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Archive name: navyway.txt
Authors name: Theodore@Spoonbender.demon.co.uk
Story title : Navy Way, The

--------------------------------------------------------
This is copyright (c) 1998, by Spoonbender. It can be
distributed freely as long as no charge is made for it 
and it isn't changed in any way. If it is archived it is
on the basis that I have unrestricted access to the 
archive.
--------------------------------------------------------

The Navy Way 
By Spoonbender (Theodore@Spoonbender.demon.co.uk)

***

This short story is not for minors or anyone else that 
doesn't like to read about young ladies being taken 
advantage of. (M+/F, military, nc)

***

This is all pure fiction, the figment of a peculiar 
mind (You don't honestly believe its real do you?) So 
no characters in it are based on real people, either 
living or dead. Don't flame me if you don't like my 
style, I'm still learning the craft. Email me if you 
have constructive criticism or if you like it and want 
more. This is my first new story for a long time so 
please be gentle with me.

Don't flame me if I got little bits of Royal Navy 
protocol all screwed up. Call it artistic license and 
let me pass on my way in peace.

**

The Seawolf battery swung to meet the incoming flight 
and with a roar a missile launched itself against the 
target that was still hidden below the horizon.

"Inbound sighted on heading 243." The radar operator 
intoned passionlessly.

"Report progress on intercept." Captain Rogers, tall, 
manly and deadly cool under fire.

"Locked on target Sir. The computer has sighted two 
other missiles Sir permission to activate remaining 
weapons systems?"

"Granted."

Midshipman Lucy Anstruther tried her best to keep out 
of the way, her heart pounding as she watched the 
action unfold around her. Ever since the shooting down 
of the British Airways flight to Malta by a Libyan MIG, 
the ship on which she served, HMS Leopard a Leander 
class Destroyer had been in the thick of the fighting. 
Now she was scouting far ahead of the main task force 
which was destined for landfall close to Benghazi in 
the gulf of Sirte.

Lucy was on bridge watch, standing on the wing of the 
bridge scanning the horizon with her weighty 
binoculars, the glare from the sea giving her a 
headache. The remaining missiles on the battery roared 
away into the sun, making her jump with the unexpected 
burst of noise.

She gulped trying to hide her terror. When she had 
signed up for a short service commission she was 
fulfilling the fantasy of her father and grandfather. 
Both Sailors, both decorated. And her the only child. A 
Girl! Fortunately women had recently been allowed to go 
to sea and so Lucy had signed up with alacrity. After 
her training, bobbing around in Dinghies in the Dart 
estuary, she had joined Leopard in Gibraltar as it 
embarked on a goodwill tour of the Med. She remembered 
being so excited, but trying to act so nonchalant in 
front of Captain Anstruthers and Rear Admiral 
Anstruthers (retired) as she joined her first ship. It 
was to have been a dull, but pleasant, Mediterranean 
cruise. Then the 737 had slammed into the sea close to 
Filfla, with the remains of a Libyan AA missile buried 
in one Engine. Survivors were few. The fury of the 
British, slow to start but at boiling point now, 
demanded the head of the man responsible. Mohammar 
Gadhaffi, North African Despot and first class 
fruitcake was about to meet his Armageddon. The British 
were coming. Her American allies were calling publicly 
for a political solution and simultaneously supplying 
arms and valuable satellite time. They too wanted to 
see justice done and Lockerbie avenged.

A flash on the very edge of the horizon announced that 
the Seawolf had contacted the anti-ship missile.

"Visual sighting of Missile destruction Sir." She 
announced in her quavering voice.

"Very good midshipman." The Captain took time out to 
beam a congratulatory smile at her, which made her 
blush.

She pushed the stray hair out of her eyes and leaned 
against the rail, trying to focus on the horizon. One 
of the bridge watch glanced at her as she leaned over. 

'She really did have a magnificent butt,' he thought. 

In fact most of Lucy was in the magnificent class. Long 
blond hair, tied in a tight bun, over a roundish face. 
Milky blue eyes, retrousse nose, generously lipped 
mouth. Her body was small but packed with an animal 
sexuality which her uniform did nothing to hide, rather 
it accentuated her charms. She was the collective lust 
dream of every man on the ship, except Rupert and 
Tarquin who only had eyes for each other. The tradition 
of rum, bum and baccy still lived on in some parts of 
the Queen's navy.

