Barracks Bitch

[Assmunch]

On 7/1/2023 at 9:00 PM, laguyinhou said:

Fucking hell was that worth the wait! 

I hope so!  Thanks.  It was 80% done three weeks ago, but I needed to decide which direction to take the part from when Lamont is brought in.  

[Assmunch]

On 7/2/2023 at 3:59 AM, BoYGaSM said:

HOLE-EEEE-SHIT!  That last paragraph….   WOOF!  Love where this is going!   As usual im so hooked on this read, AMAZING dude!

Thanks man.  Yeah, the stuff you DON’T see coming is the fun stuff.  

[backpackguy]

Wow, Assmunch...I'm still reeling!!! Keep it cumming!!!!!!!!

[Assmunch]

“Hey Wanker, can I talk to you for a sec?”  Chunk asked in a low voice after he came to sit down next to him.

Wanker glanced over as he took another bite of the hamburger and macaroni casserole they were being fed.  After the failed attack on the compound the Bravos had been given their gear and told to set up camp just outside the compound in a cleared area.  Then they’d been told to get some sleep and they all crashed for a luxurious four hours straight once Sarge had given the all clear that their camp passed inspection.  Normally camp inspection was a job for Assmunch and Sleeper, but no one knew where Assmunch was.  And Bootlicker and Weeble were AWOL too.  Sleeper had gotten himself skull punched and in spite of his arguing that he was fine, Sarge told him to shut his dickhole and sleep it off.

It was sometime in the early morning hours and something about the quiet and darkness after the last 48 hours was especially relaxing.  The silence had a different flavor just after a battle drill exercise.  It felt empty.  And whoever was doing the cooking here was amazing.  The casserole had some kind of cheese and maybe salsa? that added a whole other level to basic hamburger and macaroni.  That was on top of the fact that tree bark and dandelions would have tasted excellent after their ordeal.

“Sure Chunk.  What’s up?”  He answered between mouthfuls.  That was another thing, there was plenty to eat which was a rarity when out on patrol.  He was already on his second serving.

Chunk looked off at the other Bravos, then down at his plate.  “I was just…”. He paused.

“Just spit it out, brother.  We help each other, right?”  He gave Chunk a friendly grin.  “But no Bootlicker secrets, okay?  You know I can’t.”

Chunk looked up and gave a nervous grin.  “Nah, I don’t want to know anything about any of THAT.”  Then he took a deep breath to reinforce his resolve.  “I was just wondering… what’s it like?”

“What’s what like?”

“You know… getting fucked.  Does it hurt?”  Chunk said it in a rush, as if taking too long to ask would force him to chicken out.

Wanker smiled.  “That’s it?  That’s what’s got you all worked up and nervous?  Relax man, it’s no big deal.  You can ask me anything you want.  It doesn’t hurt at all anymore, but the first time it hurt like hell.  But that had more to do with how big the dick was.”

Chunk’s eyes widened slightly.  “Was it Footlong?”  Then he held up a hand.  “You don’t have to tell me, I shouldn’t have asked.”

A chuckle escaped Wanker’s lips.  “No, it wasn’t Footlong.  And technically, it wasn’t the first dick that hurt, it was the second one.  The guy wasn’t trying to be gentle.”

Chunk stared at him with a slack jaw, mouth open in shock.  “Were you raped, Wanker?”

Wanker looked away and took a deep breath.  “No man, it wasn’t rape.  I gave him permission.  I guess it’s no big deal if you know.  Assmunch knows, he helped me through when I came back to the barracks.  Fuck, it hurt just to hold my asshole closed.  Mostly it wasn’t so bad during even if it was pretty brutal, but after… well afterwards it was my brain making the pain worse than what it had to be.”

Chunk was fighting between sympathy and curiosity, and curiosity won out.  “Why did you give the guy permission?”

Wanker looked at him with a peaceful smile that lacked all regret.  “Because I didn’t want to leave the Bravos.  Didn’t want to chance it.  It was either take the punishment or get booted.”

Hearing Wanker put it so plainly hit a sympathetic chord in Chunk’s soul.  He would have made the same choice.  He nodded at Wanker’s words.  “Yeah, I woulda done the same, I think.”

“Besides, Sarge broke me in before Horvath dished out the punishment, so I was okay with what happened.  I did deserve it, at the very least for being caught.  Sarge isn’t so bad, he said that was the main mistake I made, being stupid enough to get caught.  And I learned how much I love you guys, so I wouldn’t take it back.”

It appeared that Chunk had a never ending supply of shocked, wide-eyed gaping looks to give, because another one transformed his face into disbelief.  “Sarge?”

Wanker nodded.  “Yup.  He’s got a big crank, and you’ve seen his nuts, fucking huge sack.  And then Horvath’s just a goddamn horse.  If Sarge hadn’t opened me up easy, Sergeant Charlie would have ripped me open.”

“Damn.”  Chunk whispered, staring off into space.  After a few moments, he continued.  “You said it doesn’t hurt anymore, though.”

“Nah, now it’s good, no big deal.  Sometimes I’m not even thinking about it when one of the guys is taking a run.  Sometimes it feels good too.  It can be a good way to relax everything and just let go.”

The fourth variation of incredulity froze on Chunk’s face.  Man, the guy was cracking Wanker up with how many different ways he could demonstrate being mentally thrown off his feet.

“I could probably take another Horvath fucking no problem now.”  He said, trying for a fifth variation.

He wasn’t disappointed, and it made him laugh.  “Dude, do you practice those looks in the mirror?  I swear to God they just keep getting better.”

“It’s just… I mean… wow!  How big?”  Chunk stuttered.

Wanker held up his arm and pointed to his forearm to his wrist.  Then, it was Wanker’s turn to stare off.  “You want to know the best part?  I feel closer to you guys.  I like taking care of the brothers that need it.  It’s like I’m doing something good for them, even if it’s just something stupid like getting them off and helping them feel good.  I feel like I’m paying you guys back for putting up with all the times Bootlicker and I got us all in trouble.  Pulling my weight a little.”

“It’s not stupid, Wanker.  They joke around sometimes about you being a good fuck, but they’re always grateful.  And they don’t ever talk bad about you for doing it.  Shark says you’re prime.”  Chunk reached out an arm and grasped Wanker’s shoulder.  “You know we love you, we love Bootlicker too.  I’m glad you wanted to stick around, brother.  It wouldn’t be the same without you.”

Wanker felt his eyes begin to fill up.  He fought it down, but it was hard to do.

“Thanks, Chunk.  Feels good to hear that.”  He replied sincerely, putting another fork full of food in his mouth to cover his difficulty holding back his emotions.

“I think I want to try it.”  Chunk said.

Wanker coughed up the bite he was just about to swallow.  He proceeded to keep coughing.  He grabbed his canteen to try to take a drink between his choking coughs.  After 30 seconds of getting himself calmed down, he said “Warn a brother before you just spit something like that out.”

“Sorry, man.”  Chunk gave a small laugh then got serious.  “I don’t know, I’m not into dudes, but you guys aren’t really just dudes, you know?  And I get horny sometimes.  I only ever see you guys.”  He sighed.  “Don’t laugh, but sometimes I get so crazy for someone to touch me.  We all joke around a lot, horseplay, but it’s all just regular stuff.  When we did massages at Airborne that first week it felt so good to have someone put their hands on me to make me feel good.  I know it sounds dumb and pretty gay.”  He looked down at the ground as if he was ashamed for showing sensitivity and vulnerability.

Wanker put his plate down and moved closer to Chunk.  “It’s not dumb, Chunk.  I get it.”  He put his arm around Chunk’s shoulders and pulled him into him.  “We’re brothers, and we’re all really close.  I think I know why you’re asking about all this.”  He gave Chunk a squeeze.  “We’re close, but there’s a line.  We can joke around but it’s always got to be a joke.  A little grab ass, an armlock instead of a long hug.  But look, if you need a little extra love, dude, just ask.  Most of the guys here wouldn’t bat an eye.  You want a buddy cuddle, just say it.  And if you want more than that, you know I’m available anytime.”

In a move Wanker would never have predicted from Chunk, his brother tilted his head and laid it on his shoulder.  “Thanks Wanker.”

“And look, if you ever do want your cherry popped we can make that happen too, so don’t worry about it so much, okay?  Take it from me, it’s not a big deal.  What happens to your asshole doesn’t define you as a man.  It’s just an asshole, who the fuck cares what goes into it or comes out?  Plus, if you’re going to do it, it’s best if you let a brother take care of it.  It’ll stay in the Brotherhood.  And no one here is going to look at you different afterwards.  Just be sure that’s what you want.”

Chunk heaved a sigh and Wanker felt him relax even more.  “Maybe you’re right, that I’m not really looking to get fucked.  I don’t know.”  Another sigh.  “My head’s all over the place.  I know it wouldn’t even come up if we had access to females.”

Wanker pulled his hand off Chunk’s shoulder and rubbed it across his head, sliding it through the short buzz of his clipper cut, drawing a low purr from Chunk’s throat.  “Yeah, I feel ya, man.  That would be nice.  In spite of all the action I’m getting, it’s not the same.  A little pussy would be fantastic.”  They sat like that for a few minutes, taking comfort in their shared misery, Wanker never stopping his gentle motions on Chunk’s skull.

Wanker thought that it was really nice that they could just sit like that without worrying about what the other guys would say.  Trusting your brothers was a good, warm feeling.  At that moment it seemed stupid that men couldn’t do this anytime they wanted without it being seen as something more than what it was.  A little pussy every now and then, plus the love of your brother, yeah that would be a perfect life.

 

*****************************

 

 

“I disagree, McGregor.  I’m not useful in any way.  Not for this.”

Ulster McGregor shook his head.  He didn’t know what was up with Brickmann, but it was clear he was avoiding his nephew.  But he wasn’t wrong. He wasn’t useful as someone to use against the kid.  Not anymore.  At this point, all he would be good for was to comfort the kid.  And Private Brickmann didn’t appear to need all that much comforting.

It was a shame they couldn’t break any bones or make some cuts.  That usually took things into serious territory, but Ulster was fairly sure the kid wouldn’t break easily and a few broken bones and slices wasn’t likely to have a different result.  Bennett agreed saying the lack of flinching and cowering while he jabbed, punched, and kicked the kid indicated the subject had accepted the current level of persuasion and the next level was necessary.  They could psychologically break him, it wouldn’t be difficult, but there was no purpose to that.  He wasn’t holding any actual intel.  Collins had simply said to attempt to get any secrets, no matter how small, from him.

Bennett agreed that the kid endured far better than most that were tested this way.  And the level 2 rape, while distasteful and not enjoyable for either party, was never the real goal.  Rape was tricky as a mental punishment.  For men at a certain level of training it didn’t physically affect them much, but mentally and emotionally?  It could shatter the foundations of their confidence.  Men believed their strength was rooted in their manhood, especially soldiers.  Damage their manhood and they questioned their ability to resist.  The more it mattered to them, the worse it was.

But the rape had to be tailored to the stage they were in life, and you had to know something personal about them to make it an effective technique for breaking a subject.  It was why it wasn’t usually an option.  However, a buck Private in the U.S. Army, first leadership position as Platoon leader, separated from his men with no hope of rescue.  He should have fought like a banshee, or begged with tears and snot running down his face.  Instead, it was as if he just ignored it.  Just like he ignored the beatings.

