Date: Sat, 21 Sep 2013 22:56:41 -0700
From: Amar Patel <patelamar360@gmail.com>
Subject: An American in Kandahar (Chapter Three)

Written by: Amar Patel

Disclaimer:

The following story is fictional. The author (myself) is older than 21,
anyone who is under the legal age (according to their country, state, or
provincial laws) to view erotic material should immediately dissuade
themselves from reading further.The story is fictional and similarities to
events and persons (living or dead) are purely coincidental and
unintentional. If you are offended by homosexual erotica or it is illegal
for you to read such material. Please read no further.


Copyright:

The story may not be copied, distributed, in any way, shape or form without
consent from the author.

Opinions and Improvements can be sent to my email: patelamar360@gmail.com
or on twitter (PatelAmarNifty)

If you wish to continue to read mine and other authors works, it is
important you donate to Nifty. They have provided a rich amount of stories
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Comments are always welcomed. And encouragement.

_____________________________

Message to Readers:


	I am sorry for the long delay between chapters, life has been
rather hetic lately. I got a lot of negative feedback from Chapter Two. My
writing style does not follow typical outlines for stories, and I seek to
create something meaningful and moving. If you are not a fan of longer
stories, please feel free to continue reading or read other stories on the
site.  To those that remain, thank you for the support and letters, they're
quite inspirational. Rahat has been especially delighted that people are
taking time to learn about his culture.


	I would also like to thank Gary, a retired serviceman (god bless
him). He assisted me in developing the "American" (sorry no names until you
read). As always hope you enjoy the read, and I urge you to send questions
or emails if you are curious. A big salute to Gary, and to all those who
have served or serving. Kisses to my readers.


Signed,

Amar.

P.S Please read the message at the end.
______________________


			       Chapter Three


	A surge of excitement filled the streets of the bazaar that
afternoon, typical Afghan diseases of gossip and exaggeration spread like
fire in dry brush. American soldiers had come to survey the area, and
Khaled dragged me to the bazaar to go see them.  People stood in tightly
knit circles talking in hushed tones, I heard stories of Americans single
handedly killing a thousand men or how they stood eight feet tall. "No
Laaf" was the common expression that was used to give some validity to
their tales. Khaled was eager to listen to these tales, but some didn't
indulge in the excitement of the crowd. Stern faced men sat puffing on
cigars, ranting at whoever was willing to listen about their politics. To
them the Americans were an occupying force, and there was a degree of truth
in their words. Afghanistan had a history of being invaded, thrice by the
British and once by the Soviets. Their attempts to spread their ways were
met with adamant independence. The Americans were just another power trying
to spread their ways upon us, and these men are scornful of that.


	A familiar face greeted us at the local produce vendor, the son of
one of Baba's many friends. His name was Anas, a slender man with a boyish
charm. His black hair was always made up like the refined men of Iran, and
he had a natural glow about him. He was a business man by day, and a dance
by night. I disliked him catering to sexual pleasures of men, but his
profession does allow him to have access to information. If anyone needed
to know anything about someone else's business, Anas would be the main
source of information. I held out my hand in greeting, but was met with a
back shattering hug instead.

"Hello Jahan-sahib, I never expected you to be dragged into this
excitement." Anas raised a brow.

I flicked my eyes to Khaled "You know us Afghans, one new sight and we are
like children."

Anas nodded in comprehension "It is good to see you too Khaled."

"Assalamu alaikum (peace be with you) agha." Khaled bowed his head
slightly.

"Now now , no need for such formalities. How about we sit for some tea and
kabobs?" Anas gestured to a kabob stand.

"Mashallah." I could already taste the kabobs.


	We sat and Anas ordered a rather large spread of food, I saw him
dish out a wad of money without a single thought. I quickly dismissed it as
I bit into a kabob, my mouth was instantly taken to bliss.

"So Khaled, I heard that you were interested in the Americans." Anas gave a
knowing smile.

I saw Khaled's eyes light up "Have you seen any agha?"

"I have, they're a curious bunch. Tall like giraffes as the stories go."
Anas chuckled

"How many are there?" I was getting curious myself.

"My my, even you Jahan-jan! Well, I saw seven including their translator."
Anas' tone then became dark "I warned them to watch their step."


