Final Destination. Appointment Only.

CHAPTER 1

Aldershot: 4th April 1982

The pub was packed; mainly soldiers; it was the regimental boozer after all, but also locals keen to say goodbye to their boys. There were a small group of hard nuts who thought that picking a fight with a red beret was a reflection of their own vaunting masculinity. The NCOs could have spent the evening in the comfort of their own mess, as the officers were doing. The Colour Sergeant however was a stickler for tradition and his Company drank in a public bar in England before each foreign deployment. He claimed that it reminded the lads who they were fighting for. Many would remark that a lot of the pub's regulars were hardly worth a single trooper's life.

The NCOs had paid for strippers out of their own pockets. None were real lookers but they were enthusiastic and slipped under the tables, dispensing competent blow jobs. For twenty more the lads could take each one upstairs for something more penetrative. It turned out that nobody was that desperate.

Corporal Smith sat nursing his pint of bitter. He was not a heavy drinker and was a bit of a loner. Women were a serious mystery to him. He was heavily attracted towards them but always ended up blushing and spluttering in female company. He had lost his virginity to a cousin; neither of them had really known what they were doing. He was both excited and anxious at the prospect of going to war but had already received his baptism of fire in the badlands of South Armagh. Smith was not technically a member of the Regiment but was attached like the engineers and gunners. He was a Signaller and was attached to the Headquarters Company. He had done his jump training and wore the distinctive badge and red beret of the Regiment. He had gained a reputation as a safe pair of hands and a good shot. He could hump a heavy radio, full pack and SLR all day and then strip the radio down in the dark.

The Colour Sergeant was queuing at the bar when the temperature fell by ten degrees. The sound level dropped dramatically and the crowd parted as if a ship was passing through a quiet bay. The old soldier sensed her before he saw her. He turned and looked the woman in her flat grey eyes.

"Hello, Sergeant Jackson," the woman spoke in a voice a shade deeper than Marlene Dietrich, her accent hard to place.

"Bitch," spat the sergeant and delivered a jaw breaking slap. His hand was trapped in a vice. He kicked the woman in the shin and delivered an uppercut with his spare hand. It was as if he had struck a piece of granite and his toes and fingers throbbed.

The woman smiled and leaned forward to whisper in the man's ear.

"Don't show yourself up in front of your men. You know you cannot stop me."

Sergeant Jackson swallowed.

"Take me. Let the others go."

The woman cocked her head.

"No, I don't want you."

Sergeant Jackson pleaded.

"What sort of monster are you?"

The woman smiled again.

"You are a warrior. You do your job and I do mine"

Jackson could barely squeeze out the words.

"How many?"

"Two. That is not negotiable by the way. Now get your round in."

The woman gently released her captive and kissed him lightly on the cheek. Her skin smelt of wood smoke and cordite.

The woman continued her progress towards the troopers. Many eyes were fixed upon her. The rear view was almost as arresting as the front. She was over six feet tall. Her corn coloured hair was pulled into a tight French plain which reached down to her magnificent bottom. She was wearing a black leather bomber jacket with very broad shoulders, cowboy boots and tight faded blue jeans, artfully ripped at knees and buttocks. Golden skin signalled through the rips.

The soldiers looked up as the woman approached them. More than one jaw dropped. The woman stopped in front of Corporal Smith and bent at the waist ; a small smile on her pale pink lips.

One of the more inebriated soldiers slapped the woman hard on her bottom. She looked behind her and declared cheerfully,

"You have chosen yourself trooper. Now sit down. You are very drunk."

The man felt a sudden stab of fear and sat down as instructed.

"Where was I? Oh, yes. Corporal Smith, you have scored. Get your coat,."

The woman turned quickly; her plait knocking over glasses. Smith jumped to his feet and swallowed. The crowd again parted and Smith followed her out of the pub. She walked down the street, her cowboy boots clopping. She did not even look over her shoulder until she arrived at a door next to a betting shop near the end of the high street.

The statuesque blonde put a key in the lock, opened the door and pulled Smith into the darkness. She pushed him back against the wall and locked her mouth on to his. They were exactly the same height and Smith was amazed by her upper body strength. Her tongue was strong but gentle and drew his own tongue into her mouth.

The kiss seemed to last for ever and Smith was gasping when she broke it. Finally she took Smith's hand and steered him up the stairs. The flat above the betting shop was simply but expensively furnished in a distinctly Scandinavian style. She took a couple of steps back and allowed Smith to stare. Her blonde hair was pulled tightly back from her scalp. She had strong facial features; thin dark eyebrows and high cheek bones framing cool grey eyes. Her nose was thin and straight and her lips pale but full.

