Chapter 7

Posted: March 10, 2007 - 12:04:41 am?

There was jubilation in the caverns when the last of the guerilla fighters straggled in just before sunrise. The mission had gone off without a hitch, and all of the column's soldiers were present and uninjured. In addition, they'd captured a U.S. M-60 machine gun, with two cans of ammunition and three M-16 rifles, with a couple of dozen full magazines. The soldiers tried to make much over Zorra's plan and her bravery in leading the assault force, but she deflected the praise toward the true hero of the day, Sergeant Serafin (Angel) Morales.

To celebrate their victory, Zorra had Morales bring four bottles of rum out of the special weapons vault, after all the weapons were cleaned and turned in. Zorra did not allow liquor in the camp, except for their official stock, and drugs of any type were strictly forbidden. A fighter who brought drugs into the camp joined the desaparecidos (the missing ones) and was never heard from again. It was the older soldiers like Morales, men with honor to go with their revolutionary zeal, who maintained the column's justice system. Unfortunately, the victory made some of the men think back on the times when victories such as last night's were commonplace. Times when all the members of the unit shared the spoils of war equally, be it money, weapons or women.

Pete Ballard woke up the morning after the raid, with Stephanie hugging him from one side and Katherine from the other. He was on his back with Steph's large breasts mashed against his side, her head on his right shoulder, her arm flung across his chest. Katherine was in a similar position, but her clever little fingers were wrapped around his hard dick. She looked up at him and smiled when she felt his body jolt with the realization of what she was doing. She made a shushing move with her lips, when he started to say something. Pete sighed in relief when Katherine moved her hand, then almost fainted when she gently took Stephanie's hand, and moved it down to replace hers. Katherine stretched her neck up and put her lips next to his ear.

"I know she wants to do this, but is too shy to try it on her own," Katherine whispered.

Stephanie murmured something in her sleep, but didn't loosen her grip on his rigid shaft. Katherine licked Pete's ear and rolled over, so her back was to him. Darla was also still asleep, with her back to Stephanie. Pete kept very still; he was scared that Stephanie would freak out when she woke up with his penis in her hand. Thankfully, that didn't happen though, as he could tell the exact instant she awoke and realized she was holding him so intimately. He closed his eyes and feigned sleeping.

Stephanie almost jerked her hand away from the warm, smooth cylinder of flesh she was gripping when she realized what it was. She didn't though, because when she glanced up at Pete's face, she saw he was still asleep. Stephanie was holding the first real penis she'd ever felt, and she found that she liked it - she liked it a lot. That liking was starting to manifest itself by a growing warmth in her groin. Stephanie slowly draped her leg over her brother's thigh, and snuggled her moist center up against his hipbone. Oh yeah! That felt good.

Stephanie was as sexually aroused as she had ever been in her life. The act of touching a penis had something to do with it, but who owned that penis was the real reason of her arousal. See, Stephanie had been in love with her big brother since she was twelve. He was the object of every fantasy she'd ever had. Only her shyness and low self-esteem had kept her from doing what she was doing now. She was finally acting on her feelings, because she now knew her brother thought she was beautiful and desirable. Well, that and the fact of seeing Katherine do this same thing (and more!) the other night, when they thought their sisters were both asleep.

Stephanie was looking at Pete's face, when he sighed and slowly opened his eyes. The loving look that he gave her swept away all her fears and self-doubt.

"If you keep that up, I'm going to make a mess," he whispered into her ear.

She gave him a little smirk, shook her head no, looked around to make sure her sisters weren't watching, and then ducked her head under the blanket. Stephanie could not believe what she was about to do, but the situation was so perfect for her to try it, that she couldn't resist. Stephanie's only clue about what to do next came from reading romance novels. One particular description came to mind, as she stretched her small mouth over his thick knob. In that novel, the heroine sucked on her lover as if he were a Tootsie Pop, carefully avoiding the shaft with her teeth, so that's what Stephanie did.

