Posted by Extranjero on April 27, 2007 at 12:16:09:
ROSE WARRIORS (Part 4)
Half a continent away, the weather was much cooler. The sky was bleak above the country house. A damp wind whispered through the pines and sniffed around the buildings. The place appeared deserted; but the air was full of threat.
Hanna watched the bank of screens. They showed the complex from a dozen angles. High-performance cars in front. A glassed-in swimming pool around the back. The tennis courts and garden lay abandoned.
There were bodies sprawled across the gravel drive.
Hanna’s wide-lipped mouth was pursed. She felt a little breathless. The control centre was cramped, with operators rubbing shoulders at their stations. The background throb of generators whetted her excitement, like the buzz of a vibrator at her crotch.
“All units in position, Miss,” the section leader said.
Hanna raised her eyes. The girl was standing at the doorway, with her winter parka still turned white-side out. The bulky coat contrasted with her black beret and tights. Her freckled face was firmly set, but anticipation glinted in her eyes. Hanna nodded curtly and spoke into her own headset. “All units in position,” she confirmed.
In the crackly pause that followed, she could hear the helicopter, its heavy clatter circling the house. Then Rachel’s voice came back at her from high above the forest. “All teams proceed to jump-off points,” she said.
Hanna passed the message on. Her heart was thudding quickly. Her fresh face and blue eyes gave the impression of a lustful teenager. She wore black combat blouse and pants, which couldn’t quite disguise her buxom figure. Her long blonde hair was pinned up underneath her forage cap.
“Let’s see the casualties again,” she muttered tightly.
“They’re definitely dead, Miss,” said the nearest operator. She zoomed a camera in on the slumped bodies. A girl in a white nurse’s dress was lying on her back, her uniform blotched red by bullet wounds. Her skirt was rucked above her thighs. A squirt of pee had soaked her pantyhose.
Hanna licked her lips, so fleetingly that no-one noticed. She kept her wide eyes focused on the screen. Another of the corpses wore a bathrobe and bikini. Her bare flesh oozed from half a dozen holes.
The house behind them was a private health spa. Rich young women came here for a weekend’s pampering. But now a gang of terrorists were forted up in there, with all the staff and guests as hostages. The dead girls had been caught outside, or might have tried escaping. Their bodies proved the renegades were playing this for keeps.
The chopper clattered round again. The troopers started creeping into view. Hanna glanced from screen to screen with haughty satisfaction. It was a female unit, and they moved with feline stealth. Their parkas were reversed to show the autumn-coloured lining and they’d switched their caps for Kevlar coalscuttles. Their legs looked shapely in black tights, but their small feet were encased in combat boots.
They all had rifles levelled from the shoulder: Kalashnikovs with curving magazines. Some crouched and gave cover while the others scurried forward. There was no reaction from the gloomy house.
“What’s your latest estimate of targets?” Hanna asked.
“We reckon ten,” the calm girl said beside her.
“And hostages?”
“The records say eight staff and fourteen guests.”
The commando troop had reached the house and had the exits covered. The team leaders were gesturing. Girls split to left and right. Hanna watched them hunker down with shoulders to the wall. She touched her headset. “Ready to go in.”
“Execute on my command,” said Rachel from her eagle’s vantage point.
Hanna’s breasts rose tautly with excitement. “So what about the hostages?” she asked.
A smile crept into Rachel’s voice. “What hostages?” she drawled.
* * *
Nicola had shoved her cellphone down the front of her bikini briefs. When it started to vibrate, she felt a twinge of pleasure – and then a rush of fear which made her freeze.
One of the gunmen glanced her way, as if he’d glimpsed the quiver in her crotch. Nervously she dropped her gaze. He seemed to peer at her, then looked elsewhere. Nicola sat back in the soft armchair. Her hand slid down to cup her groin. Her sculpted cheeks blushed pink.
There were several girls in the big lounge, all sitting motionless. Their weekend of being spoiled had gone to hell. They wore the swimwear they’d been lazing round in. Some had nothing on beneath their robes.
The terrorists had burst in with no warning. There’d been shouting in the entrance hall and shooting on the stairs. Before the shocked guests could react, the gatecrashers were pointing guns at them. Scruffy men and women went rampaging through the house like unleashed dogs.
Three had stayed to guard the lounge, their eyes as restless as their trigger-fingers. They all wore mismatched camouflage and balaclava hoods. Their hostages sat quietly, like naughty schoolgirls kept on after class. They heard the clump of boots upstairs. A vase or window smashed. Nicola shifted awkwardly, sweat trickling down her spine. The cosy central heating now felt stiflingly hot.