She strained against the glare and then thought she saw 
something. It was like a tiny splash maybe five miles 
distant. It could have been a fish disturbing the 
millpond tranquility of the turquoise sea. But then 
again.

There! There it was again. Now she could see a dot, 
growing progressively bigger, below the radar net.

"Inbound on port side Sir." She cried, trying to sound 
casual as death approached at close to the speed of 
sound.

"Whereaway...." It was the last thing Captain Rogers 
said as the missile slammed into the midsection of the 
ship. It exploded instantly on contact breaking the 
ship in two. Within minutes she was gone.

**

"A signal has come in from the Task Force Prime 
Minister."

"Yes?"

"It says that HMS Leopard was hit by a missile at 1430 
Hours Zulu and was lost, presumably with all hands. A 
Sea King Helicopter is searching the area but only some 
floating wreckage has been found and a few bodies. The 
search is still continuing."

"Survivors?"

"None have been found yet Sir."

"Shit!"

"Sir?"

"Sorry please get me the Admiralty I must talk to 
Admiral Johnstone."

"Yes Prime Minister."

**

A fishing boat found her. A wooden boat with the eye of 
Osiris painted on the bow. For luck. Which she, and 
others of her ilk, were going to need fishing for 
Lampuki in the middle of a war zone.

War or no war, families still had to be fed.

The two men on board had seen the explosion on the 
horizon and, notwithstanding the state of war which 
existed between their nation and another, they had 
obeyed the law of the sea and made their puttering way 
towards the last sighting.

They circled the large slick, with its bobbing 
detritus, for nearly ten minutes before they found her. 
She was hauled on board, miraculously alive and 
virtually unscathed. As is the magical way of 
explosions her clothes had been virtually torn from her 
body leaving her unconscious charms open to the fervent 
gaze of the illiterate fishermen. Otherwise she was 
unharmed. Quickly they pulled her aboard and hoisted 
their lateen sail. The onshore breeze pushing them 
briskly towards their homeport as their prize lay 
unknowing athwart the bottom of their boat.

It was over an hour later that the first Helicopter 
came. By that time they were long gone.

**

Sergeant Ali Mukbar leaned against the side of the 
troop carrier. The evening cool was starting to settle 
across the burning wastes of the little port. He 
watched as one of his men listlessly paced between the 
two palm trees that overhung the dock. It was obvious 
that the Soldier was trying to stay in the shade and 
wasn't interested in putting in a proper sentry patrol.

Ali Mukbar couldn't give a shit. That was Lieutenant 
Adouli's problem. He was the fine officer, he could 
deal with it. He pulled out a crumpled pack of 
cigarettes. Marchovkas again, favourite of Stalin they 
said, well he was welcome to them he'd rather have a 
Marlboro. Maybe when the little Satan was destroyed 
then they could take on the great Satan herself and 
then he could have as many Marlboros as he wanted.

Over on the other side of the dock Lieutenant Adouli 
watched the sergeant through his binoculars. He sighed 
and put them down and picked up his small glass of mint 
tea. How, by Allah, had he come down to this? 
Commanding the most slovenly bunch of dogs that had 
ever been assembled, even in a country more noted for 
its posturing and bluster than for its military 
prowess. To add to that he had been commanded to take 
over the military presence in this flyblown pesthole of 
a fishing village. Even though it was a port, the high 
bluffs and treacherous reefs ensured that it would 
hardly be a military target. He was hoping that he 
would be recalled to join the main task force to help 
repel the invaders but, despite a blizzard of 
applications, the high command had not seen fit to call 
upon his services for the greater glory of the Libyan 
People's Jamaharriya. So he was stuck here with that 
lazy fool Mukbar and his bedraggled bunch of curs.

He snapped his fingers to order more tea then his eyes 
drifted out to sea. He noticed that a fishing boat was 
beating towards the port. He frowned. It was a little 
early for it to be back so either it had stumbled upon 
a shoal or it had seen something that had made it turn 
and run. Maybe it had something to do with the distant 
boom that he had heard earlier. The two men could be 
seen clearly now. He decided to talk to them after 
they'd docked.

**

Lucy came to, to find herself lying on the ground in 
the centre of a bunch of swarthy, unkempt men. 
Realising that she was half naked she tried to tug the 
remains of her uniform around her. She could sense both 
anger and lust amongst her observers and she shuddered 
in fear. A fat sweating man, with foul breath squatted 
down next to her and spoke something in a guttural 
tone. It was Arabic. She understood that much even if 
she couldn't understand what he'd said. Her brain 
whirled as she tried to work out what had happened. All 
she could remember was the flash as the missile punched 
home then....nothing. Until she awoke here.

