African Adventure

"Jes, sinjoro," the woman replied.

"Sidu, flavpeltulino," the man ordered, "Attentu mi."

"Jes, instruisto," Sara gasped and crawled up onto her seat. She winced as she sat, but she looked carefully at the instructor, eyes tracking him onto the stage and not leaving him for the entire class.

She was kneeling by the table when Robert returned to the hut in the evening.

"Via mangxo estas preta, sinjoro. Kaj via sklavino estas preta," she said.

"I see that my food is ready. It doesn't matter if my slave is ready unless she has cleaned my hut," he replied. He looked around, even shifting the footlocker to see if she had cleaned underneath it.

"Bona labora," he admitted, "Good job. Where did you get a broom?"

Sara smiled. "I traded some of my perfume for one from the cooks. I took a rinse bucket from the wash point to get some water and I had to use my dress to wash the floor since I couldn't find any rags or cloth. I think," she continued, suddenly hesitant, "that I may have ruined it."

Robert nodded. "The dress was too damn flimsy anyway. I'll find you something else to wear."

He sat down on the footlocker and began eating. From time to time he would reach down and feed Sara a mouthful. She was ravenous after missing lunch and her body wanted more food, not less, to heal itself after the trials of the past two days. She was careful not to bite his hand, but she tried to get every drop of food she could.

When dinner was finished she gathered the dishes together and pulled her dress on. It was torn in several places and, Robert commented, revealed more than it covered. He took it off of her and folded it in half lengthwise several times. He took the long strip of cloth and tied a rudimentary loincloth for her.

"That'll do for tonight," he said, "Bath time."

The stream was a nightmare, again, and Sara kept her attention focused elsewhere by trying to anticipate Robert's commands. Drawing on her memory of the previous night she tried to have everything ready for him before he asked for it. When he bathed her she smiled and remembered what his hands had felt like when he gave her pleasure. When it was her turn to bathe him, she lingered at her work, allowing herself to really feel his body.

As they left she saw the woman from the classroom, the one who had beaten her. She was being held against the wall of the ravine by two men while another one was beating her about the belly, breast and thighs with a stick. She was covered in bloody welts and sobbing hysterically. Sara felt... sad. The woman had been a bitch, but no one deserved that.

When they returned to the hut Robert replaced the bandages on her feet.

"Why do you care about my feet, sinjoro?" she asked.

"Because when we leave here we're going to walk out. It'll be a hard trip and if your feet are already in bad condition you might not make it."

Sara hesitated, catching her breath before speaking, "You weren't just lying to me, then? You really will take me away from here?"

He nodded and continued working, talking in a low tone, "Don't tell anyone that. Don't even hint about getting away from here or we'll both end up dead."

"I don't understand, sinjoro," Sara said, "Why would your soldiers hurt you?"

"They aren't my soldiers, Sara," he replied, "I'm the hired trainer. Their leader, and the person bankrolling this operation, is George. I don't know his last name. He's an ambitious man who wants to be a powerful man. I had hoped he might turn out to be decent, but I didn't expect it, and he's not. If George shows up here before we leave you stay right here in the hut. The less he sees you, the better we'll be."

"I don't understand," she said. "I'll do it, of course," she hastened to add, "but I don't understand."

He sighed and began putting away the rags and alcohol. "This camp, violence and all, is a model of good behavior in comparison to the way some of the bandits, rebels, army units and, yes even the UN troops, behave. No one is being impaled. No one is being burned alive with gasoline. The sorry bastards at least aren't raping children anymore. Children, for the love of God!" he hissed.

"When George shows up he will take control. He's incapable of not grasping for power. And when he does, all the discipline I have imposed will vanish in the night like a breeze. It will be bad, and my ability to moderate it will vanish along with it. So you just do what I say and I'll do my best to protect you. I gave you my word for one thing. For another... I would rather not go back to being celibate."

Sara thought about this for a minute, carefully weighing everything he had said. She considered response after response. In the end she decided she had nothing constructive to add to this. "Does this mean I can have some pleasure tonight?" she asked.