The whole thing was a nightmare, too traumatic to be true. Society was ordered, and the newscasts barely mentioned violent crime. She’d heard about some kind of war, but that was dim and distant. The faceless rebels couldn’t reach them here.
But who else could these sickos be? And why had they attacked? She kept her eyes demurely lowered, gazing at her breasts. One of the men had started ranting, claiming that the world was run by demons. His ravings made her stomach sink. The guy was clearly mad.
Then they heard a helicopter thudding overhead. The nearest gunman edged towards the window. Nicola’s blue eyes flicked up. The other killers were distracted too. She drew one knee up languidly, and slipped the tiny phone out of her briefs. Cupping it against her thigh, she peeked down at the screen. The call had come from Emma’s phone. A text message scrolled up.
HELP COMING!
Em had gone upstairs to shower. She must have dodged the searchers. Now she’d called the paracops and help was on its way. The rebels might start talking sense once they had been surrounded. Nicola sat back again and felt relief come welling up inside her.
Then the windows burst into the room.
The air was filled with flying glass, a storm of diamonds blowing through the house. The French doors to the patio exploded on the far side of the room. Lithe shapes darted through and started firing from the shoulder, their muzzle flashes lighting up the lounge. One of the rebels juddered back, blood spurting from the mouth-slit of his hood. The burst that killed him caught a girl behind him on the sofa. She squawked in pain and disbelief as friendly bullets punched into her chest.
The other rebels opened fire, not bothering to aim. A terrifying barrage raked the room. Ragged holes were stitched into the silken wallpaper, and indoor plants were stripped of greenery. The bullets pierced upholstery with muffled thudding sounds. Their impacts into naked flesh were similar but jucier in tone.
The girls caught in the crossfire squealed in panic, then just squealed. A girl called Sarah whinnyed as an army slug bit through her belly-button. Then a gunman’s Uzi blasted both her ample breasts, and she bucked until her chair went over backwards. The terrorist who’d shot her was already crumpling, his spine blown out by three Kalashnikovs. The troopers kept on firing at the figures in their sights, not caring if they wailed and wore bikinis. The splat-splat-splat of impacts stopped the shrieking of one girl; instead she gave a choking “Ugh-ugh-guh!” The 5.45mm slugs went through her boobs like supersonic drill-bits. She bounced convulsively as they exploded through the back of her silk robe.
The last man fired a wild burst, and hit a soldier over by the door. Even as she clutched her chest, her comrades filled the room with blazing fire. The man was lifted off his feet and crashed onto a glass-topped coffee table. The girls who sat around it were flipped backwards by the vicious squall of slugs. Breasts bobbed in bikini tops, and pretty mouths gaped wide in agony. The muzzle flashes gave the scene a stroboscopic look, and made their death throes even jerkier.
Nicola sat frozen with her phone clutched in her hand, her own mouth hanging open stupidly. The glass was settling round her, and the bodies of her friends were still convulsing. The soldiers fired sporadic bursts at anything that twitched, but somehow she had sat through it unscathed.
She sensed the commandos closing in, and turned to look at them. Girls as young and fit as her, but grim-faced and cold-eyed. One was aiming at her breasts, another at her belly. She felt her stomach cringe against her spine.
Help coming, she thought numbly, and began to thumb a number. Then screamed as a ferocious burst went tearing through her tits.
* * *
Upstairs, a girl called Kate was trying to fuck her way to freedom. She’d caught a watchful gunman’s eye and coaxed him up to one of the big bedrooms. She was a pretty, green-eyed blonde, well-practised at manipulating men. Bent forward on the bed to let him take her from behind, she groaned and panted as he worked at her.
He’d put his sub-machine gun down beside her on the bed, but it never crossed her mind to try for it. All that mattered was his lust and how she could sustain it. Whimpering theatrically, she pushed her hips against him, her firm breasts dangling on the counterpane. A sudden shadow flickered on her eyelids. She looked up at the window facing them.
A girl in a black helmet peered in like a voyeur.
Even as Kate gawked at her, all hell broke loose downstairs. The gunman scooped his Uzi up. The weapon stuttered just above her head. She felt the recoil through his body, but he kept on thrusting. The window smashed, the girl was hammered backwards, and he came. Kate made a frantic mewling sound, not faked. The soldier toppled off the outhouse roof. Even as she fell towards the glassed-in swimming pool, another girl sprang up to take her place. She shoved a pistol through the splintered window and pumped a burst of shots into the room.
