Guerillas

The three other fighters and I crouched on the top of a low apartment building, overlooking the town square. Yesterday, a statue of Olga the Invincible had stood there. She was a hero of this country; she unified the kingdom of Ucieczka at the dawn of the feudal age, saving it from centuries of discord and bloodshed. Now, her statue was destroyed; even the rubble was gone.

In the middle of the town square, where that noble knightess once stood, there was now a ramshackle military tent painted in arctic camouflage, as though they expected to go unnoticed. A few men in heavy furs and thin armor vests patrolled the tent. Their job was to spot people like us, and yet none of them thought to look up.

These invaders were from Gorszka. They had violated our borders eighteen months ago, and now the war had come to our town.

My name is Hajnalka, and I led our four-woman clique. We were not affiliated with the Ucieczkan Army or the resistance movement, but we made trouble for the Gorszkan invaders all the same.

To my right, I saw Elena. At twenty-nine years old, she was the oldest of our group, and the only one old enough to join the army. Before the Gorszkans came to our town, she had considered enlisting, but never did. Now, the choice of whether or not to fight had been made for her. Her eyes were calm and steady, and her mouth rested in a serene smile. To look at her, you'd never guess there was a war going on.

To my left was František, or Fran. Among my group, it was an open secret that Fran was male. In these desperate times, even our men needed to fight. When Fran first asked to join us, I had balked, but the patriarchic Gorszkans had demonstrated the viability of male soldiers, and, besides, we needed all of the help we could get.

Fran was a very guarded man. He wore a fur hat that concealed his mannishly short hair, and a tight scarf covered his mouth. All that could be seen of his face was his small nose and his sad, unblinking blue eyes.

Past him, on the extreme left, was Karela. Her hands curled into fists, her nostrils flared, and, even though her lips were pursed, I could tell that her teeth were gritted. Underneath a pilfered steel helmet, her eyes seared hatred down on the Gorszkans.

It this part of the country, it was just the four of us against the whole Gorszkan army. So far, we had been doing as well as could be expected.

"Fran," I asked, "do you see anything?"

Fran gave me a sidelong glance with one eyebrow raised- the ocular equivalent of a shrug.

"Don't you have the binoculars?" I said.

His eyebrows jumped, and Fran dug a set of binoculars from a pocket and pressed to his eyes. For a full minute, he lay as still as a statue. Then he lowered them.

"Those are not assault rifles," he mumbled. "Those are shotguns."

"What?" I gasped. "Those soldiers have shotguns? Why?"

"Maybe the bastards are getting desperate," said Karela.

"Maybe they don't anticipate being attacked with guns," mused Elena. "Shotguns would be the best choice against pickaxes and such."

"Well," I said, "if that's true, they're right. We've got three Molotov cocktails, and that's it, except for the blades. If we want to take them down, we're going to need to wait for better equipment."

"What?" snarled Karela. "We're just going to let them piss on Olga's grave like that?"

"Not for long," I promised. "Don't worry, Karela, you'll get your revenge. Just not now. Come on- let's head back to the camp."

With that, we scooted back from the edge, then stood up one by one and headed for the fire escape ladder.

"I'm sick of waiting," grumbled Karela. "I'm so fucking sick of waiting."

"We all are," I said.

"Yeah, not as sick as I am."

At that, I silenced. From experience, I knew that letting Karela have the last word was the only way to get her to stop complaining.

* * *

For a few minutes, we shuffled through the taiga forests that surround our town, until we arrived at our new home away from home. A little hovel sat nestled between two hills, covered in dirt, frost and leaves. It was an excellent place to hide. But as a place to live, it was less impressive.

The other guerillas and I ducked in, then sat down in the dry, spacious depression that was the hovel's floor. I sat in our only chair, leaning over the ramshackle wooden table. Karela, who had mostly cooled off, snuggled into one of our four cots in the back of the hovel, and Elena and Fran crouched by the entrance.

Someone clicked the incandescent light bulb to life, bathing the hovel in orange.

For one moment, we all settled in. Then, by the unspoken custom of our group, I was supposed to dictate our next move.

"If the Gorszkans are here," I said, "then it should only be a matter of time until they start running wide patrols. We should start doing patrols of our own. Unless they've the changed the way they do things- and I don't see why they would- they'll be using tanks, so we'll hear them coming before they see us. I don't know where or when we should do this, so... just patrol wherever you think is best. We'll do it in shifts.

