Chapter 6
Officer Jane Harkin, chief overseer of Dormitory Tent D, stalked slowly along
the aisle between the two rows of sleeping conscripts. She prided herself on her
vigilance during these nocturnal inspections; most nights she managed to send
more men to the punishment cages for talking or masturbating than any of the
other overseers. Lately the lads had been growing restless, testing the limits a
little, but they had also become more furtive and cunning. Perhaps she could
persuade the major to take away those damn blankets and make them sleep
handcuffed with nothing at all to cover their naked bodies. Then they really
wouldn't be able to get away with anything. Jane didn't have much use for men in
any context, but she did find a certain bitter enjoyment in making their lives
as miserable as possible.
She smiled to herself as she spied her second victim of the night. The telltale
signs of illicit wanking were only too obvious - the heavy breathing, the hand
moving stealthily under the bedding about halfway down the cot. It was as though
the silly idiot wasn't even trying to conceal what he was doing. She noted
without particular interest that the name tag on his cot identified him as Carl
Jacobs, conscript #BI05284. Well, the night was about to get very uncomfortable
for the unfortunate Mr. Jacobs. She seized a corner of his blanket, threw it
back in one practiced motion, and leered down at him unpleasantly.
"Sorry, conscript, but I'm not blind and deaf," she sneered, slapping his hands
away from his groin. "On your feet! We'll see how you like - aagh!" A strong arm
wrapped itself around her neck from behind, and she felt her right wrist seized
and jerked behind her before she could pull her tranquiliser pistol from its
holster. She thrust backward with her left elbow, but it was like hitting an oak
plank and the arm around her neck tightened alarmingly until she forced herself
to relax and stop struggling. There was a female cry of alarm from somewhere off
to her right, but she couldn't take her eyes off the triumphantly grinning
conscript Jacobs as he rose slowly to his feet and slapped her hard across the
face.
"Maybe you're blind and deaf after all, bitch," he sneered. "Nice work, Tom.
Toss her on my cot and put the cuffs on her. And I'll take this." She watched in
helpless fury as he took her gun and spare ammunition clip. The big musclebound
brute who had subdued her now forced her down onto Jacobs' cot, and another
naked man came forward to lean over her and lock her wrists in her own
handcuffs. She fought down the urge to lunge with her teeth at the long penis
that dangled so invitingly close to her face. Tom's heavy hand thrust itself
down the front of her uniform top, but at a sharp word from Jacobs he hastily
withdrew it.
"None of that," said Jacobs urgently. "Remember the plan. After we get out of
here, we're going to have to argue that we were driven to it by the inhumane
discipline and all that stuff and were only protecting our human dignity. We'll
seem a lot less sympathetic if the bitches can prove that we beat them up and
raped them in the process - although I'd like to, so don't give me any excuses,
you hear? Not you though, you ugly moustached cunt. Maybe that Horton bitch."
Jane clenched her handcuffed fists until the fingernails dug painfully into her
palms. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the three other dormitory
officers assigned to the tent, all handcuffed and one with a nasty bruise on her
face, being led forward and unceremoniously pushed down on the adjacent cots.
Mary Ola, that high-strung black girl, was actually in tears.
"You boys had better release us and surrender right now," Jane said through
clenched teeth. "You can't imagine how bad it's going to be if they have to
subdue you by force."
"Nobody's going to subdue us," said Jacobs impatiently. "And if you say one more
word, I'll gag you with your own filthy panties." He turned back to the other
men. "Everyone all right?"
"They shot Noel, but he's breathing."
"And that black cunt kicked me in the balls!"
"In other words, no problem. And we've got all of them." Jacobs smiled in savage
glee. "Okay, stick to the plan. Seth, John, Neil, and Tom - since Noel's down -
take the guns and start liberating the other tents. When you've done all seven,
set off that damn wake-up alarm they use every morning. That'll be the signal to
rush the central buildings. Then we can see about getting more weapons and
taking control of this fucking hell-hole."
"And what're you going to do, Carl?" asked the burly one called Neil
truculently. "While we're doing all the fucking work?"
Jacobs glared at him. "If you're too much of a coward, I'll go instead. Give me
that gun and we're off. Remember, if you see an officer, just shoot her right
away. Can't take a chance on her raising the alarm."
