The Libido Virus: War

"General Anderson, have you had any contact with the president or at least an acting executive?"

"Yes," the old man answered as a dozen other reporters tried to ask a question. "We've been in touch with Air Force One. As you have been briefed, the President and senior advisers are being moved to a secure location where they will establish a command. In the meantime, the President has asked me to proceed with the Operation Fireline." His uniform itched. Gerald Anderson felt the weight of the stars on his shoulders more and more as they press pool shouted. The joint chiefs had whisked themselves off with the President leaving behind a colossal mess. Marshal law had ruled in several major cities until the infected took over. An uncountable number of soldiers and equipment had been sacrificed in a vain effort to keep peace among plagued populations. The whole thing had gone to shit. It did him little good to gloat about his success quarantining his forces.

Another reporter stood up and somehow managed to shout the others down with his hoarse voice. The general eyed the man wearily. Everyone was going through the motions as if the world wasn't ending. Why were these dogs still hounding him? Who were they still reporting to? "General, can you explain how our military failed to have an adequate response to what should have been a very obvious risk?"

The general cracked a smile for the first time in hours. "Adequate response? You think that we should have had an adequate response to this? The US military is the greatest fighting force the world has ever seen. Do you know why that is? Because for seventy years, no two countries have gone head to head in a war. Our strength has been demonstrated through our mercy. With a few keystrokes, we can turn cities to glass and countries into radioactive craters. In forty-eight hours we can deploy any where in the world with a force strong enough to eliminate local opposition and establish a beachhead for a full invasion. We have contingencies should any country, from Russia to Ecuador, try to invade or attack or whistle at us funny. We have spent our lives making certain we have adequate response to our enemies" He gripped the podium and wet his lips. "The things massing on the East Coast are our own people. But this is not a civil uprising, we have a plan for that. This is not a massive wave of sabotage and sedition, we have a plan for that. This is a disease that turns normal people into raving lunatics. Madness and panic are the tip of the spear behind a horde of monstrosities. We did not have an adequate response to that. When this is over and future servicemen stand in front of you like this, they will have those plans. They will have my plan."

Anderson enjoyed the finality of his words and expected the press pool to suddenly disperse, but instead another young man popped up. "Sir, what about reports that the infected have been highly resistant to traditional weaponry? We have reports and some amateur video of the males being shot multiple times and continuing on as if nothing had happened?"

His scowl returned quickly, "Understandably this has been a difficult question to tackle. However mutated and corrupted these individuals have become, they are still flesh and blood. They are still our loved ones and family. It has been a trial for everyone involved to understand that these people are sick and a danger to us and to our way of life. Firing on someone who moments before was your friend is difficult. Executing the woman you have been married to for two decades because her eyes are turning green, that too is difficult."

"Sorry, sir, you're not answering the question."

His grip tightened on the podium, "We have had our specialists review those videos you mention, and I would remind everyone that they are amateur videos from unverified sources. We have come to different conclusions. We're ready to say that the creatures have displayed a heightened resistance to pain. Our advisers have suggested that it is a byproduct of the rapid cell growth inherent the virus. I assure you though, they bleed. And what's bleeds, can die. Operation Fireline will halt the spread of the virus, and we we will take back our cities. Those who can be saved, will be saved. Those who cannot will be mourned. Thank you for your time."

"General. General! One last question? Please?"

"Go on then," he replied.

"Will you be personally overseeing the battle?"

"I wouldn't call it a battle," General Anderson answered. "But yes, I will be personally commanding the extermination effort."

The general gathered his things and quickly left the room. His aides swarmed him, handing him briefings and talking quickly, but orderly as they made their way through the building. Emerging into the street, the early morning was wet with dew yet to be baked away by the rising sun. Anderson stepped into the transport gladly, looking forward to the few hours of sleep. Everything was in place. The great might of the US army would make its stand and turn this whole debacle around once and for all. He shut his eyes and let himself grin. When the smoke was cleared and the joint chiefs came out of their hole, he would be the war hero, not them. He drifted off to sleep as the military caravan headed east to Chattanooga.