	No sooner than he had said this that an explosion resounded in the
distance, a thunderous bang that knocked me onto my back.  I heard
something else amidst the sounds of shattering glass, and that was the
whistling of objects slicing through air and flesh alike. People began
running to and fro like those people in Spain, horrific shrieks filled the
air. Khaled pulled me to my feet, and our trio rushed to the scene. A crowd
had already amassed upon our arrival, murmurs came from every corner of the
large mass of bodies. Women held their children back from bearing witness
to the scene that unfolded before us, and men mumbled ayats under their
breath. People saw us approaching and cleared the way, and we began making
our way to the front. An odor filled my nose as I approached, the stench of
rusted iron made my stomach churn. Anas was at my side, and he described
the sight perfectly...  Allah have mercy. Bodies laid strewn and mangled at
various distances, crimson was splattered on walls and formed seas. Glass
laid brokem beneath empty windows, and shards of sharpnel glinted in the
sun. We were joined by a police officer, and I asked her to clear the crowd
and gather volunteers. Soon we were joined by several men, and I designated
each person to a soldier.  We would have to approach this systematically
and with haste.


	I approached the soldier closest to me, a young man gasping for
breath. He had sustained heavy injury, and I was surprised he was even
alive. His body was covered with lacerations, and every movement caused
more blood loss. I sat and lifted his head, there was so much hope in his
eyes. His condition was beyond my capabilities, and he saw that in my
face. A tear ran down his blood stained cheek, and he reached into his
uniform with all the strength he had left. He extracted what Americans call
a "Dog Tag" and I opened my hand. Placing the object onto my palm, he gave
a last gasp and capitulated to death's touch. I dragged his body into the
shade, and a woman placed a white sheet over him. His name was Tristan De
Rochefort, and I had a feeling that I would need his tag later. Slipping it
into my pocket, I looked up to see that others had the same situation upon
their hands.  Our body count soon reached a total of six, five Americans
and an Afghan. The policewoman approached me shaking her head, and Khaled
placed his hand upon my shoulder in reassurance.


"Jahan-jan!" I heard Anas calling from afar, and I saw him waving his arms
frantically.


	Khaled and I looked at one another, and like mad men we sprinted
towards an alleyway. Anas stood at the entrance, and he pointed at a
soldier laying unconscious. His injuries were relatively minor for the most
part, but I saw a rather large shard of sharpnel lodged into his thigh. I
did not want to amputate his leg, and I called out for anything that could
carry his weight. The policewoman managed to get a rickshaw, and we lifted
the soldier onto the back. Anas agreed to stayed behind for burial
preperations, and we made haste for the mosque. My work began immediately
upon our arrival, Khaled sprinted to place the soldier under anesthesia.
Donning my gloves and mask, I launched myself into the tedious task. My
thoughts went completely to the procedure, and I took one last glance at
the clock. By the time I looked up again, three hours has passed in an
instant. My work was finished with a last stitch, and I leaned back with a
sigh of relief. Khaled advised me to go relax, and assured that the soldier
will be well taken care of.


	Khaled was preparing dinner as I exited from the hammam, and I
decided to check up on the soldier. I realized that he would be with us for
some time, and his uniform was too torn and bloodied for use. I looked
through my clothes, and finally found him a sky blue payraan tumbaan. That
way, he could blend in without suspicion. As I carried the clothes to the
clinic, I came to the realization that his name and appearance were a
mystery to me. My thoughts had been focused on the procedure to the point
that those things were trivial. He was fast asleep on the bed as I entered
the room, his soft breaths were all I heard in the silent room. I laid his
clothes upon a chair, and took in the sight of him for the first time.


	He looked no older than eighteen, barely old enough to shave let
alone hold a gun. Allah had taken much care in carving this masterpiece,
and bestowed many blessings from head to toe. He had smoky black hair cut
in a military fashion, and his warm honey brown skin gave him a swarthy
appearance. I admired that adonic face of his, with those deepset eyes,
those eyebrows like birds and flight, and that long nose that completed
this arabesque prince. I found my eyes trailing down to those kissable
lips, then to that slim muscular build of his. This boy belonged amongst
the ranks of Farzan Athari and Khalid Kafi, any girl would fall for him if
he sought to charm them. He muttered something in his sleep, and my mind
snapped back to reality. It was sinful to look at him in that manner, and I
went to my room. I felt tired, the long day was winding down and so was my
body. I collapsed on the bed and looked up at the celling, my eyelids were
slowly shutting. At last, sleep came like a crashing wave, and my last
thought was what that boy would be like.

______________________________________


			   End of Chapter Three

	I'm sorry for the long delay, and the shorter chapter. I promise
that I will write more after I life sorted out.  For the next Chapter, I'm
debating between whether to write an introductory chapter for the
American. So it is up to you readers! Let me know :)