Semper F***

"Is must be very important if you go behind enemy line," she commented nervously.

"It is to me," I replied.

Next I "borrowed" a jeep from HQ, and after hanging a white flag from the antenna, headed for the lines. We were stopped at a checkpoint; I let Aleska do all the talking, explaining I was a UN inspector checking on conditions of the refugees and she was my interpreter. The MP gave directions to find the nearest camp. We found it, asked questions, showed the photo. The first camp drew nothing but blank stares. At the second we got a name to put with the face, Ilsa, but no one had seen the girl for days. It wasn't until we hit the fourth refugee camp that people reporting having seen the girl in the picture. We were directed to a large tent where families were clustered together in groups, two and three to a cot. It took a while to find her, but we went from family to family in the tent until we did. Her parents and four younger siblings were sitting in a circle on the floor, chatting and fighting playfully. Ilsa, however, was sitting off by herself with her knees drawn up tight to her chin, not interacting with anyone, and I don't think it was because she was a young adult mortified to be stuck here with her family. Something told me she hadn't told anyone what had happened to her.

Aleska started by talking to papa, who was all googly-eyed at Aleska's charms. He called over to Ilsa, who looked up for the first time. She saw me, and her eyes suddenly filled with panic. But Aleska crouched down and talked to her. She looked at me with fear, but Aleska was able to calm her. Finally she coaxed Ilsa over to a corner of the tent, out of earshot, and through Aleska I could finally give her the pills I so desperately wanted her to have. Her look was complete confusion, and I don't blame her—first I had had my way with her, now I wanted to help her? It wasn't until I saw her nod and take the Mifegyne that I finally breathed a sigh of relief myself.

As we walked back to the jeep, Aleska asked me "You risk life crossing enemy line to give girl contraception? I no understand."

"My men found three girls in the city on the first night of the invasion and gang-raped them," I explained dryly.

"Kind of like the way they attack me in my house?" she interjected. It caught me off-guard; she'd been so sexually forthright I guess I'd viewed her as a willing participant in that group suck I'd interrupted. I realized really she had just been doing the same as Ilsa—giving the men what they wanted so they'd not hurt her. Life during wartime.

"Uh, yeah, only they weren't as cooperative, so the men were a little rougher," I stammered. "Anyway, I found the pills and gave them to the victims, but that one couldn't understand what I was trying to tell her. I feel much better now that she's got the message." I left out the fact that she wouldn't have needed them if it hadn't been for me.

Aleska seemed to be pondering something as we continued to the jeep. By time we reached it, there was a distant but persistent clamor in the air. I stopped to listen—it sounded and awful lot like the metal cleats of tank tracks. "What zat noise?" Aleska asked.

"If I didn't know better," I said with concern, "I'd say they're tanks."

"Tanks?" she responded incredulously, "they would use tanks on our own city? They'll flatten it! What is point of liberating city if it just pile of rubble?"

"I don't know," I said dryly, "but let's see if we can find out." So rather than head straight back across the front line, I drove the jeep back in the direction of the last camp, which led us over a large hill. As I crested it, I could see smoke in the distance, kind of the early stages of a forest fire, only bluer—oily smoke. I stopped the jeep, stood up in the seat, and grabbed my binoculars. Through the thick forest canopy I could just make out glimpses of tanks indeed moving along this very road. But these tanks—they were practically antiques! Probably late 70s vintage—I suppose, they would have had to predate the fall of the wall, and were probably Red Army hand-me-downs then. They belched smoke like seasick dragons—but they were moving. It was kind of like watching a May Day parade from 1979; these things would have barely been target practice for an M1 Abrams. But since our side didn't have any better armored forces—we were sticking to street fighting because we wanted to capture a city worth having—they were still quite capable of inflicting massive damage on an infantry—and a city.

"Well?" Aleska asked.

