Interval 01: Fire Support Group Bravo
Author's Note: Violence, herm/female sex and swearing. You can heed the warning or ignore it. Don't really care either way.
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Story by Wasp977 and SniperSpartan-977
The silence didn't last.
Characters and Universe created by Wasp977 [FireteamKatana.webs.com]
The moment his hearing returned, someone had to scream into his ear again.
Written Collaboratively by Wasp977 and SniperSpartan-977
"INCOMING!!!"
Jon didn't even have the time to crawl into the trench before the mortar shell hit the forest floor. Trees splintered and smouldering pine cones were tossed into the air. A domino effect rippled outward as burning trees toppled into each other creating a swirling wildfire that spread over the heads of the United Nations soldiers from 1st Company Infantry.
Dropping to his knees, Corporal Jon Sinclair slid into a trench beside his comrades from Fire Support Group Bravo. He tried his best to ignore the heat of the flames flicking over his head, cradling his assault rifle in his arms like a newborn child. The quartermaster who issued him the Colt Defence M16A4 Armalite assault rifle assured him the weapon was highly durable, but the corporal didn't want to take any chances. Lima Foxtrots were charging from the north of this forest and the last thing Jon wanted was his gun to jam when he came face to face with a blood thirsty dog that could tear him limb from limb with its bare hands... and teeth. Not to forget the razor teeth.
The twenty-two year old man had always dreamed of becoming a professional soldier. His passion had been to join the SAS... but shortly after the large scale alien invasion started a few years ago, his dream had forcefully become a reality.
He didn't even know why the lycans were invading. It seemed pointless. Earth was a dump. Attempting to eradicate the human race was a waste of recourses. Any idiot knew humans would just end up destroying themselves. But still all this was happening.
One hour ago the lycans, dubbed ‘Lima Foxtrots' by some of the soldiers in Jon's squad, had unleashed an all out assault against 1st Company, defending the Black Forest in Southwest Germany. Because of their sheer numbers, and the fact they caught the company by surprise, the blood-thirsty anthropomorphic wolves had quickly broken through the defences and slaughtered all humans in their way. In a last ditch attempt to hold out long enough until re-enforcements arrived, 1st Company withdrew from the perimeter and to the trenches and ditches they had dug as an exercise to fight boredom a few days ago. But instead of finding an easily defendable position, the three remaining squads in 1st Company, one rifle squad and two fire support groups, entered a mortar fire shooting gallery. On the southern edge of the woods, 3rd Company mortar team panicked and started firing before contacting 1st Company. Now the soldiers found themselves face down in the scorched mud, butt-fucked by their own mortar shells.
"INCOMING!!!" Private First Class Lin yelled for the eighth time in the past fifteen minutes, seeing the white trail of the next mortar round fly through the sky before anyone heard the whistle of its descent.
As the private on Jon's squad fell silent over the nearby tear of gunfire and the crackle of flames swirling around them, the corporal heard the whistle of the mortar round falling through the air. A split second later it hit the soft dirt a dozen meters away, tossing branches and clods of flaming earth into the air.
A moment later there was a thud, and looking up, Jon pulled a face. A soldier from 1st Squad had landed on the edge of their ditch minus his legs. Strings of blood dripped from the man's mouth and his charred intestines spilled out over the forest floor. The dead soldier was dressed identically to Jon, only with 1st Squad printed on his sleeve underneath his patch depicting a hawk holding an assault rifle in its beak, the words 1st Company written around the circumference of the insignia.
They wore green brown and black woodland camouflage fatigues, hardened pads on their knees and re-enforced helmets with ballistic glasses protecting their eyes. Over their torsos they wore MOLLE assault vests designed to carry ammo and equipment rather than stop bullets, but since lycans used tooth and claw, protection from projectile weaponry was completely unnecessary. Helmets on the other hand were somehow required. Command claimed it was a safety precaution to minimise the risk of death by friendly fire or some shit like that. They were also issued with blue-steel bayonets, but no side-arms. In the economic depression this war had brought, the general infantry was forced to abide by budget cuts. Side-arms went to NCOs and COs.
The corporal's uniform looked worse for wear. He was covered in mud and blood, both his own from a nose bleed and that of his fellow soldiers whom he'd tried to save from bleeding out, to no prevail. Jon himself was an average young man. He had an athletic build, short cropped black hair, hazel eyes and black stubble across the bottom half of his face. But his most distinguishing mark were three evenly spaced thin scars curving neatly across the right side of his face, missing his eye by a few millimetres and ending just above the corner of his mouth.