Pete was not bothered a bit by her lack of experience, on the contrary, the mere thought of his sweet, shy sister slurping so eagerly on him, caused him to explode in only minutes. The sheer volume of his eruption surprised Stephanie, but she gamely gulped it all down. Thankfully, the taste and texture of his essence were far from unpleasant to her. Stephanie licked him clean, and pulled her head from under the blanket. Her face was crimson with embarrassment at her boldness, but her eyes sparkled with joy at his look of intense pleasure.

Arturo sat implacably silent and expressionless, as Ian McAllister, the agent in charge of the DEA's Colombia field office, ranted and raved about the destruction of his helicopters earlier that morning. Arturo had to use all the self-discipline he possessed to keep his thin lips from curling into a smile, as the red-faced man vented his spleen.

"Dammit Guzman, it will take a shit load of paper work and at least a month to replace those birds and get the operation up and running again. How in the hell could a unit capable of conducting an operation like that exist right under our noses, and what are we going to do about it?"

Arturo's eyebrows went up at McAllister's last sentence. How indeed? The intelligence from Tolima said the only FARC unit in the area had been decimated by an AUC ambush three years previous. This whole DEA thing was a ticklish situation for Guzman anyway, since the source of most of his personal wealth came from the drug cartels.

In fact, the DEA ended up in Prado because of Guzman's machinations. Guzman had used his influence to convince the head of the Colombian anti-drug agency to start the spraying program on the western slope of the Andes first, even though most of the coca was cultivated on the eastern side of the mountains. Guzman was buying the cartels time to develop seeds resistant to the herbicides the DEA used. The FARC had actually done Guzman a favor by destroying the helicopter fleet.

Guzman had given the matter some thought, since hearing about the raid a couple of hours ago. Consequently, he had come up with a plan that would line his pockets with US dollars, while gaining more of the DEA's trust. Guzman steepled his hands under his chin, and launched into his spiel.

"Ian, no FARC activity has been reported in that area for over three years. Undoubtedly, your spraying operation hurt the FARC high command enough for them to send one of their elite units there to counter it. What we can do about it is problematic, though, as the FARC has not claimed responsibility for the attack. Because our government is negotiating FARC's disarming, it will not respond to this act militarily."

McAllister nodded glumly; Guzman let him stew for a few seconds, then floated his scheme.

"There might be another way to take care of the FARC though, if you are willing to spend a small amount of money. We cannot use the Colombian military, but the paramilitary is another matter. There happens to be an excellent paramilitary battalion near Ibaque that might be available to you. The battalion is well trained, well equipped and strongly anti-FARC. I may be able to help you contract with them to clear the insurgents out of your area and provide real security for your operations."

McAllister perked up at Guzman's offer.

"Do it," he said.

Marta Cardenas, aka Commander Zorra, had scheduled the airport raid for the night before the monthly meeting of the 21st Front's subunit commanders, so after only a couple of hours sleep, Marta was on a bus from Prado to the town of Purificación. Marta was dressed as a campesina, wearing a loose heavy dress and her hair in a braided bun. She shared her seat on the bus with Serafin Morales, also roughly dressed as a peasant farmer. They were traveling as if they were husband and wife, Morales' presence serving to both enhance the disguise, and to serve as her bodyguard.

Marta and Morales arrived in Purificación at five in the evening, and walked from the bus station to a small inn that was a safe house for the FARC. After checking into their room, both changed into their uniforms and went to join their comrades for the supper meeting. El Chico, the Front Commander, opened the meeting on a high note.

"Comrades, if you haven't heard the news yet, it is my pleasure to tell you that commander Zorra and her column destroyed the imperialist's spraying operation last night. According to the news reports, three helicopters, a fuel truck and all the defoliant were completely destroyed. In addition, six contract guards were killed and ten more wounded. I am happy to report that we suffered no killed or wounded."

El Chico paused to allow the assembled soldiers to congratulate Zorra before he continued.

"I wish I had more good news for you, Comrades, but that is not to be. This month's disbursement for the high command was only a third of our normal allotment; therefore, I am sad to inform you that we can no longer provide you with funds. The Central High Command will be sending a communiqué soon, to outline our difficulties. In the meantime, Mono Jojoy (the nom de guerre of Jorge Briceño-Suarez — the chief military leader of the FARC) has directed that we remember that one must be willing to make sacrifices for the good of the revolution."