"They're tanks alright—from the 70s, but tanks nonetheless. I don't know how they'll stand up to modern rockets, but I do know they'll level an awful lot of your city along the way finding out. C'mon, let's go warn HQ." I sat down and now raced the jeep as fast as I felt I could on the pothole-infested road—probably also not fixed in 30 years. It somehow seemed ironic that the new improved capitalist republic couldn't even manage to maintain the roads the communists had found a way to construct. Since the roads were so bad anyway, I cut through on an old dirt ox path instead—which also ended up allowing us to avoid any MP checkpoints until we were practically in the city. I raced straight to HQ. "You're not going to believe this," I said without saying hello as I stormed into the tent, "but there's a column of tanks steaming towards town."

"Tanks?" the officer on duty asked, "they would flatten their own city rather than give it up?"

"So it would seem," I answered, heading to the war board and showing him where the column was, "taking most of your infantry with it."

"I will get General," he said hurriedly, "we call in air strike."

By the time they "scrambled" an air strike and it arrived from our sole airbase on the other side of the country, the tanks must have been almost in range. But surprise—the enemy was prepared to provide air support to their tanks, and they scrambled to engage. Soon there was a dogfight of late Vietnam-era jets over the countryside. They at least were armed with air to air missiles; our were set up to fight tanks on the ground and had to rely on machine guns. None of the pilots were particularly skilled, though, and while the air screamed from supersonic dives and high-G turns, in the end no one hit anything. I was thankful, actually, because I could just imagine a plane being shot down and crashing right on top of one of the helpless refugee camps.

The General himself came out to watch the show. He usually ignored me, since my advice often seemed to conflict with his orders, but he was all smiles when he came out of his tent. "Good work Joe," he said, shaking my hand, "we have you as advisor, but now you also work as spy!"

Spy...oh my god, a spy...Aleska! We had entered enemy territory under false pretenses; that alone could have been construed as spying. Having taking back intelligence gained behind the lines—that definitely did. And because she was with me on the spy mission Aleska was now a traitor. Every MP we'd encounted would certainly remember the pretty girl in the jeep, and certainly at least one of them would know her by name. They would execute her for sure if she fell back into her countrymen's hands. Once again, my good intentions had instead made things a lot worse for an innocent civilian. I sought out Aleska and told her "Aleska...I don't know how to say this, but I think I've just made life a lot more difficult for you..."

-----------------

When the air force couldn't turn back the tanks, HQ decided it was wiser to withdraw than be slaughtered—it would take two or three days for their own meager tank force to arrive, and their infantry would not last that long under fire. I was surprised, actually, that they made the smart decision, given their usually bullheaded nature. I think their experience not being able to break the hilltop siege taught them something.

As the troops began to withdraw, Aleska and I headed back to home base with the General's entourage. Along the way I got a call from my C.O. in the capitol, the first time I'd heard from him since he met me at the airport when I arrived. "The General is very happy," he said, "seems you smelled out a tank column and warned them so they could withdraw before they were slaughtered. Good work."

I didn't feel like I should be congratulated given what I had just inadvertently done to Aleska. Aleska...wait a minute. I was talking to the one man who might help me make good on yet another screw-up. "Thanks, Colonel, but I have a problem now."

"Speak up solider," he replied.

"I had help from a foreign national...I picked her up to be my interpreter. Now, she'll be branded as a traitor. I request that my informant be given political asylum in the U.S."

"Hold on, Tom," he replied, "it's a fair request, but I can't set her up with political asylum because we're not here, remember? We can't do that without spilling the whole can of beans. We'll set her up here..."

"She's also my fiancée, sir," I interjected, thinking now only about trying to save Aleska and not the full repercussions of what I was saying.

"WHAT!?!?!" Aleska could easily hear the Colonel's yell from the other side of the jeep.

"She's my fiancée, sir," I repeated blandly. I'd said it; now I had no choice but to go with it.

"Report to me on the double, soldier!"

"Yes, sir." Aleska was watching me anyway as I spoke on the radio. She gave a hint of smile, but I kept staring straight ahead. She turned away and we drove quietly the rest of the way to the town where I was stationed. As soon as we parked the jeep, we were off again. We would catch a train to the capitol and meet with my C.O. I decided we needed to do a little shopping first—it wouldn't fly to call her my fiancée if she didn't at least have a ring, so I took her to the one jewelry store in the city and bought her a small solitaire I could afford with the little cash I had available, thinking it was just for show. I took her to the house, where we had wonderful sex and then got a little sleep before catching the early train.