Ulster wasn’t quite sure how to evaluate that, except that the kid was resistant to the usual low level techniques.  Nor could he reconcile the fact that the kid’s uncle wasn’t all that torn up about it, at least not enough to make himself known to his nephew and get him back on his feet.

“Tom will be fine, Ulster.  Now isn’t the time to bring me in.  Let me take the idiot out, get him away from the rest.  You keep Tom here.  I’ll take the idiot as my project.”  Brickmann explained.  “He’s hiding something.  He shouldn’t be Tom’s second.  I haven’t seen anything that makes him special enough to warrant that position, so either Tom knows something about him that makes it worth having him as his second or there’s something else.  But regardless, the kid needs to step up or get out of the way.  Quincy Washington, the little guy Chambers, or the one they call Bootlicker would make a much better second.  I’ll bring the idiot back for explosives training, but the rest I’ll handle in the mountains.”

“Fine.  Montelongo does need handling.  Maybe try to figure out why that hasn’t happened yet.  Sergeant Walters should never have approved his assignment as second, but maybe it’s a test for your nephew, or a lesson.  I’ll have Bennett work with Walters.”  Ulster replied.

“What are you going to do with the other two?”  Brickmann asked, taking a last look at the contents of the file folder he held in his hands.  “You going to tell them it was all a psy op?”

Ulster grinned.  “I figured we keep them going until they figure it out.  I think putting them back with their unit would dilute their focus.  They are both very intense.  And determined.  I like the little guy.  If any of these kids are going to make it to Battalion, it’ll be these two and your nephew.  The little guy deserves my personal attention.  Hammer is better for the other kid.  I haven’t decided if the little ego competition they are fighting with each other is useful for a training enhancement yet.  Hammer and I do things differently and my kid responds to praise and emotional support, eager to please.  Having Hammer around will keep the kid’s guard up.  Did you know he calls Hammer ‘Whisperman’ like some creepy horror movie?”  Ulster chuckled.

Ivan Brickmann laughed.  “I heard that on the ears.  That’s Gregory’s own fault.  He really puts it on thick when he wants to.  He wanted the kid afraid.  If you’re going to have a fucked up voice, why not use it?”

Ulster nodded.  “Well it got him moving.  Alright, you take Montelongo out, see if you can find out what his deal is and break his complacency.  It’s up to you whether you want to tell him about your nephew.  I’ll have Bennett have a go at the Sergeants, they should get along nicely, same basic animal.  I just know Collins is doing one of his nerd projects and it would be nice if just this once he told us the point.  Don’t get me wrong, I love a good mystery and it keeps me on my toes, but we can be way more effective with these kids if we know the goal.”

Brickmann’s answering laughter was loud and exuberant.  “Ah, Ulster.  The rats don’t get told why they get the cheese.  Whatever he wants with these kids he wants something else from us.  You should be used to it by now.  If we have to be his circus monkeys every now and then, or rats in one of his mazes, you know it’ll be worth it.  Besides, he’s not asking us to do anything but what we want to do and what we’re good at.”

Ulster looked down at his desk, lost in thought.  He had six teams on foreign soil at the moment but right now they were independent operators and needed no oversight.  He had two weeks to toughen these kids up enough to sail through the Ranger Induction Program.  They had a good start with the training they’d had up to this point and they were far more motivated than their usual students which were foreign military or civilian guerrillas who barely knew which end of the gun a bullet flew out of.  And that training didn’t go beyond skills needed for a specific operation or mission.  How to kidnap a subject.  Destroy this bridge.  Stop the upcoming attack on this village.  Rescue these prisoners.  If Americans had to be sent in they either couldn’t be seen, or everyone that was a witness had to be killed.  Most of the time, putting down enemy fighters to the last man was okay, even if it was messy and left questions.  But sometimes the operation couldn’t look TOO professional.  Sometimes they had to be ghosts.  Sometimes it was about retrieving someone in an organization that needed to disappear.

Delicate missions.  Local resources.  Anything that needed to happen that wouldn’t point back to the U.S.  JSOC and SOF  like SEAL teams were useful for many missions, especially when support was crucial.  But there were far more situations that didn’t require moving a mountain or couldn’t endure the notice of allies or the U.N.  And while a country like Somalia might not track and identify every single aircraft over its airspace, you could bet that the Soviet satellites did, or worse NATO.  Having to answer to your allies for a local action or regional incursion was far worse than telling the Soviets to fuck off.  Often it was your own allies that were the worst at using intel against you.  It was always a bargaining chip in some negotiation for aid, trade or raid.

And now the Soviet States were independent.  That would ordinarily be a win for democracy.  Except for the question of how the various military resources, including the nukes, were divided.  And who ended up controlling Russia, the largest Soviet State.  Correction: Former Soviet State.  It was still difficult to stop using the word Soviet.  In the resulting chaos of the dissolution of the USSR, Ulster found a niche he was able to exploit and grow his small training facility into a global mercenary force.  The Eastern Bloc countries had thrown out the Soviet loyalist communists and Russian officials and through back channels had asked for certain resources, mostly information trading, to shore up their protection from Moscow.  Most of that came in the form of identifying Soviet agents that were planted in organizations in their country.

Ulster had gotten his chops as a subversive military advisor for the Afghans in their ten year war against the Soviet Union.  Of course it was a not-so-secret secret that the U.S. was arming and training the Afghanistan guerilla forces, the Mujahideen.  It was one of the reasons the Soviets hadn’t succeeded.  Another reason, probably more accurate, was that war was a valuable commodity.  Sure, it was expensive, difficult, and problematic when conducted so far away from your power core.  But you couldn’t sharpen your blade on air, and you couldn’t support your military industry without an enemy.

At least half the problem was that the USSR was arrogant and didn’t feel that putting in a maximum effort was worth it for Afghanistan.  They treated the military action as a training exercise rather than an actual war.  Well, it wasn’t completely because of that, they were fighting the gradually growing resistance to the failures of communism.  The recession of the mid-70’s to the mid 80’s didn’t only affect the western capitalist nations.  The life of the average citizen wasn’t good anywhere in the world, but in Soviet countries it was particularly dismal.

So the USSR wasn’t unified, and the Iron Curtain couldn’t completely block information that the rest of the world wasn’t suffering near as badly as they were.  There were no food lines, no shortages in the Western countries.  And the people blamed their leaders.  Leaders who only made it worse by making the most vocal detractors ‘disappear’.

Ulster shook off the useless musings.  He could write a ten volume series on the slow deterioration of the former USSR from the unique perspective of an Operator whose primary missions had been to sow dissent and destabilize, to enable resistance and generally cause chaos, some openly as U.S. military but most from the darkness behind the curtain.  It exposed the opportunity that a private mercenary company could have.

But he took it a step further.  Most of the mercs out in the world were small outfits.  Limited Strike teams that expanded their personnel only if the job required it, hiring whoever they needed for a temporary job, but keeping only a core group of twenty or less as a permanent group.  There were thousands of floaters out there, former agents or soldiers with no particular loyalty or morality.  About half were in the business of selling information back to their former masters.  After all, if you could get paid twice for the same amount of work, why not?  And thanks to Ulster’s former job, he knew almost all of them.  Almost all of them were men, and some women, who couldn’t bear a life of normalcy, of civilian laziness.  It was an addiction to adrenaline, to danger, to challenge and pitting their skills against something bigger than whether to eat pork chops or meatloaf for dinner that night.  Deadlines, the dance of evasion or escape and knowing the secrets of the world was far more seductive than mowing your lawn and going to the mall later.

It took an immense amount of focus and determination to leave that world behind.  The success rate for reintegration was about 50% and entirely dependent on the personality.  Ulster was fortunate that he woke up and realized that his family was more important than what he did for work.  He wasn’t sure exactly when his job became his priority, but Heather leaving him and taking the kids terrified him far more than facing down an enemy.  So he changed.  If he had to pick one thing that separated those who could leave the life of excitement and danger, and those who couldn’t, it was that the successful ones found something else they couldn’t afford to lose, something far more important.

So he founded International Conflict Resources with most of the loose money he’d stashed away from various missions over twelve years.  He was surprised to find out it all came to roughly 15 million U.S. once it was converted.  The thing about warlords, political tools, and petty regional thugs was that they loved having money laying around, as if bricks and stacks of it made them feel good when they looked at it.  Or they were afraid if they let it too far away from them it would be stolen.  It was a strange psychological reaction but there was a reason for it: Organization independence when the regional banking system was easily utilized by other agencies to discover, manipulate, or cripple your limited organization.  Loose money was a protection against being frozen.  And it was a Plan B if everything fell apart.  They could run and hide and use that money to start again.

However, as in all other things, these limited organizations always believed they found a clever way to hide when in fact they were just using a method that organizations had used for hundreds of years, methods that governments and agencies were well prepared for.  Money laundering, shell entities, distributed caches, non-active players acting as holders (some of them legitimate), all of them easily tracked and mapped out.  And while the U.S. either seized or turned over to local governments the ‘official’ money, the loose money wasn’t significant enough to worry about and whichever team managed to find it could keep it as a bonus.  Most of that fell into the ‘personal stockpile’ category of specific players and amounted to less than 100K.  If you brought it into the US all you needed was an identifier to register it as foreign earnings so the IRS could send you a tax bill.  Those identifiers came with the contract package as a standard perq.

Ulster had taken a page from the organizations he’d taken down over the years and left his cut in distributed caches, accounts or businesses all over the world.  When he began doing it he didn’t have a specific plan other than a nice retirement nest egg.  It wouldn’t do to put that money to use while he was still working and his family enjoyed a comfortable middle class income provided by his legitimate employment.  It was only when he cycled out of his action team and officially ‘retired’ that he established International Conflict Resources.  He started small.  Just himself and one guy from his former team hiring out as ‘advisors’ on carefully chosen operations for the US government.

Over the last four years they’d grown into a respectable mercenary outfit that provided a full range of services from basic security contracts to small incursions and raids.  He was the first one to approach newly separated operators and peak specialities soldiers to recruit for his growing organization thanks to his former handler feeding him potential recruits.  He had placement for each of the psychological types - those who wanted to stay domestic and out of the fight, those who couldn’t mentally leave the fight behind, those who were geared more to support and logistics, those who were masters of infiltration and intel gathering, and more.

Brickmann was one of the latter types.  He loved the mental chess match of infiltration and was impressive in his ability to remake himself into any type of character.  But it was his uncanny ability to figure out what his target needed and slide into that role that proved his worth.  If there was anyone that could get inside the Montelongo kid’s head, it was him.  Knowing Brickmann, he’d play it blind.  This wasn’t life or death so he’d forego the standard background intel on the subject.  Brickmann said ‘reactions, questions, casual conversations are all more natural if you don’t know.’  Again, that was part of Brickmann’s gift.  Ulster knew Brickmann would think it too easy to gain the trust of the Montelongo kid if he had a file on him first.

There were a few other standouts in the first group Collins had sent here.  The one they called Weeble was a surprise and Ulster intended to push him as far along the path as he could because the kid had potential.  Initiative and motivation, a refusal to quit, determination and a quiet strength all hidden by that meek, willing personality.  The way he’d dealt with his abandonment checked off a lot of boxes.  How he’d fought through his Whisperman ordeal checked off others.  And then there was his interaction with Ulster himself.  The kid didn’t whine, didn’t complain, made split second decisions and didn’t look back.  He dedicated himself to the mission and went beyond expectations.  That kind of drive and determination, the fight beyond his abilities, the confidence in his actions couldn’t be taught.  That came from a history of overcoming obstacles and created character that bled off into others that surrounded him.  The sexual episode, while fun, was a test he’d passed with flying colors.  Not the way he submitted himself, but afterwards when the kid maintained his focus and moved forward without the episode having a single effect.  That kind of absolute compartmentalization was an unusual and valuable trait.

