A Rape of Justice
(M+/FF, gang, rape, tort)

by Kysa Braswell
www.kysaonline.org

INTRODUCTION: During the Gulf "Conflict" in the early 1990s, two American female servicewomen were captured by the Iraqi Army. The women were non-combatants. One was a truck driver with a bad sense of directions; the other a doctor flying in a search and rescue helicopter. Both were, to use the official phrasing, "sexually abused." This story looks at what might have happened if women had been full combatants in that war.


It was the second day of the air war and Air Force Major Diana Walden was feeling very unhappy. Part of this was attributable to the fact that she was sitting in the back of an Iraqi army truck with her hands tied behind her back and a bag over her head. She was thirsty, her body ached from the jolt she received when she ejected from her F-16, and she was afraid. But most of all, she was pissed because she knew that she had blown it. After all the hype, the first woman combat pilot had let herself get shot down on her first combat mission. All she could think of was how this was going to screw up her plans for getting a star. She had spent the last ten years of her life working toward that goal.

She had used every resource at her command to get ahead in the air force, discovering in her first year at the academy that it was not so much a case of how good you were as how well you could manipulate the system. She soon realized that the Air Force's equal opportunity program was the perfect "ticket to ride" for someone like herself with a lot of ambition and few scruples. Those superiors she couldn't or wouldn't fuck, she blackmailed.

As a woman, the pressure on her superiors to ensure that she succeeded was already great; adding the threat to file a sexual harassment complaint made it irresistible. This attitude earned her the nickname of "Nutcracker." Instead of angering her, Diana was proud of the nickname, so proud that she used it as her radio callsign. A year ago when the Air Force opened fighters to women, she had been an obscure if talented captain flying C-141 transports. Now at 32, Diana Walden was a high speed, low drag major and the darling of the media. Unfortunately, the media demands of her "superstar" status had not left her the time or the inclination to master mundane matters like counter-SAM drills.

As she rode, Diana began to think that she could come out of this all right. Aside from some groping by the soldiers guarding her, no one had mistreated her. Nor was she the type to be afraid of a little "grab-ass." Diana was six-foot tall with the buff physique of a bodybuilder combined with a serious 36E-cup chest, which she hid surprisingly well under her uniform. She was proud of her body; like everything about her from her short and sassy haircut to her choice of cars, it was part of the "Top Gun" image she had created for herself.

Diana could feel the change as the truck moved on to a hardtop road and hours later could detect the increase in sounds as they entered a city. She surmised that she must be in Baghdad. Eventually she felt the truck stop and she was hustled out and into a building. There was some conversation in Arabic which she could not understand and then more walking, this time down some stairs and through numerous doors which clanked ominously behind her. When the guards released her arms and spoke, Diana could see light through the bottom of the bag covering her head and sense the presence of several other men in the room besides her escorts. Diana was very proud of how tough she had been at the Air Force's survival, escape, and evasion school. She thought she could handle a camel jockey.

Watching her from his seat was Captain Vahid Yazeed of Saddam's special security service, one of his most promising young torturers. He had been personally selected by the Great Leader to break the first American pilots captured and turn them into propaganda weapons. Yazeed understood that the information he extracted was of minor importance. His job was to break the pilots' will, so that they would be pliable tools in the battle for American public opinion which would be waged using their own media. Though he was surprised that the first POW was a woman, it made no difference in his orders and made the task that much more appealing to him. A through sadist, Yazeed had been eagerly anticipating watching his men rape an American male pilot. Now that he had a female pilot to work on, he looked forward to participating in the rape as well. For rape was a primary tool of his trade, used to break the subject, man or woman, psychologically.

Although he had tortured Iraqi and Kurdish women, Diana would be his first Western female. Yazeed found the idea of having such a woman under his control very exciting.

"Strip her," ordered Yazeed as he leaned back in his chair and watched.

The guards untied Diana's hands and unzipped her flight suit, then pulled it off her and set it carefully aside. Then they ripped off her t-shirt, bra and panties, leaving her nude but for her combat boots, dog tags, and the bag covering her head. Diana did not try to resist them; instead she concentrated on breathing slowly and calmly. She had been told to expect this in survival school. Stripping a person of their clothes was meant to stripped them of their confidence, her instructors had told her. Still, knowing that didn't make her feel any braver right now.

Yazeed examined her body at length. He found the large breasts with their little finger size nipples to be fascinating. The breasts and particularly the nipples were a very sensitive area for a woman. He would enjoy working on a woman so amply endowed.

Her muscular body was foreign to an Arab but nevertheless appealing. Not only did it arouse him, but it would serve his purposes well since she could suffer longer before she reached her physical limit. Only her neatly trimmed pubic hair repelled him.

Unlike this Western slut, respectable Arab women shaved their pubic hair. Though he knew that he should wait longer to let the humiliation of standing nude before unseen men play upon her, Yazeed could not wait to see her face. Half afraid he would find an ugly hag, he ordered the bag removed from her head. He was pleased to find a beautiful, mature face framed by reddish brown hair.

Diana remained at attention when the guard pulled off the bag.

Unaccustomed to the bright lights, she could see nothing until her eyes adjusted. Then she saw two men in front of her. One was seated; he was a clean shaven man about her age wearing a well tailored officer's uniform whose rank she did not recognize. Standing behind him in the classic flunky position was a younger, very worried looking man in a shabby uniform.

Diana ignored him and concentrated on the officer. She could sense the presence of her guards behind her but ignored them as well.

Yazeed spoke briefly. The younger man standing behind him translated, "You are in the custody of the security service. You are not a prisoner of war but a criminal guilty of crimes against the state of Iraq and will be treated accordingly. Your only hope for leniency is to cooperate fully."

"I am Major Diana Walden, serial number 309-48-8221, United States Air Force. I demand to be treated as a prisoner of war. What you are doing is contrary to the Geneva Convention; you could be tried as a war criminal for mistreating a prisoner"

It sounded a little pompous, but Diana was just pleased to have gotten through it without her voice breaking. She had to make this man understand that she was someone he couldn't push around.

At a nod of Yazeed's head the guard to her right jabbed her hard in the kidney with a short wooden club, sending her to the floor doubled up in pain. As she lay there, she dimly heard the translator tell her that the Captain did not like speeches other than his own. Another order from Yazeed had the guard haul her to her feet by her hair.

Yazeed spoke at length before the translator turned to her and said, "The Captain says that your country is foolish to use women in its air force and to use them in a war. That you will be the one to pay the price for your country's foolish ideas. Being a woman will not protect you. Nor will the Geneva Convention protect you here. What is your unit, your base location, and what was your mission?"

Diana glared at the seated officer as she replied, "Walden, Diana, Major, USAF, serial number 309-48-8221. I demand to speak to a senior officer." As she finished her reply, a nod from Yazeed again brought a painful jab from the guard behind her. She kept her feet this time but saw stars. As she resumed her position of attention, the Iraqi officer left his chair and stood in front of her. To her disgust, he began running his hands over her breasts, weighing the heavy globes in his hands. As she clinched her fist in helpless fury, he smiled unpleasantly and spoke to the translator, giving his words emphasis by twisting her nipples.

"The Captain says that you are a foolish woman who thinks that she is going to a tea party, not a war. He says that you will not be so uncooperative after the guards have finished with you. He says that the guards will enjoy raping you. They have never had a Western woman before and are curious if what they have heard of the insatiable sexual appetite of Western women is true." As he continued, the young man's anxious expression gave way to one of real fear. "Remember that you are totally in his hands to do with as he wishes; no one can help you here. If you do not obey him and answer all his questions, he will do terrible things to you. Please, what is your unit, your base, and your mission?"

Diana hesitated. She was not prepared for the crude direct approach of the Iraqi Captain. She had expected captivity to be mostly mind games just as it had been at her training course. But her training wasn't the real world of the middle East. Now, things were moving too fast for her. She felt she had to slow things down, pretend to give in to gain time. This sort of information was of little value anyway; certainly not worth a gang rape.

She replied, "I am from the 417th Tactical Fighter Squadron, 250th Tactical Fighter Wing which is based at Dhahran. I was flying an aircap when the missile hit me." Diana's face burned as she spoke. She was ashamed that she had given in so soon; but since the information was all lies she knew it would do no harm.

Yazeed listened to the translation, consulted a black notebook, and then turned to Diana with a chilling smile. The translator listened to him and said, "The Captain says that you are a poor liar. We are not stupid; we have CNN here too. We saw the reporter do his story about your loss. Some of our pilots spent a lot of time in Saudi Arabia when we were fighting the accused Iranians. They tell us that the base he broadcast from was Al Mindhat not Dhahran; the buildings are quite different. Nor is there any 417th fighter squadron or 250th fighter wing listed for your active air force. The Captain now intends to teach you a lesson in what happens when you lie to him."

Yazeed stepped back and gave an order to the guards. They grabbed her arms and dragged her to a long bar hanging from the ceiling. A sharp blow to the stomach precluded resistance on Diana's part as they secured her hands in manacles at the ends of the bar. Then the two men grabbed her muscular legs and bent them back until the lower legs were a foot above and parallel to the floor. A sharp order to the translator sent him to help the two guards by tying a rope around her booted feet and then to the ends of the bar. In a moment, Diana hung from the ceiling, her muscular arms supporting her entire weight, with her legs tied like the short leg of an "L" behind her. As she cursed the Iraqi guards, one of them held a bottle of clear fluid to her mouth while the second guard used his fingers to close off her nose. As Diana choked and sputtered, they poured the vile tasting fluid down her all the while laughing. Even the translator seemed amused as he told her, "The bottle held a powerful laxative. The Captain says that now you will not be so full of shit."

The guards then gagged her with a rubber ball gag, patted her ass, and left; Captain Yazeed and his translator remained. The officer stood in front of Diana, caressing her prominent nipples again. He began twisting the sensitive flesh with his strong fingers as he stared into her face. He worked on them one at a time, twisting and squeezing the nubs until they hardened involuntarily. The twisting was no more painful than foreplay but it was humiliating to Diana to have this man use her body so casually. When he was satisfied with the erectness of her nipples, Yazeed brought a pair of small metal clamps, alligator clips actually from a voltage meter, out of his pocket. The clamps had serrated teeth and a powerful spring. He placed each carefully on her elongated nipples and then released both at once. The sharp teeth bit down into the tender flesh of Diana's nipples, drawing tiny drops of blood almost instantly. Diana screamed into her gag as the two clips bit into her nipples. The pain was overwhelming; for a moment she thought her nipples had been cut off. Then Yazeed took a roll of thick green tape and tore off a strip about six inches long. Without a word, he smoothed it down over her pubic hair.

Looking her in the face, he ripped the tape off her. Diana's head went back as another sharp pain shot up her body. Dimly she realized that he was pulling her pubic hair off.

Yazeed confirmed this for her as he held up the tape with a handful of her short hairs attached and grinned. The Iraqi officer varied the way he pulled each piece of tape off; sometimes pulling slowly so that she felt every hair pull out and sometimes quickly so that she didn't feel the pain until he was holding the tape up for her inspection.

Eventually he was satisfied by the now hairless vee between her spread legs. He tore off one last piece.

This one went over her ass so that she could not excrete anything until it was removed.

Then the officer and his flunky left as well, leaving Diana alone with her pain.

Diana knew that they were going to rape her. The use of the laxative made it obvious that they intended to sodomize her. She had never allowed anyone to take her in the ass. The thought of one or more of them using her in that way terrified her. She could have tolerated normal intercourse, but not sodomy. Visions of her anal rape began running unbidden through her mind, accented by the pain of the clamps biting into her sensitive nipples and the strain of her weight pulling on her arm muscles.

