~~~~~~~

Fallujah 2004

Driving in an up-armored Humvee, following the convoy, four men were having a loud conversation. Their truck was in the middle of the convoy.

"Look man, it's our last convoy of the deployment, quit screwing around and get your head in the game," The first man said. He was in the front passenger seat.

"I know, I know, I'm just excited. We are finally getting out of this shit hole," the second man said. He was in the back on the radio.

"Keep your eyes open boys, these streets seem way too empty for this time of day," The third man said. He was the driver.

"What the hell is our scout doing? They are slowing down," the fourth man yells down. He was the gunner.

The scout vehicle had started to slow down. It was a bad area, they should be speeding through here. All the gunners started rotating their turrets back and forth in their firing sector. Heads were on a swivel. Something was off.

"Our comms are up right," the first man asks. He turns in his seat a little to look back at the second man. The second man was checking over the radio.

"Yeah everything is good," the second man replies. "Vic four to CC, comms check, over."

"Good copy Vic four, over," comes a reply from the radio.

"Give me the radio," the first man said. The second man hands him the handset.

"CC, this is a bad spot to be slowing down, has our scout spotted something, over?"

There was a brief pause.

"Vic 4, scout is reporting possible IED up ahead, over," replied the CC.

"Roger that CC, out," said the first man.

Everyone in the vehicle heard the CC's Response. You could cut the tension with a knife it was so thick. Everyone was on edge. Anytime there was even a hint of an IED, everyone went on high alert. The streets seemed to get even more quiet.

"Sarge, I'm not liking this," the third man said. "There is shit everywhere on this road. How the hell is the scout vehicle just now getting their shit together?"

"I know what you mean, this is not the time to get careless, not when we are so close to getting out of here," the first man replied.

"All Vics, reduce speed to five miles per hour," called the CC over the radio.

"Oh this is horseshit," the second man said. "What the fuck is he thinking, we are in a kill box here."

The convoy was now crawling through an urban area. The buildings were all at least 2 stories tall. Nobody had a visual of what was above them, save for what they could see at the roof edges.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

"Alright boys, we've been through worse. Head in the game," the first man said reassuringly to the people in the vehicle.

"OH SHIT, MOVEMENT ON THE ROOF," the fourth man screams down to his team.

All hell breaks loose. People come over the rooftops with AKs, RPKs, and RPGs. Guns blazing.

All of the gunners open fire. Lead flies everywhere. It is deafening madness.

BOOM

A large explosion rocks their vehicle.

~~~~~~~

Bob was staring at the menu in a daze.

“What is this,” Bob asked.

“These are your drink choices,” the barkeep replied. “You may only choose one drink, and the drinks can't be combined.”

Bob kept staring at the white menu. He was at such a loss. Not that long ago he was planning on getting an UBER home. Now he was stuck in this bar with seemingly no other escape but to order. The thoughts and emotions from feeling trapped were making him have flashbacks to worse times in his life. He slowly brought his hand down to his knife.

"I shouldn't have drank so much at the concert," Bob said in his head. He was lost in his thoughts. "What the hell were the lights doing down that street? Why did those assholes have to be in that alleyway? What is with this bar? I think I've finally lost it. What the hell is going on? Why didn't I just order my ride, screw the price?"

"Bob," the barkeep said. "You need to choose a drink."

Bob snapped out of his thoughts. He looked at the barkeep.

"What's your name," Bob asked the barkeep.

"My name isn't important," the barkeep started to say but was cut off.

"NO," Bob shouted. In a flash of movement, Bob opened his knife and stabbed it into the table. "I have had enough of this shit."

The two of them stared at each other for a moment before the barkeep spoke up.

"My name is Robert, but you may call me The Barkeeper," The Barkeeper answered.

"Bob, you are a Bob, no need for any of the fancy shit" Bob replied.

"Ugh, I despise being called Bob," The Barkeeper says with a sour look on his face. "I know It's called Bob's Bar. This bar has been in the family for a very long time. Regardless, I am The Barkeeper now, so please address me as such."

"Hahaha," Bob burst out laughing. Hearing this man call himself "The Barkeeper" was just too ridiculous not to laugh. Catching his breath from laughing, he felt a little more calm. "OK, The Barkeeper, is there really nothing you can say about these drinks?"

"I know I said The Barkeeper, Ugh never mind," The Barkeeper replied with mild irritation. "No, I can not."

"My bad Barkeeper, I felt I needed to get some kind of a rise out of you after all this shit," Bob said still chuckling a little.

Bob looked down at the menu. In his fit of rage he had stabbed his knife into the table, but what he didn't notice, was he also stabbed into the menu. Pulling his knife from the table, he collapsed the knife and put it back in his pocket. Bob took the menu back in his hand to read over the options again. His knife had stabbed into the very last option printed. Grenadier.

"Fuck it," Bob thought.

"I will have the Grenadier," Bob said to The Barkeeper.

Nodding, The Barkeeper got up from the table and walked behind the bar, not saying a word. He pulled down five bottles of various colors and moved his mixing cup closer to him on the bar top. Next, he grabbed a rocks glass from under the bar and placed a clear spherical ice cube into it. Eyeing the quantities, he poured in what looked like even quantities of the first four bottles. The Barkeeper looked up at Bob.

"This is a potent cocktail," he said to Bob. "The next part I add gives this drink its signature spice. How spicey of a drink do you think you can handle?"

"Spicey," Bob replied.

"Very well," The Barkeep said as he poured a healthy amount of the last bottle into the mixing cup. He capped the cup and gave the mixture a proper bartender shake even going as far as to spin the cup behind his back and catching it again. After his little show, The Barkeeper poured the drink into the rocks glass. It looked like he mixed it with liquid nitrogen, there was cool smoke pouring out of the cup. He filled the glass to the brim and topped it with two cherries as a garnish. Finally, The Barkeeper placed the drink on a tray and walked it over to Bob.

"Your drink sir," The Barkeeper said.

Smiling Bob took the offered drink. He ate the cherry garnish and then raised the glass to The Barkeeper with a smirk.

"Cheers," Bob said and drank the drink down.