Revenge of the Pothead Ch. 10-15

Chapter 10

"So, what is it to be done with the prisoners? These aren't situations envisioned very well by the Hague or Geneva Conventions, neither of which have been ratified by the Commandant on our side or the Imperial Wizard on his. Not, mind you, that there is any quarter given much of late. Or asked, for that matter. Kluckers are only surrendering when wounded like those chaps over there," Doctor Anne Thorpe, our very British chief surgeon, inquired.

"Beats me. I do know that my ex-wife is among the civilians caught in that mess. That's a real helluva mess," I scoffed while kicking back with some hot tea offered in the English manner, with milk and sugar, by Dr. Thorpe after a lull settled in the fighting due to inclement weather.

I suspected that the Klansmen had mechanical problems with their military hardware due to the storm and didn't wish to ruin any of their gear. They were just down to about half of their prior manpower, likely just about three thousand or so men. Plus, they probably didn't want their hoods and robes to mildew.

"Your ex-wife? I knew that you were engaged, darling, but not that you were divorced. Was it because you liked to bed your doctors, love?" Anne winked at me, clearly thinking of our little tryst the night before.

"If you're asking whether or not it's because I cheated, the answer is no. Prior to, well, more recent chapters of my life, I was raised up to believe in monogamy. I don't anymore, but I did back then, so whatever urges I had, I chose to keep it in my pants. Hell, I used to believe in Christ. I haven't believed in him for a good while now. Being sent to prison for a victimless crime will do that to a guy.

"Nothing changes a man as profoundly as prison. I can promise you that much. Being divorced, abandoned, and betrayed by a spouse does that to a man, too. Megan simply left me to save her own share of the assets from seizure and promptly married her own boss. Clifford. What a fucking douche!

"Care to guess how she got caught up in this maelstrom? Yep, she followed her hubby to the camp. Literally became a camp follower for the Ku Klux Klan. Talk about stupidity! It could well lead her straight to DC and you know it. Hubby evidently got killed in action, along with about half of those motherfuckers. Good riddance, Cliff.

"She's pregnant, by the way. Could be his, though she admitted to cheating on him and being pimped out by him now and then. I won't judge her for that, just for leaving me when I needed her most, for being such a cold fish in bed and elsewhere when we were together. Maybe she's softened up a bit since. Who knows?

"And most of all, I judge her for staying with an avowed racist and becoming a camp whore for the fucking KKK. That's seriously low standards, not the whoring part, but the involvement with those hooded assholes. Wouldn't you agree?" I informed Anne, who shrugged and then gave me a very warm and loving kiss on the lips, even using some tongue.

"Well, from what I've seen of this country in the past year or so since joining your medical staff, I would have to say that the Klan represents everything wrong about the States and precious few right things. Am I right to believe and understand that it was, in fact, America's first domestic terrorist organization?" Anne asked as we drank our tea and ogled each other.

"You could very well say that. A Congress that had more backbone back in the day, with the full blessing of then President Ulysses S. Grant, banned that bunch of hooded pricks for a time. That was during the notorious Reconstruction Era, which was more good than many Lost Cause sympathizers care to admit.

"I strongly suspect that Colonel Lomax's thinking is informed by his descent from Virginia Unionists prior to West Virginia's formation. We're both Mountaineers by birth and that's a state formed for its Unionist leanings in opposition to the slaveholding planters east of the mountains. After all, most mountain men were too poor to own slaves. Our vice was moonshine, not chattel.

"My own ancestors fought for both sides, actually. On my mother's side, two of three brothers fought for the South, one for the North. Then there were two sisters, one of whom married a Confederate artilleryman, one a Union cavalryman. On my father's side, two brothers went blue, one went gray. One sister married a Union officer, the other a Confederate sergeant.

"West Virginia, Virginia, North Carolina, Kentucky, Maryland, Missouri, and Tennessee, were classic examples of the old 'brother vs. brother' trope, if you will. I wish that I could say that it's not being repeated, but we all know that it is. In real time. While the majority sentiments were all Unionist, that didn't prevent a significant minority favoring the Confederacy.

"But yeah, the Klan? Fuck those motherfuckers and damn them all to Hell, if it exists, which I doubt. I suppose that I'm just too jaded and cynical from five years in federal prison to ever imagine that there's any kind of moral justice to the Cosmos at all. At least none that we don't make for ourselves. If you want justice, you have to see to it personally. Frankly, I'm an atheist or at least an agnostic these days," I confessed my rather unpopular infidel ways.

