Black Skies Ch. 02

Alexei sat on a step outside of the his barracks, fingering the beads on his rosary. Despite his private atheism, he found it comforting to make this small, repetitive gesture during times of stress. It also made him appear like a man of faith to his comrades. Isaak likewise pulled out a small copy of the bible, thumb on the Book of Job, and sat down next to his fellow unbeliever. Like Alexei, he stared forward at the setting sun, not making eye contact.

"Tomorrow we face our Maker, or Nothing, which is more likely, but just as scary."

Alexei fidgeted the beads some more, then stopped.

"I haven't exactly lived a moral life. I'd be more afraid of God, if I believed in Him."

Isaak's deep eyes squinted in apprehension, then reflection. "What's one man's sins compared to all this?" He held his hands up and spread them across the horizon.

"So much time and effort was put into this. A single, ordinary man couldn't cause as much mischief if he devoted every second of his life to it."

"This sounds inspired, Isaak. What are you reading?"

"Job."

"Ah. Fitting. Well... no, not really. I volunteered to be here. Job's only crime was being an Arab."

"God's speech at the end to Job never made sense to me. Job had asked him to explain why He cursed him with such misfortune when he was a good man, and God arrogantly asks him if he could understand the complexity of the universe without answering any of Job's questions."

Isaak shut the book and looked at the sky ponderously. "I was always unsatisfied with his answer, but lately I've been wondering if maybe God himself doesn't even understand it. Maybe he doesn't have infinite wisdom or strength, but his true power comes from creating something that has the ability to grow in complexity, until his Creation is more complex than himself. After all, what good is it to be a father if your children never surpass you?"

Alexei thought to ask him a question, but refrained, preferring to let Isaak continue.

"How could He have known that the simple creature he made from dirt would have descendants who will conquer the world through steel and steam, and can blast away at each other with metal projectiles over distances so far that their targets can't even see them? And that men would refine science to such a level of sophistication that they can disprove all of His miracles?"

Alexei finally interrupted, "But if even God can't see the bigger picture, what hope is there for us to understand it all?"

"There isn't!" Isaak shook excitedly. "So we don't have to worry about it. We're insignificant, and so are our individual actions. But a bigger picture is out there, regardless."

Alexei's face slowly took on an expression of understanding. With a grin, he chuckled, "Well, you've given this sinner a clean conscience," he laughed, launching himself off the steps. He was revitalized enough to visit one last prostitute before his mission began.

-+-

Prague

November 1853

Antonín polished the brass on the shop's engines, reflecting on the changes of the past month. He was disappointed that Josif left to find employment elsewhere, but this absence was made up for with greater warmth from the Hungarian flower girl. It was a relief that this relationship could blossom without turning into an uncomfortable love triangle.

But it still felt empty, closing up the shop all by himself...

The bell on the door jingled as the door opened, revealing the aforementioned girl, soaked and frantic.

"Margit?! What happened? It's pouring outside!" He rushed over to her, leading her to the shop furnace, which he switched on. The metal quickly started to glow red as it warmed up. He pulled over a stool for her to sit on as the heat dried her clothes.

Margit produced a wet, hacky cough. Immediately he was overcome with concern.

"Are you sick?"

"No, I'll be fine," she said, coughing lightly and shivering. "I'm just cold. But my mother, she's sick. I worry it might be consumption!" She cried, suddenly bursting into tears.

"Oh dear," he whispered softly. So feared was the disease that caused a fourth of all deaths that the name itself sent a chill through his spine. He felt guilty for it afterward, but his body immediately recoiled from Margit, fearing she might carry the disease as well. It was very likely, considering the close quarters in which she lived.

"I haven't been in close contact with her this past week. I think she caught it from someone passing by in the street. I don't know what to do! I want to help her, but she's locked me out of the house!" She shivered, threatening to break down again. It pained him to see her like this, with all her happiness sucked out, leaving her ashen grey.

"Have you called for a doctor?"

Margit nodded. "I spent the last two days looking for one who'd be willing to visit her. He's charging...He's charging..."

She whispered the amount into his ear. Her voice was so physically and emotionally strained that she was afraid to say it out loud. Antonín's eyes bulged out. The fee was almost a month's wages for him. He could afford it, but it would be hard living for much longer than that. He'd have to scrape and scrimp for months, living like when he first got to Prague as a teenager. And for a disease with little hope of a cure even for the rich.