Jon couldn't take his eyes off the man's until Sergeant Dietz grabbed him by the shoulder and shook him out of his trance.
"Get your ass in gear, you limey bastard!" the wide shouldered man yelled in a strong American accent, his square face screwed into a permanent scowl. Wedged in the corner of his mouth was an unlit, half smoked cigar, and he wore an issue cap instead of a helmet over his cropped bleach hair. "Get third company on the line and tell them to stop shelling us, A.S.A.F.P!"
Ripping his eyes from the gruesome corpse, Jon quickly shook his head. Other than the sergeant he had three fellow soldiers on the squad. FSG Bravo was the only team to get away without casualties. There was a rifleman, Private First Class Monroe, the FSG's radio-man, PFC Lin and finally a wide, muscular dark skinned man, PFC Carmine who manned the M249 Squad Automatic Weapon.
As Lin half climbed up the side of the ditch and shouldered his M4A1 assault rifle, firing in bursts through the trees, Jon climbed up behind him and pulled the talk-piece loose on the radio-pack. He clicked the talk button and shouted into the receiver, hoping 3rd Company on the other end of the line would hear him.
"First company to third company! Cease fire, cease fire! You are shelling friendlies! I repeat, you're wasting friendlies!" Jon let go of the talk button and pressed the speaker against his ear. Just hissing static. Maybe Lin's gear was fucked. Maybe 3rd Company were too pre-occupied to answer... or to listen for that matter, since the shelling continued and more rounds thudded into the dirt around them.
"Fucking shite! Mortar company isn't answering, sir!" Jon yelled as the sergeant turned around to face the corporal.
Dietz's eyes suddenly widened behind his goggles. Jon immediately saw it and twisted around... only he was too slow.
A mass of muscle and matted black fur crashed into Jon, knocking the wind out of his lungs. He wrestled with the blurry mass, cursing and swearing at it all the time until a pair of powerful hands grabbed his chest and slammed him against the ground. The monster was sitting on the human's waist, one large claw digging it's sharp nails into his chest, the other raised, poised to strike... and all the time he couldn't look away from the large anthropomorphic wolf's teeth as the lycan snarled in Jon's face. The black fur on the back of his neck stood up angrily as the golden eyes flared angrily.
"You think you can stomach me?" Jon yelled defiantly at the creature, gripping the lycan's arm and attempting to wrestle from it's grip. "I hope I give you the fucking shits you pussy!"
The claw was about to strike when a flicker of gunfire above Jon's head nearly deafened the young man.
A dozen rounds thudded into the lycan's bare chest, rocking the large muscle bound creature backwards. Dietz stepped forward and pumped two more into the lycan's head, ending the creature before holding out a hand and pulling Jon to his feet.
"Good thing the fuckers are naked." Dietz snarled with disgust, kicking the dead corpse before turning his gun to the flank. Fifty meters away more lycans rushed downhill at FSG Bravo.
As Dietz fired controlled bursts, nailing one with a bullet to the head and wounding a second as it quickly shimmied behind a tree for cover, Jon snapped up his rifle and started firing too, feeling comfort in the recoil pushing against his shoulder. But the comfort only lasted so long. Another shell hit and tossed up a curtain of dirt, obscuring his view. A split second later a lycan leapt through the curtain of dirt, claws outstretched, strings of bloody phlegm hanging from its muzzle.
Jon opened up on automatic, discharging half his magazine. All of the rounds hit the lycan in the chest, sending it toppling backwards and crashing into the ground in a heap. The rifle bolt locked back for no reason, and Jon inspected the chamber to see an un-used round was lodged half-way between the magazine and the chamber. He tried yanking back the charging lever, but the bolt was jammed fast, and the corporal couldn't begin to think how these armalites worked. Give him the bullpup L85 he'd been trained with any day.
"Fucking yank shite!" Jon cursed, tossing his useless rifle aside. "I'm without a weapon!"
"I'm almost empty!" Lin shouted, slotting his last magazine in place.
"I got one spare!" Monroe reported.
"Last box!" Carmine yelled, yanking the cocking lever on the M249 back with a satisfying ‘clack!'
The cloud of dirt settled by the time the gunner reloaded revealing a horrific sight. Dozens... hundreds more lycans charged downhill at them. A mortar round landed in the mass tossing up a cluster of burning rag-doll corpses, but it did nothing to even dent the numbers. There were just too many of them.
"Oh... fucking... bone..." the English corporal muttered staring at the incoming wave.