***

Charlie looked out over the hilly countryside. The verdant green sparkled in the sunlight. All around him, fellow soldiers waited. He'd been in the service for three years, but he'd never seen such a display of outright power. If it had been some opposing army waiting on the side of the hills, he would have been the most confident among the lot. The very sight of the state of the art infantry, armor, and artillery would be enough to instill fear into any oncoming force. But what waited beyond the hills wasn't deterred in the least. A private received little information other than what he needed to know, but there were rumors. Rumors of giant men, capable of lifting a car like it was a feather. Those monsters had rampaged through the streets of D.C., New York, Atlanta, and a half dozen other major cities. At least as Charlie had been told, the soldiers trying to maintain peace had been taken by surprise. They had crumbled and been surrounded as many of their own fellow soldiers were converted into the enemy. Worse still, most of the men who fell rose up again as cunning, green-eyed women.

The communications blackout wasn't unusual, but it was frustrating. They faced an invading force of unimaginable horror, and Charlie knew next to nothing about his enemy. The only snippets of information came from the refugees who scurried away from the major cities in large packs. Charlie had been in the quarantine effectiveness detachment. Screening the refugees was easy enough, but hearing their stories of how their husbands, wives, daughters, and sons all fell behind them only to come back as whores of Babylon unnerved everyone. The whole regiment was spooked as they watched the hills, waiting for their enemy.

"Check in," came the monotonous voice of central command over his radio. His helmet, along with every other soldier's waiting outside of Chattanooga, housed a small ear piece through which came a constant stream of orders. The plan was for a rapid response of fire to mow down the waves of enemies. The infected wouldn't be flanking or using cover, but coming en masse in an attempt to overwhelm the defenders. General Anderson had stressed how communication would be vital in directing fire at the appropriate targets. His sergeant radioed in to confirm their position. Scouts reported the horde only a few minutes out.

The air around him tensed. Behind the entrenched soldiers, the city processed and dispersed refugees, a city of two hundred thousand suddenly quadrupling in size. Beside him, the batteries of artillery, the tanks, and the men's rifles all focused on a one hundred yard stretch between a hill and the river waiting for the first sign of the abominations. They appeared suddenly, as if they had been there all along. First two, then four, then a dozen. They moved quickly in bursts of inhuman speed. Charlie couldn't discern any of their features, but he could see enough to know they were naked women. A few of the men with binoculars gave low whistles. "Cut the chatter. Hold for a more target rich environment. Delta squad pick your targets."

The first alpha came over the horizon. He bounded into view like a primate challenging another's territorial rights. Charlie could see him well enough. The hulking figure was a body of pure muscle, standing eight or nine feet tall. The creature stamped the ground and pounded his chest as more of the harlots zipped past him. Again the command came through the radio to hold. Charlie moved his scope up. He brought one of the creatures into his sights. She was absolute perfection. Charlie joined the army at eighteen and never had so much as a girlfriend. Before all the madness started, he'd been to a few strip clubs, but embarrassment kept him from really looking. The creature on the field in front of him demanded his attention though. Each of her movements seemed calculated to exude pure seduction. The woman was a football field away, but Charlie considered running out to her. Never had he seen such perfect breasts or voluptuous hips. Behind his creature of choice came another, her back to the blockade and her ass up, taunting all of those with scopes or binoculars. The creature's eyes drew Charlie in, pure emerald dazzling in the sunlight. They compelled him to drop his weapon and run wildly towards her. Thoughts of the harlot wrapping her lips around his cock, sucking and pulling until his cum gushed onto her face, filled his mind. He wasn't the only one.

Dozens of soldiers started to abandon their positions, casting down their weapons and running like fools into the waiting arms of the damned women. An angry order came over the radio, "Fire on those men! Stop them! Do not let them reach the infected!"

