Posted by Extranjero on June 11, 2007 at 12:45:35:
WAR WIDOWS (Part 5)
The sun had almost risen, but the river lay in twilight. Its broad expanse flowed slow as oil beneath the railway bridge. The structure had a trestle framework of bamboo and timber. There were rebel guards at either end, minds fuggy at the end of their long watch.
The cries of birds and animals came from the waking forest, but the river made no noise beneath their feet. There was just an isolated splash, like a fish breaking the surface. The water eddied in an oily swirl.
A girl in a black swimsuit pulled herself out of the river and began to scale the bridge’s latticed pier.
She had a mask pushed up onto her forehead, the slim tube of a snorkel still attached. A knife was strapped to her right thigh, and a spear gun was slung across her back. Her wet flesh glistened as she climbed, her muscles rippling. The swimsuit was as sleek as a seal’s pelt.
Other swimmers surfaced in the shadow of the bridge. Their leader gestured silently, sending more girls scrambling up the trestle-work. Then she waded to the bank and peered up the steep incline. A wooden sentry hut above her guarded the approach .
The leader of the unit was called Frances. She had pointed features and green eyes, which made her face look almost pixieish. But there was nothing fey about her hard expression. Her hair was dark, slicked back behind her mask.
The little black swimsuit flattered her slim figure. She had a diver’s knife strapped to her calf. A bulky holster, waterproofed, was slung against her ribcage. Unzipping it, she drew a silenced Micro-Uzi out.
A glance at her watch, and then she started climbing. Two of the divers followed close behind her tight round arse. They heard listless voices overhead, and the steps of a bored sentry. The rebels were complacent here. They thought they were too far behind the lines.
The girls in the black swimsuits were a Nymph squad of the Sea Watch. Amphibious operations were a specialty of theirs. Frances eased her way up through the scrubby vegetation. It rustled faintly as she climbed. Her heart beat hard and steady in her chest. She reached the crest and glanced over her shoulder. A cigarette glowed like a firefly on the darkened span. Curling her lip contemptuously, she turned towards the building. A door was standing open, and the room beyond was lit by an oil lamp.
The other Nymphs moved up to crouch beside her, their faces deadpan and their spear guns braced. The scoop-necked swimsuits strained round each girl’s cleavage. One Nymph hooked a skein of damp blonde hair behind her ear.
A carefree titter drifted from the guardroom. It was followed by a girl wearing a singlet and a pair of camo pants. An M16 was slung over her shoulder. She was smiling wryly to herself as Frances rose and stepped into her path.
The silenced Micro-Uzi was the size of a large pistol. It was set to single shot, and Frances double-tapped the sentry’s firm left breast. The girl jerked back, her startled face contorting. She tried in vain to clutch herself, but her heart was pierced and had already stopped. Frances scurried past her slumping body and swung into the doorway of the hut. A second girl looked up from pouring a tin mug of coffee. Her face began to fall – and then a burst ripped through her lungs, and so did she.
The mug dropped from her nerveless hand and clattered on the floorboards, much louder than the Uzi’s whrrp and the sentry’s squeaky gasp. Her unbuttoned shirt fell open as she folded, revealing the neat wounds in her pale breasts. The thump of her collapse brought no reaction for a moment. Then a third guard ambled into view around the hut. “It’s too early for vodka in your coffee, girls …” she started. A spear gun gave a vicious hiss, and she bleated as the point drove through her chest.
Frances bit back her excited breathing. She turned the lantern down till it went out. Then she went and peered out through the doorway. The bridge looked skeletal against the pinkish-golden sky.
Suddenly, as if on cue, she heard thunder in the distance. A fitful and sporadic sound, as if a storm was struggling to break. It was coming from the far side of the river. But the sky above the trees was clear. She knew it was the cannon-fire of tanks.
The guards on the bridge all turned in that direction. They listened, rooted to the spot, as the sound of heavy guns began to swell. Then, between the blasts, they heard the muffled roar of engines, and the grating squeal of caterpillar tracks.
“Tanks!” yelped someone, starting back. “We’ve got to blow the bridge!” A guard turned from the parapet, and felt a muscled arm go round her throat. One of the Nymph girls stabbed her in the neck and pulled her backwards. The stricken sentry coughed and kicked, then slid over the rail and into space.