Ulster wrote out a list of the notables and assigned handlers from his available men.  The rest would get group training as a class.  When he finished, he was slightly surprised that his list was as long as it was.  For the hundredth time in the last two days he wondered what Collins was doing with these kids.  Ordinarily there might have been two, maybe three standouts in a normal Infantry Platoon.  The quality he was seeing in these troops hinted that Collins had selected each of them specifically.  He also suspected that Brickmann’s nephew played a large part in who these troops were.  One of the benefits of effective leadership was that it elevated subordinates and wouldn’t allow mediocrity to endure.  He could quote the historical military tactician that paraphrased but he had to get moving and his mind was busy making a plan.

***********************

“BENNETT!”  Brickmann yelled as he climbed the stairs inside the command center.  He passed Fazzini as he walked up.  “Grab Decker.”  He told Fazzini.

Fazzini grinned with a squint of his impossibly light blue eyes before hurrying down the stairs.

Once Brickmann entered the top floor with windows that overlooked the still dark compound he saw Bennett sitting at the security desk, looking at the monitors that had various video feeds.

“What do you want, Ivan?”  Bennett replied in a deep impatient voice without even giving him the courtesy of looking at him.

Ivan crossed his arms and planted his feet.  “I want to kick your ass you piece of shit.”

Bennett stood up and inflated his impressive size.  Now he did grace Ivan with a look.  A mean, challenging look.

“Fuck off.  You mad I fucked your nephew?”  Bennett spat with a snide smirk.

Bennett was a large man.  Bearded even though he still kept his black hair cut in a military fade, he looked like a pro wrestler complete with that slightly insane glint in his dark eyes.  The beard was cut in a Spartan style, shorter and straight on the sides of the jaw, but longer on the chin to create an even point.  He’d be handsome if it wasn’t for the big nose that had obviously been broken more than a couple times in the past.  Crooked and with a thick knot halfway up the length said the man had refused to have it fixed.  He had a heavy brow and prominent cheekbones he kept free of beard growth.  Bennett liked to think of himself as a real tough guy.  He kept in shape and loved to use his size to intimidate.  There was only one way to deal with a man that stood three inches taller and 50 pounds heavier.

Ivan’s foot flashed out faster than Bennett could react and slammed into his crotch with every ounce of brutal force he could impart.  Right in the nuts.  If you went for that move, you had to give it everything.  But he gave props to Bennett for not vomiting.  A lesser man would have emptied his stomach.

Bennett collapsed with a grunt of pain.  That never got old.  He gasped while trying to steady himself on his hands and knees.  One good knee to the side of Bennett’s head finished the job to send him reeling over onto his side, curled up into a ball.

Fazzini and Decker arrived a few seconds after.  “Put him over the desk.”  Brickmann said.  They yanked Bennett up and threw him face down over the desk.  He grabbed the waistband of Bennett’s trousers and pulled with a full powered heave as the fabric ripped and exposed the sturdy oversized meat of his bare, hairy ass.  He began to struggle but an uppercut between his legs right into his already sore balls put a stop to that.

“Behave yourself boy.  You’ve already lost.”  Ivan spat.

“Fuck you, pussy.”  Bennett managed.

That made Ivan grin.  “We’ll see who’s the pussy here.”

Going in dry wasn’t easy.  It was painful on your dick, but the trick was to work it in slowly.  Bennett thrashed on the desk, held down by Fazzini and Decker, which made it even more of a challenge so Ivan punched his fist down into Bennett’s mouth, splitting his lip and sending blood dripping onto the desk.  “Look at you, first blood.  Not so tough now, are you?”

Bennett’s only response was to grunt in pain as the head of Ivan’s impressive dick popped through his outer ring.  His legs seized up and he clenched down in reflex.

“Relax, or I’ll break your nose, boy.”  Ivan growled, punching the bigger man in the right kidney.

“No.  I’m gonna break your dick off.”  Bennett promised.

“Fine.”  Ivan said with no inflection, managing to get a little more dick forced inside before slamming his palm down right beside Bennett’s nose, causing a gush of blood to join the small pool already on the desk from his split lip.

They were all breathing heavily, Fazzini and Decker having to use all their weight to keep Bennett pinned, Bennett fighting with all he had against the weight of the three of them, and Ivan keeping up the pressure of forcing himself inside this beast dry while beating down with his fists.

Bennett was no easy victim but this was going to get done.  And finally, Ivan’s hips were pressed firmly up against Bennett’s hairy cheeks.  Still, his big meaty ass meant Ivan was only halfway planted.  Big round muscle asses were great to look at, but the hole was buried deeper than your average man.  He reached down and grabbed the torn fabric of Bennett’s trousers and ripped the right leg further until he could free Bennett’s knee to pull it up onto the desk, spreading his ass enough to push all the way in.

“Aaaaahhh, fuck!” Bennett gasped wetly through the blood.

“That’s right, it’s a fuck.  That’s what happens to Beta bitches.  Just what you deserve, getting dicked down by better men than you.”  Ivan grunted while he gave a few short thrusts which drew out some fresh mucous from Bennett’s abraded hole.  Irritate any mucous membrane and the automatic response of the body was to produce the slimy fluid meant to flush the foreign object or material out.  And assholes worked just like the nose and mouth even if there was less fluid expelled.

Bennett took the opportunity to buck, trying to get his right leg back down.    Ivan pulled out completely and gave Bennett another punch to the balls before sliding his belt off in less than a second.  He jammed his cock back in to the hilt accompanies by Bennett’s squeal of pain, then looped the belt around Bennett’s knee while he was momentarily incapacitated and pushing it into the handle of the drawer just below, securing it tightly.

“Now we rock and roll.  You’re weak.  You’re nothing next to a real man.  Can’t even fight back because you know this is where you belong, face down with a dick in your ass being beaten by an Alpha that’s older and tougher.”

Ivan picked up the pace, thrusting hard and deep into Bennett’s warm, tight hole.  The legs of the desk were giving out a squeak with every push, matching the grunts of pain from Bennett.

“Stop.  I’m sorry.  I’m sorry.”  Bennett’s tone had changed.  “Please don’t, please stop.”  His words were quiet and held none of the snide challenge from earlier.

“Stop what?”  Ivan ordered.

“I’m pathetic.  I’m so weak.  You’re stronger.  Please stop hitting me, sir.”  Bennett pleaded.

Ivan pulled out and stood back.  He saw Bennett’s big body deflate, watched as his brutalized hairy asshole clenched and unclenched trying to adjust to the punishment, his full, trunk like thighs spread wide.

Ivan signaled Fazzini and Decker who slowly took their weight off Bennett’s shoulders.  Bennett didn’t move and lay there breathing hard.  He was a picture, that was for sure.  One leg cocked up and tied, his ass spread wide, his other leg not even trying to bear his weight.  He remained in position.

Ivan moved forward again, grabbing the two meaty globes of Bennett’s ass and pulling them further apart.  He spat on Bennett’s tightly puckered hole and pushed the head of his hard cock against it.  “You gonna be a good boy now?”

“Yes, sir.  I’m a good boy.”  Bennett said in a childlike voice.

“Yes, you are.  Such a good boy.”  Ivan repeated sweetly, reaching out a hand to stroke down the back of Bennett’s head as he slowly re-entered the big man.  He noticed his left knee throbbing slightly from when he’d slammed it into Bennett’s hard skull earlier.  Not as young as he used to be, and he hated the reminder.

Bennett’s groan was one of whimpering pleasure now as he sunk the length of his thick cock inside the younger man.  The Brickmann clan men were all gifted with above average equipment and he knew how perfectly it stretched a willing hole, whether that was ass or pussy.

That was Bennett’s hidden need, the key to who he was.  He responded to overwhelming dominance.  Overwhelming.  He couldn’t submit himself, as much as he really wanted to, without force.  Inside, Bennett was desperate for validation from superior men.  Ivan had met his type before, those who were too masculine, out to constantly prove how much better they were than all the other little men around them that they considered less masculine and competent. Strutting around with a chip on their shoulder, daring any confrontation.  Derisive smirks on their lips, a glint of violence in their eyes.  But given the right circumstances, that bravado melted into a soft pile of willing and compliant puppy dog who loved to serve.  If the world proved anything, it was that even if you considered yourself an Alpha, there was always a bigger, badder Alpha out there.  And Ultimate Alphas saw boys like Bennett as amusing little chihuahuas that barked and barked, nipped at their ankles, but easy enough to put in their place.  The first Ultimate Alpha that taught the puppy that lesson had them for life if they chose.  But true Alphas were made for hunting, so owning someone like Bennett wasn’t a goal for Ivan, and owning Bennett would not help him grow.  That didn’t mean Bennett didn’t look at him and Ulster as his Alphas, which he always would.  It was ingrained in his very soul now.  If Ivan had just walked in and snapped his fingers Bennett would have removed his trousers and bent over the desk without a word.  But Ivan knew how to keep Bennett on the leash, and that was to dominate him with brutality first.  It was all about the trigger.  And by continuing to demonstrate dominance before rewarding him as a good boy, it ensured Bennett would never just roll over for anyone and would eventually grow beyond the sub-Alpha stage.  Oh, he might still find some big strong way too good looking beast to give it to him good, but that wouldn’t have anything to do with his authority or self image.  And it was Brickmann’s duty as his Alpha to help him grow to that point.  Ulster had given him the task.  And he would fulfill it.  They both had high hopes for the young wolf.

Ivan didn’t enjoy the rough part, no true Alpha did, but it was what Bennett needed the most, almost more than the tender part afterwards.  The rough part was what allowed him to let go, to let himself be dominated and commanded, but only by someone stronger that he accepted as an Alpha.  Bennett was still young, at 31.  Hopefully he could reconcile these two opposites inside himself eventually.  He’d never become an Ultimate Alpha until he did.  

Ivan scowled.  ICS wasn’t some perverted grooming outfit for guys to get their kicks with other guys.  But there were many types of men, and men like Bennett had a specific need, and without that he’d act out.  It was why the man had only barely made it to the end of his second enlistment.  Competence could only cover for so much acting out.  Ulster had recognized his belligerence immediately and had set Ivan the task of dissecting the man.  And if a beat down and a fuck was what squared the beast away, that was what he would be trained with until he grew beyond such basic levels.  Ivan wasn’t even sure how much he believed in the whole Alpha concept, but Bennett did.  The boy needed strong leadership to bring out his best.  And to him, submitting himself to another proven stronger male was how it happened.  For now.  Ivan hoped he didn’t have to keep fucking Bennett for much longer.  It was losing its allure.

Ivan did his duty in letting Bennett provide him pleasure and gradually worked himself up to orgasm by pounding Bennett’s ass as hard as he could.  The desk had moved a foot, and he’d have to slow it down so the monitors didn’t come unplugged.  Another crucial aspect of this side of Bennett was knowing he’d pleased a man he looked up to.  So Ivan had to finish.  Sure, it wasn’t an unpleasant duty and Ivan Brickmann enjoyed it, having this big, mean beast submissive to him, so he made certain he used his prime, grade A ass to maximum effect while Bennett moaned with grateful pleasure beneath him.  The big dark haired man hadn’t moved an inch from the position they’d left him in when they released him.  He truly was a good boy.  There was something heady and serotonin inducing to submit a specimen like Bennett.

