************************************************************************
FEMALE POW 2 NIGHTMARE IN BOSNIA part 1(REVISED)
by: conwic@AOL.com
"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 Nikes. 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 vagina. 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.
"GOD DAMN IT 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 Moslem 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 erect cock. 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
vagina, 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 belly. 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 Moslem 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, VCR'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 Moslem 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 Moslem 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 Moslem 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 sex. He focused the camera on the girl's red,
exposed slit, the now gapping cunt lips 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
Moslem girl, an expression which was an equal mixture of anger and happiness in
another's 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 Moslem 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 (j.g.) 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, A.K.A. "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 Moslem 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... OK, 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-14's 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 wennie
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 Moslem 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 Moslem 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-14's; 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' muscular build
and dubbed her " theValkyrie". 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. 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 come.
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 dripping
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 SHITTT!!! ".
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 three, " Allah Ahkbar" the Moslem
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 except for
her combat boots and panties, the bra being cut away with the underwear. The
cold hit her for the first time, raising goosebumps and causing her nipples to
be come erect. One of the men began to caress them, pinching and rolling the
plump red nubs as she lay on the cold ground.
"HELPPP....NO!....AHHHHH......DON'T!......PLEASEEE"
Under the leader's direction, one of the men retied her hands behind her back
while another began cutting lengths of rusty barbed wire from a nearby fence.
Bobbie froze in fear as that man approached her with the lengths of barbed wire.
She was afraid they were going to hang her! Instead, two of the men held up her
feet as the other man wrapped one end of a strand around each boot and tied the
other ends to the large limb above her. Bobbie was left with her legs spread in
a wide V, her ass a foot off the ground, and her weight resting on her shoulders
and bound arms. Suddenly, she understood; they meant to rape her, not hang her!
While she was not a virgin, Bobbie was inexperienced in sex. She had intercourse
with only one man in her 23 years; he had been her boyfriend in college, and she
had really expected to spent the rest of her life with him. The thought of five
men using her sexually against her will terrified the young Naval officer. In
all her life, no one had ever hurt her physically; the thought of being raped
sent shivers through her !
" UMMPPPHHHEEEEEEEEE!.........NOOOMPHEEE!"
***********************************************************************
When he saw Bobbie's parachute pass his position on the heights, the half drunk
Arkan suddenly decided that he would be the one to capture the American airman.
And he would have his man film it; it would be a great scene for his movie.
Gathering his cameraman and his ever present bodyguard Alexander, he set off in
his land rover followed by a dozen of his Tigers in a truck. After some
confusion, he arrived at the area of the field where Bobbie had landed.
Dismounting, he heard screams and recognized that they were in English in which
he had some fluency as a result of his enforced exile. Arkan had by now sobered
enough to recognize danger. He sent a man ahead to see what was happening. The
man returned with a confusing tale of five Moslem fighters struggling with a
boyish brunette haired girl in the next field. Arkan returned with the man to a
point where he could see the Moslems and their victim. It took him a moment
before he realized that the girl must be the American flyer he had come to
capture. Women pilots, he thought, American foolishness! The Moslems, he noted,
had laid aside their weapons and were too busy with her to watch their rear; it
would be easy to surprise them. But before he gave the order , a better idea
came to him. He sent back for his cameraman.
"Demrtri, can you film that?" he ask, referring to the cluster of men attacking
Bobbie. "Film it so that you can see the face of the girl and the faces of the
men raping her?"
" Yes, Boss. I can do that"
************************************************************************
Frantically, she struggled, shaking her head and screaming "NO"! The leader of
the Mujahideen stood between her legs, caressing her. He smiled evilly at her as
he ripped her panties away and used them to stop her screams, forcing her own
piss soaked panties into her mouth to gag her. Bobbie had never felt so exposed
and helpless as at that moment. With surprising gentleness, he traced his finger
over her sparse cunt hair and to the delicate, pink lips of her cunt. The look
of fascination on his face would have amused Bobbie if she had not been
frightened half out of her mind. He began to probe her cunt with increasing
roughness, pulling painfully on the tender cunt lips and spreading them
uncomfortably. He said something in a hushed tone and the others all laughed.