The soldiers hesitated. Charlie's trance snapped back to reality. He looked at the running men, appalled that trained soldiers would give in so easily. He pushed down the thoughts that he too considered such a mad dash. He looked down the line to his superior. The sergeant chattered back over the radio while casting glances towards the field. A few of his fellow soldiers moved their sights to target the backs of their fleeing comrades. "Hold your fire," came the sergeant's voice, and Charlie relaxed. The artillery began with a loud crack. The maddened soldiers kept running, straight into the target zone.

At some point, Charlie sat through a class given by some guy from West Point who had a lot of fancy suffixes behind his name. He'd been supposed to learn the basics of artillery in that class, but little of it stuck. As the whistle of shells filled the air, those lessons came back in a strange gurgle of information. The idea behind modern artillery is the balloon effect. While explosions look impressive and projectiles cause considerable damage to structures, the actual incendiary nature of ordinance is relatively small. The true damage comes from the sudden and rapid displacement of air. Within the target area, the blast wave is strong enough to collapse lungs, shatter bone, and liquefy intestines. At least, Charlie thought, that's the stuff that's supposed to happen to humans.

Fire and death rained down on the small area as the lines of artillery behind him unleashed their torrent on the oncoming infect. Fire engulfed the entire stretch of land before them, including those poor soldiers who had so foolishly given in to the sirens' temptations. Charlie watched as the infected disappeared behind plumes debris. Cheers erupted in his headset as the full might of the American military showed itself at last. The barrage went on for five, ten, fifteen minutes. The thunderous cannons and the mass destruction thrilled him to his core. Charlie's heart thumped in time with the screaming shells. Occasionally, an infected emerged from the deathly smog, only to be consumed in the next wave. More ordinance dropped, and the cloud of smoke grew higher and thicker. Finally, the shells and missiles slowed. Then they stopped. The thick haze lingered over the scarred and scorched earth.

"Hold your positions. Prepare to advance," came the order over Charlie's headset.

The wind shifted. The smoke thinned and rolled over to the river. "I see one!" someone said over the radio. Charlie scanned the horizon with his own scope. A chill moved up his back. In the smoke, he saw bodies contorting, snapping limbs back into place as they righted themselves. Mangled and broken, the fiends pulled themselves upright, reassembling themselves in a few ugly snaps and jerks. Soldiers beside him began to vomit. As more of the smoke cleared, it became clear that the only dead were the deserting soldiers. The infected shrugged off the damage, scrambled to their feet, and resumed their bizarre march.

"What do we do?" said one of the captains over the radio. "Command? Command?!"

A new voice replied, "Captain Ross? They're...they're coming on our left flank. Closing fast. What do we do?"

The soldiers all waited, but no response came.

"Fifty yards now," the young man continued. "Forty..." Gunshots rattled over the radio. Charlie could hear the same shots in the distance. "Fuck it, open fire! Bravo team concentrate on the big one. Alpha team pick off the bitches. Henson get back in formation! Henson! God dammit. Wait...no, no! Ooooh. Ohhhh yesssssss—"

The transmission went out as the entire left side of the line collapsed into a sea of writhing bodies. The wasteland in front of Charlie was fully visible once again, hundreds of the naked women and thousands more behind them moving towards him. Behind the first line, he could see newly changed soldiers, the tatters of their old uniforms falling off them as they emerged as new, big breasted beauties. Sporadic fire occasionally broke the tension, but almost all of the soldiers waited and watched. Without any sort of warning or visible signal, the entire host charged their lines. The alphas leapt over the soldiers, crashing down behind them and throwing aside anything in their way. The harlots darted into the ranks of men, pinning them to the ground and hovering over them as if they were about to devour them. Charlie raised his gun to defend himself, but a red headed beauty grabbed the barrel and bent it as if it were made of paper. Charlie knew he should fight, but how could he harm such a beautiful creature. Even if he did, how could he overcome such insurmountable odds. She pushed him, and he fell to the ground. Immediately, she straddled him, tearing at his clothes, her mouth nibbling at his ear.