Jane couldn't do anything. She was handcuffed, weaponless, and surrounded by
angry young men. She glared daggers at Jacobs' smooth bare back as he moved off
with the other three members of his little liberation squadron.
"Bloody General Carl," growled Neil the moment Jacobs was out of earshot. "Who
wants to take over this place anyway? I say we make a run for it before alarms
start ringing."
"And do what?" said another man anxiously. "The gates are locked, and we can't
climb the fences."
"I don't know!" Neil folded his arms across his bare, rather hairy chest. "Grab
the supply lorries, maybe, and drive right through them. Why the hell not?"
"It wouldn't work. The fences are too strong -"
"- and we don't have keys for the lorries," someone else put in.
"On my belt," said Mary in a low, beaten voice. Neil whirled on her.
"What was that, cunt? Speak up!"
"We all have keyrings," Mary said more clearly, "with three keys. One for
handcuffs, one for our quarters, and another - the black plastic one - for the
lorries." She turned to Jane miserably, her face still streaked with tears. "I'm
sorry, ma'am, but I just want them out of here before they decide to start
hurting us."
Jane looked back in utter confusion. "But - oh." She shut her mouth abruptly.
Meanwhile Neil had found the keys on Jane's belt, and was waving them at the
other conscripts like a banner of war.
"Okay! Thanks, bitch. We've got four sets of these, so we'll take four lorries."
There were uncertain murmurs from the other men.
"He's right!" someone yelled. "We've got to get out of here. Units 31 to 33 in
one lorry, 34 to 36 in another, and 37 with 38 and 39 with 40. There's lots of
room in those things."
"Not enough!"
"This is fucking crazy!"
"I don't care," said Neil angrily. "I'm going. Anyone else?" Everyone seemed to
want to talk at once; with any luck one of the officers outside would overhear
the stupid bastards and nip the whole thing in the bud. But within moments Neil
and maybe a third of the other conscripts had stormed off with their four sets
of keys, leaving the rest of the men to mill around and argue inside the tent.
She heard Neil outside yelling "This is it! Run! Run!" and then the screeching
of alarms and the sudden barking of dogs. The fight was on.
Mary smiled coldly. "I've got a spare handcuff key in my pocket," she announced
in a much more confident voice than she had used previously. "You'd better use
it to let us go, boys, and then get your pathetic little arses back in bed. Your
glorious revolution is over."
"What do you mean?" asked one of the men nervously.
"Well, with the alarms going already, your friend Carl doesn't have a prayer. He
can't have done more than two or three tents yet, and if the lads in them are as
gutless as you lot then he won't have more than maybe five hundred naked,
unarmed men. Pretty useless against about the same number of officers with
tranquilisers, German shepherds and tear gas canisters, don't you think?"
"You arrogant bitch," said someone angrily. "Just wait till Neil and them get
out of here and tell the world about this place."
"Oh, the world knows," sneered Mary. "It's been on the BBC, the internet,
everywhere. People love what we're doing to you. Older men want you to pick up
some discipline, and women just hope you'll learn to show them a little respect.
And as for Neil, he won't be going anywhere. Those keys aren't for the lorries,
they're for the supply buildings." She laughed at their shocked faces. "Just
remember, lads - when you're fighting a war, don't trust information the enemy
offers you on a silver platter. It could get you into real trouble." Her smile
became positively ominous.
One of the men ran outside, waving his arms and shouting "Neil! Hey, Neil!" But
it was already too late.
* * *
Neil had expected the alarms, and the scattered shooting from the perimeter
towers, and the pursuit by the two dozen or so women who'd been out patrolling
the camp. He saw a few men go down almost immediately - damn it, they were good
with those guns - but it didn't particularly worry him. There just weren't
enough officers out there to make more than a small dent in their ranks, and
he'd made sure that he and the other three "designated drivers" were near the
middle of the pack. The supply lorries were parked where they always were, in a
neat row awaiting their next trip into town. He headed for the second-nearest,
as had been arranged, and thrust his key triumphantly into the lock at the back
so his passengers could pile in. When it didn't fit he felt the first stirrings
of panic.
He tried the other keys on the ring, without success. From the look of things,
similar problems were occurring at the other three getaway vehicles. And now he
could see a wave of officers heading toward them from the central buildings.
There was some sort of commotion off on the far side of the camp - maybe that
arrogant bastard Carl was having better luck than he was - but the women moving
in their direction seemed calm and unhurried as they advanced with weapons at
the ready.
