Posted by Extranjero on August 26, 2003 at 09:43:09:
FEMMEFIRE
The Humvee scrunched abruptly to a standstill. As Sarah tried to right herself, the door was opened and they shoved her out. She landed roughly, rolled away and came up in a crouch. The armoured jeep was lumbering around her. The Major gloated from the gunner’s hatch. The Fritz-helmet and goggles made a death’s head of his grin.
“Enjoy the game, lieutenant – but watch out for friendly fire!” He slapped the roof dismissively. The slope-backed monster turned and roared away. Sarah knelt there, breathing hard. A cloud of pale dust swirled into her face. When she’d blinked the grit out of her eyes, the yard was empty. Around her, the dilapidated buildings lay in silence. Beyond them, through the heat shimmer, a fence of razor wire enclosed the compound. And then the forest slopes rose up to vast, indifferent hills.
Her pale blonde hair was hanging in her eyes; she shook it back. Her white singlet was smudged with grime. Her combat pants and boots were scuffed and dusty. She clambered slowly to her feet, and felt her heartbeat thudding in her chest. The silence loomed around her, like a beast with bated breath. She knew what had to happen next. Her mouth was dry, as if the dust had caked it.
Then a door creaked open, and she swung towards the sound. The nearest gutted building bore a sign that read POST OFFICE. A thickset man was peering from the doorway. He looked confused and nervous, and he held a rifle pointed at her breasts.
“You better tell me what the fuck is going on,” he hissed.
Sarah’s boobs heaved briefly, but she managed not to flinch. This guy was the least of her worries, and she knew it. Raising her hands, she glanced around at the abandoned houses.
“This is an army training range,” she said. “And we’re the targets.”
* * *
“Okay, ladies: listen up!” The sergeant stood before them, fists on hips. “This is your final exercise - the one that everything’s been leading up to. Close-quarter battle in the Hostile Village. Live ammo, and live targets.”
The four girls made a show of their indifference to his leer. Kim picked up a pistol from the table and reached behind herself to push it down into her pants. The gesture made her breasts grow taut beneath her cropped white T-shirt. Her pants were mottled dun and brown with desert camouflage. The matching cap contrasted with her shoulder-length blonde hair. She sensed the sergeant’s eyes on her, and gave him a cool look. A country girl from Tennessee who clearly wasn’t taking any crap. He watched her pick an M-4 up and snap the magazine into its slot.
Tamzin stood beside her, drawing calmly on a smoke. The wry smile on her lips was almost impish. An MP-5 was hanging from her shoulder by its strap. She’d checked the sub-machine gun with professional detachment, and slapped its curved clip firmly into place. She wore smeary British camo pants and an olive green singlet that let her bra straps show. Her long fair hair was pinned up underneath a black beret.
The sergeant met her mocking gaze, then moved along the line. He still wasn’t convinced about these female special forces, despite the doggedness with which they fought. The gruelling selection was designed to break them down - but these four had come through it all undaunted. He didn’t doubt they were the best their countries had to offer.
Kim’s carbine had a launch tube for grenades beneath the forestock. She loaded a projectile into it. “How many are we up against?” she drawled.
The sergeant glanced away, towards the Village. The cluster of old buildings seemed deserted in the heat. “There’s seven terrorists down there - six male, one female. Your mission is to infiltrate, and neutralise them all.”
“We shoot to kill?” asked Sasha, almost coyly. She was petite and pretty, dressed in Russian-pattern camo pants and vest. Her straight brown hair was tied with a bandanna. Her winsome looks belied the muscled strength in her bare arms. She had a new-model Kalashnikov, the AK-74, with extra clips in pouches at her belt.
“You’d better, girl,” the sergeant said. “They’re all convicted killers or unlawful combatants. We get them off death row, and make ‘em work!”
“They get a choice?” asked Lena evenly.