He stared dumbly through Margit, at the wall behind her. She knew what he was thinking.

"He's the cheapest one I could find. He says he's using something called 'antibiotics' as treatment, and some people think he's a quack, but his last two patients testify that it works. I don't know who to believe, but I have to try. No doctor with a reputation would bother working on my mother without a king's ransom!"

She vented her frustrations and fears a little more, before turning to face him again. Her eyes pleaded with him before her voice did.

"Which is why...I came to you," she looked up at him with her emerald eyes, crossing her arms upon her small, shivering chest. He brought his gaze down on her for a moment, before staring back at the wall. It's not that he didn't want to help her, but the amount of money kept ringing in his head.

She noticed his hesitation and inched forward. He was already against his workbench, and couldn't retreat.

"I'm not asking you for all of it, only half," she exclaimed nervously.

Half was still a lot. His shoulders remained sagging and his gaze noncommittal and heavy.

"And I'm not asking you to give it to me! I'll earn it! I...I'll...I'll sell my-"

"-I can't live on flowers," he interrupted.

"That's not...what I meant," she said, hesitantly.

Antonín's eyes followed her as she stepped back and undid the back of her apron dress and pulled her arms out of its long sleeves. She stood apart from him, holding her clothes in front of her chest, between them.

Taking a deep breath, she dropped the wet mass to the floor.

Breasts. Nipples. Stomach. Pubis. Vulva. Antonín was at once paralyzed at her beauty and her boldness.

"You can have all of this, as many times as you think the money's worth. A dozen times, a hundred, even a thousand. I will do my best to please you, and make it up to you."

Antonín's manhood betrayed him, stiffening at the sight in front of him. Inwardly he cursed the impudent appendage which presumed to decide for the both of them.

One betrayal followed another. His right hand got up and reached towards her. She saw him taking the initiative, and stepped forward, letting his palm land firmly against her stomach. It was clammy.

"You're still wet. Come, sit closer to the furnace or you'll get sick too."

He led her to the warm light and sat down cross-legged, bidding her sit in front of him. He rubbed his palms on her arms and sides, having not yet decided whether to touch her more intimate parts. Her wet brown hair clumped in wavy lines down her nape and back. She took the time to enjoy the warmth of the air, and of his rugged hands.

Finally, he couldn't restrain himself anymore and let his hands cup the round orbs dangling from her chest and pinched the tips between his forefingers and thumbs. Margit sat stiff-shouldered, looking down wordlessly at his hands as they manipulated her soft breasts.

She started to shift and buckle in his lap as he ran his hands down her sides. He brought them back up, then ran them down her front and back slowly, until his hands met at her undercarriage, middle finger tips touching as the heat radiated from her vulva and anus.

The hand in front curled up, dipping his middle finger between her wet, red hot lips. She got off his lap, kneeling on the cold concrete floor, planting her hands down firmly in front of her. How he knew to do that with his fingers was beyond her. Her body could only tense up, till at last she was on her arms and knees in front of him.

When Antonín saw her rump presented to him in such a manner, he got down on his own fours to bring himself eye level to her secret spot. Between her round, shapely buttocks lay a pink diamond and a brown puckered disc, crammed in a tight, white triangle. He jammed his snout forward like a dog and licked all of it.

"Aii!" the Hungarian flower girl shouted, unprepared for the pleasure that came with his tongue. This was absolutely wrong, but she could not stop him.

Yet she did.

"No, Toní. I'm the one who's in your debt," she got on her knees. Her womanhood screamed at her for cutting off that jubilant sensation.

She turned around and unbuttoned the front of his slacks, and reached her hand in. She got a handle of his hard, bent rod, and pried it loose from its chamber. Even before she saw it, he felt good to hold in her hand. From the dim light, it was dark compared to her hand, stiff and strong and straight.

"Nagy," she thought in her native Hungarian.It's big.

She pulled it forward in her grip, marveling at how the skin followed, collecting at and closing over, the tip, like an unblossomed flower. She then pulled it back, exposing the glistening, shiny head. She wasn't the only one to marvel.