Fast trains hadn't reached this part of the world, so it was a five-hour trip. I traveled free on my military ID, but Aleska had to buy a ticket—something told me it would be better to bring her along. She didn't just want to buy a coach ticket, though; she took out a private berth. As soon as we boarded the train, she locked the door and rolled down the shades. Before the train even rolled out of the station, Aleska was kneeling on the floor and sucking my dick. After swallowing my load, she knelt in my lap pressed her tits into my face almost like she was feeding a baby until I got hard again. Then she sat on my dick, rocking me in rhythm with the train, until I filled her up again. Then I thought that it was high time I reciprocated a little, so I sat her down on the bench and buried my face in her hairless snatch. After a while she made orgasm-like noises, but somehow I wasn't convinced she wasn't faking it, so I kept on licking. Twenty minutes later I was proven right, because for the first time I really did make her cum. Turns out that nothing can make a five-hour trip seem like five minutes quite as effectively as if you have sex the whole way. But what was really momentous, in hindsight, was the kiss. After she came for real—I could feel the spasms deep within her—she bent forward, legs still spread, held my face in her hands and kissed me passionately. Sure, maybe it was that post-orgasmic sentimentality at work, but this also was no phony screen kiss. The orgasms were great, but that kiss stirred me in a different part of the body—my heart. It was the first time I felt like maybe Aleska saw something more in me than just a ticket to America.

The American war effort was storefronted in an old bank building—the vault had been converted to a shelter if needed, and top secret documents were stored inside. Since the building was boarded up on the outside, we had to enter the apartment building next door, then go a second-floor apartment where a doorway had been drilled into the wall adjoining the building. We were let in and started walking down the corridor. Before we headed down the stairs to the actual command center, Aleska stopped and adjusted herself using her reflection in the glass of a hall door. She was still wearing her pseudo-military outfit; she untied the knot in her shirt and pulled down on the tank top underneath to make sure plenty of cleavage was showing. Then she retied the knot higher up to reveal an extra half-inch or so of belly. Reaching into her shirt, she grasped her nipples through the tank top, squeezing and gently juggling them, until they were firmly erect and pointed out visibly under the fabric. I watched with a mix of admiration and amazement as she perfected her appearance for the upcoming meeting.

Satisfied, she turned and found me looking at her fondly. "What?" she said innocently, "is important to make good first impression, no?" I smiled broadly at her; she was defying yet another of my porn star stereotypes, because I was realizing she was pretty smart.

"You're pretty darn smart, aren't you?" I commented out loud.

"Shhh," she pretended to scold, looking both ways down the hall, "don't say so loud, you ruin my reputation! Men like porn star stupid!" Then she reached up on tip-toes and kissed me again. It made my heart race like when we made love.

"I don't know," I countered, putting my arms around her, "I think men like think that their favorite porn stars would have sex with them if the opportunity arose. Being stupid just makes them think their odds are better."

"You think?" she said slyly, giving me a mischievous look while "accidentally" running her fingers up the front of my pants. "Come, let's go," she said, turning to head down the stairs.

Colonel Peavey was an old special ops guy. He'd been in covert operations in Eastern Europe since the latter days of Communism. Being where he wasn't supposed to be was his life. He was very serious and did things by the book—unless, of course, achieving the objective required otherwise, in which case he could be surprisingly resourceful. Of course, all of those things would have described me three days ago, too—that's why I was here.

The Colonel's office was set up in the old bank president's office. The teller stations had been converted to workstations for a handful of communications and intelligence experts and their electronic equipment. When you're where you're not supposed to be, you take as few people as necessary. He had his back to us when we arrived, but his door was open, so we stepped inside before I announced "Reporting for duty, SIR."

I wish I had a video of his reaction. He spun around on his chair, eyebrows furrowed, ready to chew me out. "Dammit, soldier," he began. But then he caught sight of lovely Aleska, and his eyebrows shot up in surprise. He blinked twice, doing a double take of what he saw. I was pretty sure that he recognized her right away. He choked on his words, saying, "oh..., uh, sorry, I didn't know we had guests..."

