This is wholly a work of fiction. Any similarities to situations real are totally unintentional. This is not a political or religious position piece--the religions and races of the characters were chosen solely because they suited my purposes. Ultimately, any race, any religion could have been used--war lends itself to atrocities regardless of race or religion. Please take this story for what it is--a story. Nothing more.
Burden of Command Major Michael Robson groans low, his eyes squinting in the dark cell. He lies still, considering, unsure of his condition. He's hurt, he knows that. How badly is the question. He struggles to sit up, is overcome by a sudden wave of nausea, pain exploding behind his eyes. Moaning, he sinks back to the filthy floor, breathes deep, tries to keep from vomiting. After a few moments, he tries again, manages to get himself half-upright, his shoulder leaning heavily into the rough stone wall. He wipes his face with a shaking hand, wincing as his palm drags across his wounded head, pushing bloody black hair away from the gash. An animal-like scream brings his head about, he pushes shakily away from the wall, stares into the dark toward the tortured sound. "They have her, sir." A voice from the dark, hoarse, flat. "They've been at her all night." Lieutenant Joshua Burnside peers into the darkness, barely able to make out his commander's form. He's been awake for hours, head throbbing, ribs sending sharp pains with every breath. He hadn't even known Meg-Captain Meghan Walsh-had survived the disastrous mission until he'd heard her scream. She'd been screaming ever since, Josh shouting, banging on the stone walls, roaring in frustration as her cries, the responding raucous shouts, echoed in the dark. "Lieutenant?" Major Robson's deep voice is thick, pained, "Josh?" "Yes sir." "You're sure it's her?" "Yes sir-she screamed for us." Josh pauses, takes a shuddering breath, running a trembling hand through his mussed blond hair, "She hasn't screamed anything understandable for a while now." "They can't do this!" Michael's voice cracks, "The UN, there's the Geneva Convention-" "With all due respect, sir," Josh's voice is emotionless, "I don't think the Geneva Convention ever made it this far east." Captain Walsh-Meghan-gasps, her eyes showing white as a spike is driven through her hand, into the rough wood of the table. Two men hold her arm still, a third stands behind her, supporting her, his crotch grinding obscenely against her bare, lash-scored ass. Her torturers wait impatiently, talking among themselves in a language she doesn't understand as her vision slowly clears. She has no idea how long it's been since their truck careened from the road under heavy fire, was left upended and smoking in the dry wash. She pulls in a raw, hitching breath, remembers the cruel way their captors dragged the Major's prone form from the cab. She prays he's alive. If anyone can get them out of this, it's the Major. She hurts-worse than she ever imagined possible. Her other hand is yanked forward, fingers splayed on the table in preparation for another spike. She squeezes her eyes shut, wishes for the rapes to resume. Those, at least, were bearable--she could grit her teeth, close her eyes, and think of something, anything else. She throws her head back, screams shrilly as the hammer falls, the spike grinds through her hand, trapping her bent over the high table. She begins to sob weakly, the pain from her hands overwhelming-why haven't they asked her any questions about the mission? The door bangs open, the light blinding Michael and Josh. Rough hands jostle them, twist them around, bind their hands securely behind them. As per the Major's command, Josh puts up no struggle, though if he had his way, he'd be drawing as much blood as possible. They stagger, stumbling as they are propelled down a cluttered hallway, floor strewn with old papers and broken glass. Yanking open a heavy door at the end of the hall, their captors shove them in roughly, slam them to their knees. Josh roars with rage, struggles to rise at the sight before them. Meghan is naked, her hands nailed to the table, legs trembling as she stands on the balls of her feet to keep from tearing metal through flesh. A dark, sweaty man stands behind her, his hands digging into her soft hips as he slams mercilessly into her sore pussy. Meghan grunts with each punishing stroke, her green eyes wide, glassy, chestnut curls matted, plastered to her bruised face. "You like?" An obscenely smiling face leans in close, "She is Jew, you know." Josh shouts, spits angrily at the leering face. Calmly, the man reaches down, jabs a fist into Josh's ribs, nodding in approval as Josh gasps, doubles over. Michael groans inwardly, blinks his grey eyes hard. He has a responsibility-a duty to