Immediately, he became rougher, forcing two fingers into Bobbie's almost virgin
cunt. His penetration was a shock to the young woman; it was also very painful.
Bobbie tried to be brave as he explored her pussy but could not stop a whimper
as he penetrated her. As he smiled at her whimper, Bobbie realized how much this
man was enjoying hurting her. Immediately, he pushed another finger into her and
pressed deeper inside her unlubricated, unprepared cunt. Then with another evil
smile, he withdrew his fingers, stood up, and began to unfastened his pants. He
withdrew a large uncircumcised cock which he displayed to her as his companions
cheered. He knelt between her legs, and without any preparation began to force
himself into her dry cunt. Bobbie felt as if he were tearing her open as he
forced himself into her unlubricated cunt. She frantically looked around her for
someone to help her but could see only the grinning faces of the other four
Mujahideen. The leader forced himself deeper into her as she struggled futility
against his cruel cock. The pain burned its way down her body to her brain as
she hung suspended head down from the tree limb. Bobbie felt as if he were
ripping her apart, but there was nothing she could do to stop him. She tried to
scream out her pain at his penetration. Never had she been so stretched. Tears
rolled out of her open eyes and down her cheeks to the ground as she looked
pleadingly up into the smiling, bearded face of her rapist. Bobbie choked back
another whimper; she would not give the man the satisfaction of hearing it. But
she could not stop the whimpers and moans which escaped her gagged mouth as he
forced himself deeper inside her, stretching her painfully. Soon, he had
penetrated as far into her as she thought he could possibly go; his wiry black
cock hair mixed with her soft brunette vee. Bobbie could hardly breath; it was
as if his cock was completely filling her and leaving no room for air. Pleading
with her eyes, Bobbie begged him to stop hurting her; he only stared gloatingly
back at her. He gripped her legs and began to pump in and out of her cunt. He
fucked her brutally. Bobbie's body jerked with each of his powerful thrusts,
pushing her back with the force of his thrusts and then pulling her hips toward
him again as he withdrew. Then he would slam into her now open cunt again,
painfully rubbing her shoulders back and forth in the dirt. One of the other
Mujahideen was running his hands over her bouncing breasts, squeezing the soft
breast flesh, twisting the sensitive nipples painfully as his leader fucked her.
Bobbie thought he was trying to lift her up by her nipples as he grasp each one
in his fingers and pulled. As she was fucked ,Bobbie moaned and whimpered, tears
streaming from her eyes. Val, she thought, where are you?
The leader of the Mujahideen continued to fuck her as she hung there helpless,
suspended by her feet from the tree limb. Her awkward position allowed him easy
access to her cunt, which he took advantage of to drive his cock into her with
great force. The head of his cock was soon battering against her cervix as he
forced himself into her sore, abused cunt. Bobbie had never experienced such a
deep penetration. She was sure that the man was tearing her apart inside; that
he would kill her if he continued. But, there was nothing she could do except
lie there helplessly. She could feel her cervix opening under his brutal
assaults. It seemed to her as if the man was going to impale her on his cock;
that it was going to keep penetrating her until the head came out her mouth!
The bearded man fucking Bobbie could hardly believe the tightness of the woman's
cunt. It seemed to grip his cock like a fist, massaging it as he thrust in and
out. He stared at the girl's slender but firm body as it moved sensuously in
response to his thrusts. He savored the way heCANCELLEDc body fought his
penetration in a futile attempt to try to deny him his rightful pleasure. To his
mind the woman was a Western whore, a true descendant of Lilith the tempter of
Adam, with her shameless display of her face and body. She, like all the other
women he had seen in this country of Infidels, had no idea of what a woman
should be. She deserved this, he thought; it was a fitting way to deal with any
woman who defied God's commandments and fought against men. He would show her;
he would show all those shameless Western women who had tempted him with their
filthy lust. Angrily, he pulled the gag from her mouth. He was determined to
break her, to hear her scream for mercy and then to show her none. He gripped
her thighs, feeling the muscles under the soft skin, as he pulled her cunt
towards him to meet his thrust. He fucked her brutally, determined to break her
will with his cock, to hear her scream. That she would not do so enraged him.