Diana hung for over two hours. Her arms burned as they were slowly pulled out of their sockets by her weight. The pain as the clamps bit into her nipples grew worse as they cut into the flow of blood to the sensitive nips of her breasts. But mercifully, the pain peaked and then began to recede into a dull throb as her nipples grew numb under the assault. Growing ever worse were the cramps in her intestines from the laxative. She felt as if she were going to explode. The pressure in her gut was indescribable. But no matter how hard Diana tried, the tape prevented her from relieving herself. She could only hang there in agony, covered in a cold sweat, and wait.

When Yazeed reentered with a crowd of guards, Diana was appalled to see that there were at least ten men in various stages of undress with him. As they crowded around her stroking her muscular body, she frantically tried to communicate to Captain Yazeed that she would tell him anything he wished if only he would release her. She'd give him the fuck of his slimy life if only he'd call off his animals. However, all that came out of her gagged mouth was a series of unintelligible grunts. But the Captain was not really interested in bargaining for information. He wished to break her. First he ordered one of the guards to remove the clamps on her long nipples. When he released the clamps, Diana could feel nothing for a moment. Then the blood and the feeling poured back into the sensitive nipples, bringing a wave of pain. Diana had never felt anything remotely like it. As she suffered with the return of sensation to her breasts, one of the guards held a tin bucket under her ass. A second pulled the tape off her straining ass and allowed the torrent of shit to shoot out of her. Diana had never felt such a sense of relief; for a moment she even forgot the burning sensation in her nipples and her impending rape as the pressure in her intestines receded. The heavy smell of shit did not seem to bother the men crowded around her. They used a small hose to clean the splattered feces off her ass and legs. Then they pushed its nozzle up her stretched ass to clean out the fecal matter remaining there. Diana felt a shock as the cold water filled and then flowed from her bowels and into the drain below her. The first man followed the hose with his cock so quickly that Diana had no opportunity to close her ass. She felt his cock enter her bowels, sending pain and a kind of cramps through her intestines into her belly. It seemed as if he were forcing his fist up her rather than his cock. Diana struggle wildly, grunting and twisting her torso as she tried to escape the penis invading her ass. The guard wrapped his strong arms around her and held her still. His cock, already half way in, disappeared entirely inside her when he made another powerful thrust into the captive pilot, actually lifting her a few inches by the force of his thrust. The guard remained motionless for a moment as he savored the warm tightness of her virgin ass. Then he began to fuck her. While he plowed her ass, he held her in a bearhug, the sweat streaming off both their bodies. Diana fought him, her muscles straining in a futile effort to escape the burning pain from her raped ass. The pain increased with each stroke until Diana knew that she must die, that he had torn her insides to shreds.

But she did not die. The first man lasted only few minutes in her ass before he came. Now her ass was slick with his cum and wide open. The next man replace him as soon as he pulled his still dripping cock clear. The second man sank into the depths of her ass with his first stroke. Brutally he rode the suspended female pilot, not giving her a chance to adjust to the new cock. Diana was wailing into her gag with each jack hammer thrust. Her face was streaked with her tears and snot as well as her sweat. She twisted and turned her body, trying to escape the grip of her rapist; but her struggles only goaded on the man raping her to more brutal thrusts. A third man replaced the second without a moment's respite. The pain in her ass was diminishing slightly as it was forced open by the invading cocks; a kind of numbness began. Diana still fought each thrust by her rapists, her muscular arms and torso flexing futility. But with each new attacker, her struggles weakened. By the seventh man, Diana was simply hanging limply in the ropes as the guards plowed her ass. Her body was shinny with sweat. Her thighs were covered with a sheet of cum which had run down her legs to dry in a white scum on her tanned skin. Diana's head rested on her chest as her body was jerked up and down like that of a puppet by the guard's thrusts. At Yazeed's order, the guard raping her ass began to twist and pull on her sore nipples to get her to struggle again. The new pain coming from her abused nipples did made Diana fight feebly, involuntarily milking his cock as her body struggled feebly to escape.

As the guards sodomized the Western female, Captain Yazeed sat in a chair a few feet in front of her where he had an unobstructed view. She was really magnificent looking as they raped her, he thought, admiring her muscular body. He had found her struggles incredibly arousing. The sight of the muscular woman being sodomized into submission had left him with a painfully hard cock straining against his fly. He would have liked to have joined his men in gang raping Diana. But it would have been below his dignity as an officer to share her with enlisted men. He would have to wait. For now, he savored the look of agony in her eyes. The eyes were always so expressive with women, he thought. He noted the clenched hands, a trickle of blood showing where her fingernails had torn the skin of her palms. Her nipples had been abused until they were a deep, dark red and very swollen. Judging by her weak cries, their continued abuse was evidently extremely painful to Diana. But mainly, he savored the look of defeat evident in her face. She had learned a great deal in the last two hours. He had plans to teach her much more.

Diana was barely conscious now. She felt only a sensation of burning fullness in her ass which combined with the pain from her arm muscles and tortured nipples to drive conscious thoughts out of her brain. She couldn't think; she could only feel the pain and humiliation consuming her. When the first few men had sodomized her, her mind could not accept what they were doing to her. She had fought them like an animal would fight a trap, struggling wildly even though she knew that she had no hope of escape. Now she had no strength left to fight. She could only hang there helplessly as they abused and humiliated her.

By now all ten of the guards had left their cum in her ass. Yazeed toyed with the idea of allowing them a second chance at her. He wanted to see this arrogant woman abused further until she was only a shell of her former self. Fom his past experience, he was sure that the gang rape had shattered her physiological armor and left her vulnerable. Continuing, he reasoned, would make her even more compliant to his demands. He ordered the guards to stand away from her. Yazeed walked behind Diana and stared at the results of the guards' rape. Her spincter was still open, its edges protruding outward. A stream of whitish cum literally poured out of her ass and on to her thighs. The cum was drying in a slippery sheet which stained her thighs halfway to her knees. Diana was moaning softly into her gag, her head resting on her chest. Her breasts were heaving as if she had run a long distance; her muscular body was soaked in her own sweat and that of the guards. Yazeed knelt in front of her as he absentmindedly stroked himself. He stared at the exposed cunt of the captive female pilot. He ran one hand up her leg and then to her cuntlips. The bare skin around her cunt allowed him a clear view of the delicate inner lips, protruding slightly. He ran his fingers over them and into the cunt itself. Good, he thought, she is dry. He had been afraid that she might actually be aroused by her anal rape. This was much more satisfactory.

He ordered the guards to untie her feet and retie them in front of her in preparation for raping Diana's untouched cunt. They tied her legs to the room's pillars, spreading them obscenely and leaving her literally sitting in the air. Since she was only half conscious, he had another man break two capsules of ammonia under her nose. He wanted her awake. When Diana began to stir, the first guard positioned himself between her legs and forced his shit covered cock into the unlubricated channel of her cunt. The dry walls of her pussy's channel pulled at his cock, providing a stimulating discomfort for him and a sharp pain for the woman. The man forced himself into her until his cock was buried to his pubic hairs. Then he held it there, savoring the warmth of the once arrogant female officer's tight cunt. Yazeed wanted the American woman to see the face of her rapist. He held his cigarette to her left nipple until the glowing tip almost touched the swollen nub. When her eyes popped open and she looked him directly in the eye, Yazeed signaled the guard to begin fucking her. He fucked brutally, shredding her unlubricated cunt walls as he put all his strength behind each thrust. He would pull out until only his cockhead was still inside her then thrust into her again with the force of a piledriver. It seemed to her that he was hitting her cervix with every thrust. She knew that she must be bleeding from the pain in her dry cunt walls. But there was nothing she could do except hang there and submit to his rape. The guard held onto the woman's muscular asscheeks for leverage as he brutally fucked her. He hovered over her, his face only a few inches from hers. He could see tears rolling down her cheeks as he raped her. These tears of humiliation streaming down the face of this muscular but very feminine woman aroused him more than the tight grip her cunt had on his cock. A low wail began to erupt from the woman's gagged mouth; it pushed him over the edge. He came, filling her dry cunt with his hot, slippery cum. Sated now, he withdrew and let the next man take her.

The next man used her just as brutally. In an instant he was rutting inside her like a boar in heat. Diana was nauseated by the sight of his grinning face. But when she closed her eyes, Yazeed used his cigarette on her nipple again. Even in her abused condition, the pain was overwhelming. With Yazeed holding her head up, she was forced to watch the faces of man after man as the grinning soldiers used her cunt, like they had already used her ass, as a depository for their disgusting cum. While not as painful as the plunder of her ass, the way she was forced to watch the gloating men rape her was even more humiliating. She felt like a slut. Diana was overwhelmed by revulsion. She struggled to escape. It did no good; her efforts only goaded the men on to more brutal attacks on her. At least she was spared the humiliation of understanding their crude comments as they mistook her struggles for the throes of passion. As man after man raped her, Diana's struggles lessened until her sweat soaked body again hung limp in the ropes suspending her from the ceiling. Her ass still dripped cum; now her cunt was also covered in a bukkake of cum. It was dripping in globs from her abused pussy to the floor below by the time the last man had finished with her.

Captain Yazeed ordered the now exhausted guards out of the chamber, leaving himself and his translator alone with Diana. He stood between her legs and savored the sight of Diana's cum covered cunt. The sight of the whitish fluid dripping out of her drew him to her abused pussy. He crouched between her legs to peer inside her half open cuntlips. Fascinated, Yazeed spread those lips with his fingers to get a better look. The mixed smell of her cunt and the men's cum drew him on. He pushed two fingers of his right hand inside her swollen cuntlips. The fingers "squished" as he forced them inside Diana. He added another finger, then another. Then he closed his thumb against his palm and pushed his hand further into the American's cunt. With a second push, his whole hand disappeared into the woman's cunt. He moved it in and out, creating more of that squishy sound as his fist moved inside the cum saturated cunt. Gradually, Yazeed pumped his arm harder and harder until he was fisting the hanging woman with all his strength. Diana's numbness to her surroundings changed abruptly when his fist penetrated her. Now she felt a new agony as his fist expanded her sore pussy to two or three times its normal size. The sensation was far more painful than those produced by any of the guard's cocks. Diana wailed into her gag. She felt herself being torn in two by the fist invading her. She knew this would kill her. Once again she found the strength to struggle against her bonds as he punched his way deeper inside her. But her strength soon failed her. She hung passively as he continued to brutally fist fuck her pussy. The translator stared at Diana. He could actually see the Captain's fist moving under the skin of the woman's flat stomach. Its movements were accompanied by sounds usually associated with those a plunger makes as it clears a stopped-up toilet. As he fist fucked her with one hand, Yazeed used his other hand to stroke his cock, masturbating in time with his thrusts inside Diana's cunt. Again and again he used Diana as his punching bag. Finally, he jerked his fist out of her cunt, sending a new blast of pain to Diana's overloaded brain. Straightening up, he frantically pumped his cock until a stream of cum shot out and onto Diana's stomach and breasts. Diana was too exhausted to respond, even to the agony of his fist tearing its way out of her. She hung senseless, aware only of the feeling of emptiness inside her now that the fist had disappeared.

Yazeed was exhausted as well. He could manage nothing more than to plop down in his chair and stare at Diana's hanging form. Eventually, he had the translator untie her and leave her lying on the cold concrete floor on her back. He knew that she was broken but he still wished for her formal surrender. She had to tell him her unit, base and mission.

He let her lie on the cold floor for fifteen or twenty minutes while they both recovered. Then he had the translator drag her to her knees and take off her gag. Her arms dangled uselessly by her side as a result of the earlier suspension. Quietly he ask his three questions. Matching his tone, the translator ask mildly, "What was your unit, your base and your mission?"

Diana had no thought of lying to him this time. She said, "4th tactical fighter squadron, 388th wing, Mindhat. I was to bomb a suspected chemical weapons production site north of Baghdad."