"If there were Gods, which would you prefer?" Anne teased me.

"Any but the Abrahamic type. Greek, Hindu, Norse, Roman, Celtic, Egyptian, even Aztec, would be better than Christ. I'd even take Ahura-Mazda, the Zoroastrian God, over Christ or Allah or Jehovah. I'm a bit jaundiced about divine beings due to my own rather miserable past. But at least the pagan or heathen Gods would have to work with and consult each other, so that would make some sense about delays in justice. It would have to get out of committee first, right?" I laughed now.

"Well, I'm an Anglican, but I won't hold that against you if you won't hold my membership in the Church of England against me," Anne winked at me now, "to think, I briefly considered life in the clergy. I had thoughts of becoming a vicar someday. Then I saw how much more human pain and suffering I could ease, heal, and treat as a doctor than as a priest."

"At least you can honestly say that you were born into it. Christened, too, I believe. The Church of England seems to be the default setting for most Brits. Unless you specifically adhere to something else, you're automatically Anglican. A bit like being Catholic in Spain or Mexico, I suppose. Or Buddhist in Vietnam or Thailand, places like that. Or Muslim in Egypt or Jordan or someplace like that. Or Hindu in India. Or Jewish in Israel. You just plain get it with mother's milk, don't you?" I observed.

"Well said. Now, how about you and I be intimate again, love?" Anne closed the distance and disrobed in front of me before wrapping her legs around me.

"Oh, fuck, sawbones, you really do want to fraternize, don't you?" I grinned as I began pushing in and out of said doctor.

"Or I just want to jump YOUR bones. Fuck me, leftenant!" Anne encouraged me in her very British way, with a posh accent and saucy tone.

I didn't take long to get on with it, either. I reamed my lovely English tart of a boss probably a dozen ways to Sunday right then. Why not? It was rainy, there was a calm in the fighting, and we didn't know when it would resume and we might not get another chance. Was it a bit improper to screw one of the doctors when I was a nurse? Probably so. Right then, though, I just didn't care.

As Summer once pointed out to me, I wasn't guaranteed to come back alive from any posting, was I? Speaking of which, I thought about her, about Kayla, and about Barry, too, as I plowed the lovely and charming Dr. Anne Thorpe. I ravaged and savaged her cunny right then with considerable vigor, much to her satisfaction. She wanted me to roger her but good and boy did I ever! I used her sweet ginger bush for all it was worth.

I also thought about Aaron and Kara ... wouldn't that be great, to take them to bed soon? I could picture the threesomes there, even as Megan recovered and faced a lonely future as the widow of a Klansman. That and her bitchy personality might well make future dating rough on her, but then again, she was still a ravishingly beautiful woman. She was a slut, too, which would help her with some folks, hurt her with others. I didn't mind her slutty ways. I did mind her being a fucking psychopath, which I was convinced that she was.

Enough about that cunt. I had my cock buried balls deep inside a lovely, intelligent, charming Englishwoman. Her legs were wrapped around my waist as I thrust harder on each stroke. The more I took Anne, the wetter she became and the more she whimpered from the pounding that I gave her. I saw the adorable expressions on her face, rather erotic, as I screwed her within an inch of her life.

When Anne moved her legs onto my shoulders, it was all over but the cumming then. I admired her lovely breasts and cupped her bum as I humped her with a primal fury. That was when she told me something almost calculated to push me to cum sooner.

"Oh, did I mention that I'm highly fertile right now ... and not on the Pill? Do it, lover. Put a bloody bun in my oven! Put a little Yank in me!" Anne screamed while her delightful auburn hair was matted by sweat against her forehead.

I erupted as I bottomed-out inside the good doctor one last time. I pulled out and kissed her freckled face before winking at her and putting on my pants again. They didn't stay on for long, not with her impish intentions, which turned out to be sucking my dick clean of her own juices. She even exulted in the squishy, slimy feeling of my spunk inside her quim.

Oh, yes, she was a keeper and I hoped that she moved in with Summer, Kayla, Barry and me. If she was pregnant to me, of course, that certainly improved my odds. So would her obvious love of all things oral. She wore a wedding band, but given her willingness to conceive by me, that didn't seem to be a likely issue. She and her hubby could work that out between them. It wasn't my business at all.