The woman ran her tongue along said lips and slowly unzipped her bomber jacket, letting it fall to the ground. Smith swallowed hard again. The woman's breasts were huge but pert with tiny pink areolae and her long nipples pointed upwards at a jaunty angle.. Her neck was long and the muscles swelled onto perfectly straight collar bones which in turn disappeared into big golden shoulders. Her midriff was flat as a board.

The woman grabbed Smith's hands, lifted them above his head and presented another forceful kiss. With a crack the woman dropped to her haunches. It took mere seconds for her to unzip his jeans and pull down his boxers.

"Nice," she observed and enveloped his erect penis with her soft lips. Expertly she pulled back his foreskin and flicked her tongue over his glans. Then she took his entire length into her throat and removed his jeans and trainers. Having done this, she gently rolled his balls together. Tentatively Smith put his hands onto her head, fearful that she might not really be there. Her skin was soft and dry. He casually noted that she had blonde roots.

Smith's previous girlfriend would not countenance oral sex and would only touch his cock if she was drunk. Smith now began to realise what he had been missing as the Viking goddess began to bob up and down. She sensed his approaching orgasm and lifted her mouth of his cock with a loud pop.

He groaned as she gripped the base of his penis and squeezed hard. She kissed him again and then pushed Smith to his knees and stepped back again, undoing the top button on her jeans. Smith did the rest and then pulled the garment down to her ankles. The woman's lower body was as impressive as the top half. Her legs were strong and tanned, smooth with just enough subcutaneous fat to disguise her mighty quads. Her blonde bush was neatly trimmed and stopped above her tanned clitoral hood.

The woman stood up and taking him by the penis led Smith into the bedroom. She decided to keep the light on and effortlessly pushed Smith on to the bed. She climbed on top of him and presented a breast to his mouth. The nipple was rubbery and she groaned as he kneaded the other breast, rather too hard. She sensed when he was ready for the other breast.

The woman sat up and leaned back, magically taking his cock into her hot slick twat without the need of hands. Again she leaned forward and insinuated her tongue back into his mouth whilst riding him furiously. The woman paused again just before Smith came and gripped his cock with her pelvic floor. She smiled kindly, showing perfectly straight white teeth.

She dismounted and lay upon him again, ravaging his mouth with her powerful tongue. Smith's cock remained at parade ground attention and by and by the woman sat up again, turned around and began to ride him reverse cowgirl. Smith was speechless, his attention absorbed by the sweet sensation down below. The woman again rested on her haunches and cupped her tits in both hands. Not once did Smith's cock fall out.

As she thrust up and down her blonde plait swung side to side like a pendulum. Smith grabbed hold of it and pulled on the golden rope. The woman growled, "Harder". He did as instructed but the woman's head did not move. Instead her massive shoulder and upper back muscles rippled under her sweat slick skin. Then slowly she arched her back and finally hyper extended her neck so that her head was resting just under Smith's chin.

"I'm coming," she purred. So did Smith, pumping his boiling seed into her fiery pussy as it gripped him like a hot wet glove.

The woman gently released Smith's cock and moved up the bed and kissed him slowly and gently. She laid her head on Smith's chest. The light went out and Smith slipped into a dreamless sleep.

Smith was not totally surprised to wake up under a luke-warm shower,. The shower cubicle was snug and the woman's soft full tits pressed against his chest . Her hair was down and clung darkly to her body. Her hands were soaping his crack and balls. She smiled kindly at him, ran her knee up his thigh and then extended her lower leg until her foot was touching his left tear, He ran his hands down the slick cables of her hamstrings and as she pulled him towards her he realised that he was in a perfect position to enter her eager quim. He thrust slowly and gently until she pulled him closer and thrust back hard. They both came quickly and kissed, savouring their morning after mouths.

The woman turned off the shower and reached out of the shower cubicle to grab giant fluffy towels. She indicated that Smith was to dry her which he did with pleasure as she towelled her hair. Then she reciprocated. She took Smith's hand and drew him back into the bedroom.

"Quick, we haven't much time," she said and threw his clothes at him. She pulled on a denim mini skirt and a white T shirt which made no attempt to hide her thrusting nipples.

She frowned. "What is it?"

"I don't even know your name," said Smith plaintively.

"Sieglinde. Some call me Ziggy. You can call me Linda."

Linda bundled Smith out of the flat and down the stairs. A taxi was waiting.

"Will we?"

"Oh yes my warrior. I will have no trouble finding you.