The translator spoke to Yazeed, listened to his reply, and then told Diana, "See how easy that was. If you cooperate with us, you will not have to suffer another rape. But you must do everything the Captain tells you to do. You must do one more thing. Then you can sleep. The Captain says you must suck him off with your mouth. Do this and you can sleep"

Diana did not resist as the Captain stood in front of her, unzipped his pants, and placed his erect penis in front of her face. He grabbed her by the hair and guided her face forward. She simply opened her mouth and allowed his penis to penetrate her lips. Carefully, she closed her lips around it and began to suck, licking its undersides with her tongue. She concentrated on pleasing this man with all her soul, using her tongue and lips expertly. The soft, sucking sounds that came from her mouth were painfully humiliating to her; but Diana was too afraid of this man to complain. It was the sight of Diana slavishly sucking his cock as much as the sensation of her tongue working on his penis that brought Captain Yazeed to the point of no return. He wrapped his fingers in her hair and began using her face as if it were her cunt. His thrusts rapidly picked up speed while Diana gagged helplessly under him. She was choking, unable to draw a breath, when he began to climax. Diana swallowed the hot load he shot into her mouth without protest; she could feel the cum burning its way into her stomach. She was grateful her ordeal was finally over, at least for the moment. Yazeed withdrew his penis from her mouth and smiled down at her. He traced his fingers over the woman's lips and into the small stream of whitish cum trickling out of them. He picked up a glob of the thick cum on the tip of his finger and looked at it for a moment. Then he pushed his cum covered digit into the kneeling women's mouth and wiped it clean on the surface of her tongue as she stared submissively at him, too frightened to protest. He was pleased. They had made a good start; tomorrow he would begin working with the woman on the script the foreign ministry had provided. He would have her on CNN calling for an end to the criminal bombing in 3-4 days at most. He'd have time for his son's birthday party after all.

A nude Major Diana Walden knelt submissively in front of the her seated captor as Captain Yazeed angrily berated her in Arabic for her lackluster performance in the last propaganda broadcast. As she had been painfully taught to do, the captured pilot knelt with her legs spread wide, exposing her pussy which was still swollen from the gang rape and fisting of five nights before. Diana held her arms up with her hands clasp at the back of her neck, involuntarily thrusting her large breasts forward as if offering them to her torturer. She could feel Yazeed's eyes on her breasts and wished feverently for something to cover them. But knew he would keep her nude unless actually filming; only then was she given her flight suit to cover herself. Diana realized that the submissive positions and her degrading nudity were meant to humiliate her and to destroy her will. But knowing this did not help her cope with her rapidly diminishing self- respect. Consumed with fear and guilt, Diana was losing touch with who and what she was and beginning to allow her captors to define her in their terms instead.

As his translator converted his words into English, Yazeed held the electric baton, which its American maker appropriately called a "cattle prod," prominently in his right hand. Diana was painfully familiar with this device, having felt it work on her cunt and breasts before. Though it left no lasting marks, she knew that it would burn like fire when used on her sensitive feminine regions. Yazeed could see her eyes nervously following the baton as he rose and stood above her kneeling form. He used the cold metal of the baton to lightly rub Diana's large nipples into erectness as the translator droned on. He thought he could see a tear forming in Diana's left eye as she braced herself for the shock. Her muscular body was shiny with sweat now. A faint tremble was visible in Diana's torso each time the metal baton touched her moist skin. When he had both nipples fully erect, he touched the tip of the baton to the left nipple and pressed the button activating the device.

Diana's body grew rigid as the electricity tore through her breast, ripping the breath from her lungs. "UUUGGGGGGGGHHLLLLMMMM," she screamed as every muscle in her body tightened involuntarily from the shock, jerking her body erect.

Then the pain was gone as quickly as it had come, leaving the nude woman whimpering softly, her left breast tingling but strangely senseless. She kept her hands tightly clasp behind her head to avoid another shock for moving while she fearfully waited for Yazeed to continue. Yazeed began softly rubbing the metal prod between her legs toward her exposed cunt. Diana closed her eyes, the tears streaming from them now. Terror possessed her completely as she felt the hard cylinder pressing against her erect clit! She held her breath as he rubbed it over her sensitive pussy, waiting for the pain to consume her again. He didn't make her wait long.

"UUUUUUUUUUGGGGGHHHHLLLLLMMMMMMMM!"

As a nude Diana was withering in pain on the concrete floor of her prison, her future was being decided by Saddam as he lectured his war council on the inevitability of his victory. He had been very disappointed by the failure of his propaganda broadcasts to energize an anti-war movement in the United States. Although he had provided numerous films to the American media featuring Diana Walden and four male pilots confessing to bombing hospitals and schools and professing eternal support for the "brave Iraqi People," nothing had happened. In fact, public opinion had turned against him as a result of the films. Even the initially favorable American Media had turned against him. It was clearly impossible to understand these people. Fortunately, he had an even more brilliant plan. It was inevitable now that the Americans would attack and that his army would be defeated. But, if he could bloody the imperialists before his army's inevitable defeat, he could still emerge as the Arab hero. To do this he had to have one successful battle and then prevent his army from turning on him in their defeat. The key to doing these two things lay in controlling General Hamid Rashid, the popular commander of III Corp and his army's best commander. Saddam silently congratulated himself on his foresight in not ordering one of those helicopter "accidents" for Rashid which had befallen the other heroes of the war with Iran. Now Rashid was available to win him his one victory. But the man still had to be made so unacceptable to the Americans that they would never support him if he tried a coup in the war's aftermath. From his extensive dossier on the general, Saddam knew that the General was a sadist who had tortured to death for his own gratification several Kurdish women captured by his troops. He would send Rashid the American female pilot. The gift would cement his loyalty in the short run. Then evidence of the General's sadism, collected by his spy in the man's headquarters, would give Saddam the means to destroy him after the war. As his subordinates wisely agreed, the plan was brilliant.

Within hours, Diana had been taken from the custody of Captain Yazeed, fed, and clothed again in her flight suit, though without any underclothes. Then she was put into a civilian car and began the dangerous trip to Rashid's headquarters in southern Kuwait. She had her hands cuffed in front of her but was otherwise treated well by her silent guards. As the distance from Yazeed grew, Major Walden began to feel a sense of elation at her apparent escape from that sadist's control. She began to think that the worst part of her captivity was over. As her confidence grew, so grew her anger at the pain and humiliation which had been inflicted on her by Captain Yazeed. Diana began to believe that the Iraqi in charge at wherever it was they were going would be someone normal - as if Captain Yazeed was not normal for Saddam's Iraq. Old habits began to reassert themselves as she started planning about how she would get that bastard Yazeed for what he had done to her. By the time she arrived at Rashid's headquarters, she had convinced herself that it was payback time.

General Rashid was, in his own mind at least, the modern reincarnation of Saladin, the warrior who had destroyed the Christian crusader kingdom almost exactly eight centuries before. His enemies in the army - which meant any officer above colonel in rank - whispered that he was mad. But it was not the stories of his cruelties toward women that prompted this opinion. It was his obsession with the American movie, "PATTON." They said that he modeled everything he did on that movie, which he had watched over a hundred times by his own accounts. Ruthless, arrogant, and cruel; he nevertheless commanded the respect of the junior officers and NCOs for his battlefield successes against the Iranians. This was the man Diana thought was going to help her and upon whom she had the poor judgment to unload her pent-up anger. It was also her great misfortune that the general spoke fluent English.

The General was initially so astonished that a woman would address him in such a disrespectful manner that he was speechless. Diana took this as acquiesce and launched into her demand that the General "do something" about Captain Yazeed. General Rashid silenced her with a powerful backhand slap across her face. It took him several moments before he could trust his voice so great was the rage consuming him. He had been insulted in his own headquarters in front of his men by a woman, an American woman who had the termidity to call herself a warrior! When he could trust himself to speak, he dismissed the woman's escorts and ordered two of his men to take her into his private quarters. There, he ordered them to strip her and tie her in a standing spread eagle, face against the wall. Then he told them to get out.

The General studied Diana's muscular back and buttocks with considerable interest. Her smooth skin was unmarked. He would change that. Unbidden, his orderly brought him his preferred instrument, the long, hard rubber fan belt from an Army 5 ton truck. Then he left. Rashid had first seen a fan belt used on a man as a lieutenant in 1968, when his sergeant had shown him the army's way of making Kurds talk. Heavy and brutal, the belt was like the man using it.

Rashid ignored the pleas for mercy coming from Diana; they lacked the intensity to interest him. That would change after a few blows with the belt. He began work, choosing Diana's hard, muscular asscheeks as his first target. Using all his strength he brought the heavy belt down across her buttocks. A long, muddy-red streak appeared across the untanned, almost white flesh. Slowly and methodically, he repeated the stroke again and again as the captive woman screamed.

Diana felt as if she were being flayed; It felt as if the skin was being stripped off her ass. Bound against the wall, she could do nothing to escape the maddenly slow strokes though she tried, her powerful arm and leg muscles helplessly flexing in a futile effort to escape. The pain burned itself from her buttocks to her brain with each stroke. Almost as bad was the wait for the next stroke - the pain still fresh in her mind. She screamed repeatedly but had no idea what she was screaming.

"UUUUGGGHHLLMMMMMM! Noo! PLEASE, PLEASE OH! UUUUUUGGGGGHHHHLLMMMMMMM! STOP PLEASE!"

Diana's screams were clearly audible throughout the headquarters as the General wished them to be. No one could humiliate him and escape; let those lackeys and cowards listen, he thought as he savored Diana's screams. Her asscheeks were covered in dark red stripes now. Between strokes, he could see her body shake with sobs. He began to work on the sensitive tops of her thighs. There the belt met her tanned skin to produce an even deeper red stripe.

"UUUUGGGGGHHHLLLMMMMMMMM!"

"OOHHHHH! PLEASEEE! STOP! NOOEEEE... UUUGGGHLLMMMMM!"

Slowly, methodically, Rashid worked down her thigh backs and then back to her punished buttocks. He laid each stroke with care, ensuring that on her buttocks the new stripes crossed the old to increase Diana's pain. Then he moved up to the small of her back.

"UUUGGGHHHLLLLMMMMMMMM! UUUGGGHHHHLLLLLMMMMM! PLEASEEEEE!"

Now the general was lashing Diana across her back, the end of the heavy belt just long enough to reach around her to strike the sensitive sides of her large breasts. The sheer weigh of the blows was driving Diana into the wall. Tears and snot streamed down her face as she screamed into the hard, cold surface of the wall. Her body was covered in a cold sweat, making it shine in the harsh light of the room. There was a new intensity to her screams. Diana was convinced that he was going to flay the skin off her back!

"UUUGGGGGGHHHLLLLMMMMMMM! AAHHHHHHH! UUUGGHHHLLMMMMMM! PLEEASSEEEEEE! AHHH! STOP!"

The blows stopped though Diana's body remained tensed as she waited for their resumption. Instead, she sensed the General standing behind her and then felt his hand spreading her asscheeks. Involuntarily she tensed even more. Then in a feat of will she made her muscles relax. Diana knew what was next; he was going to sodomize her. After the anal gang rape she had suffered with Yazeed, she knew better than to fight him. She felt the head of his cock press against her no longer virgin ass and then the familiar burning sensation as it pushed past her stretched sphinster. Then she felt the familiar pressure as his penis filled her colon, sending painful cramps through her guts and into her brain.

"AHHHHH! OOHHHH! It hurts, Pleaseee!"

Rashid was pleased to find her so easy to penetrate. He loved the way her colon seemed to squeeze his cock as it burrowed inside her. As Diana's body arched up in an involuntary and futile attempt to escape her impalement, he drove his cock all the way into her. Then he reached around the woman to grasp her breasts in his hands. The General found her large ,erect nipples and gripped them between his fingers, squeezing them in concert with his thrusts into Diana's ass. He savored the way she squirmed under him; it aroused him more than the physical aspects of simple sex ever could.

"American slut. You are my prisoner! You will do whatever I say, when I say it. If you defy me in the least thing, I will beat you with that belt until there is no skin left on your body," Rashid rasped into her ear as he continued riding her ass, "You will show me the respect I deserve, whore!"