Jon looked back and saw the remainder of 1st Squad riflemen rise out of their foxhole to open fire when a mortar shell fell in their midst. Jon quickly looked away as the three remaining soldiers on the squad were snuffed out of existence. More mortar shells rained down in quick succession. Tracer fire thickened from FSG Alpha's position as their GPMG fired nonstop.
"This is FUBAR!" Carmine yelled over his shoulder.
"Agreed!" Dietz grabbed the private by the collar and pulled him away from the SAW. "Fall back to third company's position!" he took position behind the M249 and lined the sights up.
"We're not leaving you!" Jon yelled at Dietz as the others got ready to fall back.
Dietz responded by tugging his pistol out of his holster and thrusting it into Jon's hands. "Live today or die by my hands... your choice!" but Dietz didn't give Jon the choice, shoving the corporal away hard.
Jon didn't really see a choice. So he scrambled out of the trench with the three other soldiers and ran south. Behind him he could hear the sergeant give the lycans hell, throwing as much harsh language as ammo at them.
"C'mon! You want some? Eat it, you hairy motherfuckers! Eat it! Come get some you fuckers! GET SOME!"
Jon didn't look back.
An explosion rocked the ground nearby and the corporal glanced right just in time to see FSG Alpha explode. Fucking 3rd Company! If they hadn't opened up prematurely in the first place maybe the tide would have turned against the lycans. He tried not to think about it though. Right now he had to get his friends to the mortar line. From there it was a last stand... which would hopefully go better than their last attempt at a stand.
The forest rushed past. In less than a minute of charging silently downhill, dodging exposed roots and narrow tree trunks, they finally reached the south most tree line... only to have their hearts stop beating.
The lycans feeding mortar shells into the tubes froze and looked up at the four remaining humans. FSG Bravo and the lycans standing over the corpses of 3rd Company stood there for what felt like hours, just staring at each other. The last shells flying through the air landed and the explosions echoed into the distance, leaving silence.
"That's new." Lin whispered to Jon.
"Tell me about it." Jon said in amazement. Lycans were stupid, brainless beasts. They didn't know how to use weapons... no... they weren't allowed to be able to know. It was like playing a card game and your opponent suddenly changes the rules in his favour. It wasn't fair.
The dozen or so lycans manning the captured mortars suddenly readied their claws and howled at the humans who snapped up their weapons. Jon glanced over his shoulder to see the lycans chasing them had caught up. Dietz was no longer in the picture... and soon they wouldn't be either.
"Fuck this!" Jon yelled. "Snuff the bitches..."
But before the humans could fire, a whine rang through the air. Hundreds of rounds tore through the lycans, billowing up dust and dirt as the line of tracers sliced systematically through the creatures. Jon looked up and saw nothing short of an angelic vision. The NHI NH90 German Air Force helicopter hovered a dozen meters above their heads. The minigun mounted on the chin of the gunship hovering off the transport helicopter's right flank stopped spinning as the hailstorm of bullets ended. The humans hadn't even heard the two helicopter's hovering there.
As the lycans died the NH90's three wheel's extended from the mounts on the bottom of the vehicle as it swooped down and touched the ground ahead of FSG Bravo.
"Snell!" a Dutch, possibly German crew chief yelled, waving the infantry over.
At the same time the humans ran forward and jumped on board, grabbing on to anything their hands were able to grasp. The helicopter prop picked up speed and dragged the vehicle into the air. Before Jon knew it, he was lying front down on the deck of the NH90's troop compartment, clutching on to the leg of the crew chief so he wouldn't slide away, his gaze fixed on the ground a few hundred meters below. Little toy lycans swarming over the abandoned mortars and the corpses of 3rd Company.
Jon closed his eyes and took a breath as the helicopter and it's attached gunship were consumed in some light cloud cover. This war had just taken a sharp turn. The enemy was changing. The rules were changing... and Jon was changing. But not for the better.
He wasn't getting stronger. He wasn't getting smarter. He was getting more scared...
---***---
2010. Mankind was on the brink of war with each other. North Korea declared war on the US. Most of Asia saw a profitable alliance and joined the North Korean campaign. The US called upon Europe, who answered the plea for help. Russia became divided. One half wanted to strengthen the alliance with the west... the rest wanted to crush them.