Her moans were not enough. Repeatedly, he thrust into her with all his might,
using his rock hard cock like a weapon to subdue the infidel. Around him, the
other members of his band of man-hunters cheered him on as they stroked their
cocks at the sight of the young woman being beaten into the ground by their
leaders cock. Finally, he succeeded in forcing the scream he wanted out of
Bobbie.
"NOOO!.......PLEASEE STOP....YOU'RE HURTING ME!..AAHHHHHH!"
It was the scream plus the sight of her pleading face and its tears which drove
him over the edge. He thrust himself into her one more time and then held
himself inside her as he filled her womb with his hot, white cum. Then he
withdrew and allowed the next man to enter her. He felt a great sense of
pleasure at dominating the Western whore. He would take equal pleasure watching
his men take the infidel woman; he wanted to watch her face as his men raped
her.
Bobbie felt the man's cum burning deep inside her; then she felt an emptiness as
the man withdrew. Immediately, that feeling was replaced by the fullness of
another hard cock. This time the pain was not as great; the cum from the first
man was acting as a lubricant. She looked up to see another bearded, grinning
face looking down at her. Bobbie was beginning to slip into a state of shock
from the brutal assault. She closed her eyes and tried to close her mind to the
pounding of his cock against her sore cunt. The second man was fucking Bobbie
with the same brutal force as the first man. Bobbie felt so degraded, so dirty,
that she could not stand it. She wanted only to die. She turned her face to the
mud and screamed in her mind, Val, somebody, where are you? Somebody help me!
**********************************************************************
The cameraman was sweating heavily as he followed the rape of the American woman
through his eyepiece, filming everything. He could see her nude body clearly as
she struggled against her bonds: her small but perfectly formed breasts moving
wildly as she fought, her long, smooth legs flexing against the barbed wire
ties, and her delicious ass hanging a foot off the ground. Her face was
occasionally visible as it turned first to one side then to the other. He
thought she was pretty, particularly with that short mop of dark hair. He just
hoped he would have the chance to fuck her like those filthy ragheads were
doing. For now, he concentrated on following the action in his viewfinder.
The second man had entered the helpless woman, kneeling hunched over her
suspended body with his bare buttocks working to and fro. The young woman's body
was moving in response, back and forth as if it were on a swing. He shifted his
camera to her head as the man who had just raped her knelt beside her face and
whipped his blood and cum covered cock across the crying girl's face. The camera
caught it perfectly, even recording the smears of cum and blood left on her
smooth cheeks.
**********************************************************************
Bobbie was brought back to reality by a sharp pain as the man fucking her
changed his angle to hit a different part of her uterus. She opened her eyes to
see the Mujahideen leader standing over her smiling his evil grin as he watched
his men using her. The second man used her as brutally as the first one had,
pounding into her with all his strength as if to stab her to death with his
cock. When he had spent himself inside her, another took his place. They began
to run together in her mind. As soon as one would finish , another would take
his place; all of them fucked her with equal brutality. Man after man used her,
fucking Bobbie's increasingly cum filled cunt. The soft pink lips of her
virginal cunt were now red and swollen from the brutal pounding they had
received. The man cum dripped out of her distended cunt to coat her asscheeks
and anus with its white scum. Despite the cold, Bobbie's taunt body was shiny
with her sweat as a result of her constant struggles to escape the cocks
invading her body. She could hardly breath. The men fucking her were literally
knocking the breath out of her with their thrusts.
************************************************************************
From approximately fifty meters away, Arkan and his cameraman watched the rape.
He had sent some of his men around to the Moslem's rear where they awaited his
signal. Still, Arkan waited as if transfixed as they watched four of the men
complete their rape of Bobbie. The Cameraman was recording it all: the moaning,
struggling woman, the laughing men standing over her, and the brutal thrusts of
the kneeling man.
Through his viewfinder, the cameraman could see the cum covering Bobbie's crotch
area. The whitish film covered her cunt lips and was now dripping down towards
her asshole. The soft cunt hairs above her crotch were saturated in the same
stuff, leaving them matted and awash in the men's cum. He shifted back to her
face to record the agony evident there as she endured the vicious gang rape.