The sergeant turned to the Israeli girl. She was dressed in plain fatigue pants and a sleeveless black T-shirt. Her long brown hair was tucked into a watch-cap, but some of it still hung around her face. She held an M-16 across her thighs, at ease with it. Her doe-dark eyes stared thoughtfully at him.
“Of course,” the sergeant said. “You got a problem?”
Lena seemed to ponder for a beat, then gave a shrug. The sergeant nodded, pleased with the response. You didn’t get this far in special training if you had too many qualms about the job. She brought her rifle up and drew the bolt, her eyes unblinking. A bayonet was sheathed against her hip.
“Attagirl.” He ran his gaze along the line again. “Fire a woman up, and she’s more ruthless than a man. It’s one of the reasons why we formed this unit.”
“At least we think before we pull the trigger,” murmured Kim.
“What about their armaments?” asked Tamzin.
“Each hostile has an M-14, with one full clip. Remember, these are condemned men. They will kill you if you let them.”
“What did the woman do?” asked Lena quietly.
The sergeant looked at her again. “Maybe she just asked too many questions.”
The other girls exchanged a glance – more edgy now that H-Hour was approaching. They watched the sergeant pacing round, then looked towards the Village. It was a mix of old farm buildings and pre-fabricated houses, all pocked and scorched from previous attacks.
“Another thing,” the sergeant said. “The Village has been rigged with … booby traps.” He made a point of eyeing Sasha’s cleavage. She mocked him with a twisted little smile. “So watch your step, girls,” he went on. “It ain’t just bullets that make nasty holes ...”
Tamzin blew a stream of smoke, and dropped her cigarette. The ash turned into dust beneath her boot.
Waiting Humvees crouched like toads around the fenced-off Village. And up here on the hillside, there were snipers in the grass. The nearest, prone and helmeted, was twenty feet away.
“These guys are here to stop them breaking out,” the sergeant said. “But they won’t intervene to save your asses.”
“So what if they surrender?” Lena asked.
The sergeant stared at her, then smiled grimly. “I guess you didn’t listen to the briefing. The exercise ain’t over till the terrorists are toast.”
***
Sarah felt a bead of sweat go crawling down her back. The air was thick with dust and heat, and carbines poked at her from every side. All six men were in the house, a shell of brick and corrugated iron. One grenade pitched through the door would finish things right here.
She’d never felt so vulnerable – and not because her singlet was so skimpy. The guys were slavering, of course: her firm breasts were uncomfortably exposed. But being caught in here was what made Sarah’s heart beat faster. Rape was one thing; getting ripped apart was quite another.
“Listen,” she said urgently. “They’re using you for special forces training. The only chance you’ve got is to spread out and save your ammo. If you win the battle, they might save you for another exercise …”
A tall guy sneered and gestured with his carbine. “You’re crazy, bitch. But now we’ve got your ass to bargain with.”
Sarah’s green eyes flashed at him. “Forget it! I was trying to blow this place and save you guys! Why do you think they’ve dumped me here? The bastards want me buried next to you!”
“You in the army too?” asked someone foreign from behind her.
“Yeah,” she muttered. Hands still raised. Her singlet getting damp.
“Special forces?”
“I’m a fitness instructor!”
A couple of coarse chuckles in the dimness. The tall guy stood in front of her, his carbine tilting upward in one hand. He reached out for the dog-tags hanging just above her breasts. A non-regulation crucifix was tangled up with them. Sarah waited, breathless, while he fingered her ID. Her cleavage seemed to quiver with each heartbeat.
“You look pretty fit to me. What is this place?”
She swallowed. “It’s their Hostile Village. They’ve set it up for urban combat training. Don’t go near the barn or store, they’ve both been booby trapped ...”
“Least they gave us these,” a lean man said.
“Those guns are from the 60s! They’ll be hitting us with modern combat hardware.”
“Hey!” said someone sharply. “We got people moving over by the fence.”