There was a brief silence. Elena and Karela exchanged perplexed looks, and I prepared to clarify my idea. Before I could start, Fran suddenly stood up.

"I'll go first," he volunteered. "I know where to go. See you in six hours."

On that, he turned and crawled out of the foxhole. For a few seconds, we could hear his feet crackling on the icy greenery. Then he faded to silence.

For a few seconds, we sat like stone statues.

"Good old Fran," said Elena.

All at once, we fell to our pleasure activities. Elena drew out an old newspaper and disappeared into it, and Karela cracked open a dusty old pulp fiction magazine.

I picked up an old letter and read it for the seventeenth time. It was several months old, but it was the last I had heard of my boyfriend. He had been drafted into the rearguard, so his chances of survival were good, and, being male, he was of course given a non-combat role. Still, I missed him, and, since his assignment, I had had to entertain myself.

"I'll be back," I mumbled.

At that, I stood up and swiped a file from the table.

That file contained two photographs. Both of them were of the same man tying and dominating a nude woman. I had taken these pictures from a dead Gorszkan soldier some time earlier in the war, before we moved away from the front. Male domination was not popular here in Ucieczka, but the Gorszkans could not seem to get enough of it. I did not like dominant men, but I did like men; without my boyfriend, this would have to do.

Above the foxhole entrance and behind it, I hunkered down and knelt with my legs apart. After pulling off my right glove, I held up the better of the two pictures and stared at the man. I began to stroke my hungry womanhood, feeling warmth and excitement radiate from it as my fingers did what they could to satisfy its desire.

All at once, the war faded away. In its place, there was only the man in this picture. With each shift of my fingers and each sizzling wave of pleasure, I imagined what it would be like to have him all to myself. I imagined him standing across the room from me, calm and confident, a paragon of masculine equanimity. I imagined stepping up to him and pulling him gently to his knees, then pulling off his shirt and running my hands up and down that beautiful body. I imagined wrapping myself around him, taking in every inch of his delectable flesh until, finally, I pulled down his pants, revealing that smooth, clean, hard-

"Hajnalka!"

I jumped, then hastily pulled my hand out, feeling one last ecstatic pulse as my blunt fingers rubbed against my sensitive walls.

"Hajnalka!" repeated the voice.

Standing up, I turned around, seeing Fran dashing towards me in that low, short-strided sprint of his. His voice was full of panic, but his brow furrowed with unbreakable focus.

"Fran?" I recoiled. "What is it? What happened?"

"I found a tank," said Fran. "Unguarded. They might be lost. We should attack."

I stared blankly back at him for a few seconds, waiting for him to continue, but he had nothing more to say.

"Elena!" I called. "Karela! Get the weapons out!"

Just seconds later, the two women ran from the foxhole. Karela carried two of the Molotov cocktails, and Elena carried an old hacksaw.

"Where is it?" Karela demanded. "Where are they? Where are they?"

"It's okay," I said, "we're not under attack. But there's a tank out there and I'm told it's a sitting duck."

"Yeah, let's fry that bastard!" growled Karela.

"Bring 'em on," grinned Elena.

Nodding, I turned and said, "Lead the way, Fran."

For just an instant, Fran failed to register a reaction, then he whipped around and sprinted off, followed quickly by the three of us.

After about a minute of running, we heard the rumble of a heavy diesel engine and the grinding of tread plates. Fran lowered his posture and marginally lowered his speed, and the rest of us imitated him. Finally, Fran stumbled to a stop at a ridge.

"Up here," he said.

Peeking up, I saw the grim, angular form of the blotchy white metal behemoth that is a Gorszkan tank. Then I ducked back down.

"You were, right, Fran," I said. "No infantrymen. What were they thinking?"

"How do we attack?" he asked.

"Elena, you distract them. Then I'll hit them with the Molotov cocktail. When the tank blows, the rest of the crew should be on the ground and..."

I hesitated.

"...against my better judgment, I say Karela should get the hacksaw. Oh, and I'm in the mood again, so if we capture a man alive, and he's cute, I want to have sex with him. Got it?"

No one batted an eye. In Ucieczka, female sexual dominance was the rule, and my desire was merely that custom's logical conclusion.

"Good," I said. "Fran, you're good with your fists, right?"

"Yes."

"Good. Karela, give light me a cocktail and take the saw. Elena, go for it."