keep those under his command safe from harm if at all possible. This was every commander's worst nightmare, and any action he took, any words he spoke, could have terrible consequences for the remaining members of his team. "Lieutenant," Michael's whispered voice is calm, soft, "stand down." Josh turns his head sharply, blue eyes staring, disbelieving. "Sir . . .?" "Stand down, lad-nothing you do is going to make this better for her, nothing you say is going to do anything but inflame them. We need to be alive to get out-don't give them more reason to kill us than they already have." "La, la, la!" Another of their captors leaps forward, fist slamming into Michael's bloodied forehead. Michael sways on his knees, breath sucking in sharply between his teeth. "No talking, NO talking!" Josh growls low, but says nothing, makes no move, his eyes on his commander, concerned. Raising his head slowly, Michael's eyes are flat, expression calm. "I am their commanding officer." His tone is surprisingly strong, compelling. "Whatever questions you have, whatever punishment you feel you must mete out, look to me." This elicits a spate of chatter, the few who speak English translating for those who do not. The man raping Meghan gives a shout, grinds his cock deep, filling her raw pussy with his foul spunk. Meghan moans, her eyes red, puffy. Turning to Michael, the man laughs, speaks low and fast. Michael shakes his head-his understanding of Arabic is rudimentary under the best of circumstances. "He says you are the commander of nothing," a well dressed man steps from the shadowy corner, "he says that the English are the whores of America, just as America is the whore of Israel." He squats before Michael, smiles affably. "He asks why we should listen to the words of a whore's whore." "Growing up with his mother, he'd know all about whores--Khus uhm-buck!" Josh spits, eyes burning with rage. This inspires a swell of angry voices, the man behind Meghan pulls out, grabs the rifle he's propped up next to the table. He turns menacingly toward Josh, his face a mask of rage. The well dressed man crouching before Michael turns, holds a hand up, staying him. "Your survival may depend upon your attitude," he nods at Josh, "speak of his mother again and I may not be able to protect you." He tilts his head toward Meg, " You love this Jew woman?" He eyes Josh carefully, his tone friendly, eyes unreadable. "Even though you are married to another?" "She's not a Jew." Josh glares, trembling with rage. "Of course she is a Jew-her name is Jewish, is it not?" "No!" Josh shakes his head hard, "It's-it's Irish, for Christ's sake! She's not Jewish, she's Catholic!" The well-dressed Arab turns to the others, talks. Turning back, he clucks, shakes his head. "They say she moans and screams like a Jew-whore when they fuck her asshole. They say she smells like a Jew-whore." Josh turns his head, shaking with rage as he spits angrily on the dirty floor. The Arab smiles, takes Josh's chin in his hand, turns his face so they are eye-to-eye. "I am Marwan-you will find that I am a very good friend to have." "I cannot tell you what I do not know." Michael's voice is low, exhausted. The same questions, over and over, hours on end. The sharp blows, the cruel threats when his answers fail to satisfy. He sighs as Marwan turns to the others, translates. Winces, breath hissing between his teeth as the butt of a rifle connects painfully, sends pain shooting down his arm. "They do not believe you, I fear." Marwan's voice is soft, his tone commiserating. "They will hurt her again. Perhaps do unspeakable things to him," he nods toward Josh. "Know this-I cannot stop them. If asked, I must aid them." Michael takes a deep breath, eyes darting to Josh-14 years his junior, his first time in action--"Please. Please, they are my subordinates, they are not responsible for my ignorance." "And yet they will be made to pay." Marwan walks away, shaking his head. Cruel hands push Michael back, bind his legs to the chair, a biting rope looped around his throat, pulling him back painfully. He closes his eyes, stifles a moan as the sudden motion inspires a violent spell of vertigo. He opens them again when Meghan begins to cry. "Damn you, God damn you!" Josh struggles violently, held against the wall by a boot on his chest. His eyes are wide, crazed as another man steps in behind Meghan, rams his cock into her bleeding ass. Meghan's head lifts from the table, she gasps, begins whining pathetically as the man rams into her, slamming her hips against the edge of the table cruelly. Marwan steps to a pile of clothing on the floor-Meghan's clothing-and roots around, coming up with her panties. "You call these 'knickers,' I believe?" He bends, presses his thumb and forefinger into Josh's jaw, forcing his mouth