Just then a, slightly better dressed, man pushed his 
way through the crowd. He stared down at her as she 
struggled to sit up. Her whole body felt like it had 
been beaten with a hammer.

"Who are you?" He inquired, in Arabic.

"Do you speak English?"

"A little. Now who are you?"

"I am E9071536 Midshipman Anstruther and who are you?"

"Midshipman? You don't look much like a man."

One of the troops evidently spoke English and he 
translated for the others who cackled with glee.

"It's a rank. It doesn't mean I'm a man. Look can you 
tell me where I am?"

"You are a guest in the Libya. Now where did you come 
from?"

'Libya! Oh Shit'. Thought Lucy.

"I am from a British Warship. So I suppose I'm a 
prisoner of war."

The lieutenant looked at her thoughtfully. This was a 
situation that the high command hadn't counted on. A 
prisoner of war. As far as he knew there were very few 
preparations being made for prisoners. They had just 
expected to blast them out of the sea, not to capture 
them. Maybe this was his chance to ingratiate himself 
with the high command. If he could worm some facts from 
this whore of Satan then maybe he could get to join the 
main force after all.

"What is a woman doing on a warship?" He asked, 
genuinely puzzled.

"Women serve the same as men now." She said tartly.

'What stupidity' he thought. Surely the British would 
have learned the lessons the accursed Israelis had when 
they sent women into battle only to have them captured 
and sent back filled with Arab seed. As a demoralising 
tactic it was brilliant and it served to compromise the 
whole army. Maybe the British really were stupid after 
all.

"Which Warship?"

"I am E9071536 Midshipman Anstruther L and that's all I 
can tell you."

She replied, aware of her responsibilities.

He shrugged. "Have it your own way." He ordered his men 
to bring her to his offices, which were in the main 
Police station in town. Once there he had her locked in 
a cell as he considered his options.

**

Lieutenant Adouli wiped up the last of his humus with 
the pita bread and popped it into his mouth before 
speaking.

"Yes! What do you want sergeant?"

"I was. That is the men were wondering if we 
could.....er have some entertainment with the girl." 
For the first time since they'd met the sergeant was 
trying his hardest to be obsequious. It amused his 
officer greatly.

"What do you mean by entertainment?" 

By Allah! Was this man crazy? The sergeant had to bite 
his tongue as he patiently explained his intentions.

"What makes you think I would hand over a prisoner to 
be ill treated by your scum?"

"I just thought...." The sergeant trailed off.

"Well you thought wrong Sergeant. She is under my 
protection and will be until she answers my questions. 
Then of course...." The sentence hung heavy on the air.

"Yes sir." The Sergeant smiled conspiratorially, 
showing his dark stained teeth.

The officer looked at his nails. "I expect that the 
troop will start to become more disciplined. I mean we 
wouldn't want this agent to find out that the Libyan 
army is an undisciplined rabble now would we?"

The sergeant grinned. He had the low cunning of a rat 
and he understood perfectly what the quid pro quo was.

"Yes Sir. You will be amazed how disciplined they can 
be."

"Excellent." He patted his lips and threw down the 
napkin. "Now I must talk to her. The sooner she talks, 
the better eh?"

"Yes Sir."

**

It was amazing how effective a field telephone could be 
as an interrogation tool. Especially when its wires 
were clipped to the nipples of a helplessly tied and 
frightened young girl.

Lucy was naked and tied to a heavy chair in the middle 
of the Lieutenant's office. The wires draped across to 
the old fashioned telephone set.

"Now I ask you again. Which ship are you from?"

"I am E9071536 Midshipman Anstruther L. Aaaaaaaah." She 
cried as he tweaked the handle.

"Not talking will do you no good. You might as well 
answer the questions and save yourself a lot of pain."

"I am...ah...prisoner of war.....ah.....and I only have 
to give my....ooh....name rank and number." Lucy panted 
as the pain subsided.

He turned the handle a couple of times and her back 
arched off the seat.

"Save yourself the pain. I'm going to find out anyway 
so why hurt yourself?"

"You are not allowed to torture me. It is not allowed 
under the Geneva convention."

This prompted a full one minute of pain as he wound the 
handle furiously. Finally he stopped and leaned close 
to her.