Robert stared at her for a moment and then chuckled. "I'll make you pass out from pleasure tonight," he promised. And he did.

Sara found time at the camp slipped into a bearable routine. Robert was a stern taskmaster, but he wasn't cruel. After the first week she knew enough of the language to speak to the other women and they quickly came to realize that Sara was not going to try and use her status to order them around. Quite the opposite was the case. Sara had taken Robert's advice to heart and took every opportunity to learn from the other women. Although she traded away all of her perfume in the first few days, she found the women willing to teach her. This was, she discovered, typical. The women could be catty about small things, but they worked together to make their common situation better. The men of the second platoon, for instance, were vicious animals. While most of the soldiers could be unthinkingly cruel, they didn't go out of their way to inflict pain. The men of the second platoon did, and their women were brutalized regularly. The other women went out of their way to help the women of the second platoon, assisting them with washing and other chores and, often enough, treating the injuries inflicted upon them.

Sara found enough leisure time, despite Robert's efforts, to think about this. On a daily basis she was walking amidst men, and women, who would kill her without any sort of remorse, but she found herself detached from this, as though she was dreaming and the things going on around her were just background details that didn't affect her. Robert noticed the change and commented on it, in his own fashion.

"Swimming with sharks," he said, pulling her head back by the hair.

"Kio, sinjoro?" Sara gasped.

"Your situation," he explained, his free hand running over the sweat-slick skin in front of him, "You fell into the ocean and the sharks are all around you. But you're swimming with them, seeing new things, and they haven't eaten you. Yet," he added, pushing her head forward again, all the way to the floor.

"But they will try," he promised, "Detachment is good, but don't let it go too far. That background noise will reach out and try to hurt you ."

"Jes, sinjoro," Sara said. She pushed her ass back, grinding against him, far more concerned with chasing the orgasm he had taunted her with for the past half hour. He began moving again, pushing in and out and she sighed contentedly and tried something new, reaching back between her legs to caress his balls as they swung back and forth.

Later, she kissed his chest and raised her head.

"I need to use the toilet, sinjoro. May I please?" she asked.

Robert grunted his assent and unwrapped his arm from around her. She carefully rolled out of the hammock and tied a length of fabric into a sarong that covered her body. She sat on the floor to slip on the sandals and then started down the path. Even in the pitch darkness the white painted stakes that marked the boundaries of the path were visible. She opened the door to the ladies toilet and a shadow erupted out of it, engulfing her in a tangle of arms. She tried to scream but a hand was clamped over her mouth, thumb pressing painfully up into the soft tissue beneath her jaw. She felt branches slapping at her body as she was carted off into the underbrush.

She was thrown to the ground hard, her breath knocked out of her. She heard one man speaking softly and urgently to another as hands gripped her legs and pulled them apart. She tried to kick, but her ankles were held in an iron grip. A face appeared in front of her, ivory yellow teeth bright in the darkness. She jerked her head forward sharply and saw stars as her forehead impacted the face. She heard a hissing intake of breath and a soft curse and then someone let go her ankle and slapped her hard.

Stunned by the blow, she still managed to bring her knee up hard, knocking someone off balance. She lashed out with her free foot, catching the person holding her other ankle a glancing blow. There was more swearing and then the man straddling her was snarling in her ear and holding a knife in front of her face.

"Halt megerino," he hissed, "Plezuru ni aux ni dolorigos vi." He slapped her once. "Komprenas?"

Sara sobbed once and then nodded her head. He smiled and took his hand off her mouth. Keeping the knife next to her throat he unbuttoned his fly and pulled out his cock, inching forward to bring it to her mouth. The motion freed Sara's arms and she reached from behind him, over his legs, to grab his testicles and squeeze as hard as she could. The man roared in pain and rolled back, off of her body and away from her painful hands. He scrambled to his knees and lunged for her with the knife. Sara screamed and a gunshot drowned her out.

The man lurched and then fell forward with the back of his head missing. The hands released her ankle and there was another shot, and another. She tried to scramble back in the direction she thought the trail was and felt a hand on her back.

"No!" she screamed.

"It's okay, Sara," a voice said, "It's me. It's Robert. Just stay still."