"Stop shooting!" an electronically distorted and greatly amplified voice
exclaimed suddenly. "Boys, I don't know what you think you're doing, but there
will be severe consequences if you do not move away from the lorries
immediately. Approach us slowly with your hands on your heads." The men
exchanged tense glances, but nobody moved. Neil was doing his best to think
fast. Even if they surrendered now, they'd get beaten within an inch of their
lives. Maybe it was better to risk everything and just charge the bitches...
"I'm waiting, boys. If you really want to experience tear gas, just ignore my
instructions for another ten seconds or so. Your position is completely
hopeless."
"What are you going to do to us?" someone called nervously.
"Eight seconds!"
Neil realised most of the others were looking at him as though expecting some
sort of signal. He took a deep breath, thought for a moment about what a lungful
of tear gas might feel like, and then reluctantly put his hands on top of his
head and began to walk forward with slow, hesitant steps. He suddenly felt very
naked, very vulnerable in the glare of the harsh spotlights they'd turned on the
clustered men. There a few sighs of relief as the other men hurried to follow
him toward the dark, menacing silhouettes of the officers.
"That's far enough," called the woman with the loudspeaker. "Get down on your
bellies and wait to be restrained." This time, with all that firepower arrayed
against them at point-blank range, there was no hesitation. The men dropped to
their knees almost in unison and proceeded to stretch themselves out on the cold
ground. A couple of minutes later Neil felt strong hands snap handcuffs around
his wrists and hobble his ankles with a longer chain. The officer subjected him
to a quick, rough search, spreading his buttocks and forcing open his mouth,
then plucked the keys from his hand and moved on to the next conscript. He saw
the leather boots of the officers moving back and forth across his field of
vision, heard the occasional crack of a strap if a man spoke or tried to
struggle. But for the most part, they seemed to have been terrified into abject
submission. When finally allowed to get to his knees, Neil saw the limp bodies
of tranquilised men being hauled over to join them, and what seemed to be
hundreds of others being herded from other parts of the camp. They were already
in chains, and many were coughing, weeping and stumbling like drunkards as the
officers guided them with firm hands and merciless blows of the strap. Carl was
near the front, a tough looking woman holding his arm and driving him along with
hard slaps to his buttocks.
Soon they were all kneeling together, naked, helpless and cowering in terror.
Subdued and defeated. The woman with the loudspeaker stepped forward, and Neil
wasn't surprised to see that it was Major Judith Stevens herself, commander of
Camp Thatcher. She was wearing her uniform jacket over a white nightgown, and
carrying a tranquiliser gun in her left hand. And her finely sculpted,
aristocratic face was full of cold anger. Officer Harkin, the nasty bitch with
the moustache from the dormitory tent, was at her side.
"I would not have imagined," Major Stevens announced flatly, "that so many of
you would show such flagrant disrespect for our authority. This demands severe
punishment, and all of you can count on being held here well beyond the ordinary
training period. We will come down particularly hard, of course, on the
ringleaders of this little escapade. Officer Harkin, I assume you can identify
them?"
"Yes, ma'am," she said vindictively. "I'd say that this conscript - Carl Jacobs
here, from unit 34 - instigated the whole thing. He was giving all the orders,
at least at first."
"Carl Jacobs," mused Stevens. "Another troublemaker from 34. I shall have to
speak to their sergeant. All right, someone bring him up here."
Neil watched in horrified fascination as Carl was hauled, still coughing, to his
feet and dragged forward to kneel in front of the two officers.
"Do you have anything to say for yourself?" demanded Stevens coldly.
"Please, ma'am, we were driven to it," blubbered Carl. It seemed the tear gas
had taken the fight right out of him. "We just couldn't stand the hard work any
more, and all the punishments. It's nothing to do with you, ma'am - I know
you're just doing your job. But this system isn't working. It's torture! Every
bloody minute of it!"
"Nonsense. All over Britain young men are going through exactly the same thing
you're going through, and they aren't disobeying orders. They aren't attacking
their own officers and trying to run away from their training camps. The
problem, Conscript Jacobs, isn't the system. It's you, and I find your behaviour
absolutely sickening. Harkin, you may strap him as much as you think
appropriate."