"We did not sign the Geneva convention. So, as you 
English say, all bets are off. Now talk before I get 
really angry."

He wasn't sure whether they had signed or not. In any 
event a little thing like that was hardly going to keep 
him from having his modicum of pleasure. Fun was hard 
to find in a hole like this.

"My name is Lucy Anstruther, my number is E9071536 and 
my rank is Midshipman."

'A tough one.' He thought. 'So let's see how tough she 
really is."

He untied her ankles from the legs of the chair but 
left her wrists tightly tied to the arms. He then tied 
long two ropes to the far corners of his desk. Lucy 
watched in mute terror. She wasn't sure how much longer 
she could hold out. Her heart still pounded from the 
pain of the last shock.

He pulled the ropes across the desk and picked up one 
of her ankles. Suddenly it occurred to Lucy what he was 
going to do and she started to squirm and scream. He 
called for the Sergeant and between them they pulled 
her legs out until they were parallel to the floor then 
tied them wide open. Lucy's body was held in mid air, 
her whole weight supported on her arms and ankles. She 
tried to keep still as every movement she made 
threatened to tear her limbs out of their sockets.

The Lieutenant dismissed the sergeant and unclipped the 
wires from her breasts. He proceeded to wrap a wire 
around the pocket clip on his stainless steel ball-
point. Once it was secured to his satisfaction he 
proceeded to insert it into her anus. With a blinding 
clarity Lucy suddenly realised what he was going to do.

"No! No! Please no. Don't do this. Have mercy, please 
don't."

He ignored her as he pushed it deep inside, while she 
hung there in misery.

He then rubbed the folds of her vagina and eventually 
found what he sought. Her world exploded in pain as the 
clip snapped shut on her clitoris.

"Now maybe you will talk." And before she had a chance 
to reply he twisted the handle savagely.

Lucy thought the pain from her clit was bad but it was 
nothing compared to the searing agony coursing through 
the lower half of her body. She screamed and writhed 
for a full two minutes after he stopped. Finally her 
tumult died down and she hung limply. Her whole body 
was covered in a fine sheen of sweat and her hair was 
plastered across her face in damp rat's tails.

"What is your ship." He said as he reached for the 
handle.

"NO! Please I'll tell you. Don't hurt me again. I 
couldn't stand it.

Please don't"

"Your ship?"

"Leopard. HMS Leopard."

"There now that was easy wasn't it?". He knew full well 
what her ship was called he had heard it on the BBC 
World Service. He'd also heard that they were expecting 
there to be no survivors, so this little girl was all 
his.

"Now what was your mission?"

It was over an hour later that she was dumped in her 
cell. The lieutenant smiled as he pocketed the key. She 
didn't know much, but what she had known she'd told 
him. Militarily she had fulfilled her purpose. Now he 
was looking to her to fulfill another purpose of an 
altogether more basic kind.

Tomorrow was not going to be a good day for her.

**

The Tornados streaked in just before dawn catching the 
defenses unprepared. It took a full three minutes 
before the first SAM radar lit up. By then it was too 
late as the Jets screamed out to sea, their mission 
accomplished.

The main battalion headquarters was still reeling in 
shock when the calls started to come in from the 
outposts along the coast.

They had far too much on their minds to do anything 
about the madman that reckoned he had captured a 
prisoner. So he was just being told to get what 
information they could out of him then to dispose of 
him quietly, when the Radars detected the Carrier 
launched Harriers inbound.

The line was peremptorily cleared as the sirens 
shrieked and the MIGs scrambled.

**

The cell door was flung open and crashed against the 
wall with a loud clang. Lucy huddled against the wall 
with her knees against her chest and with the thin, 
threadbare blanket covering her loins. She shivered in 
fear as the Lieutenant came into the small cell, 
followed by one of his men carrying a pitcher of water 
and some flat bread.

He waited until the soldier had left and had slam-
locked the cell door before speaking.

"Good morning. I hope you slept well?"

"Please when do I get transferred to a Prisoner of War 
camp?"

He sat on the end of her bed and laid his hand on her 
knee.

"I'm sorry but our high command has issued the order to 
shoot you."

His tone was so matter of fact that Lucy could scarcely 
believe he'd said it.

"S..shoot me! Why?"

His reassuring smile was as false as a Politician's 
election promises.

"Because we have no facilities for prisoners of war. 
I'm sure you understand."