"Sir," I said in exaggerated protocol, "Captain ------ reporting, sir. This informant has provided information invaluable to the United States of America and her allies. To protect this friend of our country from reprisal, I request that said informant be given official asylum status, sir."

"Stand down, Tom," he said, relaxing. He stood up, reaching his hand out to her. "Nice to meet you Miss..."

"Aleska," she replied, reaching forward to shake his hand, making sure that her tits jiggled up and down healthily in the process. She didn't miss the slightest detail!

"So you have helped out the Captain here?" he asked.

"I interpreter," she explained solemnly, "you teach language of this country but not of county you fight. I speak five language—I interpret."

"Five languages, wow, that's impressive," he said with surprise. I bet he expected her to be dumb, too, I thought. If only he had seen her carefully prep the jiggly impression she'd just made on him. "I need to talk to the Captain in private for a moment, can I ask you step outside?" He got out from behind the desk and pointed her towards the door.

"Certainly," she said, "was nice to meet you." And she shook his hand again, being sure she bounced again. I found my mouth salivating as I remembered the taste of her those soft, extra-large nipples on my tongue. I hastily made myself think about that column of tanks—the last thing I wanted to do was address my C.O. sporting a raging hard-on.

He showed her out, smiling, closing the door behind her. Then he turned to me with a look as if he'd seen Elvis in the parking lot. "Do you know who that is?"

"Her name is Aleska, sir," I said, playing dumb.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah... do you know who Aleska is?" he prodded.

"I'm told she's a starlet, sir?" I responded.

"She's one of the best-known porn stars in the world," the Colonel burst out. I guess he wasn't going to pretend that he wouldn't know about such things. "How did you run into HER?"

"I found her in her apartment, being, um, encouraged to suck off a circle of soldiers," I explained. "I told them to get out because they were exposed there—just before a rocket blew the place up.

"Really. Any casualties?"

"In the apartment? Just one, sir," I answered.

"And you're really engaged to her?"

"Didn't you see the ring, Sir?"

"C'mon, you've been here three days—a guy like you doesn't get engaged just like that, not even to a girl like her," he challenged, nodding his head toward the door. "What's going on?"

"Is it true that citizens of her country can't get visas because they're on the wrong side of this war?" I asked.

"It wouldn't surprise me, I guess," he pondered. "So let me guess... she wants you to marry her so she can get a green card, right?"

"Yes sir, but...there's more."

"Oh?"

"These same soldiers...they'd taken a few other girls, too, the day before. Just teenagers, all of them—these guys walking encyclopedias of VD from the whores they frequent. It really bothered me to think of these innocent little girls bearing permanent reminders from this stupid little border tussle. Anyway, I ran across a looted pharmacy and got an idea I could help. I picked up some RU-486 and penicillin, then, I posed as a refugee camp inspector to get them to the girls. I took Aleska along so she could explain what the pills were. We were on their side of the line when we spotted the column of tanks. As soon as I reported the tanks to our side I became a spy, and because she was with me I made her a traitor in the process. She's in danger of her life, now, sir, and it's all my fault. I really need you to help her out."

The Colonel shook his head. "Tom, Tom...you just hate to see innocents get hurt, don't you? You shouldn't have gone and tried to make reparations to the victims by yourself."

"I know sir," I replied, "but I also know they would never have gotten any attention through usual channels. I doubt they told ANYONE what happened to them. Since the battle was at a stalemate, I thought maybe I had time to fix that. I wasn't expecting to find a column of tanks."

The Colonel nodded. Like I said—he understood that sometimes you have to break rules to achieve objectives. "So by a lucky accident, you saved half the army—and this girl got caught in the middle."

"My fiancée, sir," I corrected.

"Right, your fiancée. You won't let me forget. Tell me the truth, you really bangin this chick?"

"Five hour train ride in sir," I said with a wry smile, "and I didn't see an inch of countryside."

"You lucky fucking dog," he said jealously, giving me a hearty slap on the bicep. "Look...I can't do anything about a fiancée and I can't get her asylum—but if she was your wife, I should be able to pull enough strings in the State Department and get her sent to the states. Is that what you want?"