El Chico's proclamation made the rest of the monthly command and staff meeting a somber affair. Finances were a constant struggle for the smaller FARC units. For Commander Zorra, the news was especially bad, because she had a large force and a small population to raise money from. She counted heavily on the subsidies from the Central High Command, just as she was quick to send any extra money she acquired up to them. Even with the money for the safekeeping of the hostages, she would be far short on payroll and necessities.

Gabe worked in the bakery again on the ninth day of his childrens' captivity. He and Selena spent time working side-by-side and talking more this day than the one previous. Both of them were growing more comfortable with the other. During a brief time when the bakery was empty, Gabe suggested that since the next day was Sunday, they go on a picnic. Selena quickly agreed, and volunteered to show Gabe around the area. Gabe smiled at how quickly she had caught on that he wanted a cover to scout around a bit.

"We'll do some of that, Selena, but we are also going to spend some time together alone. My lips burn from the desire to kiss yours."

"I know what you mean Papito (slang for sexy man)," she said with a full blush burnishing her cheeks. "Except it is my whole body that burns."

Gabe actually shivered when she called him 'Papito, ' because her voice dropped into a sexy low timbre. Gabe realized then that there was a lot of pent up woman in this small shy package.

In the caverns that honeycombed the unnamed mountain that housed the Columna Carlos Sanchez, on the day after the airport raid, Pete Ballard and his sisters were taken to their work details at midmorning. All four siblings were assigned the same tasks they'd performed the day before. All four noticed the celebratory mood of the soldiers. Pete asked one of the men guarding him and Stephanie what was going on.

"Last night the Comendadora Zorra led us to a great victory over the oppressors of our people. We just received word from the FARC Central High Command that we have been awarded the Simón Bolivar Medal of Valor. Comrades Chavez and Castro have both sent their congratulations; it is a historic day!"

Pete was surprised that his stomach dropped at the mention of Zorra charging into combat. What the hell was that all about? He phrased his next question carefully.

"Is the Commander OK? I haven't seen her in a couple of days."

The soldier gave Peter a look and then puffed up with pride.

"Sí señor, she is very well. The Comendadora personally led the attack last night, and even destroyed one of the targets with a rocket, before bringing everyone home without a scratch."

Pete couldn't believe that his chest puffed up almost as much as the swarthy Amerindian. Could he truly have feeling for his Amazonian kidnapper?

Marta and Morales returned to the camp on Sunday, the tenth day after the kidnapping. The trip back to Prado was much more subdued than the trip to Purificación. Morales tried to cheer his commander up, telling her of times when the FARC had so little money, they stole chickens so they could eat. Marta smiled and patted his arm at the end of his story.

"I know you lived through some tough times, Serafin, but back then the units were much smaller and less organized. Now we are many and our needs are greater. We received barely enough monies to feed us for a month, yet the soldiers need to be paid so they can feed their own families."

Marta's mood didn't improve when she arrived back at the caverns. How could it, when the order from the Central High Command that El Chico had mentioned, was ominously waiting for her.

Marta read the communiqué from FARC Central High Command with growing dismay.

"Dear Comrade,

Due to the increased levels of coca eradication efforts in the district of Putumayo, income from what was once our richest source of cocaine has been greatly diminished. The Central High Command has no choice but to suspend until further notice the disbursement of funds to all units within the Central Block of Fronts (the parent unit of the 21st Front and the Carlos Sanchez Column).

Until we find funding, all effected units are strongly encouraged to develop alternative sources of income for their operational expenses, including, but not limited to, tax collections from local plantations, ransoming of hostages, extortion and smuggling.

Long Live The Revolution,

Mono Jojoy"

Marta wadded the letter and angrily tossed it across her office.

"So much for the Marxist ideal of 'To each according to his need, from each according to his ability.' The new motto is you're own your own, comrade!" Marta said aloud.