Lucy burst into inconsolable floods of tears.

"There, there my dear," He patted her on the knee. "I 
wouldn't want to see you die. You are too young, too 
pretty," He stroked her hair lightly. "I'm sure we can 
reach a compromise that would save your life."

"Compromise?" She gulped, chillingly aware of his hand 
teasing the back of her neck.

He tilted her chin with his hand so she was looking 
directly into her eyes. "Yes a compromise. You are a 
western...er...girl, I'm sure you understand." He had 
to bite his tongue to stop himself blurting out the 
word 'Whore'.

The tears started trickling down her soft cheeks as the 
import of what he had so casually told her filtered 
through her overworked mind. In order to survive she 
had to offer herself to him. She was alone and afraid. 
And very, very naked.

"Ah so you do understand," He smiled. "So? What is it 
to be?" His hand crept under the blanket as he spoke, 
trailing higher and higher up her downy, white thigh.

She closed her eyes and shuddered, then parted her legs 
allowing him to reach the apex of her existence. No 
words were needed to signify her consent.

He had to bite his lower lip to stop himself from 
laughing at her easy surrender. If the rest of her 
compatriots were as soft as this then the blessed 
Libyan forces will throw the infidels back into the sea 
with ease.

She expelled her breath in one long sigh as he touched 
her sex.

"Lie down," He ordered gutturally, his voice hoarse 
with lust.

Awkwardly and painfully aware of her vulnerability she 
shuffled around and lay down on the sagging bed. Once 
she had settled he pulled off the blanket with a 
Matador's flourish revealing the naked girl in all her 
glory. He'd seen her before, of course, but the sight 
of her innocently naked body made him catch his breath 
with its sheer beauty.

One hand ducked to her crotch and her arm crossed her 
breasts in the ageless protectionist pose, as she 
reflexively tried to shield her charms from his 
lascivious gaze.

"Take them away, " he ordered sternly.

She hesitated, then slowly pulled them to her sides. 
She lay there, stiff and terrified as he glanced down 
admiringly at her. Then he started to strip.

She watched like a snake in the thrall of a mongoose as 
he shed his clothes. He was lean and tanned and not 
that bad looking and under different circumstances she 
might have found him attractive. Although whether he 
was attractive enough to sleep with was another matter. 
But now she had no choice.

He pulled his pants down to reveal his penis which 
sprang free and bobbed, menacingly at her. Its single 
eye glaring balefully at her, promising all kinds of 
humiliation, shame and, above all, pain.

She must get away.

She coiled her body then leapt to her feet and tried to 
make it to the door. He was startled for a split second 
but then his soldier's reflexes kicked in and he 
grabbed her arm. He then backhanded her across her face 
which slammed her back onto the bed.

"Don't make me want to shoot you," He pointed 
menacingly.

Lucy fell back onto the bed in abject surrender as he 
climbed onto the narrow cot.

"Open your legs," Harsh, furious in lust.

She slowly spread her legs, tears pouring in a soft 
river across her face at the humiliation.

"Put your feet flat on the floor," The orders continued 
unabated.

Her feet rested on the floor which caused her cunt to 
twist upwards slightly as her knees bent.

He looked long and hard at the silky junction of her 
thighs as the small pink corrugations of her pussy lips 
beckoned subliminally at him.

"Reach up and hold on to the bedhead," His final order 
before he positioned himself with his cockhead at the 
entrance to her tunnel. He reached down and touched 
her, she was dry and unyielding. He spat on his hand 
repeatedly, each time smearing it over his cock until 
it sparkled with goo.

He manhandled his cock up and down her slit, pressing 
harder each time until at last he started to nibble 
into her sex.

"Please, please," She moaned as he started to force 
himself into her. She tried to push him off but he 
roughly forced her down hard onto the mattress.

"It's too late now," menacingly. "You must just lay 
back and endure it."

He then resumed his pushing. Finally his head popped in 
and she squirmed in agony.

"By Allah, she is tight," He muttered. "Surely she is 
not a virgin?"

He would very shortly find out.

He rammed in as hard as he could, while his hands 
clutched her breasts tightly. And her whole body went 
rigid with pain.

Lucy Anstruther, midshipman of her Majesty the Queen of 
England's Royal Navy, had just lost her carefully 
hoarded chastity.

**

He looked down at her sneeringly as he buttoned up his 
shirt. His contempt for her evident in his every 
movement.