Bobbie's face was turned toward the camera, allowing it to film the tears
streaking down her cum stained face and record the silent screams now pouring
from her mouth.
***********************************************************************
By now, Bobbie had lost count of the times they had fucked her. Her pussy was
one solid mass of pain from the pounding she had received. Nor did it recede as
man after man fucked her. Instead, the pain built with each new attacker.
Throughout it all, she could do nothing except sob, helplessly shaking her head
"no" as the men used her brutally. By now, all five of the Mujahideen had used
her. But the leader was not satisfied. Breaking off a slender, flexible branch
from the tree, he stood over her swishing it through the air as he ordered two
of the men to take off their belts and use them on the bound young Naval
officer. As he concentrated on her breasts, the other two men used their thick,
leather belts on her cum covered asscheeks. Now Bobbie's screams took on a new,
full bodied quality as the switch landed across her sensitive nipples. As the
thin red lines appeared across her untanned breast flesh, the two men with the
belts were turning her asscheeks a bright red. As they whipped the young woman,
their cocks began to harden again, stimulated by the cries pouring forth from
Bobbie. Again and again Bobbie screamed out for them to stop, begging, pleading,
promising anything if they would just stop.
" AAHHHHH!... I BEG YOU...I'LL DO WHATEVER YOU WANTEEE..STOP!"
But her cries were neither understood nor heeded. Instead they were savored by
the leader of the Mujahideen as he shifted his blows from the young woman's
breasts to the cum covered area between her legs. With the first blow falling
across her swollen cunt lips, Bobbie thought that she would go crazy with the
pain. Her body spasmed as she tried vainly to bring her bound legs together to
protect her much abused sex. Then after six incredibly painful blows, the switch
shifted back to her already whipped breasts. Then she felt the belts stop,
leaving her ass almost numb. Next, she felt a man's fingers probing her whip
swollen asshole. Slowly, painfully; he inserted the finger into her virgin
asshole. She raised her head painfully to see the leader of the Mujahideen
kneeling between her spread legs. Bobbie's moans increased in intensity as he
penetrated her, mixing with the weak screams when the switch fell across her
abused breasts. He withdrew his fingers and collected cum from the river flowing
out of her abused cunt, using it to lubricate his cock. Then he pressed the head
of his cock into her anal ring, pushing into the puckered, star shaped sphincter
until it disappeared into a wide, smooth O around his cock. As he forced himself
into her bruised ass, he watched Bobbie's face, savoring the look of pain in her
eyes. Her voice failed her, reducing her screams to weak moans. The leader
forced his cock into her tight asshole as Bobbie fought with the last of her
waning strength to keep him out. But she could not; his anger and desire were
too great. Deeper and deeper he sank into her as the others watched, too
absorbed to do more than occasionally lash her breasts with their switch or
belts. They watched and stroked themselves as they thought about how they would
take her in the ass when their turn came. Their leader began to fuck her ass,
thrusting in brutally to fill Bobbie's asshole totally with his cock. To Bobbie,
every movement was torture; each time he penetrated deep into her ass, she would
involuntarily clench her muscles. This spasm sent a new wave of pain through her
while it pleasurably squeezed the cock of her anal rapist. Deeper and deeper he
drove into her ass. It felt to Bobbie as if a burning brand was being forced up
her ass rather than a cock. The pain and the humiliation seemed unbearable to
the young flyer.
Suddenly, the man raping Bobbie's ass collapsed onto her , his head falling
forward onto her breasts. A millisecond later, Bobbie heard the shot. This shot
was followed by a dozen others before the sound of the first had died. There was
silence followed by more shots. Bobbie could see the bodies of three of her
attackers lying around her but nothing else from her inverted position. Thank
God, she thought, they've come for me! It seemed an eternity before she heard
the approach of feet. As she waited fearfully, the weight of the man atop her
suffocated her as she was forced to endure the sticky, wet warm feeling of the
man's blood flowing onto her stomach. Then she saw a huge, bearded man standing
between her legs, smiling down at her.
"I've come to help you. I am a friend"
END PART 1 OF 6