“Oooh, yeah, you’re going to make me cum boy.  Do you want me to cum?”  Ivan moaned, keeping to the script.

“Yes, sir.  I want you to cum so bad.  Please?  I promise I’ll be good.”  Bennett whimpered.

The sincere and desperate need in Bennett’s voice brought Ivan to the brink, and he stopped right at the edge.  When the feeling began to wane, he stroked a couple more times.  He reached the brink again, feeling a small spurt of ejaculate leak out inside Bennett’s muscular, gripping hole.  He paused, letting the moment back off, squeezing down, and even slower he thrust in before stopping again.  It was building, and would reach the point of being unable to stop his orgasm regardless of what he did or didn’t do.  Just the barest movement kept bringing him to the edge.  He moved painfully slow, reveling in the wet rub of Bennett’s guts keeping him balanced on the knife edge.

“Please…”. Bennett whined with a weak, trembling voice.

That did it, it was happening.  The flush of pleasure that started in his throat, spread across his chest and straight down his stomach to…not his dick, but under his dick, beneath it, just before exploding up from the base of his balls.  He almost painfully pulled back and then sunk back into the warmth as his dick jerked and twitched with every thick ropey spurt of hot jizz spraying out in an almost continuous pour of molten seed.  Character roles were one thing, but he was still a man fucking something wet, tight, and warm.  Nature takes over at some point.

“Oh fuck, oh my fucking God, oh holy fucking shit, oh shit…”. Ivan gasped as the powerful orgasm shook him from foot to eyeballs.  The type of nutting that made your entire body spasm and lose control.  The repeated flexing of every fiber in his dick was undeniable and uninterrupted, spewing forth more and more cum as if suctioning it right out of his balls in a way that made them ache so good.

“Yes, give it to me, sir.  Yes sir.  Yes sir.  I’m a good boy.”  Bennett matched him with every uttered phrase.  This was the moment of his greatest validation.  He’d satisfied a superior male, gave him pleasure and accomplished his purpose.

Ivan tried to catch his breath while remaining fully inside the younger man’s willing and receptive ass.  “Good boy.  Very good boy.”  Ivan breathed, giving himself time to pull himself together.  Bennett didn’t squeeze down on his dick.  He wouldn’t do anything without Harris’ command.

He withdrew his softening dick, which was a sign of having the best, most intense orgasm.  A regular orgasm wouldn’t make him go soft and he often found himself continuing to fuck for a second orgasm, or a third.  He sighed.  That was the irony of life.  The type of nut that made you cum the hardest also ensured you couldn’t do that again in any decent amount of time no matter how much you wanted to feel that soul shaking release a second time.  While the average ones you could repeat many times in the course of a couple hours.  It was almost as if your nervous system’s goal was to expel the full amount of your seed one way or another - either through one violent and explosive massive detonation, or through multiple lesser small caliber munitions deliveries.

Bennett obediently remained in the same position.  Ivan buttoned up his trousers and automatically went to secure his belt before he remembered it was strapping Bennett’s leg down.  He moved to the side of the desk and knelt down to look Bennett in the eye.  His nose had stopped bleeding, as had his split lip.  He was going to have a black eye.  It wouldn’t be the first time he’d have to walk around for a week with a bruised up face, and everyone was going to know how he got that way.  Bennett didn’t get beat up except for one specific way.  And many were the men who thought they could do the job only to have Bennett’s mark on their faces instead.  Lucky for them, Bennett didn’t do anything beyond teach them a lesson with his fists for over-estimating their ability to dominate him.

And if there was one thing Bennett loved more than getting fucked by an Alpha male, it was beating the shit out of lesser men who were beneath him.  Because of that, he didn’t discourage his male suitors.  As long as they could take him down, they could have the prize, but if they couldn’t he would have plenty of fun banging them up and unconscious, which for someone with Bennett’s talents meant they didn’t pass out until he wanted them to pass out.  There was a betting pool in ICR for who could take the longest beating, who managed to get the prize (which was now up to a whopping $8000 and had remained unclaimed for a year now, the last guy some insanely stacked Israeli Shayetet who Bennett insulted one too many times, trying to push him to prove it.  Bennett smiled for a week after, and that was fucking weird as shit seeing him smile like that with half his face distorted from his beat down), and a pool for who had the most attempts.  Again, Bennett knew about the betting pool and supported it.  He wasn’t trying to chase anyone away.  They just had to earn it.  Of course, Ivan didn’t participate, it wouldn’t be fair as he’d already claimed the prize many times, usually when Bennett completed a job particularly well.  As Bennett’s Alpha it was his right and duty. And after testing his nephew to the ultimate limit, Bennett deserved his reward.  Tom would be better because of what Bennett had done.

Decker moved up behind Bennett, his own reward for his participating in the fight.  No, Decker and Fazzini wouldn’t qualify for the pool, being helpers didn’t count.  Now that the big 6’3” hairy muscle boy was freshly fucked there wasn’t any difficulty sliding his own average sized cock up inside using Harris’ cum as lube.  Still tight and incredibly warm, Decker began pounding.

“Make it good, Decker.  Hard and fast, like he likes it.”  Ivan directed.  If Bennett got the sense you weren’t fucking him like a real man should fuck, you’d lose out and he’d come out of his docile submission and you’d have to fight him down again.  And Fazzini and Decker weren’t up to taking Bennett down on their own, even if his pants were ripped open and he had one eye swelling shut.

“I know that, Brickmann.  Shut the fuck up while I jam my dick in this bitch.”  Decker growled, almost overplaying it.  But the violent balls deep thrusts he shoved into Bennett’s jiggling meaty ass did enough to keep the angry rhino asleep.

It was good that he didn’t linger and emptied his own nuts into the young muscle boy in quick order before giving up his place to Fazzini.  As long as the train kept running, Bennett would stay in his good boy persona.  While he was docile, anyone his Alpha gave him to could do what they liked.  Ivan took the opportunity to look in Bennett’s dark brown eyes.

“Hey there good boy.  You did good with the kid in lockdown.  I’m proud of you.”  He said, stroking Bennett’s forehead.

Bennett smiled as his face slid through the blood on the desktop with every one of Fazzini’s jabbing thrusts.   “Thank you sir.  I could bleed him without incapacitating him if you want.  It wouldn’t damage him too much.”  The eager offer made Ivan smile back.  He sounded like a kid offering to get his father a beer and his favorite slippers.

“Ulster will decide.  The kid will be an Alpha, so target what you do with that goal in mind.  I’m headed out, so be a good boy while I’m gone, okay?”

Bennett nodded without breaking eye contact just as Fazzini came in his ass with a few low grunts.  “Yes, sir.  I’ll be a good boy.  I’m always a good boy.”

Brickmann gave him a pat on his head.  “Yes you are.  A very good boy.”

He stood up and told Decker “Cover the desk while Bennett gets himself cleaned up.”

After retrieving his belt and releasing the big man, he followed Bennett down the stairs, who walked with head held high and shoulders back in spite of his ass hanging bare with the shredded ruins of his trousers flopping loose.  Several of the men turned to look, then resumed what they were doing without batting an eye as he and Bennett walked past on the main level.  The state of Bennett’s face, and his big meaty ass exposed told them everything they needed to know.  And they knew better than to give any indication of it or they would face a lesson from Bennett who would beat them to a pulp even if a river of jizz was sliding down his hairy hamstrings.

Only after Bennett descended on the lift did it occur to Ivan that Bennett uncharacteristically wasn’t wearing underwear.  A chuckle escaped his lips.  Bennett was definitely a very good boy. He had been looking forward to Ivan’s visit.

Now, he had to collect the Montelongo kid and be on his way.  Shower first though, then load him up like a pack mule from the equipment in the bunker.  He had a lot to learn.

[Guest]

14 hours ago, Assmunch said:

That was Bennett’s hidden need, the key to who he was.  He responded to overwhelming dominance.  Overwhelming.  He couldn’t submit himself, as much as he really wanted to, without force.  Inside, Bennett was desperate for validation from superior men.  Ivan had met his type before, those who were too masculine, out to constantly prove how much better they were than all the other little men around them that they considered less masculine and competent. Strutting around with a chip on their shoulder, daring any confrontation.  Derisive smirks on their lips, a glint of violence in their eyes.  But given the right circumstances, that bravado melted into a soft pile of willing and compliant puppy dog who loved to serve.  If the world proved anything, it was that even if you considered yourself an Alpha, there was always a bigger, badder Alpha out there.  And Ultimate Alphas saw boys like Bennett as amusing little chihuahuas that barked and barked, nipped at their ankles, but easy enough to put in their place.  The first Ultimate Alpha that taught the puppy that lesson had them for life if they chose.  But true Alphas were made for hunting, so owning someone like Bennett wasn’t a goal for Ivan, and owning Bennett would not help him grow.  That didn’t mean Bennett didn’t look at him and Ulster as his Alphas, which he always would.  It was ingrained in his very soul now.  If Ivan had just walked in and snapped his fingers Bennett would have removed his trousers and bent over the desk without a word.  But Ivan knew how to keep Bennett on the leash, and that was to dominate him with brutality first.  It was all about the trigger.  And by continuing to demonstrate dominance before rewarding him as a good boy, it ensured Bennett would never just roll over for anyone and would eventually grow beyond the sub-Alpha stage.  Oh, he might still find some big strong way too good looking beast to give it to him good, but that wouldn’t have anything to do with his authority or self image.  And it was Brickmann’s duty as his Alpha to help him grow to that point.  Ulster had given him the task.  And he would fulfill it.  They both had high hopes for the young wolf.

Thank you

[laguyinhou]

Fucking awesome, man! 

[Assmunch]

1 hour ago, laguyinhou said:

Fucking awesome, man! 

Thanks bud!  

[blackrobe]

Many of us are looking forward to your next installment, but waiting patiently while you deal with your life, summer, and the challenges of creativity. 

Don't take silence as a lack of interest. 😈

[Assmunch]

On 8/27/2023 at 7:23 PM, blackrobe said:

Many of us are looking forward to your next installment, but waiting patiently while you deal with your life, summer, and the challenges of creativity. 

Don't take silence as a lack of interest. 😈

Thanks man!  It’s been difficult trying to write with so much going on for me.  Nothing serious or beyond normal life so I should count my blessings, it’s just all happening at once.  A close friend is going through a divorce that is simultaneously ridiculous (because the petty bullshit that 2 grown adults fixate on is absurd) and disappointing (because they can’t see past their own selfish needs to do what’s best for their 11 year old son).  I get to play legal and psych counselor by phone several times a week.  My position as President of the HOA brings me MORE ridiculous bullshit by foolish homeowners making it difficult to get our projects done.  Work is its usual mental drain.  And trying to gear up for selling my house to move back to Texas which means repairs and fixing it up to make it look pretty while trying to spend as little money as possible.    I spend much of my downtime just trying to forget the world exists.  But, I am writing the next chapter and have gotten it 1/3rd done.  I’m glad you all are patient.  

[BestCatcher]

This series is literally some of the best writing anywhere. The last 8 months without updates on the hot men of Bravo company have been torture! Really hoping we’ll be able to read more soon….

[DrWilliams]

I can't help but wonder if the way you stack phrases like ones below, all found in a single paragraph, might have been just a tiny bit inspired by SNL writers or Kate McKinnon's "Ms. Rafferty" character. The alien abductee and one time time traveler who, always arriving pantsless, refers to her grumpy and dumpy; cooter and tooter; juicer and ducer; clam casino and bean burrito; and staring down the barrel of her south mouth.