The Nymph swung clear to let her fall, then climbed onto the bridge. Across the way, another guard was squirming as a diver cut her throat. Further down the span, a girl was looking for the tanks, leaning out over the parapet, a cigarette still glowing in her hand. A spear gun coughed below her as a Nymph fired steeply upward. The missile struck her in the midriff and she jack-knifed forward with a squawk.
The other guards were running back towards the sentry hut. More harpoon guns belched at them; the girls were too befuddled to shoot back. The lacerating impacts made each victim squeal with pain. The fastest runners reached the bank. Some turned at bay; one raced towards the hut.
Frances stepped out of the doorway, triggering the Uzi. The girl – a wide-eyed officer – ran straight into the burst. The bullets flipped her back as if she’d hit a solid wall. Frances switched her aim and sprayed the other rebels’ backs. Her Nymphs shot off some more spears for good measure. The last of the sentries jerked and dropped. One fired a scything burst, but it went wide.
The clatter of the tanks was getting louder. Their surprise thrust had succeeded; now they raced towards the bridge. The Nymphs drew back instinctively as the first black Sherman reached it, its souped-up engine snarling as it clanked across the span. There were several soldiers crouched on it, behind the rounded turret. They were nude apart from shorts and caps, and their skin was camouflaged with tiger stripes. Frances stood beside the hut and watched the tank go past her. The oriental girls who rode it barely turned their heads. She glimpsed impassive faces and unreadable dark eyes. Then it was gone into the trees, and another tank came roaring in its wake. The column streamed across the bridge as the Nymphs looked on in silence. The Tigress troopers clung on tight, as if afraid the hulks might shrug them off.
A pause after the sixth tank passed, and then the noise grew deeper and a bigger shape began to cross the bridge. Despite its bulk, its lines were almost feline. The broad tracks squeaked and clattered round the rows of massive wheels. Frances had never seen the like, but she knew enough to dread it. Instinctively she dropped her gaze. To see such things might turn a girl to stone.
* * *
Leilani dreamed that she’d gone back for Lena. She found her lover still alive, as tough and feisty as she’d always been. It would take more than a pack of Tigress girls to finish Lena off. Leilani felt the black clouds lift. She reached out with relief to grasp her hand.
And then a hulking figure rose from nowhere, an armoured shadow with two crimson eyes. Seizing Lena by the leg, it dragged her body backwards. Her hand stretched out despairingly. Leilani lunged and missed. She felt a surge of fundamental horror. The shape was a Commander; it had crawled out of its shell. The shields they built around themselves weren’t just for their protection. The things could kill you with a look. It was like facing an unscreened nuclear pile.
The black Greek helmet hid whatever face the creature had, but its eyes lit up and blazed triumphantly. Lena screamed as it dragged her down the slope, her fingers scrabbling. Her wide eyes met Leilani’s, but already she was miles out of reach ...
Leilani surfaced with a jolt and sat up on her cot. Despite the honey-sticky heat, her skin was freezing cold. A wave of grief rolled over her and she sobbed against her hand. And then the distant thunder registered.
Gemma’s narrow bed was on the far side of the room. The noise had woken her as well. She sat up, shaking off her bleariness. Like Leilani, she’d slept nude under mosquito netting. Her large breasts joggled heavily. “Oh God,” she muttered nervously, “what’s that?”
Leilani’s eyes stayed on her bosom for the briefest moment. Then she swung her long legs off the cot and grabbed her briefs. “Tank fire,” she said hoarsely. “And a bit too close for comfort.” The wound had been reopened, but there wasn’t time to grieve.
She buttoned up her blouse half-way. Her skin was damp already. Gemma squeezed herself into her clinging leotard. The blood thumped in Leilani’s head and she felt a spasm of panic. The Commanders had got Lena; they were coming for her next.
The frenzied squeak of tank tracks carried over miles of jungle. It raised the hairs of sleeping girls before it even dragged them from their dreams. Laura was already up and standing by the window, washing her naked body from a jasmine-scented bowl. She heard the noise and turned her head, her plump lip tightening, then glanced towards Susanna’s bed, where the blonde still lay, face downward and fucked-out.