"Don't worry, love. Mick and I are estranged and he's back in Merry Ol' England, anyway. This doesn't concern him. After the war, I want to move in with you and your missus, and anyone else in your life, babe. I'm not going back. I'm not the one who did what he did, after all," Anne reassured me as she saw the look on my face.

"What did he do, exactly?" I made the mistake of inquiring now.

"He started pissing down my throat, forced me to fuck his mate, Clive, even held me down while Clive raped me, then he raped Clive's wife Janine in front of me while Clive went for a second round, beat me several times, raped me himself a few times, and last, but not least, he raped my mate, Sophie. Repeatedly. And held her down for Clive to rape her. And made Janine and me watch. Hell, I don't even know why I'm wearing this golden band, anyway. Maybe to scare off the wrong kind of suitors or whatever.

"Trust me when I tell you, this bloke is the poster child for everything bad about men, none of the good in you. What I described as rape was exactly that. There was nothing about it that wasn't brutal, cruel, even vicious. Brutal, forcible, spousal rape ... and other kinds of rape. This didn't start until he became mates with Clive. Then, suddenly, rape was their game and all the rage. It was their scene, their passion.

"They called it 'Rape Club' and modeled it after 'Fight Club,' but they said that the true key to venting men's rage wasn't fighting, but rape. The rape was the whole point of the act. The pain, rage, and terror on women's faces excited them. It was a sport for them, you see. And Mick liked to say that 'rape used to be the only way to court women and it still should be.' Yeah, he actually believed that rape was a societal good and should be perfectly legal," Anne told me, her rage and pain seething in her face and her eyes.

"Well, then, may they roast in Hell, if it exists!" I gave Anne a nip from my flask of fine Kentucky bourbon before taking a sip myself.

"See why I want to get pregnant to another man? It's the ultimate payback, the ultimate cuckolding, after all. I want to send him a postcard someday soon and tell him, 'See, I got knocked up by another man and he didn't rape me at all.' Real men don't rape, wouldn't you agree?" Anne told me as she stopped drinking and resumed sucking my cock.

"Real men don't rape. True as fuck," I concurred as I stroked her coppery hair and touched her freckled face with love as well as lust.

Yep, she was mine, too. And all I had to do was not be a rapist prick.

Chapter 11

Our neat little tryst didn't last as long as we hoped, of course. As the weather cleared, we heard the first barrage of enemy artillery and felt its impact. Those motherfuckers were back at it and they likely wouldn't stop this time until we (well, collectively speaking) were forced to completely annihilate them. Frankly, I hoped that we did. It was time to clean the genepool, and those scum could be among the first to leave it.

"Don't worry. Our own guns are giving them far more hell, as you know. Rat bastards don't fucking know how to use forward observers. They miss more than they hit, though what they hit does harm enough," I pointed out to Anne.

"Plus, those guns of theirs are rather primitive by comparison," Anne noticed.

"Yeah, I'd say so. Superior shells, superior rockets. Superior mortars for when they get closer. Claymore mines to really deal them some death and misery. Anti-tank guns, RPGs, you get the idea. And that's before they encounter our heavy-machine gun nests and our armor. And the gunships. Let's not forget the gunships," I reflected.

'And snipers," Anne added.

"Yeah, those, too," I agreed, "though as a nurse, I'm torn. I can't help but think of all of the pain, all the death, the maimed soldiers who will be lame for life. The rest of me thinks, 'nah, they're Kluckers, so fuck 'em.' That's the inner conflict inside me."

"Still, that's some mother's son, some sister's brother, some daughter's father, some wife's husband, some girlfriend's boyfriend. I know that the women are likely every bit as racist as the menfolk, but still. It does pain me at times to have to sew up men who were wounded in action by our folks and whose future now includes a lengthy stay as a prisoner of war. And they're the lucky ones, the ones not killed in action.

"On the other hand, you're right. They're racist blokes, the lot of them, real pricks that are more bollocks than brains. And their wives, sisters, mothers, daughters, etc. are scarcely better to be frank. It goes against my medical training to be too callous about their fates, but I also recall what they probably think of me, which helps," Anne admitted rather candidly to me.

"Oh, fuck ... oh, fuck ... oh, fuck!" I heard someone shout and looked closer outside the hospital tent where I was assigned.