wide. Jamming them in deep, he removes Josh's belt, wraps it around his head. Reaching over, he steadies Josh's head with one hand tangled at the nape, pinches his nose closed with the other. He nods his head sympathetically as Josh struggles for air. "I know, I know-it is difficult, this war." He keeps his hold on Josh's nostrils until the struggles beneath him begin to weaken, then releases him. He smiles at the desperate, ragged breathing, then turns, takes a seat, watches the rape of Meghan without expression. Michael watches the man use Meghan, his head held firm to prevent him from looking away. He breathes deeply, struggles to maintain composure. Twenty-five-she is twenty-five years old. How would he explain this to her brother-his friend since the Academy? He blinks back tears, watches her hips jump, her legs strain as the man heaves over her, his hands digging under her, finding her soft breasts. The man laughs, then moans, his movements suddenly irregular, jerking as he climaxes, filling her torn ass with his thick cum. Falling on top of her, he continues to fuck his spunk into her, his hands pinching, twisting her breasts as she whines. "They think you are a Jew." Marwan pulls a chair up, sits before Michael, rousing him. "They want to kill you because of it." Michael winces, his neck painfully stiff from the ropes which tightened every time he drifted during the night. "I am not a Jew-I am Anglican." Michael's voice is hoarse, his lips dry, cracking. "We need water, please." "You are not a Jew?" Marwan turns, speaks to the others. He turns back to Michael, shakes his head, "They do not believe you-we must find some way to prove it, then you may have water. Do you have any proof?" Michael shakes his head, his eyes glazed with exhaustion and thirst. "I-I wear a cross . . ." "Anyone can wear a cross and pretend to be that which they are not." Marwan rubs his chin thoughtfully. He stops, smiles. "You are not circumcised, correct? That is not the custom in England?" Michael closes his eyes, nods carefully. "Wonderful!" Marwan claps his hands, motions for another man to approach, unzip Michael's pants. The man complies, pulls Michael's cock, impressive even when limp, out for all to see. "There!" Marwan smiles broadly, pointing to Michael's foreskin, "Now you may have water-and your young subordinate there, too!" He nods enthusiastically toward Josh, who is drifting lightly, not wholly aware. "What about Lieutenant Walsh?" "She is a Jew. She gets no water." Marwan rises, gestures for a canteen. Returning, he bends, holds the canteen to Michael's parched lips, begins to tip it-then stops. "There is but one more small thing, one question I must ask you." He holds the canteen inches away from Michael's yearning mouth. "There were explosive leads in the truck-where were you taking them?" Michael moans, turns his head away. He closes his eyes. Marwan clicks his tongue impatiently, rises. He points to Josh, nods. The men haul Josh to his feet, push him, staggering, to the floor before Michael. Michael's eyes grow in horrified comprehension, he shakes his head violently as the gag is ripped from Josh's mouth, his head forced down until his lips touch cock. "Men never really recover from such things, do they?" Marwan crouches beside Michael, his voice smooth. "They just seem to waste away, die a little at a time." He raises his eyes, nods slightly, then steps back as the men move in. Thumbs ground into his face, Josh's jaws are forced wide as another hand lifts Michael's cock, pushes it into Josh's protesting mouth. Kneeling behind him, Marwan tugs at Josh's zipper, yanking his pants down around his knees. Ignoring Josh's choked cries, Marwan takes out his massive tool, begins pressing it cruelly against Josh's asshole. Michael's voice is cracked, he begins to groan in horror as Josh's head is yanked cruelly back and forth, each down stroke eliciting muffled gags. "Please, please don't do this, please don't hurt them anymore!" Marwan looks into Michael's pained eyes, his expression sorrowful, "It pains us to do such things," he thrusts, the head of his cock clearing Josh's tight ring, forcing a sharp, choked scream, "if you would but tell us what we want to know." Michael closes his eyes, shaking his head in misery, "Please, it's me you want-only I have the information you want, punish me!" Marwan shakes his head, grasps Josh's hips and slams his full length into the tight, resisting hole. Josh screams around Michael's cock, his eyes huge, agonized, his hips jerking helplessly under the onslaught. "Are you stupid, my friend?" Marwan grinds his cock deep into Josh's bowels, "We are punishing you." "Joshua Burnside, Lieutenant . . . Twenty-three . . . E company." Joshua's voice is barely audible, lips swollen, bruised, eyes red-rimmed and