Then the pods landed. Forced to develop better aircraft and orbital weapons, NASA abandoned all space exploration and observation. The lycan ship was in position before anyone even noticed it. A rain of death descended from the heavens, organic drop pods containing a deadly cargo of anthropomorphic wolves, bloodthirsty monsters practically immune to small arms fire who could easily rip a man in half with its bare hands. With the world divided, and the lycans swarming across the globe in millions, mankind was hardly able to cope. Faced with a life or death scenario, the United Nations were hastily formed, the world's military force combined to eliminate the lycans on the ground. The battle between the lycans and the UN lasted two years. At the end of the second year, when lycan numbers became manageable, and with the human civilian population protected in secure bunkers across the globe, the UN launched what little nukes they had access to at the lycan ship. But we underestimated the lycan ship technology. Just because they were bloodthirsty, mindless brutes, didn't mean they were stupid. Their countermeasures eliminated our nuclear devices... and they sent the second generation lycans. Faster, stronger, and more adept to our various climates.
This is the third year of the war. Humanity is flickering and dying. Maybe if we hadn't been fighting each other the lycans would have faced a strong, united humanity. But as it stands... I don't think we can win this war...
---***---
Warhounds
Interval 01
Fire Support Group Bravo
---***---
"He will see you now." The middle aged first lieutenant was about as sexy as she was cold.
Somehow she was wearing a clean, ironed and perfectly maintained dress uniform that hugged her slim figure. But as he observed the woman as she opened the office door for him, Jon had to remember this lieutenant was an ‘office-bitch' as Carmine had eloquently put it. She had never seen combat, and until lycans breached this facility hidden deep in the Alps, she never would.
The first lieutenant stepped aside and kept her chin high, looking down on Jon like he was a piece of filth as he stepped into the office. He couldn't blame her for thinking that. As a budget cut infantry, he was forced to wear battle dress uniform all the time. He didn't have anything else. And despite the fact his camouflage was clean, it was still worn, frayed and clumsily repaired with needle and thread. He looked a baggy mess, and for some reason, this first lieutenant thought she had the right to look down on him because she was dressed better.
Jon had to resist the urge to say, ‘This is war, darling. I'd like to see how you look when a horde of lycans ass-rape you in some dark woods.'
The office door closed behind him with a whisper quiet click, and Jon found himself sealed in the dreary, blank room with Sergeant Major Yuri Keller.
The office was consisted of four grey concrete walls, identical to the walls all through the bunker. He had a set of shelves on the wall opposite the door, one cheap MDF desk and a pair of folding garden chairs. Sat upon the shelves were several books, a few display cases with medals and ribbons the sergeant major had earned, and a string of lycan trophies, from fangs to claws.
"Corporal." The sergeant held out a hand. The sergeant major was American raised with an American father, but he still had his mother's Russian accent. "Welcome back."
Somewhat startled that he didn't have to salute, Jon stepped forward and shook the man's hand. "Sir. Good to be back."
"Sit, please." Keller sat behind his desk and indicated the other seat to the corporal. Jon gingerly sat down while the sergeant major pulled two glasses out of a drawer and produced a glass bottle containing a clear liquid. He undid the screw cap and immediately Jon caught the strong whiff of vodka. "Drink?"
"No thank you, sir." Jon declined.
"Afraid because you are on duty?" Keller poured himself a glass and replaced the cap.
"I don't like vodka, sir."
The sergeant major chuckled, knocking back his drink and pulling a face as he swallowed before gasping for air. "Yes. I don't blame you. I hate the shit too. Unfortunately it is one of the very few commodities we have left... like yourself, yes?"
"Sir?"
"You are one of the very few good soldiers we have left." Keller sighed, slowly unscrewing the cap of the vodka again. "Before you was Sergeant First Class Dietz... such a shame. Such a good man."
"He was the bravest I've known... sir." Jon said slowly, remembering himself how Dietz died. He died giving the rest of the squad time to run away.
"Yes..." Keller poured a drink, went to screw the cap on the bottle again but stopped, reconsidering and leaving the bottle open on the edge of the desk. "I suppose you are curious about your next assignment?"
"Not really, sir." Jon said.
"And why is that?"
"I'm being briefed by the highest ranking officer on this facility." Jon said. "That means this assignment must be dangerous."
"Very fucking dangerous." Keller corrected, holding out the glass of clear liquid. "Are you sure you won't reconsider?"
Jon wasn't too sure. He took the glass and immediately poured the liquid down his throat. It was cold, but it burned all the way down his gullet and felt hot in his rumbling stomach.
Next, the sergeant major produced a magenta folder from his drawer and placed it on the desk in front of Jon. The folder was packed with three different types of wads of paper. One wad was blue, the next was red, and the last one was green. "These are maps and access codes. Your mission is to retrieve a package from a base in Nevada, America... Area 51."