Diana involuntarily tightened her spinster from shock when the General spoke to her in English. A thrust and a painful twist of her sensitive nipples reminded her not to fight him. She rested her head against the wall and tried to relax her whole body, hoping to get through her rape with as little pain as possible.

"Slut, you will answer me when I speak," he barked, squeezing painfully on her nipples as he spoke.

"Yes sir, I... I'm... AAHH! I'm sorry, Sir," Diana choked out between the moans as he sodomized her and tortured her fat nipples.

Apparently satisfied, Rashid concentrated on fucking her ass. The tempo of his thrusts increased as he pumped harder and harder into her ass. Diana thought it felt as if he were pushing a baseball bat up her ass. The pain seemed to Diana to go on forever as he rode her torn and bleeding ass and tried to rip her nipples off of her breasts with his fingernails. It was all she could do to lean her head against the wall and concentrate on breathing between screams. Finally, the jackhammer thrusts stopped and she could feel a hot liquid filling her intestines. Diana stood in a daze as he untied her hands and retied them behind her back. Then he untied her feet and lead her to a bed in the corner.

He made her kneel beside the bed and said, "I am going to test your obedience. If you fail, I will whip you twice as hard as I just did." Producing a pistol from his holster, Rashid continued "I order you to lick your filth off my cock. If your teeth touch my cock, I will kill you."

The pistol to her head, Diana stared in disgust at the dark stains on his half erect cock. Her stomach turned at the thought of where it had just been. But she was too frightened to refuse. Slowly and reluctantly, she stuck out her tongue and ran it up the underside of his shit stained penis. She continued licking his cock until all the dark stains were gone and the half hard organ was shinny with her saliva. The sweet taste of her own feces filled her mouth but she continued licking until not a trace of her shit remained.

"Excellent, whore. Now turn your attention to the material on the bottom of my boots. That, I believe, is what you Americans would call camel shit. Get rid of it!"

The next morning, a thoroughly broken Major Walden was prepared for another humiliation. By the General's perverse reasoning, since she had embarrassed him in front of his subordinates, she would be humiliated in front of them. She was dressed in her flight suit but in such a way that it emphasized rather than covered her body. The front was open and the zipper sides pinned back to her shoulders so that her breasts were totally exposed. The crotch of the suit had been cut out entirely, exposing her shaven cunt and most of her buttocks, complete with the still painful bruises from her whipping the night before. She knelt on the sand in front of the headquarters with the headquarters personnel drawn up in a formation to her right. Diana had instinctively assumed the submissive position taught her by Yazeed; her legs spread and her back straight with eyes downcast. She had no idea what was going to happen to her. But she knew that if she displeased the General he would inflict some horrible punishment on her. The General was making some kind of a speech to the assembled soldiers in Arabic; he seemed to have forgotten her for the moment.

When he finished, a cheer came from the soldiers. The General walked the few feet to where Diana knelt submissively. As Diana watched anxiously, he opened his fly and took out his cock. Was he going to rape her in front of these men, she wondered. Then without warning, the General began to piss in her face. A stream of warm, stinking piss hit her in the face, burning her eyes and running between her open lips before she could react. A shuddering Diana quickly surpressed her initial impulse to bolt. Instead, she simply dropped her face to stare at the ground while he continued to direct his piss on to her face and hair. It ran over her head and onto her naked chest, coating her breasts. It ran down her stomach and over her sensitive cunt before running down her legs, soaking the flight suit legs in the process. She was drenched in his smelly urine. Despite the strong survival instincts which had gotten her this far, at this moment Diana wanted nothing so much as to die. She had never felt so thoroughly humiliated in her life. She had been used as a toilet by this arrogant camel jockey. To make it even more humiliating, his use of her as his toilet had been witnessed by forty cheering Iraqi soldiers. As they cheered and fired weapons into the air, the General forced open her mouth with his thumbs. Then, as he held it open with one hand, he directed the last trickle of urine directly into her mouth as she looked up at him helplessly. Neither the sweet taste of his piss hitting her tongue nor the feeling of his hot piss filling her stomach was worse than the terrible humilation she felt.

General Rashid had always followed the advice given by George C. Scott in Rashid's favorite movie, 'PATTON.' 'When you go forward to visit the troops, fly flags and make a lot of noise so they see you sharing their dangers; but when you go back, take down the flags and go home quietly like a thief in the night.' Now Rashid was driving forward to visit his troops; but he had replaced his flags with an even more eye-catching ornament for his command car, Major Diana Walden. After seeing the way her degradation had raised the morale of his dispirited staff, he had resolved to use her to prepare his elite troops for the coming battle. Mounting her on his car was just the first step in his plan

Diana had been positioned on the front of his land rover. She was dressed in her boots and flight suit, the one which had the front pinned open to expose her breasts and the crotch cut away. Her lower legs had been bent back under her thighs and her booted feet tied to her thighs. Now she rested on her knees on a small metal platform which Rashid had ordered welded to the bumper. To hold her upright, her torso had been tied to a large diameter metal pipe which was also welded to the bumper. Diana's arms were tied behind her back. Ropes ran from her elbows to the vehicle's mirror mountings to keep her from twisting from side to side as the vehicle traveled over the rough roads at a high speed. Rashid was very pleased with the effect she produced, her hair blowing in the desert wind and her large breasts bouncing wildly with each rut the command car hit.

Diana was not as pleased. The ride was pure hell. With all her weight resting on her knees, every jolt in a rut filled road sent a bolt of pain up her legs. Her face and breasts were exposed to the wind blown sand which, at the speed she was traveling, produced an effect identical to standing in front of a sand blaster. Her abused breasts were especially sensitive to the blowing sand. Diana wondered if she would have any skin left on them by the time this ride was over. The fine road dust kicked up by the vehicle was finding its way on to all her skin surfaces not scoured clean by the sand and combining with the sweat covering her body to produce an itchy grit. It covered her and seemed to particularly delight in collecting inside her exposed cuntlips. The dust also found its way into her mouth and throat, torturing her with thirst and reducing her moans to weak croaks. By the time they reached their destination, Diana was in her own world of pain and thirst, oblivious to her surroundings.

With forty thousand men under his command, Rashid knew he would have to be sparing in his use of Diana. He had selected the company commanders, senior NCOs, and battalion commanders of one brigade, some 34 men in all, to take part in his test of her usefulness in raising morale. The unit was from his best division, the 5th Mechanized Division, and had been selected to lead the planned offensive Saddam had ordered. It had also suffered heavily from American airpower. Rashid was certain that allowing them to use and abuse Diana would help them win back some of the confidence they had lost under the relentless air attacks. But with only 5 days until the planned attack at Khafji, he had to act fast.

He found the men drawn up in formation at the oil derrick he had designated. Since the Americans would never bomb Kuwait's precious oil wells, he knew that he could count on not being interrupted here. General Rashid ordered his driver to pull in front of the formation and park. He enjoyed the sight of the men's confusion as they first saw the figure on the front of his vehicle and then realized that it was a woman. They had been without women in the desert for almost six months now. The formation wavered for a moment but discipline held. He was satisfied that he had their attention.

Climbing onto the hood of the land rover, the General launched into his speech. He spoke of the imperialists threatening the Dar el Saddam, the House of Saddam, and about the coming opportunity to strike a blow for their great leader. He appealed to their male pride, telling them that the Americans depended on women like this one to do their fighting. Rashid thought that he had never seen an audience so spell bound by one of his speeches. Of course, the men were mesmerized by Diana rather than the General. There she hung on the bumper of his car, not fifteen feet away from the front rank, with her breasts exposed. Even her cunt, its covering hair shaven, was clearly visible to the hungry stares of the men. Despite in her battered state, Diana could sense the lust radiating from these men; it was as real to her as the heat radiating from the hood of the land rover. As the General's speech turned to the death brought by Americans and their bombers, and the men began to understand the significance of the uniform Diana was wearing; an ominous hatred came into the men's eyes. Each had lost men, if not friends, to the hated bombers. They had felt the frustration of suffering attack without being able to fight back. Now the General was offering them a target for their anger. In response the men began to cheer in earnest, firing their weapons into the air and screaming victory chants.

The General's bodyguards untied her from the hood of the land rover and freed her feet though not her hands. Since Diana's legs were too cramped to hold her up, they carried her to an empty oil barrel lying in the sand. The two men threw her over the barrel and then retreated, leaving her to the waiting men.

As soon as her stomach hit the hot metal of the drum, Diana knew that she was in serious trouble. She had grown increasingly numb to the abuse being inflicted upon her. But now, as she looked over the mob of uniformed men surrounding her, she felt a fear more intense than that of the first night when Yazeed had her gang raped. Could they, she wondered, mean to rape her to death?

The Iraqi soldiers swarmed over her. One man grabbed her by her auburn hair and pulled her head over his erect cock. As he filled her mouth, Diana felt hands all over her body. They grabbed her breasts; squeezing, pinching and mauling her sand blasted tits. Those who could not reach her breasts ripped the flight suit off her back and legs to maul her naked flesh. Diana was in shock. She did not even feel the first man to enter her exposed pussy. Suddenly he was just there, his hips banging against hers as he propelled her forward onto the cock in her mouth. That man's cockhead was forcing its way into her throat, choking her, and making Diana light headed as it cut off her oxygen. Then the man began brutally fucking her face, using his grip on her hair to force her mouth back and forth over his cock as he remained motionless. Now Diana could get quick gasps of air between strokes. As the two men pounded her nude body from opposite ends, anonymous hands continued to maul her now totally nude body. Draped over the barrel with her arms bound behind her, Diana could do little to stop her attackers. But this time she did not even try to resist the men who were brutally raping her. Instead, she lay passively over the empty oil drum as the two men used her mouth and cunt. She concentrated on breathing and tried to push her rising panic to the back of her mind.

Neither of the men lasted long inside her. Diana felt hot cum filling her mouth and then the same wet heat inside her cunt. The two cocks disappeared only to be replace by two more. Now her whole world was limited to the two cocks penetrating her. Man after man mounted her and left their spendings inside her cunt. Diana's crotch became saturated in cum, so much of it that it ran in streams out of her numbed cuntlips and onto her tanned legs. The men in her mouth were fucking her with equal brutality, bloodying her lips with their thrusts as they deposited volumes of sperm in her mouth. It was all that Diana could do to swallow the masses of slippery, white cum flooding her mouth. It was either swallow or choke. As she forced it down, Diana had the sensation that their cum was coating her esophagus all the way to her stomach. In a half lucid moment, she could feel it filling her stomach, gallons of the thick, white cum pooling inside her. Diana thought that she was going to drown in their cum.

As her cunt became too saturated in cum for even the Iraqi's to tolerate, the men fucking her switched to her unused ass. The first man simply forced his penis into her unlubricated ass, indifferent to the searing pain he caused Diana. It was only because she had already been repeatedly sodomized earlier in her captivity that the man was able to penetrate her without ripping her ass apart. The pain was excoriating as he pumped his cock into her with relentless jackhammer-like strokes. Diana tried to scream. But the cock pumping into her mouth choked the sound of her cries until that all that came out of her mouth were weak moans. The man sodomizing her rode Diana for what seemed to her to be an eternity. Finally, he came. To Diana's relief, his cum then provided a lubricant for the next man to sodomize her. Then that man emptied himself into her burning ass and was replaced by yet another as soon as he had pulled out of her. Soon, Diana's still burning ass was as loose and as saturated in her rapists' sperm as her abused pussy. Through it all, Diana lay passively over the barrel, submissively accepting their abuse without even a thought of resistance. She was resolved to cling to life even at the expense of submitting to these men.

So it continued as man after man used her mouth or ass. Both ends of Diana's pain racked body were covered in their white, slippery sperm. Her memories became increasingly disjointed. She would remember cum spurting into her face and eyes, cocks and fingers penetrating her ass, hands pulling on her hair as her head was jerked back and forth over someone's cock, and hands pulling at her sore nipples. She had no idea how many men had used her or how many more were to come.