"¿Disculpe me, Comendadora?" (Excuse me, Commander?) Pilar asked, as she unexpectedly entered Marta's office at that same moment.

"Oh, hello, Pilar," Marta answered glumly.

"What's wrong? I thought I heard you saying something about us being on our own?" Pilar asked.

Marta pointed toward the crumpled FARC communiqué and silently waited as Pilar read its contents.

"¡Que mierda!" (What shit!) she exclaimed after reading the message.

"My thoughts as well. We're already doing everything we can to make money for the revolution. Don't they understand what a challenge it is in this district? We don't have a lot of wealthy capitalists we can extort or kidnap. Most of the area is populated by poor campesinos, and it may be months before Señor Ballard's employer pays the ransom, and there is no guarantee that they will pay. I only wish we had some alternative way to make money."

"Have you considered selling the Norteamericanas? They are very pretty... perhaps one of the brothels in Bogotá or Cali would be interested."

"No, if we did such a thing, the negotiations with Peter Ballard's employer would surely fall apart. Besides, you know as well as I, that with unemployment being so high, the brothels have no lack of desperate young women who are willing to spread their legs for a few pesos. Sex comes cheap in Colombia these days, and even those pretty Norteamericanas would not fetch a great deal of money."

"Couldn't we increase the taxes we collect from the local coca farmers?"

"No, these are just peasant farmers growing a few acres of coca to supplement their income. We cannot expect them to give us any more coca leaf as a tax payment, and many of these farmers have lost all their coca fields to the damned spraying of herbicide."

"Sí, but didn't we successfully destroy all those Yanqui helicopters that were responsible for the spraying in this region? The farmers can plant new coca fields."

Marta waived a hand dismissively before answering.

"I am afraid that el presidente Uribe and his puppet master George Bush will not give up so easily. The Yanquis will send more helicopters to replace those we destroyed, and the spraying will resume. Besides, even if the soil is not rendered infertile by the poisonous herbicides, the new coca bushes must be at least one and a half years old before leaves can be harvested. There will be more helicopters by then, and they will spray the new crop. I do not think we can continue to rely on coca or other illegal drug crops to generate income. I only wish we could find a legal cash-crop that was as profitable as the coca."

Pilar knew of one very profitable cash crop, but it would be a very unorthodox means of making money, even for the FARC. She nervously cleared her throat before revealing her idea to Marta.

"I know of a crop we could produce right here in these caverns."

"Oh? What did you have in mind?"

"Well... before I joined the people's army, I worked as a secretary for an adoption broker. For a fee, this man would help wealthy North American couples find a Colombian girl who was willing to give up her unwanted baby in exchange for money. The average price these young mothers received for signing the adoption papers, was thirty-five thousand dollars..."

"That much for a Colombian baby?" Marta interrupted.

"That was the average price paid to the birth-mother. Sometimes it was less, and sometimes more. If the baby had come from parents who had more Spanish ancestry and had lighter skin and European features, the birth mother could demand a higher amount. Sometimes babies fetched fifty thousand dollars."

"That's all quite interesting, Pilar, but what does it have to do with this crop you say we can grow in the caverns?"

"My former employer once told me that if he could find a source for blond, blue-eyed babies, his American clients would be willing to pay twice as much."

Pilar watched as the implications of what she was suggesting slowly dawned on Marta. After a long silence, she finally found her voice.

"Are you suggesting we force Peter to breed with his sisters... to get them pregnant... so we can sell their babies to rich Norteamericanos?"

"I do not think it would be difficult to persuade him to do it. In fact, he may already be doing it with two of his sisters."

"How do you know this?" Marta gasped.

"One of the guards looked into the hostages' cell early one morning, and saw Katherine duck beneath the blanket she was sharing with her brother. The guard couldn't be sure what Katherine did, but from the movement of the blanket and the expression on Peter's face, it had to be sexual. And just yesterday, I had Peter and Stephanie working on clearing out a mine passageway. I went to check on their work progress, and saw them kissing."

"But it's not uncommon for brothers and sisters to give each other an affectionate kiss," Zorra argued.