Jon laughed. "Alien invasion and you want us to go to area 51... sir?"
"Forget what you think you know about little green men, corporal." Keller said. "Underneath area 51 is a weapons development lab. Most of the modern weapons we use today were developed there, from the anti-tank rifle to the phosphorous grenade. For the past three years a group of scientists have been studying the lycans... extencively. From their fieldcraft to how their organs work thanks to the few specimens they managed to take alive. A few hours ago a scientist in charge of the project contacted us that they have developed a chemical weapon that could tip the tide of this war in our favour... but they could not reach any of the other habitat bunkers. If we are the last habitat on the planet, I cannot remind the importance of the safety of this bunker."
"Fate of humanity in our hands?" Jon sighed and leaned forward. He felt light headed. Was it the alcohol? Or the impending doom swirling around him? Don't accept the mission and he was putting this whole facility at risk. His whole family. The whole of humanity. If he took the mission he'd be putting himself at risk... the choice was already made. "We need a few hours to gear up, sir." He slid the folder into his lap and went to stand.
"One more thing." Keller added. "You are promoted to sergeant, and your team has access to any weaponry in the armoury you need."
"Don't I get a ceremony, sir?"
Sergeant Major Keller smiled. "Come back alive and successful and I will throw you a fucking banquet."
---***---
For a dying planet, she was actually quite beautiful. Earth. The Hraos' next conquest. The Mother and Protector's last conquest. The Third Queen of the Hraos was almost twenty thousand years old. Soon her body would shut down. Soon she would die and the mighty hive ship Sovereign would choose the Fourth Queen of the Hraos. But Queen Valtha Marquessa was eager to claim humanity to add to the Hraos gene pool before she died. And somehow, General Atael couldn't blame her.
Lilith Atael gazed through one of the mother-ship's many portholes looking down at the blue planet hanging innocent and serene in the depths of space. This planet was not like others throughout the galaxy. Earth was perfect, or at least, she used to be, before the humans unwittingly began to destroy her, extracting her natural recourses and pumping harmful chemicals into the air. Earth was a fluke. The perfect distance from the sun. The perfect magnetic field. The perfect amount of gravity... she truly was an eden.
As general to the Hraos invasion forces for the past thousand years, Lilith had seen her share of planets. Countless environments, countless sizes. Some were so hazardous the indigenous species were almost impossible to conquer. But the Hraos were strong as they were persistent. Like species before them, everything in their path would eventually bow down. And these humans, these ape descendants would not be the end of Lilith's kind.
Turning away from the porthole, Lilith continued on to the queen's chambers. She was young, only 1500 or so years old. That was very young for a species that lived for twenty thousand years. And since the Hraos didn't change physically as they aged, Lilith would remain as fit and attractive as she was now until the day she died.
Once upon a time the Hraos started out as a hive mind. Sovereign it called itself. It developed a race of canines within its womb, safe from the vacuum of space. Thus the Hraos were truly born in the form of ‘anthropomorphic wolves' as the humans would put it. For each royal generation, Sovereign would choose a queen. The queen would rule over the Hraos within Sovereign, and provide the genetic material needed to produce more Hraos. Soon, the First Queen discovered she could ‘interbreed' with other species, adopt their strengths and add those strengths to her kin. Soon the Hraos quest for perfection began, and through three royal generations the Hraos invaded alien planets, using their people as cattle for generic material to improve themselves.
The ship took the genetic material from the queen and whichever mate she chose and acted as an incubation centre. When ebryos were successfuly developed they were separated. Males were engineered into soldiers, while females were kept on board to run civilisation.
Lilith was mostly pure Hraos. She had long slender legs, a narrow waist and a generous bust. On top of her elegant neck was her canine head. Her soft fur was black with patches of grey on her stomach, on her chest between her breasts and along the top of her snout. She had golden nails on the end of her digits, four on each hand, and had a white tuft of fur on the tip of her long fluffy tail. She had fiery red hair that fell in wavy locks past her sleek shoulders, and the features that set her apart from most Hraos were her yellow cat-like eyes. Lilith was dressed in a two piece tunic. The top covered her bust, and ended just above her belly, the sleeves ending at her wrists. Resting on her hips was a golden belt that formed a V shape at the front, with a single crimson loincloth reaching down to her knees at the front and the back, hiding her crotch and buttock from passers by. Surprisingly, all the Hraos were dressed in a similar revealing fashion while others wore absolutely nothing at all. The Hraos had a philosophy. ‘Look as provocative as you possibly can, but maintain an element of control by holding on to your decency.' It was something all Hraos females lived by. The males weren't developed mentally enough to even comprehend the meaning.