If Diana's recollections were confused, those of General Rashid were crystal clear. He watched Diana's ordeal from his vantage point on the hood of the land rover; from there he could see everything that was being done to her by his soldiers. He was delighted by the aggressiveness his men showed toward the captive American woman. The brutal way in which they forced her to service them with her mouth and, especially, their causal brutality in using her ass as a second cunt pleased him greatly. He could see the confidence flowing back into his soldiers. Nor did the sight of such a strong woman being subjected to the humiliation and pain of a mass rape fail to arouse him. He had witnessed more gang rapes than he could remember as a young officer fighting the Kurds; but he had never seen a woman endure such brutality or so many men. That is, if she does live through it, he thought.

General Rashid was enthralled by the sight of her muscular body being buffeted about by the men using her mouth and ass. One man was using her cum covered face as if it were her cunt, his hands gripping her sperm soaked hair as he pulled her head back and forth on his cock. The other man was literally trying to stab her to death with his penis. He was thrusting into her open ass in a mad frenzy while slapping her buttocks with his right hand. Even from his position, the General could hear the wet, sucking sounds of the man's penis ramming in and out of her cum-soaked ass and the counterpointing loud cracks as his hand impacted on her quivering buttcheeks. As one set of men spent themselves in Diana, another pair appeared with erect penises and took their places. Her holes were never empty for more than a few seconds. Even after the American woman finally passed out, the men continued to fuck her slimy holes. The General could not even tell just when she had passed out since her body had continued to move in response to the men fucking her unconscious body.

Eventually, the General called a halt. Each man had taken Diana at least one; some had used her three times. The men's mood was as jubilant as if they had won a great victory on the battlefield. Rashid was cheered wildly when he promised them more American women soldiers after the great victory they would win at Khafji. As the men were marched away, the General walked over to where Diana was still lying draped over the metal drum. One of his bodyguards was examining the woman's still body. Rashid was fascinated to see that Diana's cuntlips and ass both were still distended. They were so open that he could actually see the interior linings and the pools of cum still inside the woman's pussy and colon. Her body was covered in his men's cum. It had dried in layers over her skin at her pussy, upper legs, and face. It had even flowed as far as onto her red, raw breasts. General Rashid thought that he had never seen a more desirable looking woman in his life.

"Is she alive?" he ask his bodyguard.

"Yes sir, she still breathes though I do not see how she could have survived this."

As the President read through the CIA report, he began shaking his head in that disjointed way he had when he was angry. His chief of staff watched uneasily, suspecting that the President had gotten to the part where the informant described Major Walden's beating and rape by General Rashid. Sardonically he thought, wait until you read the part about the gang rape. He had been thinking about how the war had been going so well; now this had to happen. Despite the Military's misgivings, it was clear that they had to do something to save the woman. If they didn't, the women's groups would crucify them. It simply didn't matter if they did lose 50 men to save this one female pilot. They had to do something and do it before the media got wind of this. The American people would never forgive them if this got out and they had done nothing. He was mentally marshaling his responses to each of the Military's objections when the President looked up and said, "Do it."

On the following night, General Rashid was in an elated mood. The preparations for the attack at Khafji were going well. Morale was high in the 5th Mechanized just as he had known it would be. And now he had learned that his men had captured another American female pilot and were bringing her to his headquarters. It seemed only logical that he take advantage of her presence before sending the woman on to Baghdad. After all, if he gave Saddam his victory, then nothing would be said about this little indulgence. If he failed, he was a dead man regardless of what he did to her. It was victory or death, he thought; so live for the moment.

Two hours later General Rashid was studying his new plaything, Marine First Lieutenant Kathleen O'Connor. He had the young woman kneeling before him, stripped of her flight suit and with her arms tied behind her back. A petite, freckled redhead with an athletic body - everyone referred to her by her callsign "Tomboy," the woman presented a fascinating contrast to the muscular Major Walden. He found her to be attractive in a boyish way with her small breasts, slender build, and short, red hair. Though Tomboy tried to maintain a brave front, the General could sense her fear; he could literally smell it emulating from her sweat covered body. It will be interesting, he thought, to put the two American women together.

A short time later, he had them together. A nude Diana was lying on her stomach on the table, her booted feet on the floor and her strong arms bound behind her back. A swathy,naked soldier stood behind her, his erect cock plowing her distended ass. In front of Diana, another of the General's guards was using her mouth; holding her hair, he held her head still as he pumped his cock in and out of her open mouth. Grunts and soft moans were coming from Diana to accompany the louder panting of the guards as they used the submissive woman. The General held Tomboy's hair, forcing her to watch as his men raped the broken female Air Force officer. Tears ran down Tomboy's face as she watched in horror. Her body shook with her own fear as she was forced to watch Diana's body being buffeted between the two angry men. Helplessly she watched as man after man raped Diana's mouth and ass. She wanted to say something, to stop this horror; but she was too afraid. As she looked on, the General whispered into her ear:

"This is what will happen to you as well, my little American Marine; after I have used you first, of course. No one will save you! What you see is nothing compared to what that whore has endured and what you will also endure. You are no longer American warriors - now you are Iraqi whores!"

Less than five miles away a team of American soldiers from Delta Force was waiting in the sand dunes in the middle of an S-shaped curve. They had been landed from two MH-47's here, deep in the Iraqi rear area, only an hour before. Now the assault team waited tensely inside their Trojan horse, a captured Iraqi army truck, while the support team waited in two man teams spread throughout the dunes. The lookout had already signaled the approach of the scrounging convoy from III Corp headquarters. Every night four trucks made the trip to Kuwait City and back with whatever they could find to feed themselves now that the Iraqi supply system had collapsed under the bombing. The Delta Force team was going to join this convoy and use it to pass through the checkpoints into the headquarters area. When the last truck approached the first part of the curve, two of the support force pulled on a rope to move an accordion like metal frame covered with spikes across the asphalt in front of the truck. As the Iraqi truck swerved onto the sand and slowed with two punctured tires, the Delta Force truck came out of the dunes to replace it at the end of the convoy. With the engine noises and the muffling effect of the curve, none of the Iraqis in the first three trucks heard the silenced MP5's as men from the support team dispatched the two Iraqis in the truck's cab. All they saw were the blackout lights of the last truck coming around the curve. In a few moments, the convoy was being waved through the first checkpoint and into the headquarters area.

By now Tomboy had seen eight men use Diana as she lay passively on the table. Their brutality horrified her. Even worse, to her terrified mind, was the submissive manner with which Diana seemed to accept the brutal attacks. Tomboy knew and admired Diana Walden by her reputation within the close knit community of female flyers; she could not understand how these men had turned her into their unresisting fuck toy. The sight of this muscular woman being used and degraded by her enemies and not fighting back was heartbreaking to Tomboy. How, she wondered, could see resist them if Diana Walden could not?

"That is enough!" the General ordered the guards, "You are dismissed. See that no one disturbs me for an hour."

The guards filed out, leaving Tomboy alone with the General and Diana. Diana remained face down on the table, almost zombie like now in her passivity. Tomboy could see that the guards' cum covered her face, leaving a white mask over her mouth and chin. Diana's ass was a gapping circle, dripping the thick cum onto her cunt before it dropped to the floor and formed a puddle of white on the concrete. Tomboy thought that Diana looked like a queen, brought low by her enemies but still regal even in her suffering.

Pulling Tomboy to Diana by her hair, the General pushed her face close to the other woman's ass and taunted her,

"Take a close look at her ass. Yours will look like that - like a whore's cunt! Take a closer look! Taste my men's sperm; lick her clean like a good little American whore!"

The General pushed Tomboy's face into Diana's sperm covered ass as he spoke. He pulled painfully on her short hair and screamed at her,

"Do it whore! Clean your comrade of my men's sperm before I call the men back and let them have you!"

Terrified, Tomboy obeyed. She put out her pink, little tongue and began hesitantly scooping the slimy white man seed into her mouth. Grimacing at the slightly sweet taste of the men's cum, she licked it carefully from Diana's cunt and ass. Tomboy kept her eyes tightly shut while she licked, as if to hide the horrible reality of the situation.

"Good. Now put your tongue into her ass and clean her! DO IT!"

Tomboy pressed her lips to Diana's open ass and then extended her tongue into the hot, foul tasting opening. As Tomboy moved her tongue about inside Diana's ass, A soft moan came from Diana. Diana had tried not to respond to the soft probing tongue, vowing not to take pleasure from the Marine's humiliation. But the feeling of the tongue moving inside her still sensitive colon defeated her. Diana's face became flushed as Tomboy's tongue moved down to her unused cunt. She knew how embarrassing this was for the female Marine but could not help drawing some pleasure from the soft stimulation. At the General's orders, Tomboy kept licking her cunt until, to Diana's intense embarrassment, Diana's cunt began to lubricate itself. Diana shuddered, more in embarrassment than arousal, at her body's betrayal.

Tomboy had never had sex with another woman; she had never tasted another woman's secretions. But she instantly knew what it was when Diana's lubricants hit her tongue. Tomboy was as repelled by Diana's taste as she had been by that of the Iraqi's cum. She felt as if the other woman had betrayed her, that Diana was enjoying her degradation!

Mercifully, the General pulled her face out of Diana's cunt. Ordering both of the women to stand, he pressed them together, Tomboy's front to Diana's back. Making Diana squat slightly, he tied Tomboy to Diana with a single piece of rope encircling the waists of both women. Then he ordered Diana to kneel on the floor, hoisting Tomboy off the floor and onto Diana's broad back and bound arms. By now, Tomboy had realized his intent; she kicked wildly with her legs to keep him away as Diana knelt impassively underneath her with her head on the cold concrete. Dodging her flying legs, the General caught each in turn and tied it to Diana's leg until Tomboy was helpless. She still struggled, trying to throw Diana on her back to protect herself; but the older, heavier woman held her fast. She called out to Diana for help,

"PLEASE, DON'T HELP HIM... MOVE!"

But Diana did not move. Impervious to anothers pain after suffering so much of her own, she concentrated on staying on her knees and tried to close her mind to what was going to happen to Tomboy. The smaller woman's struggles grew even more frenzied as the General positioned himself behind her and began to probe Tomboy's ass with his fingers. Slowly, he opened her tiny ass with his fingers, adding another each time he gained a few millimeters in his fight against her ass ring. As Tomboy screamed and struggled, he slowly opened her virgin ass with his fingers.

"NO... PLEASEEE... PLEASEEE... HELP ME... AAAHHHHEEEE!"

Using his thumbs now, the General spread her ass open, stretching her painfully in preparation for penetrating her ass with his cock. Helplessly anchored to the larger form of Diana, Tomboy could do nothing to protect herself as the General opened her ass. He positioned the head of his cock at the small opening and pushed until the head lodged itself inside the woman's ass. Still pulling her ass apart with his thumbs, he leaned toward Tomboy's pale, feckled back and thrust as hard as he could.

"AAAHHHEEE! NOO... PLEASEE."

Firmly embedded inside her ass, the General shifted his grip to her hips; he pushed his cock into her impossibly tight ass again as the sweat began to stream off his bare chest. Again and again, he pressed his cock into her until it was about half way into her ass. Then he stopped, pausing to savior the hot, tight ass gripping his cock.

As Tomboy took his cock into her ass, the Delta Force team was approaching the headquarters building. Almost invisible in their black uniforms and using night vision goggles to find their way in the darkness, the 16 men quickly surrounded the building. When they were in position, the team leader sent the GO message to the extraction force, letting them know that it was time to start the assault phase.

