, when he stepped into the psychiatrist’s cabinet.

Major pointed to a comfortable armchair next to his big desk. Nick took a seat there, feeling a slight discomfort. Major looked at him.

"How many times have you been here, Lieutenant?" he asked suddenly.

Nick froze. Middle-aged Major’s question was new. Usually he asked about his health. This time, the question was ... different. In order to feel more comfortable, Nick leaned back in chair, thought a bit and looked out the window, calculating.

On the square, far away Nick saw a unit preparation for going to a missions. Once again to Iraq, and Nick remembered some small talks, where Major Samuels was mentioned as one participant also. Of course - Iraq was not the best place to work. Although the overall situation was calm, there was, however, rebel, who failed to accept the foreign troops in their homeland. Incidents took place, and therefore it was natural that, in addition medics there was a need of specialist, who could take care about the troops mental health also.

A few years ago, when he was completing service in Iraq, he despised all who offered him mental treatment. He understood the need of physical medicine, but mental – no way, he thought then. He had trained himself for the job. And trained well, because none of these towel-heads, whose throats he had cut, never appeared to his nightly dreams. It was natural - he was prepared.

But returning from Iraq, after a half month of the peaceful life at home, Nick frequently began to see dreams of children Iraqis and Afghans, their slack, empty, yet so burning eyes, as Nick had been seen on children, who stood next to their parents’s corpses. Just standing, without any tears.

These children, their eyes have been Nick's night-time companions during last few months. Not a drop of blood. Just children and their eyes.

Nick returned.

"I think that twenty-six times, Major," he said, forcing his voice to calm.

"Hmm ..." Major drew his hand over his hair, eyes sliding over the open pages of Nick's case. "And none of the four methods of treatment has not worked. No, it does not matter, Lieutenant," added Samuels soon as he noticed Nick's mouth opening. "Maybe you should refrain from active service, but I know that you are against it. Love the motherland, call of duty and all that other bullshit keeps you on arms."

"Major." Nick had stiffened on these words.

"Yeah. I know. I know what your operations are, in fact." Major Samuels’s grin was a little more sarcastic than usually. "You are haunted by children and their eyes, but you think it’s perfectly normal to kill and rape their parents. Relax, Lieutenant. That's for what you are. That’s for what you are trained for. You are not the first complaining here about bad memories. I know what is going on there, although I have not been in any of the missions yet. I know." Samuels took half a cup of coffee from table and looked at it long before he took a small rattle. "And so interesting, as it would seem, no one has yet told me, that they are concerned, worried about all these killed people. No - you are disturbed of the small things. Your mind is already designed for such violent activities and mostly these are looking like normal. In fact, however, your mind still understands right and wrong, and your brain is constantly looks outputs to break through these artificial blocs. So you see dreams. The children eyes, broken homes, dead dogs, cats - whatever. "

"What do you mean, Major?" Nick looked at Major, lost in confusion.

"Actually, I have good news for you, Lieutenant Springfield. Once I knew that I am going to Iraq myself, I went to little professional meeting. There were present quite a number of colleagues who are working daily with soldiers, returned from missions. After the official part we sat down to discuss the same problem that disturbs you, Lieutenant, and I think that finally we found a very effective method of treatment. Theoretically. I think the new treatment should help you." Samuels ran finger along the Nick’s file, looking carefully couple underlined paragraphs in it and opened a drawer then.

"This is good news, because I'm going home in two weeks. For two months vacation," said Nick feeling relieved and finally sat back to armchairs again, relaxed. "What is it, the new treatment?"

Major hand raised from the drawer to the height of Nick's head. With a gun.

"Tin," said the psychiatrist phlegmatically and pulled the trigger. Surprised appearance on the face, life extinguished in Nick’s eyes. "But I do not think that it would be good news for you." Major Samuels aimed gun towards the door. He was thoroughly familiar with the file of Lieutenant Springfield. When the door opened, he once again pressed the trigger. Andy, according to Nick's case his best friend and partner in almost everything, sank back to the corridor with the same confused face as his friend has had few moments earlier.

The psychiatrist put the pistol on the table and next to it placed a already written letter. Then he took two sub-machine guns from drawer and rose. He started to move towards the door, listening sounds from the corridor.

"He is scared of eyes! Hah!"

People, running towards Major Samuels’s room, saw psychiatrist to leave his cabinet. And then they saw two P90 sub-machine guns aimed at them. And then they heard shots.

If they were lucky...