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Marty shielded his eyes against the harsh glare of the midsummer sun, pulling his scarf across his burning snout as he walked up the street, past long-shuttered shops and a dilapidated pub swarming with tired soldiers. He squinted into the dust cloud kicked up by the wake of a passing Hyena, a light armoured vehicle, a soldier in urban camo sitting in its turret with two more hanging off the back, clinging to the strip of stand-off armour that had been welded to its rear bumper. One of them jeered at him as they passed and he stuck his middle finger up in response before re-directing his course towards the old council building across the street.

It was about as bland as any beaurocratic building could get; a white stone facade supported by four pillars, the wide door of heavy oak and brass guarded by two statues of historic figures that he couldn't remember the names of or the reasons for their importance in the history books. Standing below these two statues were flesh and blood guards, two soldiers in heavy combat gear, each cradling an AM70 assault rifle. A Wilson .38 Special was holstered at their hips and both wore an expression of terminal boredom as they seemingly stared into the distance. As Marty slipped past them into the cool interior of the building, neither spared him so much as a glance.

He paused, standing just inside the threshold, savouring the coolness of the re-circulated air that was wheezing lethargically through the ancient AC system as his eyes adjusted to the dimly lit space. The small waiting room he found himself in was sparsely furnished with threadbare chairs lined up along one wall and a receptionists' desk was pressed against the back wall. The room was empty save for the slim, uniformed iguana sitting behind the curving desk, busily shuffling through papers. Marty approached the desk and tapped his knuckles against its scuffed surface to get her attention. She looked up at him, a look of mild irritation at being disturbed crossing her dainty features.

'Corporal Martin Wossen, Hundred-Fiftieth Battalion reporting as ordered.'

She eyed him up, taking in his fraying BDUs, the long, olive drab scarf wrapped loosely around his shoulders poncho-style and the soft tanker's 'helmet' stuffed into his flak vest. He reached up with a sigh and un-fastened the clip that cinched his stiff flak collar to let her see more of his face. Her frown deepened.

'You could have at least cleaned up before attending your meeting, Corporal.' She said with disproval. He looked at her. She was maybe five - ten years his junior and looked too clean to have seen any real fighting.

Marty wiped some dust from his nose and sniffed loudly, 'I live on the frontlines in an armoured tin can so you can keep your cushy receptionists' job, so you can take any of your complaints about my appearance and shove them up your arse.' He replied blandly. He was tired and was acutely aware of how scruffy he looked. Everyone on the Yulen Stop Line was in the same condition or worse. 'Now. Colonel Safborn wanted to see me? Or have I wasted an hour of my life suffering at the hands of the RAF,' He leaned forward a little and checked the name tag and rank that was neatly stitched on her shirt, 'Private Haversham?'

She bristled and he took quiet satisfaction in that. She plucked the chunky receiver of the phone from its cradle and muttered something into it before placing it back with a deliberate gentleness.

'The Colonel will see you now, Corporal.'

He spared her the barest of smirks and tried not to stamp his way into the Colonel's office. He stopped short of her desk, schooling his expression into one of neutrality and saluted primly, still wondering why he was there. Colonel Safborn wasn't in his chain of command; she was currently in command of the 1168 Light Infantry Division assigned to the Yulen Stop Line and had very little say in where the 150th and 151st Mechanized Heavy Armour were to be and what they were to be doing. The fact that she had managed to have a say in where 150th Battalion would be best arranged along Yulen County lines and had actually managed to win the argument against Colonel Dawkins, was testament to how stubborn she was.

'At ease, Corporal.' She said and leaned back in her chair. She looked him up and down, a brow arching. 'Rough out there today?'

'Just a tad, ma'am.' He replied crisply.

'You know why I called you here?' She asked innocently.

Marty thought about it a moment, the subtle shift in her tone striking a cord of suspicion. He could only come up with two reasons; he'd fucked up somehow and landed himself in trouble with the infantry or she wanted that repeat performance of that quiet night on the trenches last month he had promised her. His mind went over the possibilities with a fine toothed comb.

He swallowed the dry lump in his throat. He couldn't be in trouble. He'd spent the last two weeks with his crew, trying to repair the 'new' Bone King. The two hundred mile trek from their last station to their new one in Yulen had ground a sprocket wheel to blunt teeth which meant that the entire track had to be removed whilst someone located a replacement wheel. On top of that, the suspension had come apart again and the turret ring had seized. How the tank had made it to its destination in such bad condition, he didn't know and he sorely missed the MPK-150/MBT. They were old, but solid and could handle practically anything the Ferroni threw at them, including other tanks. The MPK-160/MBT was weaker, nothing more than a cardboard box with tracks in comparison to the roving fortresses that once populated the ranks of the Heavy Mechanized Armour branch of the Gollonan armed forces.

'You managed to bully Dawkins into letting us have our tanks back?' He asked hopefully. The HMA had been reduced to a paltry 3 battalions of MBTs, 150th and 151st being the smallest and the largest, 172nd,having been re-routed to the Skeleton Coast to help defend the fishing villages and harbours from another Ferroni invasion.

Safborn looked a touch confused, her head tilting slightly, 'New tanks not up to snuff?'

'Hardly. You could shoot the engine out with a standard issue revolver. If we're to win this war, or even drive it into a stalemate, then we need proper armour.'

'Win the war...' She mused softly, her eyes briefly misting with pity.

Marty frowned, 'I know. Stupid of me to think we can, but it's really the only thing keeping us all from turning our guns on ourselves.'