Änna had just woken up from a nap inside Heinrich's office, having felt it unnecessary to tell anyone where she was. She figured any time away from her needy husband would improve her sanity in this backwater burg, and would force his employee to escort her safely to their house. He was basically like a servant anyway.

Her pale blue eyes at first couldn't believe what she saw from behind the doorway. She would have screamed at the man and gotten him fired if it were not for his penis.

"My god, what a beautiful thing!" she thought, clasping her hand over her mouth."The lower classes really are more impressive sexually." She felt a hint of embarrassment for admiring the Czech.

She stared indignantly at the bold creatures sinning, but she couldn't look away. The proletarian girl made a tight seal with her mouth and bobbed her head over the tip, making slurping and popping noises.

"So un-Christian," the ex-nobless wrinkled her nose in disgust, finding herself wanting to see it closer-up.

Margit plopped wet kisses all the way down his shaft until she reached his bollocks.

"Disgusting, she's worshipping it."

She brought a finger behind his bag and tickled it from behind. He thrust his hips forwards reflexively, pressing his manhood against her face. The girl only found it amusing and licked his shaft all the way to the tip.

"How long are they going to keep doing this?" Änna glared impatiently, stuffing her mouth with her dress. The two figures stopped what they were doing and looked around. Änna noticed she was breathing loudly through her nose, so she held her breath until the two looked back into each other's eyes.

"We don't have much time," the girl said, getting to her feet. The two looked around the room, trying to find something comfortable to sit or lie on.

"It can't be helped," she huffed, disappointed. "We'll have to do it standing."

"How base!" Änna squealed internally. She never imagined having a show THIS good.

The brunette girl lifted her thigh and gave her man space to insert his cock between her fertile hips. His eyes were drunk with pleasure. He didn't even know how much longer he could last.

"No, damnit! I want to see him put it in!" Änna cursed as her view was blocked by a workbench. She found that if she got on her tiptoes, she could see over the table and get a better view at their hip level. She could just about see...

CLANG!

The unsuspecting couple leapt back at the sound of clattering equipment. Margit instinctively grabbed onto her partner, afraid.

"Who's there?" He called out. When no response came, he grabbed a wrench and paced over to the dark doorway in anger. Going through it, he flicked a light switch on, ready to swat the intruder.

"Don't mind me! I just woke up! I didn't see anything," Änna cried in panic, cringing at the sight of his upheld weapon. He lowered it at the sight of her cowering form, but was just as indignant as before.

"You were spying on us?"

At that, Änna stood up and put her hands on her hips. "And why would I spy on two lowly peasants about to rut in MY husband's business? I ought to report this and have you fired!" She flared up, pointing an accusing finger at his chest. He backed away, cursing his luck for being caught the one time something good happened to him.

"You and your harlot better apologize," the blonde crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes in a cocky smirk. Antonín seriously considered bashing her skull in and hiding the body, but he remembered he needed this job to help Margit's mother.

"I'm sorry...prinzessin."

Änna laughed haughtily. "Pennies before pride! I never thought I'd get a hand over you, but I finally did!"

"You've had your petty moment of triumph, now leave him alone!" An equally fiery brunette glared at her.

"Oh, that's a shame, because I just happened to overhear your situation. 'Petty' little me even thought about helping you out with some of my considerable wealth," she taunted, pinching the Magyar girl on the cheek, like she were chastising a child.

"And I suppose this would be done solely out of the charity of your heart? Expecting nothing from us?" A pair of fierce green eyes glared, level with blue.

"All I would have asked for was to watch you do what you were already doing naturally, fucking like animals," she spat, turned on by her own use of the word 'fucking'. The power coursed through her sentences like a fist that held the purse strings of fate. The fate of little ants.

Margit scrunched up her brow in conflict.

"...How much money?"

"Well, that was before you called me 'petty', my little whore. First you'd have to apologize as well before I make the same offer again."

"That's the exact definition of petty," Antonín thought bitterly.

Margit's chest heaved. She stared at the ground, mumbling "I'm sorry."

"No, no, no! That was good enough for Anton, my faithful employee. You, I don't even know who you are."

"This," Änna jeered as she tossed off her right shoe and lifted up her foot. "Is your apology."