sunken. He stares blankly into the video camera, unaware that he is rocking slightly in his chair. "M-Meghan Walsh, Captain, Twenty-five." Meghan's face is bruised, her eyes swollen, ruined hands bound tightly behind her. She swallows hard, her tongue tracing her bottom lip. "E company." Their captors have put her shirt on, buttoning it properly, before turning on the camera. What her government wouldn't know was that she was naked from the waist down, her pussy and ass still dripping from the last round of rapes. "Michael Robson, Major." Michael's eyes are heavily lidded, his face bruised beneath the dark stubble. "Thirty-seven. Commanding Officer, E company." "Very good, very good!" Marwan signals for the camera to be turned off. Walking to Michael, he holds out a piece of paper. "You will read this now. We will turn on the camera and you will read it. Then you will go home, my friend!" Michael stares at the paper, squinting, struggling to focus. He reads, shakes his head resolutely. "I will not read that." "Do not be stupid, my friend-home. Home to your wife, your children. Young Lieutenant Burnside may go home, too, find what solace he can in the arms of his young wife, his new son." He looks at Meghan with disdain. "Even she may go home, her belly growing big with a bastard child." Michael shakes his head tiredly-he knows the game. He knows they won't be going home. There will always be one more condition to fulfill, one more demand to meet. He will not shame his company, his country, his office. Marwan throws the paper down, points at Meghan. The men drag her, force her to kneel before Michael. She whimpers, her thighs slick, tacky with cum. Pushing her face down, Marwan marvels that she still resists. Sighing, he pulls a gun from his belt, forces the barrel into Michael's mouth. "Suck, whore. Convince him." Meghan sobs, her head begins to bob up and down, sucking, tongue working the underside of Michael's tool. Michael squeezes his eyes shut, bites back a moan as his cock begins to stiffen, head emerging from sheath. He hears a new tape being put in, the camera being turned on. He tries to turn his head away, but rough hands force his face to the camera. Meghan begins to choke, gagging as his meat expands, filling her mouth, pressing against the back of her throat. Josh watches, dull horror spreading across his face. Tears begin to flow, unchecked, as Michael's hips begin moving, straining up, pushing more and more of his cock into Meghan's helpless mouth. He looks away as Michael moans, hips spasming as his cock explodes, filling Meg's mouth and throat with a flood of sour, thick cum. Meghan gags, retches, her throat swallowing desperately as the spunk threatens to drown her. Sobbing, gasping, her belly tightens as the molten load races down. She whines as her head is dragged back, catching the last bit on the cheek. Her eyes are hollow, dull as they meet Michael's. The camera captures all, recording this torture for any to see. Michael cries. Meghan lies still, head nestled against Josh's chest. He shifts uncomfortably, his ribs aching, raw ass stinging. He wishes his arms were free, he would hold her, stroke her sweat tangled hair. He looks up, eyes lock with Michael's. Josh's gaze is flat, accusing, Michael's devastated, broken. Joshua turns his head away, his lips gently graze the top of Meg's head. She whimpers softly but doesn't awaken. Michael sobs silently, his head hanging in shame. He hasn't protected them, he has become a weapon against them. He squeezes his eyes shut, remembers Meghan's sweet lips on his cock, her numb horror as he fucked her face, filled it with his cum. He remembers his spunk hanging in a looping gob on her cheek. That they forced his cock into her mouth is not his fault. That he responded is. He drifts into fitful sleep, expression tight, drawn even in slumber. Michael stares up groggily, Marwan crouching before him, shaking him. Grabbing him by the hair, Marwan jerks his head to the side, the sound of Meghan's choking pleas dragging him to alertness. He watches, horrified, as Josh kneels between her legs. His shaking hands are free, wrists bloodied by the cutting bonds. He fumbles with his fly, crying, staring at the gun in Meghan's mouth. With a whine of frustration, he yanks his cock out-it is limp, shrunken. The men laugh, pointing, then drag Meghan forward, throwing her belly down, face just below Josh's flaccid meat. Joshua sobs, shakes his head, eyes pleading. "I can do it myself, please," his voice cracks, hand moving desperately along his limp shaft, "please, I can get it up myself . . ." his words trail off as Meghan is dragged to her knees, the barrel of the gun jammed into her abused pussy. Whining, Josh takes Meg's face in his hand, gently opens her mouth, presses his limp dick