“They’re coming, Suze. Wake up!” she hissed. Susanna raised her blonde head sleepily. Then she heard the noise as well and scrambled off the bed. She pulled her black lace panties on. “Oh shit,” she gasped. “Oh shit …”
The route of the old branch line split the jungle like a scar, and the Recluses followed it unerringly. Supply trucks going back and forth had kept the passage open, but its length was marked by fallen trees and rusting vehicles. The lead tank barged its way past a wrecked half-track and surged across a trunk that blocked its way. A Tigress lost her grip and slithered off the engine housing: she narrowly avoided being dragged under the wheels. Hitting the ground, she lay winded for a moment, her striped breasts heaving as she fought for breath. Then she scrambled clear as the next tank bore down on her. She managed to escape its tracks – but the Sherman’s sensors zeroed in on her.
The girls crouched on the tanks had an immunity of sorts, but any other living thing would be destroyed. The hull machine gun swivelled in its socket and spat lead. The startled girl spun round and slumped, her tits deflating, drained of breath and blood.
The Shermans clattered past her crumpled body, and few of the Tigresses spared her a glance. They were caught up in the excitement of the death-ride. The rebel lines had splintered and the hidden airfield was within their grasp.
The lead tank struck another hulk and battered it aside. The vehicle exploded like a bomb. The Sherman’s tracks were shattered and its turret was displaced. The detonation stopped it dead, and the Tigresses went tumbling off the back. Machine guns started firing from the tree line on both sides. The Japanese girls squealed and died as they tried to find their feet. The crossfire ruptured ample breasts and emptied pretty heads. In moments, they had all been massacred.
The girl in charge of the defences was called Emily. She was a glacial redhead, and her cut-glass accent barely wavered now. “Enemy tanks at Yellow Gate,” she said into her headset. “We’ve stopped the first one in the column, but we won’t hold them for long!”
The Tigress girls were already leaping down from the Recluses, scurrying clear before the robot guns could pick them up. They deployed into the trees and started an outflanking movement. The second tank rolled forward, its machine guns blazing through the filthy smoke. It lumbered past the burning wrecks and the ambushers retreated, not bothering to waste their bullets on the monstrous shape.
“Fall-back positions. Hurry, girls!” commanded Emily. She sounded like the captain of a ladies’ hockey team. Her fox-red hair contrasted with her olive green fatigues. The blouse she wore was sleeveless and she hadn’t done the top three buttons up. She stood erect and elegant in her camouflaged command post, unruffled by the chaos and the noise. Once, she’d led a life of heedless privilege. Now she’d joined the rebels, but it didn’t make her any less stuck-up.
The girls with machine guns scurried back to take up new positions. Another mine was fired by a command wire from the trees. The Sherman lurched beneath the blast, its left-hand track unspooling. Flames licked up between the wheels; but the turret swivelled, still in search of prey.
Two hundred yards along the trail, the airstrip buzzed with panic. Leilani ran out of her hut with Gemma at her heels. Susanna had emerged as well, wearing nothing but her panties. She gripped her M1 Thompson nervously.
The base commander, Helen, tried to get a grip on things. She was an older, hard-faced girl with a badger streak of grey in her black hair. “Let’s get those Widows in the air,” she shouted. “We’ve lost one plane too many as it is.”
Gemma bit her lip as if the words were aimed at her, but Helen barely glanced in her direction. The other pilots wavered, and then ran towards their Widows. Leilani recognised the girls she’d met the previous day. Louise’s flowing nightdress billowed gauzily behind her, while Katie’s nightie fluttered round her thighs. The ground crew were already pulling off the camouflage netting. Laura finally emerged to join the fray.
Unlike Susanna, she’d put her skirt and bra on, and even lit a cigarette. She was clearly trying to maintain her poise. A gold star was tucked into her hair. Her dark eyes met Leilani’s. Then she glanced at Gemma and looked sniffily away.
Back down the trail, the jungle cracked with gunfire. The burning Sherman raked the trees, its turret turning like a chimney cowl. Crouching rebels squawked and died as the bullets sought them out. The Tigresses advanced, their sub-machine guns stuttering.
The Nightie Mission’s engines coughed and clattered into life. Louise clipped on her headset, flicking back a cat’s tail of her long black hair. Her off-the-shoulder nightdress was translucent with her sweat and moulded to her like a second skin. A scarlet ribbon cinched it in around her hourglass waist. Her skimpy briefs were visible, but she clearly hadn’t bothered with a bra.
Her gunner and observer were strapped into place behind her. They were much more practically dressed in shorts and sleeveless shirts. Louise could have worn the same, but she preferred this sticky nightie, as if dressing like the nose-art could unite her with the plane.
She opened up the throttles and the Widow taxied forward like a sinister arachnid on the prowl. Leilani watched it pass and felt her fine hairs prickling. It was almost better being left behind.