Ten kilometers away, the signal reached the commander of the attached attack helicopter battalion. He passed the GO signal on to his fifteen aircraft which were hovering around him like giant prehistoric insects and then pressed his throttle, making the 9 ton Apache helicopter leap forward toward the Iraqi headquarters. On his left was his wingman; Two thousand meters to his right were the other three aircraft of "A" company. At intervals of two thousand meters behind him were the other two companies of his battalion. Their mission was simple: open a corridor five thousand meters wide to the assault team for the extraction helicopters. All they had to do was shoot their way through about 20 anti-aircraft guns and a battalion of tanks protecting the headquarters. Piece of cake, the lieutenant colonel thought; with the thermal sights on these things we can see them and they can't see us. Just as long as we don't hover above any assholes with an RPG, everyone goes home.

Tomboy was impaled on the General's cock. She was trapped between his bulk and Diana's muscular back and arms, the ropes at her waist and feet holding her immoble. Tomboy's breasts were pressed into Diana's sweaty back as the woman's muscular arms enveloped their sides. Her face was also pressed into Diana's back, her tears and drool mixing with Diana's sweat to form a pool on the tanned skin of the older woman. The pain of the man's cock forcing its way into her virgin hole felt like a burning log being rammed up her ass. As the General forced his cock into her, he was chanting:

"CUNT...AMERICAN WHORE... SLUT... CUNT... BITCH... IMPERIALIST SLUT... DAMNED MUTTERFUKIN' WHORE."

Tomboy screamed from the pain engulfing her; but General Rashid's penis continued to penetrate her colon, filling her brain with waves of buring pain. He managed to force his entire cock into her tiny ass so that his pubic hair nestled against her pale skinned asscheeks. Then he began to fuck, sawing in and out of her tight passage. For Tomboy, the pain and humilation were overwhelming; for the General, the young woman's tight ass was sheer pleasure. It squeezed his cock like a hand would, gripping tighter as he thrust into her and releasing slightly as he withdrew his cock until only the head was still inside her. Harder and harder he rode the moaning redhead, making both her body and Diana's shake with the force of his thrusts. Fianlly, he could take no more of Tomboy's tightness. The General came, filling the captured pilot's ass with his hot cum. He rested for a moment on the redhead's back. Then he got up and shakily walked around to Diana's head. Holding her head up by her hair, he presented his blood and shit stained cock to her and ordered:

"Now you will clean me, whore! Lick her shit off my cock!"

Diana obeyed. Taking his filthy cock into her mouth, she began. As she licked and sucked on his cock, Diana could feel the sobs still shaking Tomboy's body. She concentrated on controlling her own revulsion at performing such a degrading task, painfully concious of the bloody, shit stained cock filling her mouth. When that cock suddenly disappeared from her mouth, Diana looked up in surprise. The General had stepped back and was loking in amazement at something behind her. Suddenly,three red splotches appeared on the man's chest. As Diana watched dumbfounded,the General stumbled backwards with a look of dumb shock on his face. He hit and then slid down the wall, leaving a trail of blood behind him. Diana froze motionless in fear. From behind her she heard a voice speaking in English - American Army English.

"FUCK! Hey, Captain, you gotta fuckin see this! The fuckin, raghead fuckers were having a fuckin party!"


EPILOGUE:

Major Diana Walden made it back to Saudi Arabia safely though eleven of her rescuers did not. The story of what she had been doing when her rescuers arrived was hushed up except for the stories told in certain bars at Fort Bragg, Delta Force's home station. But network anchors don't drink at Fort Bragg. The media loved her story - as she told it - and made her the victim-hero of the war. She got her picture on the cover of Time Magazine and was famous for almost two weeks. Things turned out very well for her. She didn't even need the adult diapers anymore after a couple of months. With her new fame, she lived happily ever after.




__________________________


BOSNIA: The Next Challenge


"That one looks like she will show some sport, eh Alexander? Let's see how far she gets."

As the two men watched from the sheltering smoke enveloping the looted shell of what had been the town's largest house, a young woman, clad in fashionably tight jeans and an expensive and torn t-shirt, bolted from the front door of the adjoining house into the street like the hunted animal she was. Her lithe, leggy figure seemed to fly deerlike across the cobblestones on her Nike running shoes She crossed the cobblestone street and had almost reached the beckoning alley when she made the mistake of breaking stride to look back. That was when the swiftest of her pursuers caught her, throwing away his automatic rifle to make a diving tackle. In seconds, three other uniformed men had reached the struggling pair. One of these grabbed her arms, holding them above her head, as the oldest man, their Sergeant, used his large knife to cut away the already torn t-shirt, slicing through the now soiled white of the shirt to expose her white lace bra. The bra disappeared next with a flick of his knife. Her Levi's required a longer struggle before the knife had them in shreds. The young woman, a pretty, short haired brunette of perhaps twenty, was left naked, brutally stripped of her clothing except for her shoes. Nude, she displayed a slim, well formed body just reaching womanhood, her skin pale and translucent like the finest porcelain. The terrified girl was roughly forced onto her back as the men prepared to rape her under the terse directions of their Sergeant. One man stood by her head, his booted feet pinning her slender arms to the cold cobblestones as two of his companions grabbed her feet and forced open her long, shapely legs to display her shaven pussy. The trapped girl screamed frantically, her small breasts shaking enticingly as she struggled madly to free an arm or a leg. A constant "NO!" streamed out of her mouth as if she thought that words would protect her any more than the possession of the right clothes had protected her. Few words were exchanged between the men as they pinned the girl for the coming rape; they worked with an economy of words and motion born of frequent practice. There in the street, held spread eagle on the cold, muddy cobblestones, the trembling girl - silent now - waited to be raped. Above her the bearded, grinning Sergeant took his time shedding his weapon and web gear; he enjoyed the sight of the woman's fear and meant to prolong this moment. Despite the muttered urgings of his men to get on with it so they could have their turn, he lingered to play with the terrified girl. Opening his fly, he exposed his erect cock to the shaking, crying girl, telling her that soon she would find out what it felt like to be fucked by a real man... by a Serb.

"GODDAMNIT ZLATKO, YOU'RE SO SLOW IT WOULD SHAME THE DEVIL! FUCK THE BITCH! BUT KEEP HER TO TAKE BACK TO THE HOTEL.

The Sergeant looked up in surprise at the words. It took his eyes a second to find the source of the voice in the smoke coming from the burning houses. Then he saw the tall, bearded figure clad in a pressed camouflage uniform standing with his smaller bodyguard by the corner of the burning building. As always, the sight of the man's cruel smile sent a jolt of fear through the Sergeant's usually dead emotions.

"ARKAN!"

"Fuck her, Zlatko! Do the little Muslim piglet. NOW!"

The Sergeant obeyed. He ordered his men to spread her legs more, painfully stretching them until her long, slim legs were almost parallel with her hips. Then, turning his fear of Arkan into a rage directed at the helpless girl, he fell upon her, forcing his way into her, impaling her on his incredibly thick 11-inch uncircumcised prick. Once he had penetrated inside her warm form, he supported himself upon his arms and concentrated all his weight behind his cock's thrusts, pounding into the captive girl as she screamed and cried beneath him. In a moment he could feel her open up, surrendering to his intimate invasion. He sank deeper into her, forgetting Arkan, forgetting even his cheering men, as he savored the tight warmth of her pussy, slick with her warm blood. The bearded Sergeant locked eyes with the girl - stared down into her wide open, pain ridden eyes - as he rode her. He wanted to see her face as he emptied himself into her, planted a Serb's seed in her womb. It took only seconds for him to reach that point; as he shot into her womb, the Sergeant stared into her open anguished eyes and laughed into her horrified face. Then he mockingly kissed her tear streaked cheek and rolled off her trembling nude body.

The man the Sergeant had called Arkan watched the rape with obvious pleasure. He was the leader of this uniformed gang of which the four rapists were a small part. His name was Zelijko Aleksico, though he was better known by his nom de guerre, Arkan. Tall, heavy set, and with a full, black beard, he was the perfect image of the mountain hajduk, the traditional folk hero bandit from the centuries long wars with the hated Turkish occupier. But he was no simple mountain man Born a scion of the old Communist elite of Yugoslav, he had been what was then called an "economic criminal," a business suited blackmarketer, successful enough to be able to buy tolerance under the old Communist regime until he had killed a policeman in a fit of anger. Then, calling himself a political refugee, Arkan had spent the next 3 years in the Serb emigrant communities of western Europe and the United States where he was still wanted for questioning about a rape-murder. Now, calling himself a Defender of Serbia, Arkan was the terror of northern Bosnia. With the break-up of Yugoslavia, he had returned home to find his special talents in demand. Under the patronage of the secret police chief in Belgrade, he had been encouraged to form a private army. Using his criminal connections, Arkan had recruited members of the Serbian underworld to play an important role in Belgrade's war plan. In the ethnic war against the Croats and the Muslim Bosnians, these men were the cutting edge of the effort to terrorize the non-Serbian populations into abandoning their homes. In return for carrying out Belgrade's policy of ethnic cleansing, Arkan was allowed to take whatever he wished from the refugees. Cars, money, TV's, DVD's, jewelry, household appliances, kitchen sinks, even copper wiring were all carted away by his men to be sold in Belgrade or smuggled out of the country. Arkan's share of the loot had already made him one of the richest men in Serbia. He and his men also took women, both for their own pleasure and as a calculated method of terrorizing their traditional Muslim and Croat enemies. In the Balkans, rape was a weapon of war; it was a weapon for which Arkan had a particular passion.

It was a passion which Arkan enjoyed indulging both personally and vicariously. At the moment he was content to vicariously enjoy the young Muslim girl's rape. As the now sated Sergeant withdrew, one of the men holding the girl's legs took his place. Arkan watched as this man rutted atop the young short haired girl, covering her slender body with his own bulk as he ground himself against her so that only the girl's fine featured, boyish face was still visible. For now Arkan was content to savor the pain and humiliation on that face from a distance. He would, Arkan knew, have ample opportunity to inflict his own tortures upon the young girl. For Arkan operated one of the most notorious of the Serbian rape camps in a hotel he had commandeered from its Croatian owner, a rape camp which he kept full of captured Croat and Muslim women even now despite the so called peace accord. The camp and its women were in Arkan's mind the most satisfying of the rewards the war had brought, better by far than the wealth the war had brought him. For Arkan the war had brought liberation from the shackles of conventional society. He no longer had to hide his passion for rape and mayhem; now he could be proud of it. For like today's rape of this filthy Turski neprijatelj, everything he did, he did for Serbia, as a Serb patriot fulfilling a centuries old mission of vengeance.

Arkan was so proud of his deeds that he recorded his trail of blood and tears for posterity. He had as one of his hangers-on a young man who before the war had been studying the cinema. Equipped with a video camera that had once belonged to an overly curious BBC stringer, it was Demrtri's job to record the great things Arkan was doing for his country. It would, Demrtri repeatedly told his leader, make a great movie. At the moment, he was busy filming the girl's rape, moving toward the girl for a close up of her terror filled face. The cameraman saw in her rape great art; in his mind it was the perfect metaphor for Arkan's assault upon this nameless little village. It will be great cinema, he thought as he filmed the rape; it will be a visual assault on the senses worthy of a scene from his favorite movie, Sergio Garone's masterpiece: "Camp 5: A Hell for Women."

As the second man rolled off the naked girl, the cameraman panned down her body. Starting at her tear streaked face, he moved the camera down her bruised torso - the delicate skin of her breasts disfigured by red bruises from the rough hands of her attackers - to her bare pussy. He focused the camera on the girl's red, exposed slit, the now gapping cuntlips covered with the cum of her attackers. The shot ended prematurely as the third man took her, throwing the legs of the now unresisting young woman over his shoulders and lifting her ass off the ground. Positioning her with only her shoulders resting on the cold stones, he proceeded to pound his cock into her, hammering his way into her womb. The camera lovingly captured the feral expression on the man's face as he raped the Muslim girl, an expression which was an equal mixture of anger and happiness in anothers suffering. Demrtri panned alternatively from the man's face to the girl's, juxtaposing their emotions. Her pain vied with his pleasure; her humiliation vied with his shameful joy in her suffering. This was, for the cameraman, true cinema; no actors could duplicate this. It was real. Stepping back, he opened the shot to include the stern figure of Arkan set against the smoke and flames pouring from the looted house behind him, showing him watching over the Muslim girl's rape like some ancient Serbian god of vengeance!