past her lips. "I'll do it, I'll do it, I'll do it, please just stop!" Michael's words are desperate, pleading. His fists clench tight behind his back, he sobs, tears stinging in his eyes, "Please, I'll read it, I'll read your fucking statement, please!" Marwan nods knowingly, smiles. "I know you will." He turns back to watch Josh's stiffening tool moving in and out of Meghan's slack mouth. Josh lifts himself over Meghan, face cramped with sorrow as he unbuttons her shirt, bends to suck her red, raw nipples as commanded. He probes, prods with his cock, finally sliding home, past her swollen pussy lips and into her battered vagina. Meg stares blankly at the wall, small gasps of pain escaping as Josh moves gently inside her, trying to minimize the hurt. The men laugh, razz him, "Yalluh, Yalluh!" "Harder." Marwan's voice is emotionless, his expression one of mild interest. Josh lifts his head, stares at Marwan with dull hatred. Marwan steps forward, presses a heel into Meghan's throat, cutting off her air, setting her to writhing beneath Josh. "Harder." Josh whines, picks up the pace, head hanging between her jouncing breasts. Marwan nods, removes his foot, oblivious to her ragged, pained breaths. "Harder." Josh roars hoarsely, rage exploding. Grasping Meghan's hips, he drags her back, begins thrusting viciously, slamming his full length into her, shaking her with his torturing strokes. Meghan screams weakly, legs working helplessly behind him, head moving side to side in agonized denial. Shouting, Josh collapses forward, dragging her legs back, pressing thighs to belly as his weight crushes her. He sobs sickly, head pressed against her bruised breasts. "My name is Michael Robson, I am a Major in Her Majesty's Royal Army. I make this statement under no duress." Michael stares at the paper clutched in his trembling hands, breath shallow, eyes dull, bloodshot. His cheek twitches noticeably, tongue works his lower lip as he pauses between sentences. "It is clear to me that the British Government, under orders from the United States of America, is engaged in an evil attempt to overthrow the rightful and blameless leaders of this nation under the direction of Zionist powers." Michael's voice is monotone, his words slightly slurred. He closes his ears to the faint sound of Meghan once again being raped, her long, bruised legs splayed wide under her attacker, face pressed down into the pile of her own clothing. "I hereby renounce my rank, and denounce the terrible actions of my government against the innocent people of-" "Stop!" Marwan's voice is tight, truly angry for the first time. "There is no more time! No more time for these stupid games!" Grabbing Michael by the hair, he thrusts him to the floor, kicks his legs apart, kneeling between them. Grappling with Michael's zipper, he yanks the stained pants down, rams himself in with no preparation. Michael grunts, cries out beneath him, his legs drumming a desperate beat as Marwan rips violently into his tight ass. "You-will-convince--them!" Marwan punctuates each word with a vicious thrust, smiling grimly at Michael's tears, his breathless whining. "You-will-obey!" Michael claws wordlessly at the floor, eyes huge, unseeing. ". . . renounce my rank, and denounce the terrible actions of my government against the innocent people of this sovereign state." Michael's eyes are wide, unblinking, his words carefully enunciated, voice low, but somewhat animated. Marwan nods approvingly, signals for the camera to be turned off. Michael groans as his arms are wrenched behind him, bound tightly once again. "W-where are they taking us?" Michael whispers hoarsely, his lips cracked, bleeding, vision blurring. The days are lost to him, he doesn't know how long they've been held, or even where they are anymore. "To Damashq," Marwan's voice is kind, patient as he holds the canteen to Michael's lips, "there you will be given to the Red Crescent, who will, in turn, release you to the Red Cross." Michael nods weakly, his eyes moving to Josh, lying motionless in the truck bed, his eyes slitted, hands still bound tightly behind him. Josh's crotch is blood soaked, his face pale, drawn beneath downy stubble.. Meghan sits beside him, her voice low, soothing, her crippled hands lying still in her lap. "And then home?" Michael's voice cracks, he blinks back tears. "Yes, my friend-and then home." Marwan places a gentle arm across Michael's shoulder. "I am sorry we had to meet this way," he rises, climbs from the truck, "We could have been friends, you and I, had circumstance been different." Michael closes his eyes, fatigue and nausea almost overcoming him. "It is war, my friend." Marwan waves for the driver to start out. "It is war, and war makes monsters of us all."
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