On her way to the queen's chambers, the sheer size of Sovereign was revealed. The hive ship consisted of a central mass, a huge chamber where the populace lived. At the front of the central chamber was the royal palace, from which a glittering waterfall poured into a river which wound between the farms and the homes of the Hraos inhabiting Sovereign, and spilled water into three large public baths. High above her head, Sovereign provided a climate. The hive gave them heat, water and air. How still escaped Lilith, but she didn't care as long as it continued to work.
Sovereign even had energy weapons outside to defend herself, which had worked a charm against humanity's advanced weaponry.
The walk to the palace took fifteen minutes. When she finally entered the golden gates, she found herself surrounded by cages within the royal walls. The cages were full of souvenirs the queens had kept. Previous conquests she had found most intriguing... or satisfying. All kinds of beasts and entities, sentient, barbaric and highly intelligent cried out as Lilith passed. One, a male lizard creature clawed at his cage walls and screamed for help in his native tongue, completely insane from his years of incarceration. There were thousands, all categorized and alphabetised. Many Hraos called this place the archive. A monument to the glorious history.
Somewhat unsettled, Lilith moved briskly on, pushing her way through a set of double doors to the hall outside Queen Marquessa's personal chambers. Marquessa never moved beyond the organic doors ahead. It was like Lilith had stepped into a new world. She left the world that was manufactured behind and stepped into an organic world. The ground was damp and clammy beneath her bare feet, and Sovereign's nervous system glowed and pulsated behind the translucent walls. Ahead of her, the organic doorway was consistent mainly of muscle and tendon. As she approached the door sensed her presence and she heard the squelch of exposed muscle contracting and tendons pulling and stretching. The door parted down the middle like a curtain of flesh and pulled away to each side revealing the queen's chambers.
The royal chamber was cavernous, Sovereign's central nervous system hanging over Marquessa's organic throne. The walls were pink and soft, and the floor was callus and rough. The throne was a sloped seat, to which the queen was practically attached. Tendrils protruded from her throne and bored into her spine, providing the queen's body with everything it needed, while extracting genetic matter the living ship needed to produce more Hraos. High above the queen was a large mass of grey matter, hanging from tendons attaching it to the chamber ceiling and walls, holding Sovereigns brain in place. The central spine disappeared behind Marquessa's seat and supposedly branched out all over the ship.
The queen herself was different from Lilith. Marquessa was entirely nude, lying back in her throne, her bare breasts rising and falling quickly as she panted and moaned. The first thing Lilith noted were the two Hraos royal guard, females in armour that covered their chest, hips, shins and lower arms, but revealed everything else, carrying a human female away from the queen. The human female had pale skin, fiery red hair on her scalp and pale green eyes that were narrowed with fatigue. She was naked, like the queen, and had clear liquid running down the inside of her leg. Her legs were like they were made of jelly, and the royal guard had to literally carry the human out of the chamber. As the doors stretched shut behind her as the guards left with the human, Lilith moved closer to her queen. Only now had her eyes lingered down past Marquessa's slender, narrow waist and to her open crotch area. The queen was dual gendered, allowing her to obtain genetic matter for Sovereign from either gender of her enemy. Right now she had just taken it from another female, but the penis placed just above her vagina opening was still hard as rock, standing straight up with a slight bow. It's black skin glistened as it was coated with the human female's sexual lubricants, and her own cum dribbled from the opening further down her crotch.
Lilith glanced hungrily at it for a moment, feeling a sudden rise of lust seize in her chest before she shook it off and stepped to the queen's side, placing her hand on Marquessa's. The queen took a long, deep breath and opened her yellow eyes, looking intently at her general.
"General Atael." Marquessa breathed. "How goes the eradication of the human leftovers?"
"Well, my queen." Lilith answered in a smoky voice. It trembled slightly as her eyes shifted back down to the raging erection her queen maintained. It was at least eleven inches long, and as thick as her index and middle finger crossed over each other... wet and glistening... throbbing in the cool air... how the general wanted to warm it between her thighs... "The humans are fighting back strongly, however, but the new troops you have granted the Hraos with the human captive are perfect for ending this campaign. The soldiers are learning to adapt to the human tactics. How to use their weapons."
"Then general," Marquessa narrowed her eyes and smile, seeing her general's eyes flick down to her erection every so often. "Why did you schedule to see me?" she glanced down at her own shaft and felt a burn in it's base. She wasn't satisfied... not by a long shot.