* * *
Tamzin scurried through into the compound, crouching low, while Lena gave her cover from the gate. The Village looked abandoned, but she felt the watchful gaze of every window. A rusty Doge Ram pickup stood on one side of the yard. A beat-up Blazer, grey with dust, was squatting near the barn. Tamzin paused, and felt her heartbeat thumping. She’d volunteered to go in first and “get her arse shot off.” Tamzin was a Londoner, with pert good looks and challenging brown eyes. Her wry smile had grown tighter, but still lingered on her lips.
She reached an outhouse, putting her bare shoulder to the corner, and scanned the compound over open sights. Lena loped to join her with the grace of a gazelle, her M-16 held lightly in her grasp. The girls exchanged a glance; then Tamzin prowled into the open, her heart still throbbing hotly in her chest. She sensed the young Israeli girl take aim behind her back. Lena was a serious soldier, quiet, hard to read - but she too had her impish side, especially after one too many beers. Tamzin would have trusted no-one else to watch her arse …
A rifleman swung into view. “Okay, just hold it there!”
Tamzin flipped aside at once, as Lena’s rifle cracked. The target took two bullets, and blood sprayed the wall behind him like a paint-gun. He crumpled clumsily, but Tamzin spotted someone else. The second guy had seen her too: his carbine started blasting, rapid fire. She thumbed the MP-5’s selector, shooting as she rolled. A three-round burst put three holes in his chest - he spun away. Spent shells tinkled faintly as they landed in the dust. Tamzin found her feet and kept advancing.
Sarah heard the shots and felt her heart kick up a gear. The tall guy was still standing there, his M-14 now poked into her stomach. He glowered, as if willing her to try and make a move. The others had dispersed among the buildings. Much good would it do them, she thought sickly. And much good would it do her to be caught here with her hands stuck in the air …
Kim’s heartbeat was racing too. She welcomed the sensation. With Sasha she had crept round to the far side of the compound, and now the two of them were easing forward. She watched as Sasha moved up to the corner of a blockhouse. The Russian army camo made her think of autumn leaves. And under it the girl was wearing black silk lingerie. Sasha had told her so while they’d been talking on the hill. Things like that were hard to buy where she came from, she said - so she’d spoiled herself while on leave last weekend ...
Someone started firing from the back door of the farmhouse. Sasha squeezed a burst off from the shoulder. Kim rushed forward to a pile of logs, and aimed across them. A shot tore splinters from the wood. She snapped off half a dozen rounds in answer.
The echoes bounced around the hills. The tall man’s gaze flicked over to the window. Sarah moved instinctively, not needing time to think. She knocked the M-14 aside and grasped him round the neck. Spiralling, she hauled him round and gave his head a twist the other way. The guy’s neck snapped. He spasmed and slumped against her. Sarah’s brain hooked up again and flooded her with queasy self-disgust. Soaking with cold sweat, she let him slither to the floor. Everything outside had fallen silent, as if she’d shocked the world with what she’d done.
Christ, I only signed up as a trainer, Sarah thought.
His carbine lay in front of her. She crouched and picked it up. The wood stock of the M-14 felt heavy, unfamiliar. She grasped the weapon nervously and eased towards the door.
Outside, Kim was up again and circling the farmhouse. She’d either hit the sniper or he’d moved. Sasha shadowed her, her AK levelled. As they worked around the clapboard building, another target made a break for it. Kim tracked him with her carbine, barely flinching as he fired from the hip. A second guy came after him, his own gun pumping madly. A bullet sizzled past her ear; she dropped into a crouch. Her M-4 blasted, kicking up the dirt around their heels. Both men veered towards the barn and skidded down behind the Chevy Blazer. Rising up, Kim braced herself and jammed the carbine’s butt against her hip. She squeezed the launcher’s trigger, and it went off with a jolt. The rusty truck burst open in a cloud of thick grey smoke. The diesel in its tank caught light and went up in a rush of brilliant flame. She half-turned from the shock wave, then swung back and flicked her gun to automatic. One of the guys was scrambling clear. She squeezed the trigger down and watched him writhe.