She lay, still spread wide, with a small trickle on 
pink tinged sperm sliding from within her. Her face a 
mask of shock, horror and misery.

But at least it was over. She would live.

"ALI!" He shouted as he rapped his cane on the cell 
door.

A few seconds later the inspection hatch flew open and 
Ali's ugly visage peered through the small aperture.

"Let me out," He snapped.

Ali threw open the door with alacrity as he spied the 
naked young girl submissively posed. He couldn't take 
his eyes off her as the officer pushed past.

"Sir," He said as the officer went to leave the room.

"What?"

"Can the men ....?" His voice trailed off lamely. The 
rest of the words need not be spoken, the meaning was 
already well established.

"Yes, yes," Said the officer waving his cane 
impatiently as if trying to ward off petty details. 
Then he stopped. "But tie her down first. We wouldn't 
want her to escape now would we?"

Sergeant Ali leapt to attention much to the surprise of 
the startled officer. "NO SIR!" He bellowed.

The officer laughed and strode away.

The word had gotten around and before long an eager 
press of men pushed against the back of the sergeant he 
gazed at her in awe. Allah was truly magnificent.

He ordered ropes to be brought and, before the stunned 
girl could react she found herself tied, spread-eagled 
to the bedframe.

The dazed girl started screaming as he took the money 
from the long line of waiting soldiers.

**

"What the fuck is this place?" Queried sergeant 
'Chalky' white from his vantage point on the tank 
turret.

"It says Al-Jemenny, somefink like that sarge," said 
Private 'Cockney' Burroughs.

"I suppose we'd better take a look. You never know when 
we'll find a hotbed of them Gaddafi fanatics holding 
out and armed to the teeth," It was the joke of the 
campaign. Every time the soldiers came across a party 
of Libyan military they were throwing away their arms 
with alacrity. Tinged with an element of relief.

It was now nearly three months since the battle of 
Sirte, which was won decisively by the British. Three 
months of mind numbing patrols across the sand wastes 
searching for renegade units still holding out.

Then they'd stumbled on a flyspeck on the map and the 
sarge had had the hunch that it was worth a visit. 
Something that he was bitterly regretting as the tank 
graunched the sides of the steeply sided ravine as his 
driver carefully eased the monstrous beast forward.

Finally they were through and a small sleepy fishing 
village lay dozing below them.

"Hey Sarge its Blackpool," Laughed one of the crew and 
the sergeant couldn't help but smile at the incongruity 
of the statement. 

He banged on the top of the turret.

"May as well check it out," He called and the tank 
rumbled forward.

Just as they reached the outer perimeter of the village 
they were startled to see a trickle, then a flood, of 
Libyan soldiers running towards them , throwing away 
their weapons and gibbering like monkeys.

Lieutenant Adouli surrendered his numerically superior 
forces to the bemused tank crew.

While the radioman called in for transport the sergeant 
strolled around the village. Machine pistol at the 
ready he made his way carefully through the foul 
smelling alleys.

He turned a corner to find a crowd of men jockeying to 
enter a small door.

He pushed his way through the crowd, which started to 
mutter angrily at him. Then they noticed his weapon and 
they grew silent.

He found his way blocked by a burly Arab in a flowing 
off-white burnoose. They stared at each other for a 
second, saying nothing, then the sergeant rammed his 
gun into the man's stomach and the man yielded, 
allowing the sergeant access to the room.

It took a little while to accustom his eyes to the 
gloom but, as his vision cleared he looked across into 
a further small, cell like room. Movement caught his 
eye and he recognised pounding buttocks between the 
widespread legs of a willing whore.

He'd stumbled into the local knocking shop it seemed.

He was about to turn away when a thought struck him. 
Those were white legs sticking out from under that 
goat-herder. What the fuck were they doing here?

He strode into the room and hauled the guy off only to 
be greeted by a pair of vacant blue eyes.

**

A tear glinted in the eye of Admiral Anstrunther as he 
watched his favourite grand-daughter lead the freedom 
of the city parade through the town. Sword held high 
she epitomised the courage and fighting spirit that 
symbolised England.

Nothing had been said about her war. 

Fingers were tapped on the sides of noses when the 
question was asked.

"Need to know old boy." Was the stock answer.

As ever, in cases like this, a mystique grew up around 
her and a new Mata Hari legend was born.

The same but different.

You see this one had survived.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Kristen's collection - Directory 28