Margit stared at the blonde's foot in horror and disgust. "Suck it like you sucked your boyfriend's fat wienerschnitzel over there." Änna squealed in delight inside her head. This was going too perfectly. She never had this much fun before either.

Margit's eyes threatened to tear up. She turned to face her boyfriend, who only looked at her with a gaze that said "I'll support whatever decision you make."

Margit took the mistress by her calf and held her foot up to her face. She grimaced in disgust as she looked at the wriggling pink toes. Änna was tickled with anticipation. She wondered if this was anything at all like having a penis.

The Hungarian quickly popped the big toe in her mouth and sucked on it, wanting to get it over with quickly. She moved onto the other four in sequence like she was sucking on a row of tiny, upright, stinky white pricks. Her eyebrows furrowed and her green eyes glared in hostility the whole time she mimicked the act of fellatio on the Prussian's toes. To the nobless' credit, they were washed and clipped.

"Good, slut. Now lick the bottom of my feet," she salivated. Luckily for Margit, the noblewoman washed frequently, and hadn't stepped in anything with her foot. Having crossed the threshold already, it was no additional feat.

The flickering of Margit's tongue across her sole sent shockwaves up Änna's leg. For some reason, her nerves got confused and it felt like the girl's sharp tongue was flicking at her pussy. The blonde let out a gasp and fell on her bottom.

"Yaaaa!!"

Seizing the initiative, Margit jerked her leg up and started nibbling along her sole, flooding her with impossibly intense sensations.

"Enough!" The twenty-four year old matron regained her composure, pushing the Magyar off her.

"The two of you shall perform such acts for as you have done before, only for my pleasure. In exchange, Anton will remain an employee here and you shall be paid handsomely."

Änna rolled up her aristocratic eyes, then looked down again, twisting the corners up in a wicked little smile. "And of course, all of this shall be our little secret.

-+-

Wallachia

November 17, 1853

Fire. Chaos. Black smoke, rising to the sky in pillars from burnt out heaps of twisted men and metal.

When the armored men leapt out of the tunnel behind the Allied artillery, it was like a flashback to the Middle Ages, only instead of chivalrous knights charging forth in armor on steeds, it was nine-foot tall giants with glowing red eyes, unleashing hellfire from massive blunderbusses. Steam blew out from vents on their backs as the lumbering titans plodded forward through the chaotic battlefield, crushing the fallen that lay underneath their metal feet.

Men from Liverpool to Calcutta lay dead or in wounded agony next to Turkish shepherd boys and aides-de-camp.

The British had some Congreves and land torpedoes on hand, and managed to take out three of the behemoths before the Russian regular infantry swarmed them with bayonets and rifle fire.

"Dlya Tsariya!"

Men in tan greatcoats and black bear-skin hats streamed past the metal men in unison, having entered line formation in such close order and haste as to make a martinet weep in pride. Green-uniformed Jägers occasionally popped a shot at the fleeing artillerymen as the rest of the Russian unit hastily spiked and disabled the Allied heavy cannons. Before long, cries of "Ura!" filled the air.

Alexei stared down at his massive metal hands. The first salvo from his shotgun blew the torsos off six men. During the panic, he killed two more with a mere swat of his arm, crushing their ribcages. And in the heat of the action, he was unloading volley after volley of lead death into panicked and fleeing men. A horrifying thought raced across his mind.

Is this to be the future of war?

Can a man truly consider himself a pacifist after killing dozens of men in cold blood? He didn't even feel bad as he was doing it. Alexei's stomach churned, and he found it hard to move.

Luckily he didn't have to stay inside for long as the call was made to return to Bucharest. Horses stolen from the British carriages were used to haul the bodysuits back, whether functional or not.

"Only three disabled? Not bad," a soldier spoke in awe of the mission's success.

Alexei panicked at the bearded man's casual remark and ran over to the three smouldering ruins being lashed and tied to horses. A bishop in a black cassock and veil holding the famous three-barred cross was blessing the wrecks with prayer.

"Excuse me? Who were these men?" Alexei asked the commanding officer.

"Kamenev, Babanin and Abramovich."

Alexei dropped to his knees and gasped. His stomach finally lurched and poured out its contents on the earth.