Sara collapsed on the ground, shaking violently. She could hear people, men, talking around her but couldn't understand what they were saying despite being able to understand most of the words they used.

"Staru, Sara," Robert ordered.

Shakily, Sara rose to her feet. She was assisted by unfamiliar hands. Looking around she saw she was in a clearing illuminated by green light from a stick held by a man. Another man, a boy, was assisting her. Robert held his rifle in his hands and looked at her carefully.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"I fought them," Sara gasped out, "I did! I swear it! They didn't use me! I'm still healthy, I promise."

"Shh," Robert said, "You did well. It's going to be okay," he gestured at the boy helping her stand, "Luke saw them grab you and sounded the alarm. You did exactly right."

"Akompanu sxi al mia kabano, Luke," Robert said, "Go with Luke, Sara. I need to finish cleaning up this mess."

The young man helped Sara back to the path and then to Robert's hut. He sat her down on the floor of the hut and then turned to leave.

"Atendu, sinjoro," she called.

"Kio estas via grupo?" she asked.

"Sepa," Luke replied.

"Dankon, sinjoro," Sara said, "Dankegon."

The boy smiled and walked away.

Robert appeared later, Sara had no idea how much later. He helped her up into the hut, undressed her, and put her into the hammock.

"I have to clean my rifle before I come back to bed," he whispered, "I'm proud of you."

"The sharks tried to eat me, sinjoro," she whispered back.

"That's what they do," he replied, "Sleep now."

The next morning, when she had finished washing Robert's clothing, she found the women of the seventh platoon and, without a word, knelt down and started washing clothing from their pile. The other women didn't say anything; it wasn't necessary.

Sara collapsed on top of Robert and cuddled against him.

"George is coming," he whispered into her ear. Sara shivered. She had never met the man, but the other women had, and they talked. They considered him proof that the devil was loose on the face of the earth and they all spoke of the times when he had been present as the bad old days. The return of George was something they speculated about in hushed tones and veiled language when they were sure none of the men could hear them.

"What does that mean, sinjoro?" she asked.

"It means that tomorrow I'm going to punch you in the face," he replied. "Give you some very visible bruising. And you are going to stay in the hut as much as possible. I may tie you up, I haven't decided yet."

"Jes, sinjoro," she said.

"George takes whatever he wants," Robert explained, "and his ambitions and desires are limitless. If I give any indication that I care about your welfare it would put you in a great deal of danger. Realistically it would kill you. He'd keep you here as a hostage; leverage to insure my continued good behavior. I'd never be able to get you out.

"The other extreme is making him think I don't value you at all. In that situation he might ask for you, and then he'd start wondering why I don't share you. So we'll walk the tightrope. My story is that I like having you around for regular sex. Your story is that you prefer not be thrown into the common pool of women. So stop being so obedient and... eager. Obey grudgingly, expect me to hit you and yell at you. I expect we will leave in the next week."

Sara, deep in thought, nodded her head lightly. 'Eager?' she pondered that phrase, 'Have I been acting eager?'

"What are we going to do, sinjoro?" she asked.

Robert took a deep breath and then let it out. "We're going to steal some diamonds and put George out of business," he said.

"George has diamonds?" she asked.

Robert shook his head, "Not yet. He plans to move in and claim some of the diamond-producing territory. But other groups have diamonds and we are going to take them away from them. Ambush a convoy. And after that... we'll see about cleaning up some of this mess I've created."

"What will you do with the diamonds, sinjoro?"

Robert chuckled, "Retire. I've been soldiering my whole life. It's been long periods of tedious and boring tasks punctuated by short moments of pissing my pants in fear. I'm going to sit by the ocean and make a real attempt to become an alcoholic."

"That doesn't seem like you," she said carefully. "I can't see you just sitting around and drinking, sinjoro."

Robert nodded his head slowly, "Perhaps that's true. When I first joined the Legion they sent me to French Guyana. The French government has a space program there and they use Legionnaires to guard it. I took some leave in Belize because I wanted to hear people speaking English again. I found this little village in Toledo province, between Punta Gorda and Monkey River. It's nothing much, no beautiful beaches. But I think I was happier there than I had ever been in my life. I thought I'd buy myself a little place there. Maybe set up a school, a clinic. Help them out a little. Buy a little grace."

