From: nogarder@ix.netcom.com(*** )
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: Storm Break (MF)
Date: 10 Jan 1996 19:17:42 GMT

			    Storm Break

	The pre-dawn chill of the desert soaked through me as I buried
my `chute. God only knows what happened to the rest of my unit; the
gale came out of nowhere, scattering us like dry leaves over tens of
square miles of sand. I had a vague idea of where I'd landed, and it
was far from my first choice - four miles or so inside what the brass
jovially refers to as a "free-fire zone"... and the band sounds like
it's warming up early today as the 120-mm thunder begins; the flashes
like heat-lightning just beyond the horizon.

	Sighting on the Little Dipper, low in the northern sky, I
started back toward friendly territory, cradling my M-16 in the crook
of one arm to protect it from the wind-blown sand and dust.

	(Every U.S. serviceman has a love-hate relationship with the
M-16. It has twice the accuracy and stopping-power of any other light
automatic rifle... but over in `Nam we found a lot of bodies lying
next to their disassembled Sixteens, shot dead while trying to clear a
jammed round. A bit of mud... or a grain of sand... in the wrong
place can render the weapon useless.)

	Sand gave way to hard, cracked earth and scrub. In the middle
distance, a few wilted palms, and a small cinder-block building. An
abandoned command post? I shifted course a few degrees and headed
toward it, partly out of curiosity, partly because the shell-bursts
were approaching much faster than I'd hoped, and I was starting to
think in terms of cover. When the big boys come out and play, the best
that a common foot- soldier can do is to dig in and ride out the
storm.

	(A single 120-mm high-explosive round would blow that building
into bits as fine as the sand I'm wiping out of my eyes. I knew this.
But it was better than nothing.)

	I circled the building cautiously, rifle at the ready. Sand
had drifted a foot deep inside, deeper at the entrance; nobody'd been
using this place lately. Around the other side, what was left of a
jeep... with a red star on its flank. That's interesting. I raise an
eyebrow and grin...

	 ... and dive behind it, doing a one-and-a-half roll to the
other end into a prone position and leveling my Sixteen at...

	 ... dark, dark brown eyes, almost black, set in a small,
round face. Short, tomboyish hair nearly the same color. Sidearm
braced against the window opening, aimed precisely between my own
pale-blue eyes. Israeli insignia!?

	(Just the night before, the lead story on the CNN satellite
feed dealt with how frantic diplomatic efforts succeeded in
forestalling Israel from launching its own attack. Tell me another
one, Wolfie... )

	I lowered my rifle, set the safety (making damn sure she saw
that) and stood, slowly, giving her a good look at my own uniform. She
considered the situation for a few seconds, and perhaps the volcano of
sand and dirt and rock that suddenly erupted not 500 meters distant
helped her make up her mind. She holstered her pistol, and waved at me
to come in.

	Leonovna. An immigrant, obviously. Few Soviet Jews find their
way into the military, which is understandable if you think about it.
My Russian and Hebrew are on the "da/nyet" level, as was her English.
A second lieutenant. Fuckin' spiffy. At least she'd have a hard time
ordering me around.

	With a lot of arm-waving and drawings in the sand, we
communicated well enough to work together. We up-ended the wooden
tables in the room and improvised a sort of bunker, placing them in a
U shape against the one blank wall, facing the door and windows, and
piling sand as high and deep as we could around the outside. By this
time the shelling was close enough for the shock to shake loose bits
of mortar and dust from the walls. We collected our packs and weapons,
and settled in to await events.

	Picnicking in the middle of a heavy-artillery duel is not my
idea of a fun Thursday morning. But we made do, warming various
delicacies over a can of Sterno, and sampling each other's ideas of
army cuisine. She actually seemed to enjoy the Chicken Kiev a la
M.R.E., and I was ready to write this off as politeness until I got a
mouthful of HER rations... I'll never bitch about Army meals again.
She drained her canteen in the process of cooking breakfast; I lent
her mine for a long pull... and then had a sudden evil thought, and
offered her my OTHER canteen.

	She didn't grasp the concept right away, and nearly choked on
the first mouthful, haha. She gave me a really strange look, which
made me think for a moment that I'd offended her somehow (or that I
was about to be dressed-down in Hebrew) but then she took a pull
almost as long as she had from the water, and handed it back. I drank
from each in roughly equal amounts, and we both sat back and
"relaxed".

	(For a country as totalitarian and religious as this, fifths
of Jack Daniels are amazingly easy to come by... everywhere except in
the PXs, where the alcohol had been pulled from the shelves to avoid
"offending" the people whose butts we were here to save. Go figure.)