Already, several medics were busy bringing in some wounded on stretchers, and they were in some terrible shape. I had to put the discourse behind me and focus on the work at hand, just as Anne did. Fortunately, when she was on duty, her laid-back side vanished instantly and a tyrant emerged. She was very much in charge. Somehow, she really compartmentalized to that extent, which made her a very useful person indeed.

"Nope, sorry, love, we have to triage and now! Those three ... I'm rather afraid that we can't do much for them but ease the pain. Get these two into surgery now! Higgins, damn it, we need to get some IV in there! Walker, love, restrain him ... he needs held down now!" that last command was directed at me, of course.

At that point, I went on autopilot, did as I was told, obeyed Dr. Thorpe and carried out my duties with no thought as to what we had done not long before. At various points, Anne came across as even a little submissive when it came to sex, but Dr. Thorpe was very much the boss. She was very dominant when it came to surgery, and that was a good thing. Someone had to issue orders in the operating room, did they not?

It became a blur, of course, and hours later, we emerged to relieve ourselves and finally take a hot shower (well, if one was first, otherwise, it was lukewarm or cold). We at last got a hot meal. And most of us simply went to bed ... and tried to sleep a little. There would be plenty more to do when we awoke.

I didn't even want to think about the body count right then, how many we saved and couldn't save.

Chapter 12

"Wake up, wake up!" I heard Anne jerk me awake, and not in a good way, either.

"What's up?" I asked groggily as I tried to shake myself out of that state.

"We gotta bustle, man! Time to relocate! Nicer place this time. Whole bloody, motherfucking street requisitioned for hospitals and quarters!" Anne told me, "evidently, that barrage was the last of their heavy munitions and they used it up trying for a breakout from the growing, alarming encirclement of their forces."

"So, where are they?" I naturally wondered.

"Pinned down to a smaller bit of real estate, I believe. Our counterattack broke them, since they had no more heavy artillery and their ranks were thinned out a bit. They're down to their last grenades, mortars, RPGs, that sort of thing. Machine gun nests. Sandbags. They can still fight back, but they've been driven inward on all fronts. Plus, of course, you can always see them coming. They're fucking predictable," Aaron remarked as he showed his face now.

"The consequence of not retreating when they could is that they now must retreat, no longer an option, right? They've been bled white, no pun intended. It's like that old saying. The ship that does not obey the helm must obey the rocks. Still, expect them to fight like cornered animals, because that's what they are now. Which will make our work as hectic as ever," I groused like any good field nurse, any good soldier, for that matter.

"Imagine being a medic right now," Anne noted.

"No thanks. I have enough nightmares from being a nurse," I retorted.

"I bloody well hear you on that point!" Anne laughed bitterly.

"Okay, there's our street now. And I do mean ours. Whole fucking cul-de-sac, all to us. They had to find ... other lodging for the residents, I'm afraid. Be it ever so gruesome, there's no place like home," Aaron scoffed.

"Damn, did you hear that?" Anne noted an outcry of some kind.

"Oh, fuck ... no ... Oh, dear God, no!" I raged.

"What?" Anne asked me now.

"Please tell me that even the Kluckers aren't that stupid!" I screamed as we reached our main hospital, the best house on the street by far.

"What is it?" Aaron wondered now.

"That's the sort of war cry traditionally associated with human wave attacks. The Klan must really be desperate. And rather frenzied at that. They must all have a suicide pact or else there's another explanation as to why they have a death wish. They're going to throw everyone and every single piece of gear into the fight, everything but the kitchen sink. Risk it all on one last roll of the dice. At this point, it's either conquer or die, as they say. They have no third choice," I cursed my bad luck right then.

"Shite!" Anne cussed now.

She realized just how high the body count was likely to be, and no small number of them would be Kluckers that we would have to stitch up and save. We might very well be overwhelmed within minutes and triage would be on steroids. There would be no way to save them all and yet we couldn't prioritize based upon which side they chose. That would be medically unethical. This meant that plenty of Militiamen would die just because of how many there were of them.

God damn it, why couldn't I catch a break?

Such were my thoughts as we set up the operating room in what had been the living room, by far the largest single chamber in the house. The duty desk and roster were put in the foyer, but the kitchen and johns would remain the same, for obvious reasons. The trick was where to place the beds. So much furniture was just in the way, which was a shame because of how fine and ornate much of it was. This was probably the home of some CPA or lawyer, not rich enough for a McMansion, but prosperous enough to live in the better parts of town.