Spoils of War


The view was like a window into Hell. Once, a long time ago, maybe three months or so, this had been a pleasant provincial town where people lived quiet, unremarkable lives. Now it was wreck, populated only by desperate ghosts and people like me. The front of the apartment building opposite had been ripped away and the rooms, still somehow remarkably intact, were open to view, like the dolls house of a particularly destructive child. The top floor was open to the elements, like almost every other building in sight. Some had great holes in them where the artillery shells had struck, others were blackened by the smoke from the fires that had burned for days and the rest were pockmarked by small arms fire. There was probably not a window intact within two miles. Hell.

Ours had always been a fragile country, created by uncaring conquerors in the previous century. They had drawn lines on maps to suit their own convenience without a thought for the ethnic and religious differences that had divided us for centuries or the simmering blood feuds they had created. So we were bundled together, sharing nothing but our mutual hatred and suspicion.

It had all boiled over a couple of years ago when the North tried to break away, taking much of our mineral wealth with them, and join up with their so-called Brothers across the border. It had been coming for decades but their politicians made two crucial miscalculations: the armed forces were controlled by the South and their Brothers were not willing to go to war for them. The rebels had managed to overrun a few barracks, killing the soldiers who would not join them and stealing the guns. But the pilots on the airbases had simply flown south in their priceless fighters. The handful of planes that had to be abandoned on the ground were quickly destroyed in air strikes and the few they managed to get into hardened hangars were useless. You can teach a man to fire an AK47 in a couple of hours, training people to fly or even maintain a jet fighter takes a bit longer.

So, as the outside world fruitlessly called for peace and the UN stood by impotently wringing its hands, the carnage had begun. We had gone from city to city and town to town wiping out the rebels. The civilian population became refuges heading northwards. Only ruined shells were left. It was scorched earth policy, pure and simple. Well simple if not pure.

Yet even here, despite our victory we did not quite have control. There were a few small militia units clinging on and harrying our patrols. So I was still here. The General called us his 'Predators'. Angels of Death whose job was to hole up among the wrecked buildings and pick off the militias at long range, killing their commanders when we could and randomly killing their men to sap morale and drive them out.

Most of the Predators worked in groups of four but I preferred to be alone. I'd been a hunter all my life and I knew all about lying up and keeping quiet and unseen. It was a bit riskier because I couldn't watch all sides at once and had to keep moving around to check all the approaches and to make sue my escape route was still clear. But it also meant there was no one chattering or moving about to give away our position. Some of our so-called 'troops' lacked discipline. Too many of them were 'irregulars', little more than gangsters, out for what they could loot or who they could rape. I preferred to be alone. It felt safer.

I had my own rules and they had kept me alive so fire. I only ever fired one shot. Take them by surprise and give them no clues as to my position by firing again once they were alert. Sometimes I got lucky and took out a commander. Other times I would lie there, looking through my telescopic sights and play God, the cross-hairs moving from face to face as I decided who should live and who should die. They never knew how close they had come to death, how their faraway wives had nearly been widowed.

I had been in this attic for two days and had seen nothing. Perhaps they had finally given up and gone away. But I could not relax yet. I had just checked my exit route again and was planning to move out at dusk, timing my departure for when the gathering darkness would hide me but still leave enough light for me to find my way back to our own base. It was as I put the field glasses to my eyes that I spotted the movement. It was at the end of the street, a Man and a Boy emerging from one house and diving into the next. As they disappeared I quartered the other buildings looking for snipers who might be using them as a decoy. I could see nothing. I repeated the exercise every time the pair moved to a new house and after an hour I decided they were alone, probably scavenging for food in the abandoned houses.

At this rate they would reach the house I was in before I was ready to leave. I packed my little rucksack and watched them. Something wasn't right. Something about the body language between them. I checked the surrounding windows again. Still nothing. As they got nearer I checked them again and realised what it was that was worrying me. And smiled.

As they entered the house next door I made a final check of my exit and the surrounding buildings before I hid my rifle under some old carpet, took my pistol from its holster and settled behind the door.