In an instant, Karela handed me a lit cocktail. With an adventurous grin and a nod, Elena stalked around in front of the tank, which unconfidently stuttered through the forestry. A moment later, she stood up and, in her true fashion, flashed them a two-fingered salute.

I waited a third of a second, then stood up, wound up and hurled the Molotov cocktail. With an understated puff, the bottle shattered, and the entire top half of the tank lit up with orange.

Instantly, the tank ground to a halt. I heard male voices screaming in Gorszkan for a few seconds as the flames atop the tank shifted. The hatch slammed open, and a skinny man in a rough, ragged uniform vaulted out.

A second later, there was a blinding flash and a heart-stopping thump as the tank's shells exploded, sending a fireball roaring up from the tank's interior. When the flare died down, the tank was a burning husk, and the one surviving crewman lay in the snow, gathering himself. Stumbling to his feet, he started to lurch drunkenly out of the clearing.

"Oh no you don't," snarled Karela. "Come here, you bastard..."

Karela seized the man by the back of his collar and brought him back to the ground, then pounded her foot onto his stomach and brandished the hacksaw.

Frustration is the spice that makes every grievance worse. And now, every part of Karela burned with frustration. Her knuckles stung from punching the wall of our hovel, her teeth throbbed from gnashing together, and her throat was sore from howling and raging. But most of all, her heart ached for her husband, who had been gunned down by the Gorszkans months ago.

But her heart wasn't the only thing that ached for him. She knelt on the tanker and started tearing at his clothes, and I knew what she wanted to do.

Before the tanker could react, she tore away his pants and grabbed his masculinity.

The man kicked and fought, but he lacked the brute strength to stop Karela now. She held him down by the neck with one hand and stroked him with the other. Slowly, his resistance died down, and his grunts got softer and airier. A blush bloomed on his face.

Sure enough, he was stiffening. Karela registered just a hint of an evil smile, then slid down her own pants and set upon him.

The man convulsed and grunted, raking the snowy mud with his fingers, overwhelmed by Karela's angry, lustful energy. Karela herself was hardly in better shape. Her face was red, her teeth were gritted, and she growled with each pound, slamming onto the man with merciless force.

"Wow," said Elena. "That can't be comfortable. For either of them, I mean."

"Should we stop her?" asked Fran.

"No," I said. "Look at her. She had to blow off all of this steam at some point. Better on him than on you."

Fran nodded stiffly.

Karela's assault continued. Pent-up animalistic fury unleashed itself through her femininity, until, at last, her mouth opened and she started to moan. Then her moaning turned into a wail, then a scream, and she climaxed, nearly crushing her helpless male as she gripped him.

For one moment, she relaxed, breath hissing through her teeth, and her victim went limp.

Then she started up again.

Once again, the man shook and moaned, at the mercy of her feminine desire and rage. Once again, she snarled and hunched over him. Just as Karela looked to be softening for another orgasm, the man tightened up and huffed his unwanted pleasure. Karela lowered herself to him and let out a long, ragged sigh as she felt him flood her gates until, finally, she reached down with her right hand and stroked herself to finish. For a second time, she gushed and screeched with primal vindication.

"Oh, yeah..." Karela panted. "Oh, I needed that. Oh, yeah, I fucking needed that."

For three long seconds, Karela stood still, watching the man pant underneath her. Then, finally, she disengaged, leaving the used man on the ground.

"Alright, Hajnalka," she said. "Your turn."

The man started, his pretty face slack with horror.

"Not now," I said, "Let's get him back home."

Gradually, I walked up to the terrified man and took his shaking hand, then helped him to his feet.

"No restraints?" Fran doubted.

"Look at him," I said. "He's subdued. He's not going to try anything, and if he does, he won't get anywhere."

"Also, Karela will get pregnant," said Fran.

"No I won't," said Karela. "Birth control."

"Here? How?"

"I found some pills last week. Jackpot."

Fran's only response was an understated shake of his head.

Back at the foxhole, I sat the prisoner gently down and knelt in front of him. As the light clicked on, I could see his panic-worn visage in the shadowy, stark glow of the light bulb.

Here, it struck me how similar he looked to us. His face structure and skin tone were largely the same, and even his uniform was only so different from our own garb. Beyond that, his eyes bore that look of hollowed-out exhaustion we all wore to some extent. This man had not said a word, and I could already tell that he lived in the moment, lacking both the stomach to look to the past and the heart to look to the future. He came from the other side, but he was, in an important sense, one of us.

