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."
