This story is entirely a work of fiction and all rights to it and its characters are copywrite and private to and reserved by the author. This entire story is fictional and not based upon any individual living or dead. No reproduction by anyone for any reason whatsoever is permitted. This is a novel of gay sex, some of the sex depicted will be consensual, a great deal will not, some will even go well past that point into the territory of deep fetishes. If, where you live, you are underage to read this kind of material, or this material will be unlawful for you to read regardless of your age, I'm sorry but please leave now. If you are offended by gay sex, then fuck off this isn't intended for you, besides why are you browsing around here anyway? If this story is the kind of thing that pleases you and/or gets your juices flowing, then enjoy it with my blessings
Chp. 7
Viktor's story
This was it. I'd made my decision, I'd tell everything.
"General, I was new to Afghanistan and I had been commissioned only four months before. I was, however, smart enough to let my sergeant, a grizzled old veteran do the leading while I followed behind him watching and learning. With all respect, General, it is the sergeants who are the glue that keeps an army together. My sergeant let me see that he was pleased that I was willing to place myself under his tutelage. At the academy, we learned all the academics and I had studied carefully but I learned more with the sergeant as my mentor than any academy can ever teach.
Anyway, we were on a patrol outside Kandahar. We'd picked up the tracks of a group of men. They hadn't made any real effort to cover their tracks and that alone was unusual enough to cause us to be extra vigilant and on the "look out". We followed their tracks for perhaps three kilometers and I realized the tracks were headed toward a rock formation. The formation was almost like a small natural rock fortress. I ordered a halt and called my sergeant over to me. He had also noticed that the trail was leading us on a straight line directly into the formation.
Between us we decided to have three men continue straight forward towards the rocks and have two groups of ten men, one under the sergeant the other under me would separate and approach the formation from the left and right simultaneously. The three men were instructed to walk slowly and make noise. Enough noise to sound like several times their number but not to be obvious.
The sergeant and his group went to the left, my group to the right. Our three decoys stoutly trudged up towards the formation. The two groups were going as fast as we could while remaining as silent as possible, hoping that the noise the decoys were making would cover our footfalls.
The sergeant waved to me as his group reached the rocks. I waved back, then we were hidden from each other by the formation. Once my men were in place I signaled the three who were still a ways off and they grew suddenly silent and took cover. There were many smaller rocks strewn around the approach to the formation.
For perhaps two minutes there was silence, then I heard just above me in the rocks the voices of men. One of those men looked up over his rock to see what had become of the loud and stupid Soviet soldiers who'd been coming into his trap. He saw the legs of one of the decoys stretched out behind a rock and swung his rifle up and squeezed off a shot. That opened the dance as suddenly some eighteen rebels were all standing up and shooting in the general direction of our brave decoys. I looked at my team they were ready. I blew my whistle and all twenty two of us, both teams, opened fire. In our opening exchange every single rebel was hit. Some were killed outright, others got mortal wounds but every single one of them was at least wounded in greater or lesser degree. We rushed their positions and had them subdued in moments.
I called back to my three heroes (that is how I thought of them) to see how they were. One had been hit below his left probably by a piece of rock kicked free by a rebel's bullet. They were covered in dust and dirt, but when they reached the rest of the unit they were grinning.
The men had taken all the rebels' rifles and I told the sergeant to take a quick inventory of the prisoners, then began checking my men myself. With the exception of the one member of the decoy team, none of my men had been hit at all. We'd been lucky and I was happy. I'd been blooded and inflicted casualties on the enemy without the loss of a single Soviet soldier.
I turned to go to the sergeant, he looked up at me. We were both smiling happily, when I heard the short sharp snap of a pistol shot. The sergeant's expression hadn't changed and I wondered how he couldn't have heard the shot. Then I noticed that two soldiers had thrown themselves onto one Afghan who was on the ground behind the sergeant. I looked at the sergeant and thought to myself, 'Why doe he look so odd?' Then I realized he no longer had a forehead. All of this took perhaps one second. In the time it took me to draw my breath to scream, 'No' my mentor, my sergeant had toppled forward.
I ran to him but he was dead before he hit the ground. He'd been shot in the back of the head by the pig my two soldiers were restraining. A hot fury over took me. I began to weep for the man who'd help me grow into the officer my uniform said I was. I ordered two to continue restraining their captive. Then I ordered the rest of my men to strip every rebel down to his skin. Any rebel who refused or put up a fight was to be shot instantly.
We only had to shoot two of them for the rest to get the message. Several began to strip themselves. While that was going on, I went off and sat on a rock and cried for my friend. Eventually our junior sergeant came up to me and coughed to let me know he was there. I wiped my eyes and looked up at him. He saluted and I stood up. I suddenly felt very old. As I walked over to where my men were holding the rebel down, I slowly drew my combat knife. Like all the other rebels, he was now naked, too. But unlike the others who were all really quite thin, he was well fed, in fact he was over fed. The whites of his eyes were showing all 'round. His prick had shriveled up into the filthy mass of his pubic bush. It looked strange. The head was poking out, but the cock was a tiny shriveled little thing. I didn't understand how that was possible. I stood there for a moment staring at it. My first impulse had been to slit his belly from pubis to sternum, pull out his guts, then leave him there screaming on the rocks and trying to pull his entrails back into his abdomen. I was still standing there staring at his cock head. It reminded me of a pet fish I'd had as a young boy. The fish would always scurry into the plants at the bottom of its aquarium whenever I would come to look at it. Then it would poke its head out through the grasses but its body would remain invisible behind the waving green blades.