I heard them come into the house and listened as they slowly made their way from floor to floor, room by room. Finally there were heavy steps outside and the Man stepped into the room. I let him walk in and as he turned he saw me. He opened his mouth to shout but I flicked the gun barrel up to his face and the words died in his throat. I put my finger to my lips to order him to stay quiet and flicked the pistol to the side to tell him to move out of sight. He looked like he might call out but them thought better of it. The lighter steps of the Boy climbed the stairs. I let him walk into the room before I pushed the door closed behind him. In the same instant he saw the Man, hands raised and spun round, a look of terror on his face.

While they were still scared I ordered them to face the wall and lean in so I could search them. This was the moment of danger, having to go close in, so I ordered them to shuffle their feet back until I was satisfied they were fully off balance. I stepped swiftly to the Man first and jabbed the barrel of the pistol into his neck before I began patting him down thoroughly. There was no gun, just a knife, which I took. He did not seem to be militia. I ordered him to his hands and knees before I moved to the Boy. Same routine, quick step in, gun to his neck and began patting him down. Slowly as the Man watched I moved my hands across the Boy's chest and squeezed the soft breasts. My suspicion about the body language had been right. You can crop a woman's hair to look like a boy but the movement takes a lot more skill. She'd always moved like a woman. I took my time feeling her up, playing with her breasts before moving down to her crotch, which I search thoroughly as the hate burned in the Man's eyes.

Once I'd had enough I ordered her onto her hands and knees beside the Man. Now everything was under control. I moved round behind them and contemplated my next move before ordering them to put their heads on the floor, arms straight out in front of them. Once they were totally helpless the target was unmissable I swung my boot hard and kicked the Man in the balls. The impact lifted him off the floor and he collapsed moaning and clutching his groin. The Woman squealed but instantly shut up as I turned the pistol towards her. With the Man disabled I quickly yanked his arms behind him and put on the handcuffs. I'd taken them from a local policeman, or at least I'd taken them from his body and they had often come in handy. As the Man lay groaning I took out my hunting knife and cut through his belt and buttons at the waist of his trousers before tugging them down to his ankles.

Terror replaced the hate in his eye. He thought I was going to castrate him. God knows that had happened in this filthy war. His white genitals were shrivelled with pain and fear as he tried to move backwards despite his hands being pinned behind his back and his legs being tangled in his trousers. I moved my knife towards his middle and lifted his shrunken penis on its point. It was little more than the size of an acorn. "My God," I sneered. "If that's all you can give her she's in for a treat today."

I turned my attention to the Woman and gestured to her to stand up. "Strip!" She shook her head. Without saying anything I moved back to the Man and pulled my foot back. He tried to curl up to protect his balls and head but my boot hit him hard in the ribs with a thud that echoed round the empty room. Then I took a step to the side so I was level with his head and swung my foot back again.

"No," she said and began tugging at her jacket and scrabbling with buttons of the mannish shirt she was wearing. Once she was down to her underwear she stopped, her arms vainly trying to cover the grubby once-white bra and knickers she was wearing. Laundry was probably not high on anyone's list of priorities at the moment. "Strip!" I repeated and she slowly unclipped her bra and dropped her pants. I ordered her to turn round and pulled her arms behind her to put on the second pair of handcuffs. In all honesty she did not look much with her spiky boyish haircut and her skinny body with its slightly drooping breasts and tuft of black hair. No one was eating well in this town any more. Not even us.

I turned her to face the Man and stepped behind her, holstering my gun so I could use both hands to squeeze her breasts and tug at her nipples before running one hand across her belly into her hair to rummage between her legs. I wanted him to see just how beaten he was. We'd taken his new 'country' then his town and his woman was next. This invasion was going to be complete. All the way up inside her. And if I was lucky maybe the ultimate. Perhaps one of my little soldiers would find its way inside her egg and leave her a little reminder of today.

I turned her sideways on to him and pushed her to her knees. She knew what was coming. I unfastened my fly and took out my still-soft cock and let it dangle in front of her. She shook her head and recoiled a bit. It was a couple of days since I'd washed so it was probably none-too-pleasant.

"Suck it!" I ordered and she moved slowly towards it. Just as she was about to reach it she felt my gun against her forehead. As she watched I slowly pointed it at the Man's head and warned: "No teeth."

She looked up with pleading eyes and said: "Please don't. What would your wife think of you doing this?"