She waved her hand to silence him, 'Let's stop the defeatist talk before we get in too deep, hm?' She leaned forward on her desk and his gaze slid down as her ample breasts came to rest on her crossed arms, 'That's not why I called you here. In fact, the meeting isn't in an official capacity at all. Unless you want it to be. In which case, I'll have to write up a report and submit it in multiples to both your and my commanding officers-' Her left hand slid up the slope of her chest and she undid the top button of her stiff collar, then the button beneath that.

Marty swallowed again as he watched until her deep cleavage was peeking over the top of her low cut undershirt. An encore it is then. He though numbly, watching her stand and un-clasp her belt.

'Ma'am...?'

'Sandra.' She purred, draping her shirt over the back of her chair.

Her undershirt hugged her torso, hinting at well-defined abs and a lack of bra. She was built and perfectly endowed, and all he wanted to do was to climb her. She sauntered around the edge of her desk and pressed herself up against the stunned skink and slowly licked the top of his snout, from nose to brow. She stood a full head taller than he and was muscular and fit, the fantasy play-thing of men and a couple dozen women who knew of her and had met her. And for some reason he couldn't fathom, she had decided that a midget runt in a tank was more preferable to any number of the full-sized men fawning over her.

They kissed, long and deep and she broke it off by spinning him around and pushing him down onto the threadbare sofa that was pressed against the wall beneath the small window. She un-did her boots and kicked them off, and Marty squirmed his vest and jacket off, tossing them aside. Sandra discarded her trousers, her panties following suit in short order and she straddled him, pressing herself against him, pinning him to the old sofa, not giving him a chance to take in her fine form. They kissed again, their hands exploring feverishly- hers tugging his shirt up so she could run her fingers across his toned muscles and his moving over the hard swell of her backside and up the small of her back, enjoying the feel of her body writhing against his.

'Ready so soon?' She panted, 'When you walked in here, I didn't think you'd want me.'

He forced her out of her undershirt and admired her plump breasts, her nipples erect. She started grinding against him and a soft moan escaped him.

'I'm an idiot, not a retard,' He said as he cupped her left breast and leaned forward, 'You want sex, I'm more than happy to supply it.'

He bit her nipple lightly and she gasped, her head tilting back, her hands fumbling to undo his belt. His tongue flicked out as he felt his waistband slacken and licked the sensitive nub he'd just abused. He free hand slipped into his pants and with a calculated tilting of his hips to help his trousers slide down around his backside, he pulled his cock free. Sandra lowered herself onto him, a soft groan parting her lips as she settled onto his lap. Dazed by the sudden heat that settled around him, he leaned back into the lumpy, frayed cushions and watched as she rode him, her hands on his shoulders balling into fists, seizing handfuls of his shirt as she moaned in pleasure.

His hands landed on her hips and her tail wrapped around his as he started thrusting upwards, meeting her own movements, driving her deeper into a frenzy. She started panting his name and he brought her breasts to his mouth and started teasing her nipples, moving from one to the other, his tongue flicking out, his teeth grazing soft flesh. He mumbled a curse into her cleavage as he felt the first teasings of an orgasm flutter at the edges of his self-control and another, stronger tug of heat as she cried his name, shuddering as she came. The contractions and pull of her pussy dragged him along and he reflexively pulled her close to him, holding her in place as he gave one last, hard thrust and came with a long, low groan. Satisfaction burst through him on a tidal wave of pink mist and he didn't want move for the next century. Sandra was warm and wonderfully wet around his cock and her body was comfortable against his. He rest his head against her heaving chest and kissed along her collar bone as she gently stroked the back of his head, enjoying the silky smoothness of his pale scales and the twitching of his slowly withering cock inside her.

The door swung open and Private Haversham burst in, .38 drawn, flanked by two soldiers who immediately pushed in past her, their AM70s up. The two men paused, took in the scene of their C.O wrapped around another man, flushed and saluted. Sandra stared them down, looking thoroughly annoyed with the interuption.

'Ma'am...?' One of them asked tentatively as Haversham, smaller and weaker, tried fighting past them to see what was going on and render aid.

'I have everything under control, Sergeant. Carry on.' She replied crisply.

'Ma'am.' He replied decisively, shot Marty an acid look and hauled his slack-jawed Corporal away back to his post.

'Colonel?!' Haversham squeaked from the doorway, turning red the moment she was able to see into the small office.

'You saw nothing.' Marty grumbled from the depths of Sandra's cleavage.

Haversham glanced at him, took one last look at her C.Os stern expression, slapped a hand across her eyes and slammed the door shut behind her. The moment the door clicked shut, Sandra started laughing and sagged back against Marty.

'The looks on their faces-' She gasped, wiping a tear from her cheek, 'I would love to have a picture of their expressions framed and hanging on my wall.'

They kissed once more before she pulled away from him and started collecting her clothes, tugging them back on. Marty stood on unsteady legs and collected his gear, straightening himself out, watching from the corner of his eye as she dressed. She settled back behind her desk, made a show of straightening out some paperwork and smiled up at him coyly.

'I'll see if can bully some people into freeing up some real armour. Maybe even get your old toys back.' She said. 'I can't my boys and girls out there without the proper support.'

'I'd appreciate that.' Marty said, feeling a little off-kilter at her sudden shift back to professionalism.

'Same again next month?' She purred.

'If I'm still alive.'

She blew him a kiss by way of dismissal and he gave a half-baked salute in return before leaving her office. Haversham didn't even look at him as he passed the reception desk and the duty guards gave him a strange, almost envious look as he trotted down the worn steps, back onto the barren street