In a slow teasing fashion she slid her hand out from under Lilith's and wrapped her long delicate fingers around the shaft and pulled back the skin, revealing the bare pinkish head beneath. The queen trembled, ripples of pleasure and desire. Lilith tried to ignore it, but as she stepped back, she suddenly found herself entranced by the jerking motions the queen was making.
"I... I checked our records... in the archive." Lilith's breaths short and eyes wide. "Something about this planet... something enticed me... the records... the records said the last surviving Corsan... the last one that escaped... escaped to here... to earth..."
The queen's eyes jerked open and her muzzle fell open in a silent moan. She stared at the ceiling above her for a long time. Her hand was clamped around the base of her cock, the head twitching with anticipation to be engulfed by a tight wet hole.
She slowly lifted her head and looked at Lilith with a lustful smile. "That is good news. Very good general. The Corsan must be obtained by any means nessicary. See to it personally..." The queen let go of her shaft and let it twitch in front of the general's nose a bit more. "But first, show me... how much do you want your queen right now?"
Lilith was overcome. She hadn't had a male since their last conquest half a year ago. One of the ground soldiers she had ordered to drench her urges. Since then Lilith had been so busy trying to figure out why Earth was so familiar to her she had ignored her desires, she hadn't even been into the city centre to hire a courtesan for herself, as she usually did when her desires grew. And right now her desire for sexual stimulation had grown so great she couldn't control herself anymore.
In one elegant leap she climbed on her queen's lap, facing backwards and tore off her belt and loincloth exposing her glistening sex and the fur on her inner thigh that was matted with her juices. Her lips spread easily as the tip of Marquessa's cock touched her slit. Lilith trembled at the warmth. Her tunnel opened and flowed with lubricants, eager to accept her queen. Her muscles tightened as her flesh stretched. The opening quickly engulfed the head, earning Lilith a low moan from her queen. Marquessa's hips bucked, attempting to thrust her erection deeper into Lilith's tight wet hole, but the general placed her hands on the queen's hips, holding her down. Inside she was smiling as Lilith bucked her hips a little, tightening her opening around the queen's head, letting her juices slip and slide over the cock's most sensitive region. Soon she heard her own queen let out a quiet squeal. A plea for more.
"I... its so... big..." Lilith moaned hungrily, engulfing another few millimetres, enjoying the torture she was putting her queen through.
Lilith suddenly relaxed every muscle in her body... and fell down completely on Marquessa's cock.
"Yeesssssssss." Marquessa hissed softly as Lilith cried out with pleasure, feeling the throbbing hot cock fill her completely. "So tight... ssssssoooooo gooooooood..."
Marquessa reached up and clawed hungrily at the general's buttocks, urging her to start bouncing, a fire of desire burning in her loins. Lilith's head was thrown back, her eyes rolled into the back of her head and her tongue rolling out the side of her muzzle as she panted out hot air. Slowly adjusting to Marquessa's size inside her, she planted her feet against the sides of the queen's throne and started grinding her hips. Marquessa grunted and bucked her hips while Lilith started riding the queen's shaft. Up and down... up and down... the bulging veins pulsing and grinding against the general's insides... the wet warmth rubbing up and down the queen's cock... in seconds both of them were panting and howling with pleasure.
If Marquessa could she'd leap from her throne right now and bend Lilith over and make the general her bitch. But since she was bound to her throne, the queen was entirely at Lilith's mercy. But the general did not disappoint. With a steady, strong rythm she rode tirelessly until she felt the queen stiffen.
"Oooh... yes... yes, Lilith... yes, I'm... i... I'm cumming... I'm..." the queen suddenly erupted, her voice echoing throughout the chamber. Waves of pleasure flowed through her body, spasming every muscle involuntarily. And it all flowed out through the vaginal opening just underneath her thick pulsing cock which was still hungrily being pumped by Lilith. She wasn't finished... not yet...
"Ooooohh, Sovereign's grace..." Lilith's muscles clamped down on the queen's hard shaft and she stopped riding, the cock buried deep in her as she came, her legs trembling and twitching.
Marquessa reached out, grabbed hold of the general and pulled her back until Lilith was laying back, her head cushioned on the queen's breasts, cocks still buried deep inside, involuntarily growing softer with every passing moment.
"Is that all, general?" she whispered softly.
To which Lilith smiled, her eyes shut and nodded, answering through long, deep breaths. "Yes my queen. That is all."
