Disclaimers: The following story is a work of fiction that will...at some point... contain sexual content between a man and a preteen boy. If this is not your kind of story, if you are too young to read this kind of story, or if it is not legal for you to read such content where you live please do not read any further.
Legal stuff: The following story is the property of me the author and may not be reproduced or posted to any other site without the consent of me, said author.
Contact info: If you want to write to me you can do so at email@example.com This is my first attempt at writing a story like this, so all hate mail or "flame" mail will be ignored so don't waste your time writing it because I won't waste my time replying. If you have something constructive to say please feel free to contact me. This will not be one of those short stories with sexual content in the first few seconds of it starting. Instead it will be somewhat longer building up to a loving and mutual sexual relationship between 2 of the characters. I hope you enjoy it.
And now on with the story...
Fields of war
In the field
This war. This...fucking war. It never ends. It just keeps going, with no end in sight. I wish I could say how long we have been fighting, but the truth is we simply do not know. Day and night...they don't exist here. The smoke from the burning buildings, and worse... the burning bodies, erases any sunlight that might otherwise be seen. We don't even know why we fight anymore. It has simply come down to we kill one of their men, they retaliate, and vise versa. We're born into it. The explosion of bombs...the rattle of gunfire...it's become common to us. It doesn't even faze us. We don't even know where the enemy lines are anymore. All rules of combat have been blurred or erased completely.
My name? Well, if you must know, I'm Captain Rick Carlson, and I've been fighting as long as I've been able to pick up a weapon. How long ago was that? How old was I? Once again I simply do not know. Time does not exist here, only the fighting. I wish I could tell you what year it is so maybe the people from your time could stop the war before it starts, but once again that information has no meaning. The only thing that matters is fighting. That's all. We do have some luxuries, but very few. We do have base camps where we can find some rest when we become weary of the fighting and can no longer go on. We don't have the luxuries of your time. Electricity...permanent structures called houses...vehicles...they're things of the past here. We have heard stories of a time long ago when men, women, and children traveled by horse and wagon, and that has once again become source of transportation in this time...whatever this time is. To see we have to use candles and occasionally, when we think it's safe that our enemies will not see, we light a fire to keep warm.
We also have the luxury of the stories. Of a place called the "neutral zone". A place where there is no fighting. No smoke filled sky where one can feel the sun on their face, and the people don't live in fear of being shot or killed. A place where sanity is the norm, instead of the exception. Most of us have waved such stories off as mere fairy tales of course. Something to tell the younger children, so they have a batter future look forward to instead of the war they the see older boys, and the men going off to fight on a daily basis. Still, there are rumors going around where people say that is where some of our fighters go when they are wounded beyond our skills in the camp to patch them up and get them back on their feet again. One might even consider such a fighter "lucky" to be wounded bad enough to go to such a place. Some have even spoken that they have heard of some of the fighters purposely getting wounded to go to the neutral zone, while others say that they were simply killed and therefore are 6 feet under.
My base camp is made up of different tents. Most of which house 3 or more men unless, of course, a man has a family in which case they get their own tent. We have to constantly move because, as I said, there are no enemy lines so we never know when we might be behind said line. We keep our scouts out to watch for incoming enemy fighters so we have some kind of warning before they find us.
On this particular day, or night, I am on my way back to my camp after who knows how many days of fighting, beaten and exhausted I only want three things. A shower, a meal, and my cot to pass out on and forget about this hell that we live through...if only for a while. Food exists only of what animals we can kill if there are any left in our particular location. If not, a meal consists of rations from our previous hunts for wild game, or rations of protein mixes and other powdered meals we sometimes find in the old military bases. All water has to be purified before we can even think of drinking or showering with it as it all has been polluted by the war. But, we have some machines that take care of that for us.
I have just rode into camp on my horse, Star, named for the white mark on her forehead a stark contrast to the black that covers the rest of her body. She's a good girl and she's brought me back to camp with me in the saddle passed out exhausted, or wounded more times then I can recall. Riding up to the commanding officer's tent I pass the other occupants of our traveling camp. Some are men and boys on their way to fight somewhere. Some coming back with the same exhausted look on their faces that I'm sure mirror the same look on my face. And then there are the women and children, some of whom always wear a wide eyed look on their faces. Always alert. Always ready to bug out at a moment's notice. And then there are the ones with the dull look of indifference. The ones that have given up to the idea that a six foot deep hole is the only thing to look forward to in the near future. It is for those people that I want this war to end for the most.
Riding up to the tent of my commanding officer, I have just dismounted and laid my hand on the door to knock when I hear the whistle. Faint at first but I know exactly what it is. Just as I turn to get back to Star I hear the hoof beats of another horse. I look to see one of our scouts at full gallop about a half mile away. Faintly I can hear him yelling, "INCOMING!!! EVERYONE!!! MOVE MOVE MOVE!!!"
Shit! Mortars! Instantly the camp is in total chaos. Women screaming. Kids crying. The first thought that came to me is everyone has to leave...NOW!!! I yell to the men coming out of their tents, "Wagons!!! We need the wagons!!! We need to bug out...now!!!" I was too late. The mortars landed. Ripping apart what little shelter the tents offered from their explosive power. Everything around me was destroyed in seconds. Everyone caught completely off guard with no time to prepare for the attack. The only thought I could think is "Where the hell are the scouts? Why didn't they warn us the enemy was this close to us?" Instantly the screams of the wounded filled the air between explosions as more and more mortars rain from the skies. Bodies of men...women and children fly through the air as the force of the explosions send them skyward. Then I hear it. Faint at first. "Help...someone please help me." I follow the voice...small...quiet compared to the screaming and the explosions, I run towards what I think is the direction of the voice. It's getting louder...more desperate as I get closer. "Someone please help!" Under the remains of one of the tents I see an arm sticking out. Quickly me and two other guys pull away the wood and canvas that used to be someone's home to reveal a small boy. Way too young to fight. Innocent and hurt. Instantly I grab him and run to one of the wagons that has already been hitched up to a team of horses about 70 or so yards away. All around the explosions continue. I dodge left, then right as I try to predict where the next bomb will land. 40 yards now...getting closer as I run faster and faster to get at least one person out of this mayhem. 25 yards now we're almost there. I look down into the clear blue eyes of the boy in my arms and smile trying to comfort him. "You're going to make it. You'll be fine, you'll see." When I look back up I see we're about 15 yards away and in a flash the wagon explodes! Instinctively I turn away from the blast feeling pain in my back I have never felt before. Instantly I'm knocked to the ground with the boy under me. I have no idea what just hit me or if the boy is ok. Everything getting dim. I can't tell if it's my own sight or if the smoke in the sky is making everything darker. I try to speak to ask the boy if he is ok and I am unable to. My vision gets dimmer...blurred as I try to focus...to get up and move...and then...nothing...black