The first round struck Kate’s forehead and punched through to leave a bloody dime-sized hole. The shock released a startled grunt, as if the gunman’s cock had climaxed her. But Kate’s face was astonished and her eyes were saucer-wide. She never felt his final spurt of cum. The bullet burst through her blonde hair and hit the gunman’s stomach. He doubled forward with an “Ouff”, the Uzi spluttering. The soldier slammed more rounds into his chest and he jerked backwards. Kate remained unblinking as her pretty face smacked down against the bed.
The falling trooper hit the canopy above the pool. Her body shattered it and tumbled through. There were four girls sitting on the side, their legs still in the water, and their heads jerked up in startled unison. They all wore Lycra swimsuits, wet and sporty. Three gunmen had them covered from the far side of the pool.
Their trigger fingers tightened while the body was still plunging. The captive swimmers jiggled where they sat. Slugs punched neatly through the glossy Lycra, and wounds burst open in their naked backs. One girl slumped with legs apart and never felt a bullet pierce her pussy. Even as her body bucked, the soldier hit the water like a bomb. Then the glass walls blew apart as bullets splintered through them from all sides.
A terrorist was riddled and spun down into the pool. A cloud of crimson mushroomed under him. The others stumbled backwards through a storm of flying glass, still firing at the girls they glimpsed outside. The troopers in the garden shot the canopy to bits, untroubled by the hostages’ demise. A second gunman was cut down. The third managed to dodge into the house.
Two girls in short white tennis dresses cowered in his path. They’d been hauled in from the court outside, but hostages were clearly worthless now. He raised his G3 rifle and shot one girl in the midriff. “Unh!” she grunted throatily, as if making a serve. Her body dipped and tumbled, and the short skirt flared to let him glimpse her briefs. The other player gaped at him in horror. She was a cute Italian girl, her olive skin contrasting with her dress. He fired into her plumped-up cleavage, spattering the white with vivid red. “Hurh!” the girl gasped out and slithered downwards. “Thirty-love!” he rasped, and hurdled her.
More commandos crashed through the main entrance. They raked the lobby and the passageway. The gunman ran full-tilt into a solid wall of fire, and tumbled back across the tennis girls. The troopers rushed towards the stairs. More terrorists were firing from the top. One had grabbed a staff member and was using her slim body as a shield. The girl, a frightened little blonde, squirmed ineffectually. Her tits bulged through her crisp white mini-dress. The gunman had one arm across her windpipe, his sub-machine gun braced against her side. He shot the lead commando down. The others sprayed the landing. A dozen poppies blossomed on the hostage’s starched dress. The bullets tore straight through her flesh to kill the man who held her. Their bodies slumped to lie entwined like lovers on the stairs.
The section leader barked into her headset, still triggering a Vektor automatic with both hands. “Lower storey is secure … we’re taking the next level!” She hit a female terrorist who sobbed and slumped across the banisters. Other guns blazed furiously, their muzzle flashes stabbing out like swords.
The troopers scrambled up the staircase, firing as they moved. The screaming air was full of smoke and sawdust. Blood burst out through one girl’s parka, varying the green-brown camouflage. Another tumbled after her as crimson spilled from underneath her helmet. The section leader climbed and fired, her shoulder to the wall, her own white parka somehow still unstained. The massed Kalashnikovs reached an implacable crescendo. The terrorists were blown away, their rifles slipping from their bloody hands.
The girl called Emma heard it all from where she cowered in a private bathroom.
Her body was still wet under the bathrobe. A flannel turban bound her soaking hair. The men with guns had checked her room but missed the en suite door. She’d used her phone to call for help, but what had that achieved? It sounded like the house was being demolished under her.
More shots scoured the corridor. She heard wood splintering. Emma jumped like a shocked deer, then fumbled with her phone. She redialled the same number and got through to Law Enforcement. “For God’s sake, there are hostages in here!” she squeaked. “I told you that!”
“One moment, Miss,” a man’s voice said, “I’m reconnecting you …” Emma hugged herself while relays crackled in her ear. Then a female voice came on. “Hello? Are you inside the target building?”
“Yes I am!” hissed Emma, “and it sounds like World War Four! I called you in to help, not kill us all!”