	The sky gradually lightened, not counting the strobe-light
flashes from the bursts all around us. We were huddled together
against the wall, and the canteen of J.D. was already three-quarters
expended. The whiskey seemed only to heighten my own fear; "Dutch
courage" my ass.

	The blasts were now coming close enough to throw sand and dirt
and rocks through the windows, the entire building rocking and raining
chunks of mortar and block with each explosion. She was sitting with
her knees drawn up, and an impassive expression on her face, but as we
moved closer to shield each other I could feel her trembling inside
her uniform. A near-miss slammed the wall against us; we were thrown
to the floor tangled in each other, and suddenly found ourselves

	(And you know what happens now. There must be this ancient
drive within each of us that compels us, in the face of mortal danger,
to make that one last desperate attempt to reproduce. Even when she
who would bear your child is about to die along with you. Silly. But
try telling that to your hindbrain. Try telling ANYthing to your
hindbrain, for that matter. Deep thoughts from a stoopid fuckin'
corporal, hey?)

	locked in each other's arms, driving tongues into one
another's mouths as we ran rough, frantic hands over each other;
stringing hard, biting kisses down each other's necks and shoulders as
we struggled to pull off our boots and pants. I rolled on top of her,
and we both winced as I drove home. Dry! But a few short strokes had
her ready, and I pulled her legs up over my shoulders, her hips rising
a few inches off the floor, and went for broke. Her head fallen back;
her full lips drawn, displaying amazingly pearl-white teeth; gasping
with each breath as I pounded into her.

	She opened her legs and let them fall, and I moved into a full
embrace, wrapping one arm around her shoulders and the other
underneath her ass as she began pumping underneath me just as hard as
I was into her. The apocalyptic thunder outside seemed to fade to
near- nothingness as our thrusts became more and more frantic, and a
few seconds later I erupted, slamming her hips onto the floor at
nearly the same instant that she screamed and bit hard into my
shoulder, nearly convulsing with the force of her orgasm as I writhed
atop her in my own.

	(Adrenaline is amazing stuff - the whole thing couldn't have
lasted more than three minutes start-to-finish, yet it seemed to go on
for hours... )

	We rolled apart. My head was swimming, and from the care she
exercised in sitting up, I think hers was as well. Blood on her lips,
and mine. We shared another long drink (almost empty; we were going
to have to move soon, like it or not,) and I used a corner of my shirt
and a splash of JD to tend to my skinned knees and the cut on my lip.
And it was at about this time that I realized that the racket outside
actually HAD faded away while we were busy.

	I looked through the window. Shells were still falling a
kilometer or so to the east, but it looked like they'd lost interest
in us for the time being. I turned from the window to collect my pack
and rifle (and my pants!)... and she was there beside me, reaching up
to plant a soft kiss on my lips.

	(Some people believe in love at first sight; others argue that
it's more like "lust at first sight", but one thing that most everyone
agrees upon is that the chemistry between a man and woman defies
analysis. This may have been either, or both. I'll never know.)

	I couldn't move. I almost couldn't breathe, completely
hypnotized by those big, dark eyes. A half-step closer, and I took her
in my arms. We kissed deeply, but with as much tenderness and love as
we had passion and fervor only a few minutes before.

	I spread my blanket on the floor and we knelt, unbuttoning and
unhooking what was left of each other's clothes (a camouflage bra -
cute) with frequent pauses to kiss and caress what we were uncovering.
She was surprisingly petite for infantry; small but wiry (and strong!)
muscles on a very slim frame; china-doorknob breasts topped by large
red-brown nipples. Every inch a woman, and I set out to explore every
one of those inches as she ran her hands and lips over my chest and
shoulders.

	We lay side-by-side, loosely holding each other in the
stifling late-morning heat. She smiled as I blew streams of air down
between us, watching her nipples harden as the sweat evaporated,
chilling them. I slid down a bit to take one deeply into my mouth,
savoring the salt/musk taste as I sucked each in turn. I ran my tongue
under one breast, then the other, then up between them to her throat,
up the side of her neck to gently nibble an earlobe, tonguing around
and into her ear, then moving back along her neck, and throat, and
chin, back to those eager lips. And then down, down one side with a
lick-and-a-promise to one nipple as I passed, down the outside of one
thigh, under her knee and back up the inside.

	I spent a couple of minutes teasing with lips and tongue along
the inside of both thighs, almost but never quite hitting home,
feeling the tremors running through her thighs and hearing her sighs
deepen to moans as her legs opened even wider, and her hands played
along my head and neck and shoulders.

