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

Rounded Bellies are Beautiful

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

I was standing at Atlas, my body bruised, less than a hundred feet from an explosion that had measured in the literal kilotons of explosive weight. The three men who had been helping me load the ammunition and the two forklifts were just gone as if they had never existed. I could hear the whistling of artillery shells falling down out of the sky as the kinetic energy ran out and gravity took over. Fires were burning everywhere and dust and smoke filled the air.

Someone's hands were on me, pulling at me.

I'd been stupid. I hadn't insisted on the lightning protections being repaired. I hadn't done my duty and failed my men. I'd failed. Failed my entire crew. Failed my unit. Failed as a soldier. Failed my Father. Failed as a man.

Someone was screaming my name.

I...

I was being drug to my feet.

Someone was screaming at me to get to my feet.

My eyes opened and I saw the shower tile, realized who was screaming at me.

"Taggart." I croaked. "Get me to my feet. I gotta get up."

"Just stay up, just for a second." She said, letting go of my arm. I reached out and grabbed the soap dish embedded in the wall, using it to keep my balance.

"Drink." She said, pushing the bottle into my other hand. I raised it up and drank deep, the burn rushing down my throat and into my stomach. My stomach tried to rebel, tried to purge everything. I heard a belt rattle then clank.

"Where did you go to Basic Training?" She asked me, reaching out and slapping my ass sharply.

"Fort Leanordwood" I answered, taking another drink.

"What was your unit in Basic?" She asked, slapping my ass again.

"Bravo two ten, bravo bulldogs, bravo two ten." I muttered, leaning forward and pressing my face against the hot tile. It felt good, the heat seeping into my face.

Hands wrapped around me, holding me up as I sagged again. I struggled for a second, unsure of what was happening, but one hand came up to press against my chest while holding onto a bar of soap, the other stayed around my waist.

"Easy, Ant, easy, it's me, Taggart." She said softly, rubbing my chest with the soap. "You've gotta stand up, stay on your feet."

"Tired." I grunted. "I hurt, really bad."

"I know, but you gotta stay on your feet, I gotta clean you off." She said, the hand on my chest moved to my head. "Close your eyes, Ant, I gotta clean the blood off you."

I held still while she washed my head, hissing in pain when her fingernail snagged one of the cuts and pulled it open. She let go of me and soaped up my back, rinsed off my head and back, then had me turn around to face her, putting my back against the shower wall. She washed off my face, ignoring my outcries of pain, then washed off my face and caught me when my knees gave out.

I opened my eyes to see a small brown nipple in front of my face. Almost instinctively I moved over and latched onto it with my mouth, sucking gently while I twirled my tongue around it. I felt the woman lift up on her tiptoes and heard her moan, her hands touching my head.

"Ant, no." She said suddenly, pulling me up. "Stop. You need to be cleaned off." She rubbed soap on my crotch and started rubbing, and I fell against her again, burying my face in the junction of her shoulder and neck, wrapping my arms around her. "Stand up." Her tone hit a part hat had become spinal reflex and I jerked up, wobbling a little. She rinsed me off, her hands gentle, and when I looked at her I saw her blushing at what she was doing.