Sarah stared in horror from the doorway where she crouched. Her sweaty fingers tightened round the carbine. The pretty fair-haired girl kept firing, face expressionless. Her target bounced and quivered in the dust.
The M-4’s bolt locked empty. Kim pulled the magazine out and flipped it away, reaching for another as it fell. Sarah’s mind compressed time to a standstill. It seemed she had all day to make her move. The pickup’s twisted fender was still spiralling to earth. The spent clip almost floated through the air. She scanned the other girl’s calm face – then rushed into the sunlight.
Real time kicked in at once. The spent clip hit the dirt between Kim’s boots. Her blue eyes blazed at Sarah as she reached behind herself. Sarah shook her head and brought the clumsy carbine up. “No – I’m on your side!” she said, but Kim just hauled her backup pistol out. Sarah squeezed the trigger with frustration and despair. The bullet punched a neat hole in Kim’s chest.
The impact made the other girl lurch backwards, as wide-eyed as a startled teenager. The hole above her breast turned red and stained her T-shirt like an opening rose. Sarah’s finger twitched again, unprompted by her brain. Another bullet carved through Kim and made her body jerk. Her firm breasts quivered underneath the T-shirt. The pistol in her hand went off, the shot exploding dirt by Sarah’s boot. Sarah fired reflexively, and Kim grimaced with pain, the bullet burrowing between her tits. She stumbled on her boot heels like a girl who’d drunk too much, while bloodstains soaked her T-shirt like spilt wine. With superhuman effort she began to raise her gun, and Sarah shot her just above the navel. Kim sobbed hoarsely, doubled up and flopped into the dirt. Her body wriggled briefly, then went limp.
Sarah stood there, open-mouthed – then sensed a furtive movement and swung round. A girl in Russian camouflage was aiming a Kalashnikov at her. Sarah gasped and threw herself aside as Sasha fired. The weapon stuttered, giving out a fearsome muzzle-flash. Bullets zipped past Sarah as she tumbled and fired back. And someone else was shooting too – another of the Village “terrorists”. Sasha wavered, not sure which of them to take out first. The moment’s hesitation cost her dear. A bullet clipped her shoulder and she gave a little squeal and spun away.
Sarah clambered to her feet, and flicked the sweaty hair out of her eyes. The last surviving “terrorist” had dodged into a house, and left her at the centre of attention. She turned about herself, but there was no-one to be seen. Smoke churned from the burning truck and piled into the hot blue of the sky.
The Russian girl had gone to ground behind the pockmarked farmhouse. Sarah backed away from it, her carbine at her shoulder. She checked to right and left with jerky sweeps – and spotted Tamzin. The trim girl in the black beret was taking aim already. Sarah squeezed a round off, then just dropped her M-14 and ran for it.
Tamzin’s gun cracked, single-shot. The bullets tore up spouts of dust as Sarah rolled and scrambled for the barn. The English girl came after her, still aiming from the shoulder. She flipped the switch to three-round bursts and tried to draw a bead.
Brrt! Brrt!
Clods of earth erupted as the clustered bullets hit. Sarah wriggled like a fish, then bounced herself back up into a crouch. All the gymnastics that she’d done came back to her at once. An oil barrel blocked her way. She dove straight over it, and rolled, and kept on running. Tamzin pounded in pursuit, her pert face flushed with anger. She switched to automatic as the blonde bitch reached the door.
Sarah crossed the threshold and skipped high into the air. She knew about the trip-wire, and just cleared it. Gasping, she retreated to the far side of the barn. The place was full of shadows and the smell of mouldy straw. She hadn’t time to climb into the loft and get out that way – so if this didn’t work, she would be dead.
The doorway was a block of brightness, pushing at the gloom. The girl’s slim shadow grew in it, and Sarah pressed her back against the wall. Tamzin sprang into the barn, as agile as a cat. Her left calf snagged the trip-wire as she brought her gun around.
