Date: Wed, 13 Aug 2003 04:05:11 -0700
From: LA Guy
Subject: We're All Capitalists Now, Ch. 7

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.