And left behind she’d surely be. The Widows had no room for passengers. Gemma stood beside her, gripping the veranda rail. Her pale face was both yearning and resigned. She couldn’t lead the squadron if she didn’t have a plane. They would have to stand and fight, or try escaping through the jungle. The roar of tanks and gunfire filled the air.
“Emily, pull back!” came Helen’s voice over the radio. But the redhead didn’t listen. In a perverse way, she was enjoying this. A Bren gun and a fifty-calibre were still in action, their bullets whipping through the trees and tearing long white splinters from the bark. The Tigresses were piling up in front of the machine guns. They clutched their bellies or clawed their breasts as blood sprayed brightly from their painted flesh.
The Shermans were backed up behind the pair of wrecked Recluses. One tried squeezing past them, but another bomb blast felled a tree on it. The girl on the command wire scuttled back on knees and elbows. She could hear the engine labouring as the Sherman struggled with the heavy trunk. She rose up on her knees, and froze. A cold blade had been laid against her neck. A Tigress girl was standing right behind her. The rebel’s breasts gave one last heave, and then the captain’s sword sliced through her throat.
The rebel made a gargling sound and choked on scalding liquid. Blood spilled down her cleavage, and she slumped to hit the jungle floor tits-first. The Japanese girl turned away and waved her troopers onward. They’d shamed themselves the day before, and honour must be satisfied today.
Louise’s Widow crawled onto the airstrip. The Pratt & Whitney engines roared, as if competing with the tanks and guns. The black plane put on speed the way a spider scuttles forward, racing down the packed-earth runway, wingtips only metres from the trees. Louise pulled back the yoke, her biceps straining, and the Widow rose, a spider turned into a dragonfly.
The aircraft’s dark, demonic grace made Leilani stare, then shudder. It seemed an evil entity with no need for a crew. She dragged her gaze away and went on checking her Colt carbine. Katie’s Virgin Widow was already firing up.
“Laura,” shouted Helen, “get your posh arse in the air!” Laura coloured at her tone. She took a long drag on her cigarette. Then she seemed to steel herself and turned to look at Gemma.
“The flight leader needs a plane,” she said. “I guess she can take mine.”
Gemma had been readying her pistol. Now her fumbling fingers froze. Her mouth dropped open almost comically. Laura gave her a wry smile. “I’m sorry that we argued. You always were the leader, Gem. And it’s my job to protect your perfect arse.”
The offer of a chance to live filled Gemma with dismay. She stared at Laura with wide eyes. “You can’t do that for me!” But Laura already had the air of a self-important martyr. “Go on,” she said. “Don’t waste time arguing.”
The snarl of Katie’s engines rose above the din of battle, but the fight was getting closer all the time. Gemma darted forward and kissed Laura on the mouth. Susanna watched unhappily, her pale skin turning pink. Drawing back, Gemma glanced towards Leilani. “But what about …”
“You can take your friend,” said Laura. “We’ll see this through together, won’t we, Suze?”
Susanna swallowed, gripped her gun and nodded nervously. Laura gave Leilani a smug smile. Leilani was impressed, but found she liked the girl no better. Then Gemma clutched her arm, and they both ran for Laura’s plane.
Katie’s Widow was lined up for takeoff. The small blonde pilot nibbled at her lip. Her nightie clung to her damp breasts, but the garment was almost backless and the leather seat was sticking to her skin. Her elfin face was pinched and pale with tension. She gunned the engines, felt them surge, and gave the plane its head.
Back down at the road block, the defenders heard a new and chilling noise. Another tank, but heavier than the Shermans. It sounded like a maddened mammoth, dragging a cortege of rattling bones. Emily felt her heartstrings drawing tighter, and her headstrong confidence began to wane. She glanced at the crumpled Tigresses in front of her position. Belatedly she wondered if their fate would soon be hers.
The Command Panther came clanking down the line of stalled Recluses, shoving the lighter tanks aside with monstrous contempt. Its 75mm gun fired point-blank into the wreckage, blasting the first Sherman apart and sending its turret tumbling through the air. It lodged in the trees beside the trail like a giant severed head. The Panther struck the mangled hull and bulldozed it aside. Its twin machine guns sprayed a squall of lead across its path. Some defenders were shot down while others scrambled clear.