The junior sergeant realized what I was staring at and whispered, "They circumcise their boys here, Sir." I looked at him and understanding dawned. "They do?" I asked somewhat stupidly. "Yes, Sir," he said pointing at the rest of the prisoners now all naked with their hands bound behind them. I walked over and looked. Sure enough, each one looked just like the bastard still being held down by my soldiers. Their cock heads wee completely uncovered. By now there were only a ten rebel prisoners left. Three had been killed outright, three more had died of their wounds already and two more had been shot resisting my orders to strip them.
For the first time, I stepped back and looked at the prisoners. Three of them were being held up by fellow prisoners pushing their bodies against them and I thought that their wounds would claim them too, before too long. The remaining seven were an odd lot. None looked like a professional soldier. Most were, as I've mentioned, thin. Three or four were attractive and one was very much so. He had no beard for vermin to hide in, and while better fed than his fellows, could never have been called fat.
I stood there before the lot of them and told them, "I want to know everything you know about that pig," I pointed at the murderer of my sergeant. No one moved, a few looked anxiously at their fellows but the said nothing.
I turned to the junior sergeant and said, "Give them one minute. If they still say nothing, I order you to one of them and shoot him at the base of his cock. With luck, that'll remove his cock and balls with only one shot. In any case he'll die a half man screaming as he bleeds to death. Wait until he's dead then pick another man and repeat the procedure until there are none of them left alive. "
I could see the surprise in his eyes, but there was also something else. I was sure I'd seen a twinge of erotic response. And, later events proved me right. He gave the only response a soldier can to an order, "Da, da, Sir."
It immediately became obvious that several of the rebels understood good Russian. They became agitated and began exchanging looks among themselves. And, those cocks that'd begun to relax and warmed in the heat of the sun had begun to fill out and stretch a bit out of their nests now suddenly began to shrink back as though trying to hide from my young sergeant's gun.
The way the junior sergeant handled this situation was the reason I recommended that he step up into the position of his predecessor. He called a private forward as he pulled out his pistol. When the private had arrived the junior sergeant point out a man who'd gotten agitated when he heard my order and told the private, "Go to that rebel pig, grab him by his cock and balls and bring him over here. When you get here keep hour grip on him. I'm a marksman, as you know so don't worry, I won't touch you at all but I'm going to turn our Afghan rooster into a capon."
The private was well trained and did exactly as he'd been ordered. He grabbed the rebel and using his tackle as a handle, began pulling him towards the sergeant who stood poised, pistol at the ready.
As the two got to the sergeant, and he was preparing to take aim, the rebel suddenly found his voice and in reasonable if heavily accented Russian he said, "General, General! What is it your excellency wishes to know? Any information that I possess shall instantly be yours. I'm only too happy to tell your excellency anything, everything. Please, just tell me what you want to know."
I smiled at the sergeant and told the private, "Private, you will go down in the annals of medical research. You've discovered a pressure point or hold that not only instantly renders the recipient able to converse in Russian, but also restores memories otherwise possibly deemed lost. For now, because we want to make sure that this rebel's sudden miraculous abilities and love for Soviets does not change, I want you to maintain your grip. Who knows, from time to time, you may need to strengthen that grip to stimulate his memory cells?"
I looked the rebel in the eye and said, "I want to know everything you know about that soon to be dead man," as I pointed at the man who'd murdered my sergeant. "Ah, Your Excellency, yes General," he then gave me the man's name, which I've forgotten. The captured rebel then seemed to stop for a moment and I nodded my head at the private. The result was a loud and piercing shriek. "You slime, I could make him give me that much. If you want to keep your cock and balls you'd better know a great deal more about him than only his name," I bellowed. "Yes, Excellency, I am so sorry, I was just collecting my thoughts. He is a wealthy merchant in Kandahar with a large house there. His wives and children don't live there but somewhere back in a hill district controlled by the tribe of one of his wives."
If I may interject for just a moment - the various regions of Afghanistan are culturally diverse with many different practices, ethnicities and usages. Kandahar once saw Alexander the Great as he marched through Afghanistan on his way to invade India. He left at least a portion of his Hellenic culture behind him there. As it once was with the ancient Greeks an older male might take a younger male under his tutelage to raise him up and make a man out of him. The youth is given protection, affection, a manly example to emulate and sometimes an eventual place in his protector's commercial endeavor. In return he gives the only thing he has of any value, his body.
Within Afghanistan, Kandahar is renown as a center of this ancient practice. That having been said, I can now return to the recitations being so "freely" given by the rebel who was desperately trying to retain his cock and balls.