He returned to the girl as the fourth and final man mounted her, rode her brutally, and then spent himself inside her, faithfully recording every move as he had so often done in the past. These men were his usual subjects, members of Arkan's private militia, the men Arkan called his Tigers. Officially they were the 11th Special Forces Brigade of the rump army of the Krajina Serb Republic. But the "Special" in their title had nothing to do with any military skills. They were ethnic cleansers rather than combat soldiers. They "fought" the unarmed, the civilians, the helpless in Belgrade's ethnic war. They did the jobs too dehumanizing for the soldiers of the makeshift Bosnian Serb Army. Jobs like this one. And he was their chronicler, their Homer.

For the one hundredth time, Navy Lieutenant (JG) Bobbie Malone looked at her pilot calmly reading a magazine and wondered, "How does she do it?" This was a common enough thought for Bobbie to entertain about her pilot and mentor, Lieutenant Diedra Volksrye, AKA "the Valkyrie" to everyone in their F-14 squadron. The older woman was everything Bobbie wished that she was - big, confident, and one of the boys. But right now, what Bobbie was wondering was how she stood the smell. She knew that the U.S. Navy had been feeding its sailors boiled eggs and baked beans for Sunday breakfast since John Paul Jones. It was a tradition. She just didn't understand why. She thought that they would have figured out by now that such a combination produces enough flatulence, what her male squadron mates so quaintly called Sunday farts, to make this carrier, the U.S.S Eisenhower, uninhabitable for normal people. Spending her Sundays cooped up in a ready room ripe with the smell of breakfast and half washed male bodies was not what she had in mind when she signed up for Naval ROTC 5 long years ago. Exactly what, she wondered, had been my reason for signing up - the white uniforms maybe?

Her digression into ancient history ended as the squadron operations officer for VF-142 entered the ready room and called for their attention.

"Good news Gentlemen... and ladies. We have a Mission! "

Even Bobbie was happy to hear that they finally had something to break the monotony of cruising up and down off the Bosnian coast and waiting. For once, the room's aroma was forgotten.

"We know that Serbian forces of the so-called Republic of Serb Krajina are preparing to attack a small Bosnian village near the key town of Brcko, located here on the Sava River. These people are pretty much the loose cannon these days. With the withdrawal of U.S. troops back into their camps, the Krajina Serbs have been attempting to expand their area of influence to the south by taking on Croat and now Bosnian Muslim forces. The good news is that they are not thought - I stress the word thought - to have any antiaircraft weapons beyond the SA-7 shoulder fired missile and some 20mm guns. You should be safe as long as you maintain at least 15,000 feet altitude above ground level. We have been given the mission of "deterring" the Serb attack. We are to do this by flying a photo recon mission over the fighting. No bombs; just pictures. Washington wants us to remind the Serbs that we are watching, but they don't want to hurt anybody! It is possible that the photos will be used to plan a later strike, though just between us I won't count on it. Valkyrie, since you're TARPS qualified, you'll fly the recon pod; Gumby and Goose will fly escort. You are to let them get a good look at you as you do the flyover; remind them that we are still here. Just don't go below 15,000 feet and use lots of flare countermeasures; those shoulder launched SAMS can spoil your whole day! The takeoff time is 1440 local. Brief-back is at 1340 so you'll have two hours to plan. Here is the target folder. Bad news folks. No air-to-ground munitions will be carried on this mission. Air-to-ground now requires the CINC's approval to even load. You get shot at; just grin and bear it. You will have ARM and air-to-air. You still have the ability to use either at first warning of hostile intent by a radar or - we should be so lucky - an aerial target. Any questions... Okay, see you in two hours."

As the three named pilots crowded around the table, Bobbie stood back. Her job was radar-intercept officer, operating the F-14s powerful radar which was used to track other aircraft. But since the various sides in this nasty war lacked the aircraft necessary to challenge the NATO air patrols, she really had nothing to do except tag along in the backseat and watch. Valkyrie would plan the flight, Bobbie decided; she didn't need the help of a "nugget," a rookie on her first cruise.

"Fuck!" Valkyrie exclaimed as she studied the map, "What fuckin staff weenie wrote this? We gotta fly down a valley - under the cloud cover - so we'll be right at or below 15,000... and us with nothing to shoot back with! To take a bunch of pictures nobody will ever look at. This is ridiculous! Look at the approach here. It looks like we have to come in from the west in order to overfly the village."

The village in question had drawn Arkan's attention simply by being located at the foot of a hill which overlooked the town of Brcko, the real prize. Brcko itself was large for this area of Bosnia, approximately 100 mostly stone buildings set along the road and the river which traversed the valley together, as well as strategically located. It had changed hands several times during the war, most recently when it was given back to the Bosnian Muslim side at the American sponsored Dayton "Peace" Accord. With possession of the village and its heights, Arkan's Serbs would be in a position to retake Brcko whenever they wished by merely positioning their rudimentary artillery on the heights. This was the pattern of warfare in the Balkans - hold the high ground, and you hold the town. The populated areas were always in the fertile valleys, and there were always too many hills overlooking the towns to be adequately defended with the scant resources available. The attacking side had only to occupy one of the heights from which they could bring the town under fire from heavy weapons firing over open sights into the dwellings, leaving the defenders the choice of surrender or facing a slow house by house destruction. It was a war fought using the tactics of the 18th century with the cast off weapons of the 20th century. On the heights above Brcko, Arkan was already moving to place his "artillery," a single 85mm antitank gun. That one gun was quite capable of destroying the entire town house by house from its hilltop perch safely out of range of the defenders' small arms. Only a similar gun, which the defenders did not possess, or the intervention of American airpower could save the town once Arkan began the bombardment.

Arkan had chosen this set of heights for his gun because of the weakness of the village which controlled access to it. The 50 or 60 residents of the village had trusted to the peace accords and the now departed American garrison at nearby Brcko for their security. They numbered only a few armed men among the mostly related families living there, ex-soldiers of the Muslim militia who had kept their guns when they returned home. These men had been able to do nothing against the sudden attack of the camouflage uniformed Serbs. Appearing at dawn to surround the village, the Serbs had called for the village's men to surrender, threatening that they would throw grenades into the houses if the men did not comply. Hopelessly outnumbered and frantic to save their families, the men had complied, only to be herded away for eventual execution. Once all possibility of resistance had disappeared, Arkan's Tigers poured into the houses to loot as well as rape whoever was unlucky enough to catch their fancy among the frightened women and children. When they finished, the village would be put to the torch to ensure that no one - however foolhardy - could come back, leaving an empty, burned out shell where a village had stood for hundreds of years. It was not easy work. The Serbian irregulars had prepared themselves for their task in the usual manner - by drinking great quantities of slivovitz, the local plum brandy. Even men such as these - men who were experienced in the savagery of Balkan's warfare - needed to numb the mind and soul before they did their patriotic duty.

A little over two hours later, Bobbie was strapped into the rear seat of Valkyrie's F-14A+ as it moved toward Bosnia at a leisurely 425 knots. Bobbie was always amazed at the age of the Navy's fleet of F-14s; this one had been built the same year she was born, making it 23 years old. With only fuel, a pair of sidewinder air-to-air missiles under its wings, and the bulky TARPS pod with its three cameras under its belly between the twin engines, the plane felt unusually quick and maneuverable under Valkyrie's sensitive touch. Bobbie could tell that Valkyrie was nervous about this flight since she had brought along her Walkman and her lucky Wagner tape and was playing it - thankfully at a low volume - over the intercom. The sound of the tape made Bobbie think of the stories that she had heard of Valkyrie's first month in the squadron. Valkyrie had been the first, and only, woman assigned to the squadron when she arrived a year ago. To say she was unwelcome would be an understatement. The squadron wit took one look at her Germanic name, her blonde hair, and her 6-foot muscular build with D-cup breasts and dubbed her "the Valkyrie." The name stuck since it fitted her "Don't fuck with me, I'm bulletproof" attitude. For a joke, one male flyer got a tape of Wagner's "Ride of the Valkyries" and played it one day when she entered the ready room. She loved it; Valkyrie bought a recording of Wagner's entire 4-hour opera and began playing it constantly, much to the annoyance of her squadron mates. Compared to Bobbie's inability to gain acceptance in the squadron even after two months, it had taken Valkyrie less than a week to make her mark in the unit. One night she appeared in the officers' club to meet her date, a F-14 driver from another squadron. Valkyrie had been wearing her party clothes: a black leather miniskirt, black high heels, black fishnet stockings, and a black blazer with nothing apparently underneath the blazer but her. One of the men from her squadron, who had a little too much to drink, tried to hit on her. When she ignored him, he put his hand on her ass to get her attention. What he got was a hard blow to the chest with her elbow, followed by Valkyrie grabbing him by his gonads. Then she lifted him up on his tiptoes as she said, "You didn't say, may I?" Bobbie knew that Valkyrie lifted weights and could easily believe she could have picked the man up by his privates if she had wanted to. As she held him on his tip toes, she smiled and said, "Ask nice and maybe I'll grant you a wish. What do you wish for, numbnuts?" Bobbie had heard that the male pilot didn't hesitate. "Ughh, I'de like my balls back, please ma'am... Lieutenant... Valkyrie?" he croaked. After that, she had been one of the boys; proof that her philosophy of, "Grab em by the balls and their hearts and minds will follow," did indeed work, at least on aviators. Bobbie figured that all Valkyrie's macho stuff was part of the image which she had chosen for herself; that Valkyrie really bought into the whole female Tom Cruise/Top Gun idea. Bobbie also figured that Valkyrie told her that story because Bobbie had been having trouble being taken seriously by the male pilots. She wished she could be more like Valkyrie. Still, Bobbie simply could not imagine herself doing anything physical like that. She didn't think of herself as a whimp - after all she stood 5'6 with an athletic body from four years of college sports. She had always been proud of her body and firm C-cup breasts. That is, until she joined the Navy and found herself surrounded by 6-foot plus flyers. Now she felt like a Lilliputian, and it was beginning to depress her. Bobbie was not even sure any more that she had what it took to be a Navy flyer. She was cute, not macho. That is not, she knew, a good thing to be in a Navy fighter squadron. When she had reported in two months ago as the second woman in the squadron, the squadron leader had taken one look at her and told Valkyrie to take her under her wing. She had heard him say to Valkyrie that Bobbie reminded him of a deer caught in the headlights of a Mack truck. That was, Bobbie knew, depressingly accurate. Valkyrie had done just as he ask, becoming a mentor, taskmaster, and big sister to Bobbie. She had even managed to stop the other pilots when they tried to hang the callsign "Bambi" on Bobbie. Bobbie found that life under Valkyrie's wing was at least tolerable. A month later to Bobbie's intense discomfort, her life became even more complex. She and Valkyrie became famous to the intense and unconcealed envy of the male flyers. A Newsweek reporter visiting the carrier had written them up as the "beautiful, but deadly duo" in a feature article. Now they were one of the must see features of the ship, trotted out for every visiting media hound and VIP tour that came to the Eisenhower, leaving the male pilots seething. Bobbie hated the whole thing. Valkyrie on the other hand loved the attention. She had a true fighter pilot's ego. Valkyrie even had her set speech which she used on each gap jawed interviewer when they ask the inevitable question about how she felt about combat. Valkyrie would smile and start about how her fangs were just as long as a man's and how she was just as tough. She was the one who did the talking while Bobbie kept quiet, content to bask in the older woman's reflected confidence. Bobbie found that she liked being the sidekick; she liked having someone else take charge of things.