CHAPTER 2

Goose Green 29th May 1982

Gary Smith peered into the low cloud as he heard the advancing familiar drum beats and felt the the breeze which stiffened into a gale. He was clearly not at his best as a result of the grenade that had exploded at his feet, cutting him in two.. One of his own side's he suspected. Who would have thought that he would have participated in a bayonet charge in the penultimate decade of the twentieth century; something that should have been consigned to the second decade. He had been almost as surprised as the teenager who had been on the receiving end of Smith's bayonet. The enemy were supposed to be poorly led conscripts but they had fought stolidly, finally yielding to the ferocity of the world's finest light infantry.

Bravo November burst from the low cloud and landed with the grace of a hippo that had packed its own 'chute. The battered bus was a talisman to the men of the Regiment and had kept them air mobile against the odds. It was the only RAF Chinook within 3,000 miles; its sister aircraft having gone down on-board Atlantic Conveyor, laid low by bastard French missiles. Inter service rivalry had been forgotten as the RAF kept the beast airborne, typically loading it with twice the complement of troops that it was designed to carry. The rear door had fallen off; saving weight but making missions pretty breezy. Sure, the Navy had helped with their Sea Kings, but they had been heavily occupied on AEW duties and ferrying special forces into action and the wounded of both side to the Great White Whale which sat unmolested in international waters.

Twelve horses of various colours charged from the rear of the helicopter. 'Cavalry', Smith thought. It was soon clear that this was cavalry of the female persuasion; big girls in chain mail mini dresses, flaxen hair whipped up by the down-wash, muscular thighs and calves rippling. The riders headed off across the battlefield. A dappled grey stopped a few yards away from Smith and its Amazonian rider leaped to the ground, turned around and slowly walked away from Smith. Her hair was the colour of corn and her skin that of honey. She had broad shoulders and slim hips but was unmistakeably female. The woman bent down several times and then returned to Smith's side, a bloody bundle in her arms. She pushed the hair from her face and Smith gasped in recognition. The woman smiled and lay on top of the eviscerated soldier, effortlessly forcing her tongue into his dry mouth. The kiss seemed to last forever as Smith's cock swelled even though it was no longer attached to his body.

"Hello, Gary," the woman purred.

"Linda?"

"Of course. I chose you."

The woman stood up and Smith could not help but try to look up her abbreviated skirt. She appraised him like a surgeon and then efficiently re-attached Smith's legs and poured his guts back in to his abdomen. The sudden return of sensation was like an electric shock. Smith lifted his right foot. His boot was parade ground shiny. Linda then raised her hand and took a bloody mass into her mouth. She knelt and lowered her head into Smiths crotch. He gasped again as he felt her tongue tickling the base of his glans. In an instant her nose was pressing against his abdomen and her hand was gently stroking his balls.

Smith suspected that getting a blow job on the battlefield was against Queen's regulations. Slowly Linda straighten her legs and when her torso was at an angle of 45% the dress slid down her body revealing several endearing features. The woman had no tan lines, had a spray of short blonde hairs in the small of her back and was not wearing knickers.

'I bet that chafes.' thought Smith before his attention was drawn back to his penis. He was going to come. The woman knew, somehow. She grasped the base of Smiths penis and squeezed. Smith yelped and then smiled as the woman effortlessly sprang into a crouch and enveloped his engorged tool with her velvet vagina. Smith shot a blood pressure defying load of semen deep inside her.

Linda smiled again, her perfect white teeth framed by pale pink lips. Smith took a chance, afraid of breaking the spell and pulled her down into another time challenging kiss.

Linda waited until Smith's erection had subsided and then jumped to her feet.

"We have to go," she announced.

She knelt on to one knee and linked her hands together. Somehow Smith understood and was boosted on to the back of the horse. Linda vaulted up behind him and reached around him to grasp the steed's mane. The horse knew the way and within seconds was clattering to to the back of Bravo November, forming the last of a line of horses, each with two riders.

The horse came to a halt.

"You get off here," announced Linda. After Smith dismounted, the horse disappeared into the front of the chopper.

The benches lining the interior of the helicopter were almost full. Smith sat down in the remaining space. Next to him was the C.O. Smith tried to stand up and salute but the C.O. put a hand on his shoulder and handed him an open bottle of beer.

"Stand easy lad, there is no rank here."

Smith could not help himself.

"Sorry sir, I don't understand. I think I killed the man sitting next to you."

The C.O. laughed.

"Do you like beer lad? Good. Where we are going there is a lot of it. See those guys over there? They are Iranians. Different war to ours but the Gods apparently aren't fussy. They were a little disappointed at the lack of virgins but are on their third bottle of pop and have started telling dirty jokes.

With a jolt the helicopter took off and music filled the hull.

It was Wagner; the Regimental quick march.

The Ride of the Valkyries.