In his earpiece, he could heard the moans of all his fellow soldiers. Beside him on the field, he saw a young radio operator furiously masturbating while one of the harlots let him suck on her tits. The woman on him pulled out his cock and shoved it into her mouth greedily. Charlie couldn't have stopped her even if he wanted to. He saw his sergeant, tearing off his clothes as breasts grew out rapidly from his chest. The man's age melted away as he became the vision of youth and sexuality that all of his new sisters shared. What had moments earlier been a man, took hold of one of his subordinates, stripped him out of his uniform, and shoved the private's cock into her new pussy.

The lips around his own cock moved with expert precision, but each time she sank her lips down his length, less of it came out afterwords. Charlie felt a burning sensation all over his body as muscle changed and bones realigned. His nipples grew more and more sensitive and he began to hear a new voice, not from his earpiece, but somewhere in his own mind. His cock started spurting its last load of cum into the temptress's hot mouth. His balls pulling inside him as they emptied their whole reservoir. The woman pulled away from him with a smile as cum dribbled down her lips. How could we have been so foolish? His mind struggled to fight off the changes, but in truth he wanted them. The voice in his head promised peace and bliss. All of the might of the modern world meant nothing against Her.

***

Anderson gingerly brought up his arm. He'd been a fool to try and stop the younger officers. Half of them had been trying to flee for their lives and sanity. The other half had been lost to madness and went headlong into fray.

Moving carefully, he made his way back up to the command station. All around him, screens rolled through data or displayed black and white video feeds from the field. They'd confidently put the command center at the very top of the hill, so that the officers could look down on their men as they destroyed a foolish enemy. He looked out over his ruined plans. Thousands of the infected covered the field. They writhed in the trenches or fucked on top of tanks. They trod on the discarded tackle and uniforms of the soldiers who had stood against them. General Anderson's men were entirely gone or transformed into the hulking monstrosities that acted as enforcers for the more delicate creatures. Nothing stood between survivors and the horde now. The city would be overrun. He'd brought them here. Told those people that his men would defend them, that their horrid flight was over, and that humanity would not yield one more step. He was wrong.

"Sir?" said a quiet, but strong voice.

"Major Connors?" he replied as the woman stepped into the room. "What on earth are you still doing here?"

The woman looked down, but resolutely answered, "Waiting for your orders, sir."

The General looked warily at the door, hoping some other lost souls would return. "Very well. We need to transmit some messages, perhaps you can help me with that."

Connors nodded curtly and moved over to one of the terminals. "Go ahead, sir."

"This should go out to all military channels. Identify me by name, General Gerald Anderson, current commander of US forces in Operation Fireline." He looked out again at the devastation in the distance and the debauchery close at hand. "Operation Fireline has failed. All remaining forces should retreat from red zones and establish a footing on the other side of the Mississippi. Contact with the enemy should be avoided at all costs. Conventional weaponry is useless. Further, enemy has exhibited traits of tactics. Relay intelligence to all operating commanders. Relay intelligence to foreign governments. The enemy cannot be stopped, but they can be slowed and do fatigue. Destroy the bridges. Collapse buildings to block roads. Cave in tunnels...."

Connors looked up, "Anything else, sir?" Her tone was empty and tired.

"I don't think so," he said. From his pocket, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes. While the major sent the message, he lit one and offered the pack to her. She declined. "Thank you for coming back, Major."

"Yes, sir," she answered.

"You saw the ones who ran?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do you think any of them made it to the city?"

"No, sir." Her eyes looked down again.

"What's your first name, Connors?"

"Rose," she said, softening slightly.

"Well, Rose, my name is Gerald. People used to call me Gerry. No one's done that in....I don't know how long. Since my wife died, probably. Not much point in keeping up the pretense any longer. They're coming. They'll be here soon. You call me Gerry, and I'll call you Rose. No more of this rank nonsense. Not sure I wound up worthy of it in the end any way."