The woman sniffed. “I’m sorry, Miss. Some casualties are unavoidable ...”
“Listen to me, you snot-nosed bitch. They’re trashing the whole building. You’d better get me out of here. My daddy’s got some influence – I warn you.”
The woman seemed to chew on that, and Emma guessed she didn’t like the taste. “Just tell me where you are, Miss, and I’ll see you’re taken care of.”
“Room Nine,” Emma hissed, as if she might be overheard. Her heart grew louder as the noise increased. The woman went off-line. There was another burst of gunfire. Then her smug voice came back on. “It’s all right, Miss, I’ve notified our teams.”
“What’s your name?” asked Emma: force of habit when complaining.
“I’m sorry, Miss,” the girl’s voice smirked. “We don’t give out our details.”
“I’ll find out anyway, you cow, and then you will be sorry ...” Emma was still speaking when the bathroom door flew open. She swung round with a gasp, the phone still pressed against her ear. A girl in a white parka stared at her. A gun was levelled in her hand. It blasted crimson holes in Emma’s bathrobe. She gave a stifled grunt of pain and toppled back into the empty bath. The section leader kept on firing down into her body, each impact wringing out an anguished bleat. The loose robe came unfastened and her shapely breast peeked out. A bullet seared into the areola. Emma gagged and arched her spine, then slumped like a used sex-doll. Her phone picked up her last, deflated sigh.
Hanna’s smirk grew wider as she listened through her headset. It was the best sex call she’d had in weeks. She let her fingers graze her crotch, then moved to the door and stepped down from the trailer. The ravaged building loomed in front of her. She sauntered up the drive with two more troopers keeping pace. The gunfire had grown fitful now. The section leader met her on the steps.
“All terrorists accounted for,” she said, saluting smartly.
“Excellent,” purred Hanna as more troopers filtered back into the lobby. The girls were flushed and short of breath, as if they’d just had sex. Some of their parkas were unzipped, revealing rust-brown blouses and short skirts. One girl tugged her helmet off and ran her fingers through her short damp hair.
These were the end products of the whole Doll Soldier programme. Sinuous, athletic girls who got a kick from killing. Not so long ago they’d worked in offices and shops, and used a hairdryer better than a handgun. Now they fought for the Regime, and proved they were more deadly than the male.
The helicopter’s roar changed pitch; she turned as it grew louder. A shadow fell across the drive as the thing came in to land. The Mil 28 Night Havoc had a prehistoric look, like a giant armour-plated dragonfly. It settled on the spacious lawn, its landing lights ablaze. Anticipation pinched at Hanna’s throat. The tandem cockpit hoods came up while the rotors were still spinning. The black-clad pilot clambered smoothly out.
Dropping lightly to the ground, she came towards the house like a fashion model prowling down a catwalk. She wore a one-piece flying suit which fitted loosely to her slender frame. Her face was largely hidden by her helmet and dark shades, but a spill of russet hair curled round her shoulders. She pulled her helmet off as she reached Hanna, and the reddish mane poured halfway down her back. She shook it clear and studied her lieutenant. The sombre shades belied her girlish look.
“Situation?” Rachel asked. Her voice was crisp, commanding.
“The area is secure,” said Hanna. “Hostile agents have been neutralised.”
“Casualties?”
“Four troopers killed. A few with minor wounds.”
“And what about the hostages?”
“The terrorists killed most of them. The rest did not survive the operation. A tragedy.” She shrugged. “But there you go.”
Rachel stared at her, then took her shades off. Her eyes were a transparent cornflower blue. “That kind of wastage rate is unacceptable,” she said. “I want to see you privately, right now.”
Her tone stayed calm, but now there was a cutting edge to it. Hanna blinked and pouted anxiously. She turned and walked into the house with Rachel at her heels. They crossed the riddled lobby, past the sated troopers lighting cigarettes. “We do not wish to be disturbed,” said Rachel icily as Hanna led the way into an office. The blonde lieutenant didn’t sense the pistol being drawn behind her back.
Rachel closed the office door and pulled her zipper down to bare her cleavage. Hanna turned and saw the gun, a CZ101. Rachel flexed her grip around the chunky plastic pistol, then drew a sound suppressor from a pocket of her suit.
Hanna’s blue eyes opened wide. She backed against the desk. Rachel screwed the silencer in place and smiled thinly. “There were privileged people staying here,” she murmured. “There might be consequences. Someone’s going to have to pay.”