Taking heart, the Tigresses renewed their own attack, blazing away as they surged forward, struggling to get into stabbing range. Arisaka bayonets were fitted to each weapon – not just the sub-machine guns but the heavy T99 machine gun too. The rebels’ gunfire faltered as they glimpsed the hulking Panther. The sight demoralised them, as if they sensed the evil mind inside the tank.
“They’re breaking through!” called Emily into her headset mic. She raised her pistol, flexing sweaty fingers round the grip. A Tigress charged towards her through the foliage, yelling like a banshee till the redhead pumped two bullets through her chest. The impacts made the girl’s tits bounce and her scream went up an octave. She somersaulted backwards, but another one was there to take her place.
The Panther’s hull machine gun kept on firing, but as the turret swivelled, a much fiercer weapon blazed into the trees. The gaze of the Commander was as lethal as a Gorgon’s. It didn’t turn a girl to stone – just burned out every nerve. A wave of bright blue energy struck the machine gun nests. Rebels screamed in pain and clutched their breasts, then crumpled like rag dolls. Emily was retreating from the Tigresses, still shooting. The blue glare swung towards her like the light of a cold moon. She turned and saw a horrid death approaching, but even as her face grew pale, a Tigress lunged at her out of the trees. Emily unfroze and tried to pull her pistol’s trigger as the Japanese girl thrust her bayonet. The long blade sliced into the redhead’s belly. Emily gave a schoolgirl wail, of horror and dismay as much as pain.
The Tigress jabbed the blade in deeper, closing with her victim, and Emily made a more guttural sound. The Japanese girl’s bare, striped breasts pushed sweatily against her. Then the Commander’s deadly gaze swept over both of them. Emily just mewled; it was her killer’s turn to scream. Their bodies writhed together briefly and collapsed.
Leilani had climbed up into Moonhappy’s rear cockpit. The spider’s spinneret, she thought as she buckled up in the observer’s seat. There was no access to the front compartments. Her only link to Gemma was over the intercom. She felt exposed and isolated, staring at the tailplane. The aircraft trembled as the engines throbbed. Gemma’s voice came crisply through her headset. The blonde girl was running through her checks: back in her element. Leilani’s view swung round as the black plane began to taxi. She caught a glimpse of Laura watching them.
Katie’s Widow rose above the treetops. Her stomach seemed to surge into her throat. But the sense of liberation was redoubled. She climbed out of the valley, feeling giddy with relief. Louise’s plane was heading north, a black bug in the distance. Katie banked to follow her.
A huge black aircraft swooped into her path.
The Catalina’s nose gun opened fire. The Widow shuddered. Katie squealed despite herself and kicked the rudder bar. The Virgin Widow banked as she hauled back on the control yoke. The Catalina hurtled past, its starboard gunner triggering a burst. Becca pulled the plane in a tight circle. She craned her head and glimpsed the Widow side-slipping away.
She’d been ordered to stand off unless the fly-girls tried escaping. The first Widow had got off fast, and she’d had to let it go. But the black Cat had been ready for the next one. She lined up on the fleeing plane, and saw that it was weaving drunkenly.
“Katie!” called the gunner as the Widow gave a lurch. She’d been peering through her periscope and swivelling the dorsal gun barbette. Now she leaned over the shield into the front compartment. She could just see Katie’s lolling golden head.
“Katie! Oh my God!” she squealed, but the pilot couldn’t hear her. She was slumped against her harness with a stunned look on her face. There were bullet holes in both her breasts, and her slender arms hung limply. The control yoke shifted aimlessly, as if her ghost still had it in her grasp.
The gunner wailed as the plane lost equilibrium. It veered towards the tree-cloaked valley slopes. “Katie! Katie!” cried the girl, still hoping she could wake her. But Katie’s blue eyes didn’t blink. Her corpse drooped sideways as the Widow tipped.
The gunner gave a wide-eyed scream and the doomed plane hit the jungle, scything through the canopy, disintegrating, flipping out its crew. Then the fuel tanks burst on the hot engines and a fireball bubbled up over the trees. The Catalina flew past the eruption and turned towards the airstrip once again.
Gemma saw the blaze above the treetops and then the high-winged buzzard coming round. “Oh Jesus,” whimpered Nicola, the gunner. “They’re going to catch us with our knickers down.”
Gemma’s mouth was dry, her stomach knotted. “The only way to go is up!” she said. The engines roared as the brakes came off and the aircraft scooted forward. Leilani hung onto her seat as she felt the Widow lift into the air.