You wrote:

"...getting his fudge dispenser scrubbed out by my tongue...  And my dick attack up his newly christened virgin fuck chute last week didn’t really qualify as a fucking.  Nowhere near a Kevin style plundering of every tender rectal tissue I owned, bruised, stretched and slathered with multiple loads of dicksoup, until I literally couldn’t speak.  Yeah, I was definitely going to auger out his pretty little dickwarmer until he drooled in senseless ecstasy."

Edited April 18 by DrWilliams

[Assmunch]

On 4/18/2024 at 11:22 AM, DrWilliams said:

I can't help but wonder if the way you stack phrases like ones below, all found in a single paragraph, might have been just a tiny bit inspired by SNL writers or Kate McKinnon's "Ms. Rafferty" character. The alien abductee and one time time traveler who, always arriving pantsless, refers to her grumpy and dumpy; cooter and tooter; juicer and ducer; clam casino and bean burrito; and staring down the barrel of her south mouth.

You wrote:

"...getting his fudge dispenser scrubbed out by my tongue...  And my dick attack up his newly christened virgin fuck chute last week didn’t really qualify as a fucking.  Nowhere near a Kevin style plundering of every tender rectal tissue I owned, bruised, stretched and slathered with multiple loads of dicksoup, until I literally couldn’t speak.  Yeah, I was definitely going to auger out his pretty little dickwarmer until he drooled in senseless ecstasy."

LOL, if you’ve ever been around young military guys it’s sort of a contest to come up with crazy names for stuff.  EVERYTHING gets another name.  

[Assmunch]

I apologize for the long wait.  The process of moving from Georgia to Texas has been long and intense.  I began it all in August of 2023.  It was five months of house repairs and selling the house I owned in Georgia - two months of repairs, three months waiting for a purchaser.  Then three months of looking for a house to buy in Texas, moving, and more house repairs on the house we bought.  For three months of that we were essentially homeless, staying with friends and family during the painful waiting for contracts to be signed, money to hit the bank, and keys to exchange hands.  I never want to move again.

 

To catch you up on the story so far - The Bravos have just completed Airborne Jump School and earned their wings.  After being allowed to relax on a four day pass, they were taken to a secretive compound for selective training.  They have not been told the purpose of this training, but that’s nothing new for the Bravos.  Grunts aren’t told why.  Still, after a closed meeting with Bootlicker the squad leaders have begun putting it together and now know they have been lab rats in an experimental program thought up by the Pentagon and Marine Major Collins to determine the effects on a unit when homosexuals are permitted to serve in the military.  The squad leaders decide not to tell the other Bravos, and each of them is keeping their own secrets about which Bravos might be gay.

Assmunch, their Platoon leader is nowhere to be found.  After an unsuccessful battle drill, the Bravos have been divided up among the men of the compound to undergo individual instruction.

The organization running the compound also has no idea who the Bravos are, or why Major Collins has brought the young Privates here for what is usually reserved for specialized mission training of special units.  But the money the Pentagon is paying is too good to pass up.  Ulster McGregor, the leader has decided the Bravos have to know what they’re involved in, and implements a plan of psychological manipulation that will run in tandem with the training.  Each Bravo is subtly questioned for intel.  Except for Assmunch.  His questioning has not been subtle.

He has been isolated, beaten, and subjected to various methods of interrogation and low level torture.  And when his resistance proves to exhaust his captor’s patience, they move to level 2 enhanced methods which result in his tormentor sexually assaulting him.

It has only been 24 hours since they boarded the transports that brought them here.  24 hours without any sleep except the all too brief wait-naps they’ve learned to take whenever they could.

 

 

SLEEPER

 

“Montelongo, you’re with me.”  The man said walking up to him.  “Break down your kit and prep it for storage.  We’ll be on a week and a half mission, so load out accordingly.  Constant movement, rough terrain.”

“Yes, sir.”  Sleeper said, moving immediately to pull his items from his individual tent so he could pull it down.

“I’m not your sir, or anyone’s sir.  But, you bring up a good point.  Address.   Hmmm”. Ivan Brickmann pursed his lips and put a hand to his chin.  Then he smiled in a friendly, relaxed way.  “Call me Ivan.  What’s your name?”

Sleeper smiled back, it just felt right.  Ivan seemed like a good guy.  “My brothers call me Sleeper, but I guess just call me Addison, that’s my first name.  Of course, you can call me Montelongo, I’m used to that too.”

The man waved away the offer.  “Nah.  I’ll go with Addison.  I like that name.  Where’s it from?”

Sleeper was making quick work of the ground pins, tie downs, paracord and thin tent fabric while they talked, pushing them into his ruck once they were reduced down to their minimal and most compact size.  Breakdown should only take 30 to 45 seconds.  Pins and paracord wrapped, tent flattened and edges folded inward to make a 16 inch strip onto which the wrapped paracord bundle was placed before rolling it into a tight cylinder of fabric.  “I’m not sure.  It’s a family name from my mother’s side.  I only know my dad’s side.”

Ivan nodded.  “I don’t know where Ivan came from.  I guess it was just a name my father liked.”

Sleeper smiled.  “Ivan’s a bitchin’ name.  It sound tough.”

The man shrugged with a grin.  “I guess it does.  Addison sounds fancy.”

That made Sleeper laugh.  “Nothing fancy about me.  You want fancy, go talk to AF.”  He said, point off into the slowly lightening camp toward one of the other soldiers.

“What’s AF stand for?”  Ivan asked conversationally.

Sleeper was almost done getting everything stowed in his ruck.  “Abercrombie and Fitch.  Dude should have been a model for Calvin Klein, Hilfiger, Jordache Jeans, any of those fancy clothes.  I’m handsome as fuck, but that guy is fucking pretty.  Almost perfect.  He’s got fucking dimples AND a cleft chin, a jaw like a boulder, and the rest of him just seems to fit together.  He’s like some fucking All American Poster Boy for Freedom, Democracy, and everything Liberty and Justice for All.”

That made Ivan laugh, a rich, loud and completely unrestrained bark.  “I have to see this guy.”

“I’ll take you past him.  He loves to be seen.”  Sleeper was shoving the rest of his gear into his ruck.  There’s wasn’t much.  If you were housed in a Temper you could spread yourself out a bit, some guys made a fucking mess of their square, but you knew you were going to be there for a while.  It was called semi-permanent for a reason.  But a temporary encampment in your individual tent meant you could be moving out fast, so you didn’t take anything out of your ruck that you didn’t need, and if you did, you put it back when you were done.  No one wanted to be last man if you had to move out.

“Don’t let Sleeper fool you.”  Demon called from one of the closest tents, climbing out with his grooming kit.  38 degrees out this morning, and Demon was heading to the showers completely naked, with just his boots on his feet, carrying his towel and grooming kit in his left hand.  “Sleeper loves to be seen too.  It’s funny sometimes watching those two try to out-pretty each other.”

“Fuck you Demon.”  Sleeper threw him the bird.

“Hey, I had no problem getting laid last weekend while you were on a romantic getaway with Zeus.”  Demon smirked.  “The ladies love me.”

Sleeper snorted.  “Yeah, I heard about that.  She wasn’t a prize, dude.”

Demon gave a high pitched yipping with a squeaky voice, and the sound was repeated across the camp by most of the other Bravos.

“What’s that about?”  Ivan asked.

“Nothing.”  Sleeper replied, but was interrupted by Demon who stopped a few steps away.

“That’s the sound a fox makes.  Sleeper wants his call sign to be Bravo Fox, because he thinks he’s foxy.”

Sleeper scowled at his naked brother.  “Foxy is for girls.  I’m a fox, get it right.”

Demon laughed and continued.  “No, you’re foxy.  If Zeus is your boyfriend, you’re the girl.  I don’t make the rules, buddy.”

Ivan felt the embarrassment flowing off of Montelongo in waves.  Interesting.  A little truth in the joke which was well accepted by the others in the Platoon, Ivan thought.

“And I can’t do anything about how ugly you are.”  Sleeper shot back.

Demon ran his free hand down his lean and defined chest, his pecs flat unlike Sleeper’s.  “I’m a tightly wound demolition spring.  I’m made to be an effective working tool, not just a pretty trophy the boss parades around.”

“I fucking hate you, Demon.” Sleeper grunted, pulling his ruck onto his back.  “Can we go?”  He said to Ivan.

“Sure, come on.”  Ivan replied.  That little interaction provided a wealth of information on who Addison Montelongo was.  Underneath the embarrassment was a distinct sense of satisfaction in the kid, some pride, and in spite of the voiced argument a comfortable happiness.  He didn’t bite back with any meanness or low blows.  There was no disagreement about the guy named Zeus being his boyfriend, or the getaway being termed ‘romantic’.  Addison was fine with being portrayed as all flash and no substance.  He liked the way this Demon made digs at him.  He liked the digs themselves.

“Who’s Zeus?”  Ivan asked, walking towards the compound.  He wasn’t surprised that Demon came with them, he was heading to the showers so they were both going to the same place.

Another clue.  It wasn’t Addison that answered him.  He was fine with allowing Demon to explain.  A quick check revealed Addison had a calm, unconcerned look on his face.  Either he was very good at hiding his emotions, or nothing about the question bothered him.

“Zeus?  You can’t miss him.  He’s our big guy.  He’s way out of Sleeper’s league in the body department.  Face wise?  Eh, I’ll give Sleeper the edge.  Zeus is handsome, but not on Sleeper or AF’s level.  But with Zeus, it’s an overall thing.  You have to be around him.  Zeus is a feeling, a presence.  I’ve never met anyone like him.  And he sure loves Sleeper here.  Stuck to him like glue.”  Demon expounded.  “He doesn’t say much.  Hardly speaks at all.  Keeps to himself.  Top marks in qualifications.  Screw taking a look at AF, it’s Zeus you really want to lay eyes on.”

Ivan almost shook his head.  That was a lot.  Hero worship?  Jealousy?  Hmmm, interesting.  “Is Demon right?”  He asked Addison.

“Zeus is…” Addison paused.  “Zeus just IS.  Demon’s right.”  There was a raw, vulnerable honesty in those few words.  Admiration.  Love.  Resignation.  Pain.  Hope.  It was almost too much to unpack.  “Any one of us would crawl across broken glass just to eat the undigested corn out of his shit.”

There it was, that deflection.  The mirage of crudeness covering some truth of Addison’s being.  Sleeper was a costume.  Bravo Fox was how he wanted his Platoon to see him, how he wanted to appear to his superiors.  Ivan intuitively felt there was a depth and cleverness to Addison he didn’t want anyone to see.  The ability to disguise yourself so perfectly was not something that an average grunt could ever be capable of.  Even more, Addison liked this persona he’d created.  He liked being treated as a pretty goof, no threat to anyone and not competent enough to be depended upon.  Only someone who was far more than average would accept with such equanimity being treated as just a pretty face.  The kid had absolutely no Ego.

The million dollar question was whether Addison Montelongo was some empty dilettante or had levels of competence and capability that he was trying so hard to hide.  Ivan was well acquainted with operators whose job required them to remain hidden among the masses, projecting an image that was unremarkable and average in every way.  Someone like Montelongo could easily put his looks to use with charisma and charm.  AF sounded like exactly that sort.  However, Montelongo didn’t leverage his advantages at all.  He didn’t want to be important.  He didn’t want to be noticed at all except to be dismissed as something pretty.