"What I saw was not the kiss of a brother and sister... it was the kiss of lovers."

Marta shook her head in disbelief.

"These Ballards are simply full of surprises! First Katherine and Peter manage to tempt you and Lorena, and now these affairs between Peter and two of his sisters."

"So you see? If two of Peter's sisters were already sexually involved with him, they would not be as resistant to the idea of breeding babies with him. If we give them an incentive to cooperate in the breeding program, I am sure they will agree."

"And what kind of 'incentive' would you suggest we use to make them all agree to breed babies with their brother?"

"Tell them they either make babies for us to sell, or we will let our male comrades have access to them for sex."

Marta got a horrified expression.

"Pilar! How could you suggest such a thing! You know how I feel about rape! I would never allow my soldiers to rape our hostages!"

Pilar held up her hands, before quickly explaining, "Yes, I know how you feel about rape, and I agree with you! This would only be an idle threat to get their cooperation. We would never actually allow that to happen. Given the choice of either having sex with their brother or being gang-raped by about sixty men, the Ballard sisters would surely cooperate."

"I don't know what to think of your idea, Pilar. Do you really believe this adoption broker could get that kind of money for blond, blue-eyed babies?"

"He seemed to think so, and like I said, these rich Norteamericano couples were willing to pay as much as fifty thousand dollars for a light-skinned Colombian baby. If a child that looked like a Caucasian European or North American was available, he was certain that his clients would pay twice as much, and there is one other thing to consider..."

"Oh? What else?"

"We don't have to limit the breeding to only the three Ballard sisters. We have many comrade sisters who have light skin and hair. If Señor Ballard impregnated some of them also, we would have more babies to sell. They wouldn't fetch as much as the babies from the Ballard sisters, but they could still be worth a great deal of money."

Marta was silent in thought for a long moment, as she considered Pilar's unorthodox idea. Finally, she spoke, "I will give your idea some more thought. In the meantime, I want you to contact this adoption broker and see if he would be interested in obtaining babies from us, and if so, work out all the business details with him."

Zorra might have taken longer to reach a decision about Pilar's far-fetched scheme, had an agitated Captain Garza not visited her.

"Comendadora, some of the men wish to claim their rights to the female prisoners. We have heard the women are already using them for pleasure. Why should we men not have the same privilege, especially if the rumors of not being paid are true?"

What Garza was proposing was something Marta had anticipated, and Pilar's plan would neatly sidestep this issue.

"Captain Garza, Captain Ortiz says that wealthy Anglos are coming down here and paying as much as fifty thousand U.S. dollars for a baby. That is fifty thousand dollars plus ten to fifteen thousand to the placement agency that finds them the child."

Garza looked at his commander in confusion.

"Sí Comendadora, that is very interesting, but about the women..."

Marta gave him a delighted smile.

"So you see it already!" she exclaimed. "Yes, precisely, the women are the key to us making more money for the cause. Did you know that their parents are paying us several thousand dollars a week to keep them safe? In addition, think about how much some wealthy Hollywood star would pay for one of their perfect niñas rubias (blonde baby girls)?"

Garza looked nonplussed at his commander. It was very often this way whenever he dealt with her. She was very smart, and always seemed to be two steps ahead of everyone else.

"So what should I tell the men, Comendadora?"

Zorra thought for a few seconds, before flashing him another of her rare smiles.

"Tell them that the women are off limits until they are confirmed pregnant, then we shall reevaluate the situation. In the meantime, Eduardo, I think our soldiers have earned a three-day pass and a bonus for all their hard work. Allow half your troops three days starting Friday, and the others half next weekend. I will inform Pilar to disburse fifty thousand pesos (about $22.50) to each soldier."

"A very good solution and well deserved by our fighters. You are a wise leader, Comendadora."

Marta dismissed him with a gesture.

"Go with them, Eduardo. You have earned it also."

Garza saluted and went out to give his men the news. Marta grinned to herself and went back to her list. She could hardly wait to see the expression on the faces of Peter and his sisters when she shared her plan with them.
Joe J & Wet Dream-Girl
Chapter 8