There was just one thing wrong with their relationship. Bobbie was beginning to fall in love with Valkyrie. Bobbie was uncomfortable with this growing attraction; she had never had or wished to have a sexual relationship with a woman. But she could no longer deny her desire for Valkyrie. Being bunked together did not help. Bobbie was constantly and uncomfortably aware of Valkyrie's muscular but feminine body, so close yet impossible to touch. For, as she knew, Valkyrie was aggressively heterosexual. Anything male that was tall, reasonably good-looking, and not assigned to VF-142 was fair game for her trophy collection. One night Bobbie had returned unexpectedly to the quarters they had shared ashore to find Valkyrie having sex with a man. She had been embarrassed but could not look away. From the half open door Bobbie watched Valkyrie's sweaty, muscular, heavy breasted body in action as she sat astride the reclining man. She watched as Valkyrie rode him, her hair flying, grunting and moaning as the man roughly milked her breasts while she fucked him. Valkyrie made love with the same intensity that she threw into her flying. She watched the two fuck, oblivious to their surroundings, until the man appeared to orgasm. Although Bobbie knew that Valkyrie must have had at least one orgasm as she watched, she saw that her pilot was still unsatisfied. As she watched in amazement, Valkyrie moved forward to mount the man's face with her cum-soaked pussy. Despite the man's muffled protests, Valkyrie covered his face with her dripping pussy and begun riding it as she yelled at him to "finish it." At that point, Bobbie closed the door and withdrew, her knees weak with desire. Since then, the image of Valkyrie's sweaty body had haunted her awake and asleep, though in her mind's eye it was her face that Bobbie saw buried in Valkyrie's pussy, not the man's. That image always made her pussy dripping wet, just as it was doing now.

"Bobbie? can you hear me?"

The intercom brought Bobbie back from her thoughts abruptly, "Roger, sorry, Val. What is it?"

"We're approaching the target. Beginning descent. Get ready to start flare countermeasures; lets give em a real show."

In the valley below, Arkan was growing nervous. He did not fear American or NATO retaliation for his attack on the tiny village. Rather, he was afraid that the American airplanes would not come. The purpose of this attack was not just to lay the groundwork for an offensive to capture Brcko and the surrounding land but to burn the Americans' meddling fingers. The attack was the lure to attract their planes. By destroying one or more planes, the Serb leadership hoped to make the Americans and thus all of NATO reluctant to act later in the summer when the Serbs began a major offensive aimed at retaking the land they lost in 1995. To that end, Arkan's patron in Belgrade had arranged a surprise for the American flyers. He had purchased a battery of four SA-8B, Gecko surface to air missile launchers and the mercenaries to operate them from a corrupt general of the imploding Russian military. Unlike the older, larger SA-6 missiles which the Serbs had used to shot down an American F-16 in June of 1995, these launchers had the capability to track their targets optically, thus eliminating the tell-tale radar transmissions which had identified the firing location, and thus which the side did the firing. Since the SA-6 had never been fielded by the Army of Yugoslavia, its use would be a complete surprise; with no radar transmissions to detect, the Americans would be hard put to identify what had happened to their plane and, more importantly, who was to blame. Having the ability to reach up to 18,000 feet and a speed of mach 2, these missiles would be able to reach the hither-to-for invulnerable American planes. With two of the boat shaped launcher vehicles at each end of the valley, Arkan had been assured by the Russian operators that they would be able to hit any plane which came below the winter cloud cover.

As Arkan tilted back his head to take a drink of slivovitz, a series of lights in the sky caught his eye. Flares, he thought; the Americans are finally here. He watched as the tiny plane, black against the gray of the clouds, moved down the valley towards him, dropping flares every few seconds to decoy heat seeking missiles. He cursed, thinking that if the missiles were not fired soon, the Americans would escape. To his relief, he saw two streaks of flame appear behind and below the plane; the missiles were on their way. By the time the plane was overhead, the missiles had closed the gap. One veered to the right, decoyed by the flares at the last minute; the other flew straight into the plane, detonating as it seemed to touch the tail. A bright ball of red, and then Arkan could see pieces flying off the stricken plane. As the nose wavered, he could see another, dimmer flash as two tiny forms rocketed out of the plane before it began it final short journey down.

"Alert the hunting teams" He ordered the man next to him, "I want those pilots."

The missile's explosion came as a complete surprise to Valkyrie. She had no warning alarm from her radar warning receiver nor had she seen the missiles' smoke since they approached her plane from below and behind. It took only a micro-second for her to realize that the F-14 was doomed and that she and Bobbie would share its fate unless they ejected immediately. Without hesitation, she jerked the yellow, shovel handle shaped ejection handle, sending both of them into the empty sky above. As the explosive device jolted her upward, she prayed, "Oh God... Oh God... OHHHH SHIIIIT!"

Due to her low altitude, the separation of the ejection seat and the opening of her parachute occurred almost as soon as she had cleared the aircraft. Things were happening so fast that she had no time to think. She lost sight of Bobbie as she concentrated on the side of the hill which was fast approaching. As she prepared herself for the shock of landing, she saw an unwelcome sight. A small truck was approaching the edge of the field she was headed for. Valkyrie could see the soldiers leaning out of the back pointing at her. Stories of what had happened to that female Air Force pilot who had been captured by the Iraqis during the Gulf War came unbidden to her mind. Valkyrie swore that was not going to happen to her. She would not be captured and raped.

Valkyrie hit hard but immediately gained her feet and began shucking her parachute harness. She saw that the truck had been stopped by the stone wall at the edge of the field, but that the men inside, ten at least, had dismounted and were running across the field toward her. The nearest was only about fifty feet away with the others spreading out in a line behind him. Valkyrie knelt and brought her 9mm Beretta pistol up from its holster. Holding it in both hands, she fired eight rapid shots into the approaching men. Without waiting to see the results, she turned and ran toward the tree line a dozen feet away, abandoning the chute and, more importantly, its attached survival rucksack with twenty odd pounds of food, water, and survival equipment.

Valkyrie crashed through the first few feet of the tree line, then found a tiny game path running at an angle. She took it, running as hard as she could to put some distance between her and her pursuers. There was still a light coat of snow on the ground, just enough to leave footprints. Though she saw this, Valkyrie had no choice but to ignore the trail she was leaving; there was no time for subtlety now. She had to put some distance between her and the Serbs. As she ran, Valkyrie counted. When she reached a hundred, she slowed and stepped off the trail, burrowing under the thick branches of some sort of evergreen until she thought she was hidden from view. As she caught her breath, she checked what equipment she had left; she found she had a pistol, half empty, and the contents of her survival vest: a short range radio, a hand-held GPS, a med kit, six small flares, a tourniquet - she hoped she won't need that! - and her blood chit, a piece of cloth carrying a promise in Serbo-Croatian to pay fifteen hundred dollars in gold to anyone returning the attached pilot to US control. Briefly, Valkyrie tried the radio, broadcasting: "Any station, Chevy five-one," repeatedly without receiving any response. Though she knew that the radio was line of sight and as such vulnerable to disruption by the surrounding hills, the lack of response left her with a tremendous sense of being alone. As the first burst of adrenaline subsided, Valkyrie felt herself slipping into a feeling of fatigue and the desire to rest which she knew was a luxury she could not afford. She forced herself up and began moving again, this time avoiding the paths. She moved painfully slow, taking care to avoid making any noise by moving one foot at a time from bare spot to bare spot as she listened for the sounds of men coming after her. She had to get to higher ground where she could make contact with her radio.

By the time the Sergeant had returned from the tree line, the rest of the squad had gathered around the body of the man Valkyrie had killed. The shared experiences of the years spent together had effected even these, the least sentimental of men. There was a cold anger in their faces as they looked at the still body. Their Sergeant, a policeman in better days, welcomed it. Having hunted men before, he knew the difficulties which lay ahead; their anger would be useful if they were to find this American killer.

"Get the flashlights from the truck. We've got a long night ahead of us."

Bobbie had been blown clear of the aircraft along with Valkyrie, but the peculiarities of the wind had forced her away from Valkyrie and into the valley. As she descended, Bobbie could see men on a knoll about half a mile to her right but there was no sign of Valkyrie. Ahead she saw a weed covered field, her landing area. The field was , fortunately, empty when she landed, allowing her to roll up and hide her chute and then take shelter among the bushes in a small stream beside the field. She was very frightened; to her disgust Bobbie realized that she had pissed in her pants during the ejection. Now they began to bind underneath her flight suit, a constant reminder of her fear. Bobbie felt as though she were living a bad dream. She could not believe that this was real. Without Valkyrie, she felt lost and hopeless! Suddenly, she heard the sound of men approaching from upstream. Briefly, Bobbie considered fighting, but rejected the idea almost immediately. What effect, she reasoned, could my pistol have against men armed with assault rifles? Resigning herself to surrender, Bobbie felt a surge of hope when the men came into sight. They were in civilian clothes, and they did not look like any of the pictures of Serbs she had ever seen. They were slight, dark skinned and heavily bearded - almost middle eastern in appearance. She didn't even care who they were, so long as they weren't Serbs. Holding both hands above her head, she stepped up to the field and called to them as she waved her blood chit over her head.

"Help! I'm an American flyer. Can you help me?"

The first man jumped as she appeared and leveled his weapon at her but did not fire. In a moment there were three men clustered around her with others hiding in the brush to cover them. Bobbie could not understand either the rapid fire sentences they exchanged with each other or the slow, halting words in a different language which one of them addressed to her. The men had examined her chit but, to Bobbie's confusion, obviously could not read it She took off her helmet to reveal her short - but clearly feminine - brunette hair, pointed to herself, and repeatedly said with a smile, "American."

This produced an immediate response, though not the one she had hoped for. The man who had been trying to speak to her thrust his weapon into her face as he screamed orders to the others. In a moment, she had her pistol taken from its holster and her hands were tied behind her back. When that was done, the man who had been holding his weapon on her stepped closer and grabbed her by the hair.

"Great Satan," he spat, as he slapped her across the face with the flat of his hand. Then, apparently having exhausted his English, he unloosed a torrent of foreign words of which Bobbie understood only three: "Allah Ahkbar" - the Muslim affirmation that God is Great; and, "Infidel!"

Oh shit, thought Bobbie, Mujahideen. She knew that there were fundamentalist Islamic volunteers from Iran and even Afghanistan fighting with the Bosnian side, and that their numbers had grown with the breakdown of the peace accords. She also knew that they were rabidly anti-American. But she had never expected to meet one!

"Please, we're on the same side. We're both fighting the Serbs," Bobbie argued weakly, bringing her another powerful slap. She could only watch as three of the men argued heatedly, presumably about her. She could see that two of them were looking at her hungrily, eyeing her breasts which the rope bindings were forcing forward invitingly if involuntarily. She felt very exposed and helpless now; fearful that these men were going to rape her. The fear began to grow inside her, an icy ball in the pit of her stomach. "Please, please no," she begged as one of the men began to stroke her face and hair. As he stroked her, the third man spat into the dirt and walked away from the other two. He gathered the bulk of the waiting men and rapidly left. She was, Bobbie realized, on her own.

The two men were joined by three more men who had stayed when the others left. The men half carried her to the edge of the field where a single large tree stood. As Bobbie cried and begged them not to hurt her, the men laughed among themselves. When they reached the tree, the men forced her down onto the ground and held her down as they untied her and began stripping her. They stripped her of the survival vest without difficulty but found the rubberized G-suit to be a problem. Two of them brought out their oddly curved knives and slashed it free while two other men held the screaming Bobbie down. Her flight suit was simpler; they unzipped it and pulled it off, leaving the struggling young brunette in her boots and long underwear.

"NO! LEAVE ME ALONE! ARRHHH... NO!"

The knives came back out as a terrorized Bobbie watched, fearful that they were going to cut her as well as the underwear. In a moment, she was nude