Ivan had a path forward now.  He knew who he had to be to get past Addison’s facade.  Someone safe, someone the kid could entrust with his personal baggage.  A teacher, kind and strong.  Supportive both emotionally and intellectually.  With a stress on just how little time they had together before they’d never see each other again.  Someone with no connection to the military.

**************************

“What’s your Grid Azimuth?”  Ivan asked.

Addison was kneeling with the map on one knee.  “93 degrees”

“And your GM?”

“Uh…” Addison paused while he scanned the perimeter of the map that Ivan had provided before they left.  “14 degrees West”

Ivan nodded, Addison’s math was fast.  “Good.  So…” he led out.

“Magnetic Azimuth is 107 degrees.”

Ivan pressed a hand to Addison’s shoulder and brought himself down to a squat beside the kid.  He leaned in close.  Touch and proximity were what Ivan called Trust Tools.  “Okay.  Now plot it out, and make your notes on the overlay and your field book.”

The kid used his protractor to make various marks on the overlay in quick fashion.  The pace at which he did his work impressed Ivan.

“38 klicks straight line.  You said we have a two day target?”  Addison asked him.

“That’s right.”  Ivan answered, watching Addison’s pencil moving over the topography of the Medium Scale Joint Operations Group Ground map for possible routes.  The part that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up was that he hadn’t indicated the location of the compound on the map.  It should have been Montelongo’s first question.  Had Collins briefed them on the location they’d be dropped off at?  Other actions taken by the kid were also out of the norm.  He hadn’t made a scale strip for distance calculation, simply used the flat side of his protractor as a gauge.  That sort of shortcut eventually became ingrained but at the early stage these kids were at in their training he shouldn’t be there yet.  Maybe the kid had a mind for math.

The kid looked at him.  “The terrain is going to make that tough.”

“Explain.”  Ivan said.

“The valleys are where we can make good time, and the stretch between this range, Dirtseller Mountain, and our target isn’t difficult.  Cultivated or developed land, some roads.  But getting across this range…”.

Ordinarily a straight march could cover about 13 km per day, more if not loaded down.  And if they marched into the night 19 was doable.  But the change in elevation, both increase and decrease in many areas would slow them down.  Finding water, securing a camp, stopping to check the route, landmarks, reorientation, finding an alternate route around obstacles, all were time eating.  The size of your group mattered as well.  Larger groups moved slower.

“Is your origin correct?”  Ivan asked, knowing it was but curious to discover if it was a guess or if Montelongo knew for certain.

Montelongo glanced at him with two eyebrows raised. “Yes.  Well, within 4 miles, give or take.”

Ivan tilted his head and squinted his eyes.

“Bootlicker figured it out when we were dropped off.  We left Benning, drove almost straight up here for a certain amount of time at a certain speed.  The last leg was uphill almost continuously.  He put it all together.  Once I had this map, I knew exactly where we were or where we had to be to meet all the criteria.  Running around the woods for the last couple days filled in the gaps.”  Addison explained.  “We can only be right here.”

Ivan nodded.  “I’m impressed.  You think three dimensionally.”

Addison shrugged.  “Like I said, Bootlicker figured it out.”

“No.  You’ve got a map in your head.”  Ivan said with a wry grin.  “Okay genius, show me our route.”  It was one thing to pinpoint your location when you had a visual of the horizon.  But in heavily wooded areas the subtle changes in elevation, existence of waterways and roads, manmade landmarks - none of those were apparent and you had to place what you came across on a map in your head.  Few could do it without years of experience and practice.  He doubted many in the kid’s Platoon could pinpoint their origin so accurately even with this Bootlicker’s knowledge.

Montelongo spent the next five minutes marking the overlay.  The route wasn’t perfect, of course.  It did, however, hit the most important locations, especially the one Ivan chose for their actual mission - the National Guard Resource Depot.  The map didn’t indicate the Resource Depot’s existence so Montelongo couldn’t know it was there.  But they wouldn’t be going anywhere near Dirtseller Mountain or what he told the kid their target was.

***********************

“We’re going to break into a Federal facility?”  Sleeper wanted to add ‘what the FUCK?’ To that but didn’t.  They were on their stomachs looking at the same kind of chain link fence that surrounded every government facility on U.S. soil, complete with metal white signs that had the words ‘AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY’ in big red letters.  But that wasn’t the sign that worried him.  The sign that worried him was the one that warned intruders would be prosecuted for a felony under Federal Statute U.S.C. Your Life is Over, Section: Go Directly to Jail, Paragraph: How Stupid Are You, Subsection: Your Mugshot.

“Yes.  No.”  Ivan’s casual reply didn’t indicate a concern at ANY level.  “They’ve got some good shit in there.  It’s sort of a gray area.  It’s technically federal, or maybe a better way to put it is ultimately federal, but all of it belongs to the State, not the Fed, or the military after it’s been purchased.  Now, the stuff on loan from the military… eh?”  Ivan held up a hand and lifted it then lowered it again.

Sleeper pounded his forehead on the dirt.  “We can’t steal anything from there!”  He said into the soil.  They’d made good time, reaching their current location in just 30 hours.  The terrain hadn’t been a problem at all, it was the constant need to avoid being seen that created the most difficulty.  Winter got rid of the difficult underbrush and visibility issues that traveling through woodlands entailed.

He felt Ivan shift without looking at him.  “Why not?  We’re doing them a favor.  That equipment is probably older than dirt.  National Guard always gets the hand-me-downs from the military.  It only gets used on their training weekends, their funding is dismal because it’s not a high profile political must-have.  Hell, the Reserves get better treatment, and they’re bottom feeders.  So, we take a few things and they requisition newer replacements.  Besides, if you don’t think all sorts of equipment walks away from this facility every single weekend, you’re delusional.  We don’t have a big shopping list.  We’ll be in and out in less than an hour.”

Sleeper looked at Ivan.  “Is that what you guys do?  Steal all your shit?”

Ivan shrugged.  “You need to lower your moral superiority, soldier.  If you want to feed your outrage properly, you should think about how your government has a thousand depots like this or bigger, jammed with dusty gear, equipment, materials, munitions, weaponry, vehicles, fuel and everything else that sits around unused for years until some natural disaster pops up and the Governor sends in the National Guard.  And then, because they get literal pennies in funding, half of this stuff doesn’t work when they go to use it, the personnel have forgotten 80% of their training meaning they CAN’T use half of the stuff that DOES work.  Their limited time with the Guard away from their regular lives doesn’t give them the opportunity to maintain all of it anyway.  So what if we pull a pair of shoes out of a dumpster?”

Sleeper blinked in surprise rapidly.  “Did— Did you just call the National Guard a fuckin dumpster?”

Ivan frowned.  “No.”

“Yes you did.  Fuck, dude.”

Ivan shook his head and shrugged again.  “The National Guard isn’t a dumpster.  I don’t know how you got that idea.  The National Guard are the Homeless in this analogy, the ones that dig through the dumpsters, like this depot, trying to find something useful that might actually work for them.  The State of Georgia is like a church, or maybe a shelter that gets ‘donations’ or uses charity money to buy blankets or clothes for the homeless.  But they aren’t buying the quality stuff, just discarded used equipment or goods.  Think of it as an ecosystem, a life cycle type thing.”

Sleeper’s mouth hung open while he stared at Ivan.  “Oh.  Well, that’s so much better.  It hardly sounds insulting at all when you put it that way.” He muttered sarcastically.

“Exactly.”  Ivan confirmed, confident that he fixed the issue and that Montelongo understood.

‘These guys are some shady motherfuckers.’ Sleeper thought to himself.  Criminals, by Ivan’s own admission.

“Now, your mission is to get us inside.  Get to it.”  Ivan ordered.

Sleeper took a deep breath.  He could refuse.  End it here.  None of this was duty related so there was no order to disobey.  But Sleeper was no fool, he knew these were skills that would be useful.  He couldn’t ignore the desire to test himself and he was curious to validate Ivan’s insulting view of these Depots and the equipment inside.

He felt a moment of disorientation as his thoughts congealed around the concepts of duty, orders, desire, curiosity, skills, intelligence gathering and ultimately being given a choice between moral actions vs. necessity.  Why?  What was really bothering him?  If he’d been given this task in field training, there would be no conflict.

Orders, that was the difference that mattered.  With orders, he didn’t have to think.  He didn’t have to choose.  Orders protected you.  The mission protected you from individual repercussions.  There was a line, sure, that no soldier should cross - avoid civilian casualties, avoid actions that would result in the death of friendlies.  Breaking into a secure facility wasn’t that high up on the list of objectionable actions.  Truthfully, even without a mission, or orders, whether on duty or off, it barely lifted the offense needle.  He’d get chewed out at worst.

And that was what spun his brain around.  There shouldn’t be a difference, right?  Wrong was wrong.  Illegal was illegal.  Except it wasn’t.  He realized then that the Army expected a certain amount of fucking up, of bad choices made by idiot grunts like him.  Now, if he broke into a nuclear facility, or a facility with Top Secret contents, oh he’d pay for that.  But this?  It was the equivalent of taking your mom’s car for a joy-ride.  The State of Georgia would be mad, but what could they do?  The Army wouldn’t care.  And that assumed either of them would even find out.  Or that any of it would point back to him.  And going down that road, Ivan referred to it as a ‘shopping trip’ which meant this wasn’t the first depot his buddies had hit, which meant the State of Georgia knew equipment walked away from these facilities exactly as Ivan had said.  And yet, they refused to protect them with anything more than a chain link fence and a couple of signs.  As if losing a certain amount of equipment was acceptable.

And wasn’t this what he was being trained for, or at least part of it? Infiltration was taught in one of their modules back in Germany, how to gain access.  With one glaring omission - they didn’t teach anything about when NOT to infiltrate.  Sleeper snorted.  Now if that wasn’t a clear message, he didn’t know what was.  The Army had to know that.  Too many brains created those training modules to leave out something that important, unless they didn’t want the grunts to even entertain the thought of failure.  Overcome or subvert defenses, avoid them if you could, eyes on the mission, the goal.  Barriers were nothing but an element to bypass however you could.  Lies, deception, brute force, sneaking, press a weakness, all options should be considered.  Incapacitate or kill defenders if the mission were important enough.  Blow shit up if you had to, if stealth wasn’t a necessity.  Sometimes, just wrecking a piece of infrastructure was the goal.  Set a fire.  Flood the place with broken water pipes.  Cut the power, disrupt communications, sow chaos.

At other times, retrieval was the mission and destruction was a waste of time.  It required a fast entry and exit with minimal enemy interaction.  Leaving bodies or rubble behind was undesirable for many reasons.  Occasionally, the mission had a caveat that you had to leave the enemy unaware that you were ever there.  That was Bootlicker territory right there.

Simply put, this type of thing was exactly what he was trained for, it fell squarely into the skill set expected of him.

Plus…fuck, it would be exciting and fun.

“Well, fuck it, let’s go fuckin’ shopping.”  Sleeper said to Ivan, climbing to his feet, his former moral superiority sufficiently lowered by his surprisingly easy rationalization.  It did make him briefly wonder how solid his morality could be if it was swayed that easily.  He concluded it was solid where it needed to be, flexible when required and he could be proud that a logical evaluation of the particular situation left him certain of how to act moving forward.

As they walked the perimeter to the front gate of the depot, he asked Ivan, “Was that part of this?  Testing if I would hesitate to do something illegal?”

Ivan chuckled.  “Illegal.  Hmmmm.  Be glad it wasn’t a test, because asking that question right there?  That’s a fail.”