	Finally, after casually working my way down her other leg, I
suddenly ran a moist trail in a quick swipe up her thigh, and clamped
my mouth over her pussy, rotating my tongue in rapid circles over and
around her clit. A sudden, forceful gasp, and she grabbed a double-
handful of my hair, pulling me to her as her hips came off the floor,
rhythmically pressing my face into her. Within seconds she lost
control, opening the cut in my lip again as she ground herself into my
face, her head thrown back, mouth wide open as she came four, maybe
five times before pushing me away.

	I sat up against the tabletop for a moment to catch my breath
and dab at my lip some more. If the truth be known I was pretty well
worn out at this point, but hoped I (and she) had enough left to be
able to take care of this huge hard-on I'd re-acquired while eating
her out. I wasn't disappointed.

	(One of the most frustrating things about being a man is that
half- hour or so he needs to re-charge, while she's ready for Round
Two (or three, or four, haha) right away. And the older you get the
longer the intermission he needs, and she's STILL rarin' to go two
minutes later. God is one hell of a practical joker, hey?)

	An hourglass silhouette, blotting out the sun as she straddled
me. She was well-lubed and ready, but we were both sore from the
recent abuse, and flinched just a bit as she settled herself into
place. Once there, though, she was a perfect fit, haha. Sitting on top
of me brought us eye-to-eye. We embraced and kissed softly and deeply,
her hands now stroking, now massaging my back as she began moving in
short, firm back-and-forth strokes.

	I leaned back a bit, pulling her with me, raising my legs and
digging my heels into the sand to get a bit of leverage to begin
moving underneath her, matching and complementing her strokes as she
spent some time moving in deepening circles, then once again pumping
her hips back and forth, our embrace tightening as our strokes became
deeper and more rapid.

	We kissed again, our tongues working in rhythm with our hips
as our strokes became more and more frantic, and suddenly I couldn't
take any more; I leaned back and drove my hips skyward, lifting her
completely off the floor as I came, shuddering and moaning as I pumped
her full.

	In the throes of my orgasm I let my hips fall for a split-
second then drove them up again, impaling her on my shaft as she fell.
She cried out, in pain I thought, and perhaps it was, but a second
later she clamped down hard on me, her nails digging into my arms as
she thrashed and cried out, her legs almost in a full horizontal split
as she jammed every millimeter of my cock into her; jerking hard
twice, three times, and collapsing into my arms, both of us gasping
for breath as if we'd just run a marathon.

	We sat this way for a few minutes, gently embracing, me inside
of her. I didn't really want to move, but if we were going to make
any attempt to get back behind the front lines it was going to have to
be soon, before the heat became intolerable and while we still had a
little water. She rolled off, we retrieved scattered pieces of uniform
and dressed, and shared one more kiss and long, long embrace. I stood,
holding out my hands for her to do the same...

	 ... and abruptly sat back down as a HE round went off less
than 50 meters away. I rubbed the dust out of my eyes, my ears
ringing, and crawled back to her as another half-dozen shells went off
in rapid succession, followed by a tremendous blast that lifted me
right off the floor, tossing me over the tables and smashing me into
the wall.

	I sat slumped against the wall for several minutes, stunned
and deafened, unable to move. The opposite wall was blown inward, the
ceiling sagging where it was now unsupported. The table forming part
of our "bunker" on that side was resting on its top alongside me. The
wrecked jeep had vanished; the shell must have landed squarely on top
of it.

	By and by I managed to collect what remained of my wits, and
shakily rose to my hands and knees. I half-crawled, half-pulled myself
around the sandpile, around our one remaining barricade, and she was
there. She looked bewildered, and a bit sad. Her eyes were half-open,
staring through the missing wall into the desert. Her hands were
clutching the meter-long steel rod that had pinned her to the tabletop
by her heart.

	I had to break up the table to free her. I removed the rod, my
gorge rising for a moment, and flung it across the room. I laid her
out on the floor, and gently closed her eyes. I started to reach for
her tags, and drew back... and reached again, and hesitated.

	(Did I really want to know? Could I endure NOT knowing?)

	I pulled the tags loose, and turned them over.

	Catherine.

	I held her for a long time, my face buried in her hair;
neither knowing nor caring that the shelling was once again moving
away; my tears mixing with the dirt and the blood.

	I took the PET from my pack, found a place where the dirt was
less than rock-hard, and dug. It seemed prudent to leave the site
unmarked.

	The blazing noontime sun was comforting, somehow. A pair of
F-18s arrowing overhead pointed my way back "home". I shouldered my
pack and followed their contrails to the northwest, listening to the
echoes of the storm fading in the distance.

			     The End