Harkin smiled viciously and unclipped the punishment strap from her belt. Carl
squealed in panic and tried to crawl away - it was pathetic, really - but the
two officers who'd brought him forward grabbed him and held him in place, face
down and vulnerable. Harkin stepped forward and hit him across the buttocks with
her full strength. Neil knew from experience that she wasn't one of the stronger
officers, but he still winced as blow after blow descended across Carl's
defenseless posterior with deadly accuracy and blistering speed. Carl started to
scream and sob almost immediately, but by the time the beating was over he was
twitching feebly in the grip of his captors and making only small whimpering
noises. Neil wasn't sure in the cold glare of the spotlights, but he thought he
could see blood welling up in a few places. At the Major's gesture Carl was
dragged to his knees again.
"Don't think your punishment is over," she said sternly. "Have you ever heard of
Camp Bathori?"
"No, ma'am."
"It's the only one of our camps that isn't named after an Englishwoman -
frankly, no one could think of one with a sufficient reputation for viciousness.
Camp Bathori is where seemingly incorrigible conscripts are sent to be punished.
If you think this place is torture, you're going to love Camp Bathori, Conscript
Jacobs. Here we try to get you into shape, instill a little discipline and
respect for authority - nothing so drastic, really. Apart from the corporal
punishment and the nudity, it isn't all that much worse than military boot
camps. Camp Bathori, on the other hand, is designed to be a living hell. If you
stop wanting to die for just one minute, the ladies will worry that they're not
doing their jobs properly. You'll be spending a week there as soon as it can be
arranged, which I expect will take a few days. Paperwork and so on. Afterwards
you'll be sent directly to your first work assignment, which I'm sure will be
something delightful like hauling manure on a pig farm. You've fucked up,
Conscript Jacobs, and you're going to be regretting it for a very long time."
She turned back to her officers. "All right, we'll all be able to go back to bed
shortly. Put Jacobs in a cell, and the rest of them in the cages - no, hang it,
there aren't enough. Just handcuff them standing to the outer fence for the rest
of the night. Give them each a dozen lashes, and hose them down with cold water
so they don't get too comfortable. Another dozen in the morning, and then they
can go back to their units. Just make sure you take all their names and numbers
first. And someone find the sergeant of unit 34 - an Officer Hallee, I believe
it is - and tell her I want to see her at once."
Major Stevens gathered her jacket around her and strode off toward the central
buildings without another word. Neil shivered as he was jerked roughly to his
feet and shoved toward the outer fence, from the thought of the strapping and
the long hours of discomfort ahead as much as from the chill night air. As he
moved toward the fence he saw that there was a small cluster of people standing
just outside the camp, a couple of them holding videocameras. He wondered how
much they'd seen. One of the women in the group had her hand down the front of
her pants and began madly jerking away without the least attempt at concealment
as she watched the naked conscripts being shackled to the fence and mercilessly
flogged by their officers.
* * *
Sergeant Hallee feared the worst. She already knew that her unit had been the
epicentre of that insane attempt at rebellion, and when she entered Major
Stevens' small office she found her superior looking grim, tired and exasperated
all at once. Hallee started a formal salute, but dropped it at the Major's
impatient scowl and hastily took a seat. No, this didn't look good.
"You wanted to see me, ma'am?" she asked deferentially.
"Yes. Officer Hallee - Biyana, isn't it? - I'm sure you'll understand that I'm a
bit concerned by the recurring discipline problems in your unit. First it was
that unpleasant business with Conscript Tipper, and now this. To be perfectly
honest, I can't help wondering if you're running a tight enough ship."
Hallee had been expecting something like this, but it still hurt to hear it said
aloud. "I really don't think that's the case, ma'am," she protested. "I'll admit
Tipper has been a handful at times, but most of the men have been remarkably
well behaved up till now. When they do step out of line, I always make sure they
regret it. Some of my officers have even wondered aloud if I'm being too strict
with the lads."
"And yet the fact remains that the most serious breach of discipline we've had
to date was centered in your unit."
"But others were certainly involved, ma'am. And there have been similar
rebellions, or whatever you want to call them, elsewhere. Didn't they actually
break out at one of the Scottish camps?"
"Yes, they did. Briefly." Major Stevens sighed. "What really worries me is the
fact that you apparently had no idea the rebellion was about to take place."
