The Last Reflexive Ch. 01

By: Col. Brunhilda 'Iceberg' Buriman, ret.

Sorority Sister of Pi Loda Cum

Chapter One: Little About Dude

We were relaxing, so to speak, in a brothel located along one of Saigon's seedier strips, one of the few places we patronized for pleasures otherwise difficult to find in the jungle. The outfit took up every room and balcony, and even the roof. I was kneeling behind a lovely lady facing in the direction of Sarge. He was working up a storm behind his favorite pet, the brothel's one eyed mama-san. As usual he sported his belt and trusty forty-five, neither of which he ever removed, well almost never. He loved that 1911 Army forty-five, and so did mama-san. It was typical in every way except for one thing, its water-proof vibrating handle.

On several occasions he'd told me of how his father had it modified before handing it down to him, but he always began the story just before bedding down, after finishing a bottle of bourbon, before tucking the gun under his pillow for the night. Other than how dangerously exciting the piece was when used for sexual pleasure, he spoke of how important it was for him to pass it down to his daughter. When he spoke of her, I got the feeling I'd meet her someday.

A loud eddy filled the room, swirling about us, caused by my partner's gurgling challenge to scream while holding a mouthful of sperm I'd fed her a few minutes ago, and the Sarge's animated rodeo-style mating, in which the constant sound of gun fire and choppers swooping overhead were drowned out of existence.

Without warning, the attack came out of the tunnels, lasted ten minutes, and passed. Bewildered and in pain, I looked around to find the bodies of my childhood buddies, or parts of them, and their lady friends lying lifeless around me. Johnny's legs were hanging from the banister, the head of his lady friend yet attached to his organ. Everything was blood, there was no need to call out, I knew they were dead, every one of them, everyone but me.

We'd just been destroyed by an elite group of Viet Cong guerrillas and I knew damn well the entire platoon had been wiped out. The Sergeant and his lady had taken the brunt of an exploding grenade which landed between their legs. Shrapnel tore through their bodies in so many places they were unrecognizable. My left arm was numb and my body felt as if it'd been stabbed repeatedly. Automatic weapons' fire, explosions, and the sounds of men screaming orders were everywhere around me outside. I could tell the battle had moved deeper into the jungle, away from me, and I noticed Sarge's forty-five on the floor in front of me.

"Sarge," I whispered to myself, picking the weapon up into my hand. "Sarge," I whispered more quietly then before.

"Fuckhead," I heard his ghost say. I listened to the words of a dead man, a man who'd taken me under his wing, who'd yanked me out of childhood and taught me to stand on my own two feet. A man who'd become the mother and father I'd never known, my guardian and mentor. I could never have imagined it ending like this, with Sarge torn into little pieces. I wanted to save him like he'd saved me, but try as I may, I could move little.

"Sarge," I said a little louder.

"Dude, just get that piece to my daughter," the ghost ordered.

Fighting pain I took a slow look around through thick smoke hoping to find where the voice came from, or better still a medic, or someone who could help. For several minutes no one and nothing moved, everything around me lay silent, and my eyes came back to realize I was yet buried balls deep in a dead woman.

"Listen to me boy," the ghost went on. "When Grandfather comes for you go with him," it said, confounding me with words that lacked meaning, confusing my already clouded mind. I yanked my cock free of the pussy before rigor mortis set in.

"Sarge," I asked him in despair, but he ignored me to reiterate his command more carefully.

"Obey Grandfather as you've obeyed me!"

"But..."

"No buts, just listen to me, fuckhead," it said. I could feel agony in the voice.

"Yes, sir," I said, nodding and listening, figuring I was hallucinating because of my wounds.

"Son, you're my last proverbial reflexive..."

"Sir?"

"...I'll be watching ya."

"Sarge," I whispered one last time, a little boy calling to his mommy from his crib in the dead of night, alone, afraid and in need of reassurance. A sudden cloud burst brought thunder and lightning, adding to the confusion. Tears blurred my vision as I pulled my right hand up to wipe them from my eye. It was then I heard the vibration caused by the forty-five, and I reached to shut it off, wondering if the voice I'd heard was that of a ghost, or the vibrations. I fondled his forty-five before slipping it into my flak jacket yet beside me. It was then I saw him standing over the remains of Sarge, the hooded skeleton we must all face, and I passed out, to a lonely aria sung by the fat lady.

Two years later. It was the glare of a flashlight's beam in my eyes and I jumped up, but couldn't. Someone's boot was on my wrist holding me down. I reached for my forty-five but couldn't find it. Billowing black smoke filled the room and I could see flames all around. I tried to piece together what happened quickly as I could.

"Here he is," a voice yelled out. It was the voice of the guy stepping on my wrist, automatic weapon and flashlight in hand. I noticed he was cloaked in protective wear, and I tried shielding my eyes but he knocked my hand down with the muzzle of his weapon.