It was a shock. If the fighting had gone another way perhaps it would have been my wife on her knees in front of an enemy soldier, a stranger, forced to take his unwashed stinking cock into her throat. But I said: "She'll never know. It's our little secret eh? Suck it!"

She twisted her neck to stoop down and take the head in her mouth. I felt her tongue and lips get to work and slowly it hardened and thickened as I alternated my gaze from my cock, now coated with her saliva disappearing and reappearing from her mouth and looking into the Man's eyes as he was forced to watch his woman pleasuring me. As I got harder she because more enthusiastic, bobbing her head hungrily on my cock, licking the head and sucking. I was not fooled. I'd seen it before. She had not been suddenly overcome with lust. She was trying to get me off, hoping that if I came in her mouth I wouldn't fuck her and perhaps impregnate her. I was happy to let her try. Happy to let him see how eagerly she was sucking me.

Considering she just had her mouth free and no hands she got me to the brink remarkably quickly and I stepped back, my cock leaving her mouth with a liquid pop. I got behind her and pushed her head down to the floor, her arse in the air and her cunt an inviting target. I put my fingers to her cunt to open it up. She was dry. So much for the eager blow job.

I put one hand under her arms and lifted her up moving her over to the Man. "Juice her up for me,. Get her ready for my cock," I said as I pushed her down to sit on his face. He hesitated."Lick her or I'll cut off what's left of your balls." Reluctantly he put out his tongue and began to do as he was told. I stepped forward and put my cock back in her mouth so he could look up her belly and past her breasts to see me fucking her face.

I'd like to have fucked her while she was on top of him. Give him a close up view of my cock in his woman but I did not fancy letting him maybe bite my balls off. So instead I made her kneel to the side and then pushed my cock into from behind. She was tight and I felt her walls pushing my foreskin back and the sensitive head of my cock being squeezed. The women had all fled so it had been a few weeks since I'd had one and I enjoyed the feeling. As I sawed in and out she began to lubricate more and my cock glistened with her juices as I pushed in up to the hilt.

My stomach was slapping against her backside as I drove it home. It would have been nice to take more time, maybe fuck her arse for a while too but the time to leave was fast approaching so I speeded up and then pushed myself hard into her as the cum shot from the end of my cock in half a dozen ecstatic spasms. In my mind I saw it firing deep into her womb and heading for that egg. I looked at the Man's face and gave an other push just so he could see how deeply I was firing those millions of sperm into her.

I turned her round again and pushed my softening cock to her face. "Clean it" She obeyed before I pulled out and she collapsed on the floor sobbing, curling into a foetal position. I ignored her, fastened my trousers and cut some flex from an old electric fire. I told her to mount the Man again in a 69 position and fastened them together with it before removing her handcuffs and retying he arms behind the Man. He had a perfect view of my handiwork between her legs and my sperm seeping out of her. I used her belt to lash his legs together and then pulled off his shoes and trousers.

I tied his hands behind her and pocketed the handcuffs before scooping up their clothes and shoes and tossing them down the stairwell. It would not take them long to get free once I left but much longer to find their clothes and shoes in the dark. No one went barefoot in this world of broken glass. By the time they were ready to move I'd be long gone. It would have been easier and quicker to slit their throats but even in a civil war the killing has to stop somewhere.

I did another careful scan of the surrounding buildings before shouldering my light pack and retrieving my rifle. I looked down at them and gave her a gentle slap on the rump. "Thanks for the fuck. Take care of the baby," I said and left, warily making my way out of the back door to work my way back to base.

On the way I could not help thinking about what the Woman had said about my wife. What would she think of me? On my trips home we never talked about what happened out here. She heard all the claims on the foreign news reports but she never asked if it was true or if I was involved. She did not want to hear the answer. Two years ago I had been an ordinary man like you, who loved his family and went to work. What was left of him and what sort of man was going home to her? In fact what sort of men were any of us now? What sort of country could we rebuild? We used to be engineers and shopkeepers and farmers but now we were killers, robbers and rapists used to taking what we wanted and settling arguments with the barrel of a gun.

The rebels had been defeated, that was for sure but what about us? Had we really won? Maybe nobody had won. Perhaps in a war like this everyone loses.

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