"I'd heard them whispering once or twice about wanting to break out, but that's
hardly surprising under the circumstances. I didn't hear any actual planning,
though, and if any of my officers did then I wasn't informed."
"I see you're already learning to pin things on your subordinates," she said
with an ironic smile. "All right, Biyana, I'm prepared to accept for the present
that it's only bad luck that these difficulties have cropped up among your men.
But if there's another major breach of discipline I'll have no alternative but
to replace you. Clear?"
"Yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am. There won't be any more trouble, I promise."
"Glad to hear it. I trust you don't have any problem with my decision to send
Jacobs to punishment camp? I need your co-signature on the papers."
"No, ma'am. I think he deserves it."
"Good. I'm contemplating doing the same with Tipper. I know he had a rough time
with the interrogator, but withholding important information is a serious
offence in itself. And he's been a handful, as you put it, all along, hasn't he?
He needs to be put in his place."
"He's been better lately, at least until last night. I really recommend keeping
him here, ma'am. I can discipline him appropriately myself."
"Do I detect a certain protectiveness here?" asked the Major skeptically. "I
understand that you have a son just a couple of years younger than our men."
"It's not that, ma'am, it really isn't. Tipper's one of my conscripts. I've
worked him, learned a fair bit about him, made him cry with pain and humiliation
once in a while. I'll admit that I do feel responsible for him."
"An understandable attitude, I suppose, if not exactly detached and
professional." She sighed. "I'm prepared to accept your judgment, but only if
you promise to be exceptionally firm with Conscript Tipper. Discipline him for
holding back about his friend, and I expect you to test his obedience strictly
over the rest of the training period. If there's the least hint of further
insubordination, we'll have to pack him off to Camp Bathori."
For the first time since entering the Major's office Hallee smiled. "Don't
worry, ma'am. I've planned a little graduation ceremony for the lads, and I have
a special role in mind for Tipper. If he can get through it without going
berserk, I think we can rest assured that we've made him into a model
conscript."
"Sounds good, Biyana. You can pick him up from the cells right away - I'll phone
down and tell them you're authorised. Good night, Sergeant."
Well, that hadn't been so bad. Somewhat relieved, but mildly furious with Tipper
and Jacobs for getting her into this mess in the first place, she stalked into
the confinement building, showed her ID to the woman on duty and went straight
to Tipper's cell. He was lying asleep on the bare mattress they'd given him, an
untroubled expression on his pale, handsome face. His physical condition hadn't
exactly been impressive when he'd first arrived at Camp Thatcher, but two weeks
of training had had their effect and his body had become lean, supple and
smoothly muscled, just the way Hallee liked her men. His thick penis was lying
half-erect in its nest of dark brown hair, and she couldn't help wondering what
her lustful little prisoner might be dreaming about. Probably not 47-year-old
Bangladeshi women, but that hardly mattered. She was looking forward to the
graduation ceremony.
"On your feet, Tipper!" she bellowed. He stirred and blinked into wakefulness.
"Wha..."
"Get up! Now! Get over here and give me your wrists." She reached through the
bars to cuff him and then pulled the cell door open.
"Your vacation's over, Tipper," she snapped as she took his arm and dragged him
out of the cell. "Time for your punishment."
"Punishment?" he asked in confusion. The poor man was still half asleep. "But
I've been locked up all day. What could I have done in there, with the guards
watching me?"
"It wasn't what you did today, stupid. You should have told us about your friend
right away. Instead you put us to the trouble of locking you up and having you
interrogated. The Major is not amused."
"Please, ma'am, didn't the interrogator do enough to me?"
"That wasn't punishment. It was just incidental." Now they were outside the
prison building, back in the cold early November night. She was fine in her
uniform, but her naked charge started shivering almost at once. "You're going to
spend the rest of the night in the cages, Tipper," she spat in her most
intimidating voice. "And over the next few days I'll have plenty of extra work
for you." She unclipped her strap and cracked it casually against his arse. "Off
to the cages! Move!" She ran behind him and lashed him mercilessly all the way,
so that he was squealing and crying by the time she got him packed into a cage
with a final few swats. That slender body of his looked even better when it was
trembling and reddened with a few good welts. Maybe Major Stevens was right -
the lads were just a little older than her own boy at home, and sometimes she
couldn't help thinking of herself as their guardian and protector as well as
their tormentor. But that didn't mean it wasn't fun to make them squeal.