He gave Ivan a look of confusion.

“That whole legal-illegal perception is useless.  It doesn’t matter.  What’s legal only matters if the people who made the law can enforce it.  Here?  Now?  Later?”  Ivan laughed.  “If we do our job right, we remove their ability to enforce anything.  Do you understand?”

After his thinking through it moments ago, Sleeper realized he did understand.  “Yeah, I get it.  Or at least I think I do.  It’s only illegal because they said it was, and they could do way, way WAY more to protect this stuff if they really thought it was important.  They really don’t care, do they?  It’s kinda ridiculous, when you think about it.  It’s a mind fuck.  We..” Sleeper pointed to Ivan then himself, “are supposed to believe it’s incredibly important, because of the fence, the signs, the promises of consequences.  But obviously they don’t think it’s important at all.  If they did, there’d be security, personnel stationed here as guards.  The fence would be electrified, maybe surveillance cameras.  Definitely not a chain link fence with a stupid six foot high double gate locked with a chain so loose we’re both going to squeeze through the gap.  If they don’t think it’s important to secure this facility, it means they don’t consider the contents to be important either.  So there’s no reason we should think it’s all that important ourselves.”

Ivan nodded.  “And…?”  He prompted.

Sleeper considered.  “And I guess if they can spell out all the consequences for violators, they probably should have thought of what consequences were there for them if they didn’t protect this stuff like they should.”

Ivan gave Sleeper a huge congratulatory smile.  A weird thought went through Sleeper’s head… that was exactly the way Assmunch smiled when he found something that really pleased him.  And speaking of Assmunch, Sleeper didn’t think he’d have had near as much trouble working his way through this business.  Assmunch would have wanted to break into the depot and rummage through the Quonset Huts, the open air motor pool, the armory built into an earthen mound.  He’d do it just to say he could, just to figure out what was required, what needed to happen to get in.  For that matter, so would Demon, Wanker, Bootlicker and about half the Bravos.  Definitely not Zeus, though.  No breaking the rules for Zeus.

“Talk me through it.”  Ivan said as they inspected the gate.

Sleeper shrugged.  “Pretty easy.  The loose chain coupled with the flexibility of the metal of the gate means we can make a gap and get through.  No need to cut anything.  No security measures out here on the perimeter.  There wouldn’t be any motion sensors on a gate, and even the fence line doesn’t have the indicators a disturbance track would need.  We’re good for entry.”  He pulled one of the gates from the bottom and a shockingly large space opened that allowed Ivan to scoot through.  Ivan did the same for him while Sleeper crawled through.

“That looks like the Operations Command office there.”  Sleeper said, pointing to one centrally located Quonset Hut.  “Let’s hit that one first.”

Ivan motioned with his hand for Sleeper to take the lead.

*****************************

They didn’t find anything interesting in the Operations Command.  Paperwork, personnel files, a couple computers.  It was set up like a large office, fifty feet long and thirty feet wide.  It also had an area set up like a day room at a barracks, with couches and chairs, a kitchen, a TV, a few tables.  It wasn’t a Mess, that was probably in one of the other buildings.  No, this was for downtime, meetings, recreation.

Ivan let Sleeper look at anything he wanted, even a safe in what he assumed was the Commander’s office.

“Don’t bother.”  Ivan said.  “There won’t be anything useful in there.”

Sleeper felt relief.  Sure, snooping around the facility was borderline okay, but a small safe in a commander’s office felt too personal.  This was a National Guard Depot, not some high level Defense Department facility.  There would be nothing valuable in the safe, no secrets, money or equipment.  It was something that was purely for the Commander’s personal use while on duty.  However…

“It might have access materials.  You know, keys to the other buildings, the motor pool, maybe computer login information.”  Sleeper offered.

“We don’t need keys to the buildings, do we?”  Ivan grinned.  “And motor pools are notorious for lazy security.  You have a lot to learn about how your government views equipment bought with taxpayer dollars.  Keep your eyes open, I think this should be a good wake up call.”

“Well what about information then?  We could get into the computer system.”  Sleeper offered.

“I should let you do it just to educate you, but you have someone in your unit I’m sure who could tell you everything you might find.  Ask him.  We won’t waste our time with it here.  Speaking of which,” Ivan continued.  “What kind of unit are you?  The way you handled the Battle Drill exercise wasn’t straight by the book Infantry.”

Sleeper shrugged, hoping it came off as genuine.  Keep it casual.  He sure as hell wasn’t going to let this guy know Bootlicker’s intel.  “Oh, we’re Infantry, for sure.  Just getting used to having some new guys who switched from other MOS’s.  Still haven’t worked out all the kinks.”

“Kinks?  Didn’t seem like there were any kinks to me.”  Ivan pushed.

Sleeper gave Ivan his best ‘bullshit’ look.  “I’d call me getting knocked the fuck out right out of the gate a pretty obvious kink.  Dumb move on my part.  Left my guys, and my unit without a commander.”

Ivan tilted his head.  “Do you think that’s why you didn’t complete the mission?”

Sleeper shrugged again.  “Probably not.  The Bravos knew what to do, didn’t need me calling the shots after engagement.”

“That would indicate either a well structured plan, or well trained personnel.”  Ivan offered.

“Neither of which mattered in the end, right?”  Sleeper laughed while rearranging the items and paperwork in the commander’s office back where it all was before they’d gone through it.  “Still couldn’t accomplish the mission.”

“You think you made a mistake?”  Ivan asked, watching Sleeper’s actions closely.

Sleeper paused.  He’d thought about.  Sure, he felt bad, like he’d let his brothers down.  Could he have made a difference?  Was there something he missed that he could have corrected during the raid?

“Sarge says doubts are part of the job, and that a leader without doubts gets his men killed twice as fast.  Yeah, I made mistakes.  Going in with my men wasn’t one of them.”

Ivan nodded.  Sleeper couldn’t tell if he agreed or if he was just acknowledging the statement.  “What was the weakness in your plan, then?”

Sleeper resisted the urge to sigh.  “What I WANT to say is that we were down our best strategist, and our best scouts and sneaks.  Those three could have made a difference.”  He shook his head.  “But really, the worst mistake was we… no I, it was me… treated it like it was just another drill with nothing on the line.  If this had been a real-world mission, half the Bravos would be dead.  I rushed it, told them to push as fast as they could and that speed would be the deciding factor because the enemy wouldn’t be able to re-position fast enough to stop at least one squad from reaching the goal.  I played a game of sacrifice.”

“There was no time limit for the exercise.”  Ivan pointed out.

Sleeper looked Ivan in the eye.  “And no directive to accomplish the mission at all costs.  With something more surgical I could have kept my men alive, and given us a better shot at reaching the goal.”

Ivan raised his hands again to mime balancing out the scales.  “And yet, too cautious and the mission fails anyway.”

Sleeper sat on the Commander’s desk and crossed his arms.  “How would you have done it?”

“Me?”  Ivan smiled.  “Oh, I would’ve started fucking with the enemy the minute I got the orders.  I would’ve sent a team in while they were still planning and thinking they had all the time in the world before the attack.  I would’ve taken advantage of the fact they believed you would play by the rules.”

Sleeper froze, stunned. “We’re not allowed to do that.”

“Who told you that?”

Sleeper couldn’t reply, it felt like his brain was short-circuiting.

“Who was in command?”  Ivan asked.  “Did you have an officer or superior?”

“No.”  Sleeper said quietly as his arms fell down to rest his palms on the desk.

“You, Addison.  You were the one who was given the power and authority to decide how the operation proceeded, at least for your team.  Every decision you make branches off from -“

“- how you define the mission and the engagement.”  Sleeper finished.  “Fuck me.”

Ivan raised his eyebrows.  “It was expected.  I’ll give you a cheat, because, well, I don’t believe in rules.  And I don’t believe in limitations when the lives of my men hang in the balance.  Here’s the thing, whatever you were before, your team, you weren’t sent here because you are some nameless platoon of average grunts.  So stop thinking like average grunts.  Stop thinking that you can’t wipe your ass without a sergeant ordering you.  Stop thinking that the book you were given in Basic is all they’ll let you do.  Push the limits.  Go outside the limitations they set.  If it’s not said or ordered specifically just assume they omitted it deliberately and have allowed for you to use that omission to further your goals.  Find a way, ANY way, to get the job done and keep your men alive.  Results matter.  Begging for forgiveness is a whole lot easier when your men are alive and you achieved your objective.  You might get chewed out, but it’ll just be for show.  And you’ll learn there are orders you can disobey without repercussions as long as you perform above expectations.  There are superiors who look the other way, who only care about results. Be careful not to get yourself court-martialed, but shy of an actual crime with identifiable damage, no chain of command is going to go through the trouble of a court martial.  Understand?”

Sleeper nodded.

Ivan clapped his hands, startling Sleeper.  “Oh, and don’t fuckin’ get caught and you won’t have to worry about any of the other stuff.”

 

************************************************

 

ASSMUNCH

 

It didn’t feel like I slept long but my mind snapped awake and refused to drift.  Yeah, I was sore and bruised everywhere which didn’t help.  A quick assessment, almost automatic by now, categorized the physical trauma to my body.  Which was a mistake because it forced me to review how it happened.

Which meant confronting that.

I mentally slid away the second it touched my conscious mind.  Nope. Not helpful.  Nope nope nope.

My shoulders ached, no doubt from being strung up and hanging from my wrists for an extended period.  Surprisingly, my wrists were fine, just a little raw from the rope.  My ribs hurt the worst, and second place went to my abdomen.  My lower back area, especially around my kidneys gave me stabbing pains each time I moved.  I flexed and stretched to figure out how extensive the damage might be.

Not awful, nothing a little more stretching and rest wouldn’t take care of.  It wasn’t even as bad as that time I’d slipped on the balancing logs while running the obstacle course and hit my side on the way down.  I fucking rag-dolled into the mud like the snot sliming down your jaw after the gas chamber training.  It wasn’t the first or last time my soul left my abused body in shock.

My hips and groin ached, hard to say why.  It was most likely from being hung just high enough that if I stood on my toes I could take a little weight off my wrists.  Plus, each painful punch or kick I endured made me involuntarily seize up to ride the wave on my toes if I could.  Sometimes I couldn’t make my legs work well enough to do that though.

Have you ever felt a pain so sudden and immense that you can’t move or speak?  Like you walk into something with your knee and there’s no room in your brain for forming words?  Then your friend asks you ‘are you okay, man?’ And all you can think is ‘shut up, just shut up, I can’t talk, I can’t talk, I need to focus all my willpower on making the pain go away’?

Yeah, the Ape was damn good at his job.

At first, it wasn’t so bad.  Not only could I deal with it, I wanted to focus on it and categorize it.  A blunt fist felt heavy.  A stiff finger jab was sharp and electric.  Thrown elbows were special because the force was insane enough to feel like the spike went inches deep.  Knee to the outer thigh?  Nothing worth writing home about.  Knee to the inner thigh, yeah, you felt that in your OTHER thigh too.

Dense muscle seemed to restrict and localize the pain, while soft muscle spread it like a burn.  Each had their benefits, but I liked the soft muscle burn the most.  It was a warm pain rather than a cold electricity type.  I could fall asleep with a warm or hot pain.  Cold, sharp, electric pain made my brain sizzle with denied focus.  Thoughts scattered, and if it was strong enough your eyes refused to see.  Well, I’m sure they saw stuff, but my brain wouldn’t recognize it.  Like it said ‘Nope, I’m busy, not accepting visual input at this time.’