---***---
The Bell/Boeing V-22 Osprey's prop engines' roar was slightly muffled by the armoured shell of the vehicle's cargo hold. A brief spell of turbulence rocked the plane, causing Jon to stumble and catch himself on a cargo net.
The rest of FSG Bravo were seated in a few fold-up seats rigged against the Osprey's starboard wall. The soldiers under Jon's command were talking among themselves over the heavy metal music playing in the background. Jon focused on the foreign lyrics screamed at him through the small speaker set in the Osprey's ceiling. He didn't hear what the lads were about, but he didn't really care either. As long as they were pre-occupied. The last thing he wanted was them thinking about their shitty predicament and their morale taking a crippling hit. As it was they were already being launched into a kind of operation none of them were trained for.
Letting his G36K assault rifle hang from the one point sling around his torso, Jon held on tight to the leather straps, looking over his team. FSG Bravo's load-out had changed completely. They wore black camouflage uniforms, black Kevlar lined combat vests and compact, sleeker helmets usually worn by Special Forces operatives. Their weapons were completely different too. Carmine was now armed with an M249 Special Purpose Weapon, a heavy machine gun fitted with a red-dot scope and laser sights on the hand guard's sir-rail. Lin carried a compact German G36C assault rifle and Private Monroe had his M4A1 rifle fitted with an M203 grenade launcher. Jon now held a modified G36K with a secondary ACOG built in and a recoil control marksman stock. All of them were issued with HK USP45 .45 ACP sidearms as well as their standard bayonets.
"This is some kind of large scale bullshit." Monroe complained under his breath, unaware their NCO was listening to their conversation now. "My little brother's football game in twelve hours and where am I? Ball crushed between my thighs, loaded with ammo and explosives, riding the armoured dildo rammed right up Satan's ass."
Carmine laughed. "My gran's making brownies tonight. Can't believe I'm missing that..." he looked up at the sergeant and nodded. "How about you, Jon? What's your family up to?"
"My mom should be getting her new class by now." Jon checked his wristwatch.
"What does she teach?" Lin asked.
"Lets go over the mission again." Jon said, changing the subject.
Lin quickly glanced down at the notes he'd been taking during the mission briefing. "So, the mission should be pretty simple then." The Chinese soldier said quickly. "We rope into the airfield and access the weapons development labs. We secure the package, return to the Osprey for extraction, then return to base a job well done."
"Is it me or does this mission sound like the painfully simple plotline of a popular video-game franchise?" Monroe asked, leaning closer to Lin's notes.
"Sure these science geeks made a big fuck-off-bomb," Carmine said, leaning forward in his seat. "But what's the delivery method? How do we blow the lycan ship up with it?"
"Don't know, don't care." Jon said. "That's not our job. Our paycheques aren't exactly special forces grade, so we keep this quick and to the point. We go in, have a snoop around, and if things get hot, we fuck off. We're equipped for this snatch and grab, but we sure as hell aren't trained for it. If we retrieve the package, all the better, but otherwise we don't go acting the hero. Now, when shit does hit the fan, I expect nothing less than gratuitous violence from the lot of you. We've all been faced with some startling shit lately, what with the lycans capturing mortars and whatnot, and I've got a feeling we're going to be walking into a world of shit. Be ready for anything, and I mean anything. So if Little Red Riding Hood should show up with a bazooka and a bad temper, I expect you to snuff the bitch first and ask questions later. You got that?"
"Sir, yes, sir!" the privates chanted.
"Hey, sir." Monroe said as Jon sat down between them. "Since we're not actually acting as a fire support group anymore, maybe we should get a cooler callsign. You know, like the Special Forces or some shit. I vote, ‘The Gears of War.' That sounds awesome."
Lin chuckled and smiled. "Speaking of popular video-game franchise?"
"Hey, fuck you, man." Monroe snapped.
"Warhounds." Jon suddenly said shortly.
"Hmm." Carmine thought about it with a grin. "That's good, sir. Where did you get that one?"
"Back in the day, in the first year of the invasion, I was in an SAS marksman regiment securing the London perimeter. We were credited with the most lycan kills in the first few months of the British engagement. Some of the lads started calling us Warhounds."
"Cool..." Monroe nodded. "But, eh... if you guys were so badass... why did you get dropped in the suck with us?"
"One day," Jon explained. "We ran out of ammo. We were forced to fight bayonet to claw."
"How did that work out for you, sir?" Carmine asked in a low tone.
The three distinct scars running down the side of the sergeant's face twisted as he smirked. "Another one of those things you'll never know about me."
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