Sarah heard a tiny creak and felt her stomach cringe. She thought it was the trigger-spring, about to start the weapon hammering. But then the floor erupted with a rusty, bear-trap twang, and something flipped towards the startled girl. The four prongs of a pitchfork struck her just below the breasts and sank themselves half-way into her flesh.
Tamzin wailed with pain and shock – then screamed with pain alone. Sarah watched her try to writhe, her impish face a mask of agony. Her trigger finger tightened and her sub-machine gun blazed, the muzzle-flashes lighting up the barn. Sarah ducked into a crouch, but the recoil sprayed the slugs into the loft. The weapon’s breech clunked empty and it slipped from Tamzin’s grasp. The English girl squirmed pitifully, her singlet bulging with her sweaty breasts. Then she gave a groan and doubled forward. She slumped across the booby-trap, head down, her bare arms dangling.
Sarah gasped and closed her eyes with nausea and relief. Then she scurried over to pick up the MP-5. The empty clip was doubled with a backup magazine. She switched them over, breathing hard, and cocked the gun again. She gave the lifeless girl a glance, then moved up to the doorway.
* * *
“Jesus, are they playing with the interfering bitch?”
The sergeant didn’t answer; didn’t meet the Major’s eye. He stared towards the Village stolidly. Smoke rose in a dirty plume. The guns had fallen silent once again.
The Major brought his field glasses up and scanned the buildings. The sergeant glanced at him, then sidled over to the sniper in the grass.
“I said I want her taken down,” he growled. “In your own time, soldier!”
“I haven’t had a clear shot,” the sniper said around a wad of gum.
* * *
Lena tumbled lithely as the M-14 began to blast again. Bullets whacked into the dirt and whirred above her head. She glimpsed the stabbing muzzle flash and fired as she rolled, enough to put him off his shaky aim. The guy was shooting rapidly as panic pumped the trigger. She squeezed another burst at him and scrambled round a corner, then settled on her haunches, breathing hard. Her breasts had tugged her T-shirt up; a Star of David glittered in her navel. A smudge of grime marred one smooth cheek. Her fingers gripped the M-16’s ribbed forestock.
The echoes of the gunfire faded slowly. Her inner ear could still hear Tamzin screaming. She bit her lip, then braced the gun and swung around the corner. The terrorist was scurrying towards a new position. Lena took him down with a ferocious blaze of bullets, then scrambled up and ran towards the barn.
Sasha had slumped down onto the back porch of the farmhouse. She felt as if a white-hot claw was gouging her left shoulder, and blood was running freely down her arm. Gritting her teeth against the pain, she peeled her camo vest off – the effort burned like acid in the wound. She gave a sob, then craned her neck to study the raw hole. It looked to be a flesh wound, but it might have chipped the bone. She pulled off her bandanna, letting collar-length brown hair spill round her face. Wadding the cloth, she pressed it to her shoulder, her rifle lying balanced in her lap.
Her shapely breasts were heaving in their sheer black cocoon. She felt absurdly grateful that the shot had missed the strap. Lingerie like this would cost a month’s wages back home ...
Then a boot crunched in the dirt. She looked up with a gasp. A blonde girl with a pouty mouth had sidled into view. The butt of Tamzin’s MP-5 was tucked against her breast. Sasha’s heartbeat stumbled as she stared into the terrorist’s green eyes. She went for her Kalashnikov one-handed.
Sarah was about to speak, but then she squeezed the trigger. She’d switched the gun to three-round bursts; the recoil jolted her. The bullets punctured Sasha’s breasts and made her squeal with pain. She writhed and tried to clutch them, but her left arm wouldn’t work, and her right hand was still gripping her AK. She threw her head back, gurgling, her new bra ripped and soaked. Sarah squeezed another burst and saw it hit the Russian girl’s flat stomach. The bullets gouged neat holes around her navel. Sasha reared and flopped back on the porch, her legs splayed out. Her boot heels drummed the planking as she died.
Sarah stumbled back from her, then wheeled towards a movement on her left. A girl in a black T-shirt had just stepped out of the barn. The two girls brought their weapons to the shoulder with one movement, and glared at one another down the sights.