“Oh Jesus …” Hanna whispered. Her bosom heaved beneath her combat blouse. Rachel aimed the gun at her. “I think you know the drill.”
The blonde girl seemed to hesitate, then unbuttoned her blouse. The black material parted to reveal a saucy blue and white check bra. Rachel’s full lips tightened and she gestured with the gun. Hanna fumbled with her pants, revealing matching panties underneath them. Her pout began to quiver as the silenced pistol pointed to her crotch. She tugged the knickers down as well, then turned towards the desk and bent across it.
Rachel prowled up and stroked the firm peach of her arse. The blonde lieutenant gasped and raised her hips. Rachel brought the chunky handgun up between her legs, and poked the silencer into her pussy. Hanna was already wet; the fat tube slid between her labia. She stiffened as it stretched her snug vagina. Rachel started probing for her G-spot. The pistol rooted with a growing rhythm.
Hanna whimpered and grimaced, her pelvis grinding back against the gun. “Listen,” Rachel breathed at her. The safety catch clicked down under her thumb. The sound made Hanna’s heartbeat surge. She spread her bare thighs wider. The live round lurked between her legs, a finger-twitch away from being fired. The sense of pent-up energy, all ready to explode, excited her as much as Rachel’s thrusts.
She gripped the desk and chewed her lip – then gave a stifled squeal. “Shh!” hissed Rachel, poking faster, finishing her off. Hanna threw her head back as the orgasm shuddered through her, then let herself collapse across the desk. The warmed tube of the silencer gyrated and withdrew. She simpered stupidly and touched her breasts.
Rachel’s own sweet face was flushed. Her blue eyes glittered sharply. She raised the gun and licked the silencer like an ice lolly. Hanna twisted round and smiled at her, still short of breath. Rachel finished sucking off her lube, then thumbed the safety.
“Consider yourself disciplined, Lieutenant,” she said hoarsely.
Hanna straightened up and pulled her uniform together. Rachel checked her over, then leaned in to kiss her smugly on the lips. “Text-book operation, honey. Beautifully done.”
Hanna shrugged and squared her cap “I didn’t get a shot at them,” she pouted.
Rachel’s smile was mischievous. “There’ll be a next time, babes. There always is.”
The air outside was quivering as the pickup choppers clattered in to land.
* * *
Back at base, the troops relaxed with cold beers and a hot communal bath. “Debriefing” for the unit just meant peeling off each other’s underwear. When Rachel sauntered through into the steamy changing rooms, the atmosphere was like a drunken hen night. Muscled bodies glistened. Butch girls primped and preened themselves. Troopers who’d wrought havoc were now giggling like ditzy secretaries. Some girls horsed round in the bath while others simply snogged. But they all sensed Rachel’s presence and looked round.
She wore her “undress” uniform, the clothes she felt most comfortable in. A short brown coat with gilded epaulettes, festooned with braid, and a sheer black body-stocking underneath it. Her breasts were cupped with darker lace but perfectly defined, as was the subtle bulge between her thighs. She placed her fists against her hips and let them ogle her.
“Girls, I’m proud of you. That was a classy job today. Those bastards came and had a go, and they weren’t hard enough!”
The troopers smiled complacently. She felt the background simmer of their lust. It helped with squad cohesion that so many were now lovers. And her authority was strengthened by the fact that the whole unit fancied her.
“So now you can get drunk, get laid … even get yourself a man, if you’re that way inclined!” There were sniggers from the group. More beer was swigged. Rachel peered round at them, half-smiling. “Then pack your summer uniforms. Our next job’s in the south.”
Tantalised, her troopers crowded round her. The nearest tits were close enough to touch. Rachel’s smile grew wider as she felt her nipples bulge against the nylon.
“Rebel activity’s on the rise. Not opportunists like today, but something organised. A convoy’s been wiped out, and now they’ve tried decapitating a Guard stronghold. That’s a key location in the southern Training Zone. Our orders are to move down and secure it.”
“Bet they’ll be pleased to see us, Boss,” said one girl with a smirk. The Command Guard and the Field Brigades had long been locked in bitchy rivalry. Those who fought on the front line resented the elite. As far as the troopers were concerned, the Guard were the Commanders’ pampered pets.
Rachel shrugged. “This unit’s got an inexperienced leader, so someone needs to hold her hand, I guess. We’re moving out tomorrow, girls. We’ll show them how it’s done.” She took a proffered beer and smiled. “That bunch of girly-Guards won’t know what’s hit them.”