"Do you speak Ucieczkan?" I asked him matter-of-factly.

He looked up nervously, as though putting together a lie. Then he looked to Karela and twitched nervously.

"Yes," he quipped, in only a subtle Gorszkan accent.

"Good," I said. "Now tell us what your superiors are planning."

"Rumor mill had it that they were attacking Snefolk next. But how would I know? They treat us like mushrooms. They keep us in the dark and feed us shit."

Fran gave a little huff, and a cloud puffed out through his face mask. I had never seen him laugh before.

"So that's why you're willing to tell us these things?" I surmised.

"No," he said. "The reason is that I don't want her to have me again. You Ucieczkan women are dangerous."

I shrugged sheepishly, having no rebuttal to that.

"Just get some rest," I advised him.

"Hajnalka, this is stupid," Karela cut in. "He's just going to betray us again."

"Yeah..." said Elena. "I hate to say this, but... shouldn't we at least be a bit more cautious around him?"

"You trap more bees with honey than vinegar," I pointed out, getting up. "Incidentally, what's your name, boy?"

"Lesnitsky," said the prisoner. "My name is Lesnitsky."

"Alright. I'm Hajnalka, and I want to have a talk with you in private. Fran, you did a good job. Now continue your patrol and come back when your shift is up. The rest of you know what to do."

With that, I led Lesnitsky out of the foxhole and into the safely anonymous wilderness behind it. The air, as chilly as ever, wisped with a soft wind, and the sun was melting into the western horizon.

"Now you want sex?" said Lesnitsky, bluntly.

I let out a little chuckle. His face fell.

"No," I said, "not yet. Not after what you've just been through."

"Then why are we alone?"

"Why? Well, I wanted to apologize on behalf of Karela- she's one who raped you- and I didn't want her around to chime in."

"Nor do I."

"She's not a monster. She's just... messed-up. She was always a bit strange until she met a boy named Jaroslav. He was the best thing that ever happened to her. He was patient, he was understanding, and he could read Karela like a book. With him around, she wasn't just stable- she was happy. Those two never got tired of each other."

"Then he died?"

"Then he died. She got over the shock quickly, but I don't know if she'll ever get over the anger."

"I'm sorry. But I don't know what you expect me to do about it."

"She's in bad shape. She needs a shoulder to cry on, but she's too proud to let it be another woman."

"I don't like where this is heading..."

"You can do that. You can help her out."

"Why would I do that?"

"Because we all live in the same tiny foxhole. If we don't get along, it's bad for everyone. Especially you."

Lesnitsky sighed and hung his head for a moment, then mumbled, "Fine. I'll do what I can."

"Alright," I said. "And... one more thing."

Stopping, I gently grabbed his shoulders and turned him to face me.

"What?" he gasped. "No, not yet, please... I can't-"

"Relax," I told him. "I know you're not ready yet. But I'm lonely too. I just want a kiss."

Hearing this, he calmed down and put up no resistance as I brought him up to me and pressed my lips to his, feeling his warm face over my weathered skin. As my tongue explored him, my hands inevitably wandered down his body, feeling his smooth back and squeezing his invitingly soft butt cheeks.

As I did, I could sense him getting uncomfortable. Removing my hands, I pulled away and ran my hand through his short, fine hair.

"Thanks," I told him. "I needed that."

He gave me a nervous smile.

"Come on," I said. "Let's get back."

My warmth dissipated as I turned and let him back to foxhole. For a while, all I could hear was two pairs of boots crunching on frosted leaves.

"By the way," I added, "I don't believe I ever said thank you. I know it must be awkward being there for a woman. I know in Gorszka, it's usually the other way around, b-"

"It isn't."

I stared at him, waiting for an explanation.

"We don't let women vote in Gorszka," he said, "but that doesn't mean we don't understand them. I know how it feels to have your home taken away from you-"

"You do?"

"Yes, I do. Do you think I asked to fight in this damn war? No, I'm a conscript. Now stop interrupting me. As I was saying, when a woman is hurting, there are certain things she needs. And when a woman asks for sex, a proper Gorszkan does not refuse her."

"And you're a proper Gorszkan?"

"I was getting to that; I am, but that Karela is different. If I let her have me, she'll kill me."

"Please, Lesnitsky, she needs it. And she won't kill you. She'll lighten up on everyone if she just gets to have some fun now and again."