Traitors (Damned of the 2/19th - Book Five) - Finished

Words in the Dark

2/19th Special Weapons Group Barracks
Restricted Area - Western Germany
Early Winter - 1986
Day: Fourteen

John was a big guy, something that was easy for me to forget after the years we'd spent as good friends. He was over six feet of Texas rawhide and iron, thick muscle from pumping iron and throwing around heavy ammunition turning what would have been a tall lanky Texan into a 225 or more pound monster. I'd seen a bull throw him, drag him around as it whipped in circles, and then land with both feet on him, and John just pop up like a jack in the box as soon as he got free. I'd been back to back with him in fights, spotted him while pumping iron, and sparred with him. I'd seen him take an axe to the gut and survive his appendix being ruptured.

He was big, he was mean, and he was tougher than bad beef jerky.

I felt the spit dry up in my mouth as his tone and body language dawned on me. His eyes, pale slits in the dimness, were locked on me, not Nagle, and the twisted look of anger and betrayal on his face was more than imagination, more than the dimness, but a real thing aimed at me.

"Fun's just started, John." Nancy said, her voice low, husky, and dripping with sexual appeal. When he opened his mouth to reply, she stepped into him, her arms going around him, and she pressed her mouth to his. His eyes widened, and he looked at me. I smiled, slapped him on the shoulder as I walked past, grabbed the rifle off the bed, and drug one of the chairs over to the window and looked outside.

I stared at the snow, ignoring the sounds behind me, and broke the weapon down by rote habit, setting the pieces on the three drawer chest without taking my eyes from the window, finishing up by pulling out the cleaning kit from the butt of the weapon. I dug a cloth out of drawer to put on the top of the dresser to put the parts on when I was done, then dug another piece of torn brown T-shirt out of the drawer and got up.

Nancy was holding Bomber down, her back arched, eyes closed, hips rocking. Her hands were tight around his wrists and had them pushed into the blankets. I walked past, grabbed the rubbing alcohol and the CLP/breakfree and came back in.

John was looking at me, and I reached down and tapped him in the middle of the forehead hard with my finger, grinning at him while I did it. He glanced at Nagle's breasts swinging above his head, then at me, and I chuckled, tapped him again, and walked back over to the chair, scooping up the pistol as I moved by.

Both weapons had a slight bit of rust on them. Oakes' weapon was particularly bad, the bolt filmed with it. I set to work, stripping the hand guards away, and pulling the weapon down further than was usual, taking off the butt plate, the trigger guard, the bolt cover, everything.

"You cum to early and I'll wrap my hands around your throat and strangle another hard on out of you." I heard Nancy growl, gasping sharply a couple times.

Knowing she was perfectly willing to do that made me grin as I kept cleaning the weapons, laying each piece on the cloth. I ran over our options, thought my way through the decision trees that each action opened up, and tried laying out plans.

All of them ended with all three of us dead from our fellow soldiers or frozen in the snow or dead at the cold hands of Tandy.

No matter how I ran the numbers we were likely to come out the same way. Dead.

When I heard Nagles war-like cry as she orgasmed I began snapping the .45 together, checking the action as Bomber finished. Satisfied on how the pistol operated, I set it aside and began assembling the M-16A1, the whole time staring out the window as they whispered to one another.

That was the hard part. The two of them whispering, the giggles from Nagle you only heard after she came, the chuckling from both of them, and the rustle of their movements.