"Do you think grace can be purchased, sinjoro?"

"I sure hope so," he replied, "Otherwise I'm going to spend a very long time in hell. Look around you at the despair I've facilitated," he sighed, "Then again, maybe I'll just drink myself to death."

"Really?" she said.

"Shh. Enough talking," he carefully rolled over on top of her, "I want you again."

"Jes, sinjoro."

George arrived two days later, accompanied by about a dozen men. Sara stood with the rest of the dependents at one end of the parade ground. Gingerly she probed at the livid bruise that covered one side of her face. She had been tender, even bruised, from some of Robert's blows, but this was the first time he had struck her with the intention of causing damage. She was conflicted about it. On the one hand, it had hurt; on the other hand, she understood the necessity of it and she knew that Robert had only struck her because he considered it necessary. She was sure he had found the action distasteful, and that created feelings in her that she didn't feel safe to explore. She had explained the bruise to the other women by saying that her period had come and she had tried to refuse him her ass. They had clucked sympathetically and offered a few suggestions to make the act less painful.

She returned her attention to George and the men with him. Where the army wore khaki uniforms and brown boots, the newcomers were attired in green uniforms striped with black and brown. In comparison to the rest of the army they were carrying next to nothing in the small packs they carried, and their weapons gleamed.

When George had finished inspecting the army he disappeared into the large hut that was never used. 'That must be his hut,' she thought as the army, and the dependents, were ordered to get back to work.

The women at the stream were uncharacteristically quiet while working. There was a tension in the air and everyone seemed to be making an effort not to draw attention to themselves. Sara felt a growing apprehension that she had, in retrospect, felt before the men from second platoon had tried to rape her. She spent as much time as she could in the hut, sweeping slowly and then re-sweeping afterwards to make it look as if she was truly working, and not hiding.

Robert didn't return to the hut until long after dark. Sara had been growing frantic and she could hear him approaching long before she knew it was him. She exhaled, only then aware that she had been holding her breath, when she identified him. He took his boots off and ascended the steps. His food was long cold, but he ate it anyway and fed her in the process which was, she realized, why he was eating it. He was giving her a far larger share than she usually got.

When he was finished he stood and unbuttoned his fly. Understanding his intent, she opened her mouth. He pushed roughly into her, pumping back and forth as he fucked her mouth. His hand, grasping her hair, held her head still, but she tried to utilize some of the skills she had acquired in the past weeks. After several minutes he thrust deeply into her and came. She struggled to swallow, gagging twice, before he withdrew from her. She began to lean forward to lick him clean, as she knew he enjoyed, but stopped herself when she realized that someone might be watching. Briefly she wondered why she had started the action without thinking, and why she felt... disappointed? Robert rapped her on the head.

"Puru laj pladoj, megerino," he ordered, "Kaj rampu al mia lito."

"Jes, sinjoro," she replied.

When she had returned the dishes and crawled into the hammock she curled up next to him.

"The training starts tomorrow," he whispered, "We leave the day after."

Sara quickly found that her job was simple. She was expected to carry a pack of food and water and follow the soldiers. When they stopped marching they would practice setting up an ambush and she would stand in the middle of the 'road' to stop the 'trucks' and then the soldiers would practice attacking the convoy. It was physically exhausting work, made worse by the tension of working with the second platoon. To make matters worse, George and some of his personal guards were constantly watching. Two of the women had survived a 'welcome home' party thrown for George. Three other women had died and the two survivors had whispered details of how they had died. Sara had not been the only one nauseated by the story.

The worst had followed when one of the women had pulled her aside and urgently whispered into Sara's ear. She claimed that George and Robert had talked at length before the party and worked out the details of the ambush. Sara was to be shot in the leg and left on the road. When the convoy stopped to investigate, the soldiers would set off mines. If Sara survived, she was to be brought back for George to enjoy.

"Fugu, flavpeltulino," the woman urged her, and then limped away.