"Get the hand, get the hand and the head," another voice boomed through the darkness. The fellow above me slipped his arm through the strap of his weapon, shouldering it. He reached in his pocket and came out with something that produced a short blue light. "This won't hurt much," he snarled as he made to bring the blue light down to my pinned arm.

A sudden blast sent the blue beam and flashlight flying. My assailant's head exploded, his blood and gray matter spraying the air, raining down on me as a warm mess. I heard another blast and made to roll over in an attempt to rise. The thick smoke had the stench of burning chemicals telling me I had to get out of there quick, when out of the smoke another figure appeared, choking and gagging. It was Harriette and she fell to her knees beside me, bared breast flopping about over a holster strap, exaggerating a deep cleavage I, even under the circumstances, considered diving into.

"What the fuk happened, Dude," she screamed. She was retching on the fumes and trying to wipe her eyes.

"Keep your hands away from your face," I yelled at her.

"This fukin smoke, damn it," she sputtered. "Shit, I can't stand it any longer!"

"Keep your hands off your face," I yelled again. Getting up onto my hands and knees to turn, indicating for her to follow me. "Stay down on your knees and follow me!" Harriette got close, reaching her hand out to me. At first groping for something to hold, she finally reached between my legs to inadvertently, and then out of desperation, grab and hold my organ tight through the material of my pants.

"Yo, Dude, I feel better now. You ain't missing anything here," she said, pulling on my cock, "...but are you missing this piece of your body," she asked. She couldn't stop choking or gagging as she let my cock go long enough for her to retrieve something from the floor. I turned my head to see my forty-five in her hand, and grabbed it from her, slipping it into my shoulder holster. I then reached for the gadget dropped by the fellow she'd just killed, slipping it into one of my pockets.

"Now just keep your hands away from your face or you'll be sorry," I warned Harriette who immediately went back to holding my cock. Her grip was weak, telling me she was losing it, so I reached back and grabbed her breast by its nipple, using it to pull her closer, until her hand had a firm hold of my excited cock. "Mmmmm, hold on tight, and come on," I said, towing her with me.

Together we crawled across what was left of a place that was supposed to be safe, unknown by anyone outside the Organization. I groped along the floor looking for the right tile until I found it. Then I pushed on it and a small piece of floor opened. I again grabbed Harriette's breast, using it to yank her around me, to in front of me, and through the opening.

"Careful," I shouted. "Find the steps with your feet, but be careful." I kept pushing her ahead of me, down through the opening, not really caring at that moment whether she found the ladder with a foot or not. "Go! Go! Go! Hurry, before the fumes kill us," I kept saying as I forced her lower.

"Quit fukin pushin' Dude! We're not in bed," Harriette yelped in a sputtering cry while choking. "Christ, hold on will ya, I can't stand this fukin smell. It burns, damn it! Son of a bitch!" But it was too late, I'd already pushed her into the hole, and by a fistful of her hair kept her from falling, 'til her foot found a rung of the ladder and I felt her regain control. Then I slipped in next to her and closed the floor tile over us. Now we were blanketed in the red glow of emergency lighting.

"Down the ladder," I yelled, scurrying down while guiding Harriette. Once our feet hit solid ground we turned to look at each other, attempting to catch our breaths. Harriette pulled out a cigarette which I swatted from her hand immediately. She looked ready for a fight. "Not here, Harriette."

Harriette's face, breast, and cleavage were grey with soot, and she yet struggled to keep her hands from rubbing her eyes. She continued to moan and swear as I walked over to an emergency medical supply box hanging on the wall. I flipped open the door and reached for a bottle of sterilized water. Stepping back to Harriette I told her to tip her head back, but she snatched the bottle from me.

"Fuk off, I can take care of myself. Just gimme that got-damned thing," she yelled.

Just like her dad, I thought, as she tilted her head and lifted the bottle in order to rinse her eyes clean. She sighed with relief and blinked, then rinsed again 'til satisfied, then she handed me the bottle.

"Here!" I took it from her and cleaned my own eyes, while she adjusted her blouse, covering her breast.

"Now let's get out of here and get cleaned up," I said, throwing the bottle into one of the corners.

"What the fuk happened, Dude," she asked.

"Hold on, let's get out of here first."

"I know just the fukin place, unless you got a better idea," Harriette offered sarcastically. Realizing one of our 'safe houses' had been assaulted and me almost killed, I figured going back to my hotel room was out of the question, so I nodded my assent.

"Come on then, I'll get us outside and you can lead the way from there," I said. "You can have your cigarette then."

"Dude, tell me why those bottom dwelling pond-scum suckin' bastards wanted your fukin hand and head, huh? I almost got my ass blasted for you!"

"I'll explain everything to you later, Harriette." I shook my head, not having heard a fouler mouth since my army days.

"Hell, they're after the wrong 'fukin' head, if ya know what I fukin mean," she said with a rather hungry smile, her eyes dropping to my crotch. I shook my head and turned to lead the way.

I knew that wasn't why they referred to her as Dirty Harriette, but you could have fooled me. As she followed me along the dimly lit winding corridor I flashed back to the day we first met.