"Be very careful how you answer me, rebel. It will be the work of but a second to geld you. Does that murderous pig have no family, no one near or dear to him in Kandahar?" I fully intended to execute the murderer, but first, I wanted him to suffer loss as he'd made my men and me suffer the loss of our mentor, our sergeant.
The rebel's eyes darted to his fellow prisoners, and back to me and again to his fellow prisoners. I had been watching him, but my new sergeant had been carefully watching where he'd been looking. The Sergeant called me over for a moment's consultation. "Sir," he began, "I've been watching where he's been looking. The taller good looking prisoner. The only one there who doesn't look malnourished - this prisoner keeps looking at him and prisoner has been looking more and more ill at ease. Permission, Sir, to try something?' "Granted, Sergeant," I responded.
The new sergeant walked up to the young prisoner, reached out and grabbed him by his cock and balls and using them as a handle pulled the youth forward. The naked rebel being held by the sergeant stood about one meter and eighty-five centimeters, he had light brown hair, and gray/green eyes. His abdomen was flat, his chest hairless. Like his fellows, he was circumcised and he had larger than average balls. Taken altogether he was a very attractive boy of around eighteen.
I noticed two interesting sets of reactions to the introduction of that boy into the process of our interrogation of the rebel being held by the private. First, the private's rebel, and to a lesser degree, the other rebels seemed to become more agitated. Secondly, the murderer had become very agitated, but moved quickly to suppress any outward signs of his agitation He was too late, of course, because both the sergeant and I had marked his reaction.
I nodded to the private then asked his rebel, "Who is this youth, that my sergeant is holding?" The rebel danced about on one foot and then the other, to the extent he was able given that the private was maintaining his grip on his ball sack. He was working his jaws but saying nothing. I nodded again to the private and his rebel shrieked and danced higher. "General, Your Excellency," he said looking at me, "I beg you, Sir, he is the son of my wife's uncle. He is like a son to me. His name is. ." and he spewed out some meaningless jabber full of "bin" this and "al" that. I set my face and looking at the private clenched my fist.
The rebel screamed and dry retched. I walked up to him and said, "This is last time I'm going to ask you. If I don't hear an answer that tells me a great deal more about this rebel, I'll not speak to you again. I'll just not to the private her and he'll take you a little bit away from here then he'll shoot your cock and balls off and leave you there to bleed to death. Now, for the last time who is this rebel being held by my sergeant?"
His face became very sad and he said, "Truly, Sir, as I told you he is the son of my wife's uncle and I've known him from his birth. He is a student who had hoped to study electrical engineering. All his life he has given only joy to his family. All who know him like him, he is a sober, quiet boy who, unfortunately, for him, has always done as he was told by his seniors. When that fool your soldiers are holding announced that he was going to lead a group of sacred fighters to trap and capture the infidel invaders and said he should come, he came."
I looked the man in the face and said to him, "You know rebel, I cannot shake the conviction that you are holding something back from me and that is the same as lying to me. And, we have already established between us - you and me, what the penalty would be for lying to me haven't we"" All he could do was jabber at me, making unintelligible noises. You can bet that if they'd managed to spring their trap and I was dead on the ground he'd have been grinning and spitting on my corpse. I looked at the private and nodded. The private pulled him away some distance, back behind a part of the rock formations and he discovered first hand that it was a fatal error to lie to a Soviet officer. From the looks on the faces of his fellows, the lesson that he had learned so late in his life was not lost on them.
When the private came back, the sergeant instructed him to grab another of the rebels in the same "miraculous" hold. The private pulled the man forward and I looked him in the eye. "Are you ready to answer my questions, or shall I save everybody's time and have the soldier take you where he took your former comrade? I'm tired of your crap, quick now make a choice."
"Yes lieutenant, I'll tell you. Everything he said is true. What he did not tell you is that the youth is the protege of that one who brought us all out here to our misery. That one is the youth's mentor." "Listen, to me rebel, my patience is so thin it's about to snap. What do you mean by protege and mentor? Are they lovers? Is that boy the pleasure toy for that fat bag of pus?"
He looked into my eyes hoping to find a grain of mercy but there was none. That piece of shit murdered my sergeant. He didn't kill him in honest combat, one soldier against another, but like a sneak from behind after having seemingly surrendered. I had only one thought, to inflict long deep loss on him then return his body to its constituent elements and those elements to the earth.
Finally, he resigned himself to what he knew must be, he lowered his head and said, "Yes, lieutenant. The boy is his lover." I could see the reaction in the murderer immediately. His shoulders sagged and for the first time there was a tear making its lonely way down his cheek. The boy looked terrified now, but to his credit was obviously trying very hard to control it and put up a brave front.
We had what I needed for my revenge. Now, it only needed to dispose of the remaining rebels. I let the murderer of my sergeant watch the execution of his band, and I told him, "You did this. You! Only you!" He just stood there watching, unmoving and unmoved. In the end, I felt sorry for his men. They had given him their trust and obedience and he had squandered their lives. I would make sure that he plumbed the depths of misery before I executed him, too. I would exact revenge for my sergeant and for those men who'd trusted him to their destruction.