The brain flares were seductive too, I won’t lie.  I’m sure you’re probably saying ‘this dude is sick’ but hear me out on this.  As near as I can figure, the brain flares were just sensory overload, a couple of seconds of absolute confusion and denial of existence.  You only know they happened because for a brief moment afterwards you questioned ‘what the fuck just happened?’  Well Private Punching Bag, you got your bell rung, that’s what fucking happened. What kind of question is that?  Did you lose a few brain cells?  Don’t worry, you don’t need those, you’re in the Army. Brain cells are NOT standard issue and NOT mission critical, carry on.

Carry on.  Yeah.  HOO-AH!

The pleasure to be found in pain lasts only as long as your body can pump out whatever chemical it uses as a defense.  Once  you’ve milked that organ dry the pain becomes an irritant to your consciousness.  And that’s the point at which your only option is to ignore it.  What I mean is you have to think away from it.  During the pleasure period, focusing on the pain is rewarding.  After that period ends there’s no reward in it.

I’ve had this trick I do ever since I was 13 years old.  I call it the Push It Away.  What?  Not the world-shattering descriptive term you expected from me?  I was 13 when I had to name it so cut me a little slack and maybe go fuck yourself while you’re at it.  You can think about how you like to judge children as you attempt to fit your big opinion of yourself up your …

Now I’m getting off track, see what you did?  Verbal brilliance was never in the top 10 of my best qualities.  I do know how to say ‘fuck you’ in five languages.  That ought to be worth something, right?

So anyway, the Push It Away works like this:  You take the pain, shrink it down to a manageable size in the area affected and imagine pushing it out of your body.  It takes some effort, and yes it’s all in your mind, but that’s the ‘trick’ part of it.  It tricks your brain into focusing on something other than the pain, you’ve given your brain a conscious task rather than instinct.  Your brain wants to pay attention to the pain because that’s important for survival.  Fighting that instinct isn’t easy.  Once the trauma initiates the pain though, it’s heightened afterwards because your muscles seize and tense, you hold your breath, and your brain is trying to catalogue the injury, take an assessment of damage.  That makes it remember the trauma.

You can’t let it do that, can’t let it relive the trauma. So … don’t.  Think of anything else.  In sports, your coach tells you to ‘walk it off’.  All he’s doing is giving you a conscious task to focus on rather than the pain.  It also helps you un-tense, gets you breathing normally.  It allows the tension in your body to release.  It takes practice, and you have to start out small but it works.

There wasn’t any real pain to speak of when the Ape shoved up….

Nope.  Push It Away.

I made a circle with my lips and breathed a few shallow breaths.  I don’t know why I couldn’t think about it.  It couldn’t have been physically damaging, his dick wasn’t even that big.

Nope.  Push it Away.  A feeling of disgust and sickness began to overwhelm me.  I pushed HARD, and pushed myself right out.  Thoughts began to surface.  And yet, I became a clinical observer.  I saw the thoughts, but it wasn’t me thinking them.  The place where there was no me.  And it began:

 

Part of him knew what happened, knew what the Ape had done to him.  The other part refused to care or acknowledge the rape.  The part that knew wasn’t too bothered except to question what possible goal they’d meant to accomplish.  Oh, he understood one aspect involved breaking him psychologically.  That was a no-brainer.  They’d tried isolation, tried interrogation, some weak physical trauma along with mind games.  His only regret now was that he’d spent most of the time mentally trying to figure out their game rather than using the process to strengthen his focus and endurance.  He regretted how frequently he’d chosen to ‘tap out’ mentally during the worst of it, including the sickening feeling at his periphery when the Ape’s unimpressive cock first slid up inside him.  It almost made it worse that the big beast didn’t measure up in the dick department.  Being brutalized by something completely average was insulting in its own way.  If he was stronger he would have stayed present to learn as much as he could.  He couldn’t even say with any certainty how long it had taken.  All of the details were locked in a very tiny box far back in his mind.

He was forced to question whether that was good for him.  No, that was not the right concept.  Of course it wasn’t good for him to lock it away like that.  Doing it that way meant he’d learned nothing from handling Kevin’s memory in a similar fashion.  The true question was whether it was useful, either in the short term or long term.  Would it rear its ugly head at some inopportune moment, come back to him when he least wanted it to?

Probably.

He mentally sighed.  He knew what he had to do.  Trouble was, he didn’t want to.

Fucking hell.  He wasn’t even sure he’d have time to wade through the connections to what it meant for his time here, for his relationship with Kevin, to being the leader of the Bravos.  At least he wasn’t stupid enough to question what it meant for his self confidence or his manhood.  It had nothing to do either of those.  Those were solid.  He knew who he was and hadn’t asked for this treatment.  There had to be a point to it, didn’t there?

He could choose to shrug it off and chalk it up to an experience he probably had to get out of the way sooner rather than later, and they’d done him a favor.  But that felt like taking the coward’s way out.  It would be easy to talk himself into that.  Twisting your brain and consciousness with lies that let you off the hook simply rationalized what you wanted to be true, not necessarily the actual truth.  Yes, the situation was absolutely beneficial for those reasons, but silver linings are the sugar you put on something bitter to hide its nature.  Mental strength came from recognizing and understanding the bitterness first.

Fuck.  He put his hands behind his head on the cot, refusing to stand up and pace like he wanted to.  Was he making too much of this?  Ultimately he didn’t care what the Ape did.  So why hide it away from himself in a box?  That made it seem like he did actually care.

Also, was it that important to do this now?  Was this the right time and place for the soul-searching?

“Arrrrggghhh” he growled in frustration.  Another lie to his brain.  “Fuck you, brain.”  He muttered.  Why entertain putting it off when he had nothing else to do but lie here?  He’d never been in the habit of lying to himself.  “Well guess what, Tom?  We’re gonna do this, you stupid fuck.  Stop trying to trick me.  Don’t start none, won’t be none.” He said out loud.

Oh, now I’m talking to myself.  Woooo-weeee, this is definitely doing a number on me.

Which only meant he should absolutely work his way through it now.

Having decided, he felt a calm descend.  He took a moment to relax with relief.  Good, we’re on the right track then. He allowed himself that affirmation.

Yes, there were benefits to the experience.  It would be stupid to ignore those.  He could use them to force himself to grow.  Sure, it was a crutch to make the damage assessment he’d be doing later easier to swallow but why give up an advantage when you didn’t have to?

So, benefits.  Another bridge crossed, a test most men never endured.  And he’d endured it.  He’d felt no terror, no shame, no soul-shattering fear or revulsion.  The only emotions he could find were regret and sadness that Kevin wasn’t the only one.  He understood that had been important to himself.  It made him want to apologize to Kevin for putting himself in a position to have it happen.  Except he wasn’t sure he could even tell Kevin.  It would make him angry.  Maybe Kevin would even take his anger out on him.  For any other reason, that would have excited him.  An angry Kevin was just fucking sexy as hell.  Those grey eyes shrouding with a scowled darkness, the clenched jaw and subtle snarl he displayed forced a deep surrender inside Tom that was damn near its own full body orgasm.  Seeing the otherwise sedate, unshakeable man burn with the internal molten heat of fury thrilled his blood to equal Kevin’s primal emotions.

Any emotion Kevin chose to reveal was like a bright beacon to Tom’s soul.  It could be love, which made Tom flush with a weakness so close to passing out.  It could be amusement that flooded his body with endorphins.  Kevin’s frustration made Tom’s spine tingle.

If there was a sign that two souls were tragically and joyously intertwined, it was how Kevin’s mood invaded Tom’s body and mind with uncontrollable instincts and reactions.  And for him, the ease with which Kevin seized all power and control seduced him beyond any line in the sand he might draw.

Yes, Kevin would be angry.  He would be angry at the men who did it, at the situation, at the futility of all of it.

No silver lining in that, except perhaps gaining the knowledge early on that Tom intended for an extraordinary life and if he wanted to be a part of that there were going to be other distasteful situations that he should learn to keep separated from their relationship.

He jolted up on the cot, breathing heavily as he swung his legs over the side to ground his feet firmly on the concrete floor.  He’d gone the long way around.  You dumb fucking grunt.  Had to do it the hard way, didn’t you? He ridiculed himself.

What this was, this training, his experiences no matter how personal or intimate… it had nothing to do with what he had with Kevin.  Kevin should learn to keep it separated?  Doctor, fix your own fucking self.  Which was something Kevin would say, only he’d probably remember the right quote.  It was Shakespeare or something intellectual.  Or maybe John F. Kennedy said it, who the fuck knows?

Something else occurred to him right then: how it would affect Kevin was his biggest internal conflict.  He knew from the start he didn’t give a rat’s ass about what it meant for himself.  He could deal with the disgust, even mitigate the blame.  It didn’t matter at all because what happened to his body had no connection to the man he was.  And while it would affect the man he wanted to be it was only because it was something he could use to surmount other obstacles.  If the Army taught you anything, it was that pain and suffering were the stairs you climbed to domination.

The final piece that called a truce between the warring factions of his mind was that the sexual assault had to be a one time thing.  He understood the difference between an ongoing and repeated use of the method vs. a single occurrence. Ongoing and repeated would be repulsive in a way he may not be able to reconcile so easily.

He began to laugh.  Yeah, his laughter sounded crazy, even to his own ears, but it was the laughter of release.  Sitting there on the edge of the cot he understood he’d never have to cross this bridge again.  The confidence he’d gained in his sense of self was huge by itself, but even more important was realizing he and Kevin travelled separate paths that they could walk side by side.  Whatever change became necessary on that path, Kevin would be a constant.

 

I dropped off the cot onto the floor and began a set of pushups.  No sense in getting soft or letting my strength suffer just because I was a prisoner.  I was past the worst of it.  The gentle reintegration of my separated minds felt right.  I wasn’t even angry.  I learned something about myself it would have probably taken years to learn otherwise.

Now, figuring out why my brain seemed to enjoy having a psychotic break?  Way too gnarly to dig through.  There was some mental bullshit called Multiple Personality Disorder.  Sally Field did a mini-series about it in the 70’s.  My mom has it on VHS.  It’s called Sybil or something.  Seems a little fake to me, just saying you’re different people when your mood changes.  Well, at least it used to seem like bullshit until my brain decided to watch itself use the 3rd person to refer to me.  That means I was three people at once, right?  Me watching, the guy talking about it, and who the guy was talking about.  That’s why they call it 3rd person.   Ah, FUCK!  Mrs. Balenciaga in 10th grade English could have explained it that way and maybe I’d have made a B in her class instead of a C.  It made sense now.

Before you get all ‘uh… Assmunch, that’s not what 3rd person is’ I beg to differ.  One part of me was talking about *myself* to another part of me.  That’s three people.   There was probably a 4th person, or more, in English but who the fuck knows how THAT fucking works?  Like I said, brain cells are not standard issue in the Army.  Hoo-ah!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

[RandomStranger]

Nice update.  Needs more sex.

[blackrobe]

After a hiatus we got a lot of plot lines moving forward and characters moving further through their story arcs. Experiences make their marks on us, so it remains to be seen how the Assmunch character will react when he finishes processing his sexual assault (I think non-consensual sex still counts as sex).

We know some of Sleeper's backstory and what others have in mind for him, now we start to see who Sleeper is becoming and what he might have in mind for himself. It feels like this part of the story is setting up some bigger developments. I'm looking forward to seeing what they are.

Thanks Assmunch!