The frozen moment seemed to last for ever. Sarah felt like someone on a narrow window ledge, with empty space around her and no way to go but down. She gripped her gun so tight, her muscles trembled. The other girl was crouching like a cat about to spring, her M-16 aimed right at Sarah’s heart. Her eyes were dark and beautiful and smouldering with rage. Sarah didn’t try to talk. She felt an eerie calm. Right now she had two choices. She could fall, or she could jump ...
Sarah pulled her trigger and lunged sideways. Lena’s bullet slashed her arm and shocked her like the jolt of a live wire. Staggering, she fired again, but Lena moved too quickly. The dark girl sighted on her breasts. Her trigger finger pumped.
The rifle bolt shot forward with a clunk, and Sarah gasped. She swung the MP-5 round with the strength of her good arm. Lena threw her gun aside and launched herself towards her, snatching her bayonet out of its sheath. Sarah’s sub-machine gun burped, but all three bullets zipped above their target. Then Lena pounced and knocked her over backwards. The two girls kicked and scrabbled in the dust like wildcats.
Sarah grabbed at Lena’s wrist and hung on for dear life. The bayonet flashed silver in the sunlight. Lena hissed between her teeth and tried to force the blade at Sarah’s face. They rolled, and Sarah kicked her off. “I’m army too!” she gasped. But Lena wasn’t going to stop. She gathered her long legs to spring again. Sarah glimpsed her fallen gun and lunged to scoop it up. She had her fingers on it when the other girl slammed hard into her back. She braced both hands to save herself, and Lena’s muscled arm went round her neck. Sarah bucked convulsively, but couldn’t shake her off. Lena held on, gasping, then reached forward with her blade. She drew the edge across the blonde girl’s throat.
It felt like a karate chop, and Sarah choked on it. Her breathless mouth gaped open as the blade sliced through her flesh. Pain grew from the numbness, like a red-hot wire noose garrotting her. Sarah threshed in horror, but the other girl’s embrace was unrelenting. Scalding blood spilled down her chest and poured into her cleavage. She poked her tongue out, gurgling, as the bayonet slashed clear. Sarah felt a roaring in her ears. Her mind dissolved. When Lena let her go, she simply flopped into the dust, her slender arms not trying to break her fall.
Lena drew back, panting, with the bloody blade still poised. Her face was pale and sweaty with revulsion. She started down at the girl she’d killed, now face down in a spreading crimson pool. Sarah’s blonde hair clogged it, and her spattered dog-tags glinted in the gore.
Lena frowned in puzzlement. She craned a little closer. Then she turned towards the hill, her stare part accusation, part appeal.
The Major felt her haunted gaze, and brought his glasses down. “Okay, this mission’s scrubbed,” he said.
“And her?”
“She’s scrubbed as well.”
The sergeant shrugged and looked towards the sniper. The latter didn’t need to be told twice. The crosshairs had already found the bulge of Lena’s breasts. A gentle squeeze was all the trigger needed.
Lena stood and waited, like a frightened little girl. She never heard the shot. The bullet hit her out of nowhere. It punched through her with force enough to make her blood flow backwards, so as she jerked, a smoking hole was all the sniper saw. Lena’s arms flailed out, her face contorting. The bayonet went flying from her hand. Then the pent-up flow resumed, and blood burst out of her – a scarlet blurt that showed the girl’s aorta had been severed. Lena wailed soundlessly, and crumpled to the dust by Sarah’s corpse.
The sniper worked the rifle’s bolt, then sat upright and pulled her helmet off. The sunlight gilded her fair hair. Her blue eyes were unblinking. She’d done the Village and survived. She had no sympathy.
“Sir, I’ve got the colonel on the radio,” someone called. “He says he wants to know what’s going on.”
The Major turned impatiently, then looked back at the Village. The dead girls lay unmoving in the dirt. A sour expression curled his lip as he turned back to the soldier.
“Just tell him that the mission’s gone tits up.”