The Patrol

Dark Stories.

With a fragment of reports of actions by international mercenaries in the Congo in the 1960s, I wrote this dark story, which still doesn't answer how and why the group was never heard from again.

The Long Patrol.

The khaki-clad group moved as quietly as possible. Each man was a veteran of the government-backed actions against rebels and anyone opposed to their control of the eastern Congo region, now 'liberated' from British rule. The spectre of anarchy caused the government to adopt a distinctly colonial attitude towards any of those who opposed them. To bolster their control, American dollars bought in large numbers of European, British and American mercenaries willing to subdue the voice and, more importantly, the guns of the dissenters.

Platoon 12, their official designation, comprised two French Foreign Legion deserters, four American GIs and two ex-British Paratrooper regiment soldiers all led by an irascible Irish sergeant and the less-than-impressive, slender Lieutenant from the Guards Regiment. The platoon had been 'in country' for three days tracking a band of armed rebels that had been attacking trucks on the only suitable track from the capital. The pursuing men were less than three hours behind the rebels, and they were ready to hit them hard. Each man knew his job, for they had been doing this job for a long time the team were festooned with grenades, magazines of ammunition and well-armed with light machine guns, automatic weapons and the experience they would need to use them effectively.

To be fair to their opponents, who by all accounts were a very disciplined band and well-armed by rebel standards, had very little chance of survival as the platoon had an advantage that they could not overcome.

The squad that tracked them, were dead.

Well, dead is too strong a word; the platoon had all died in conflicts around the world. Some had been mowed down on the beaches of Normandy. British Musketry had shot the two Frenchmen on the fields of Waterloo and the paratroopers had been shot out-of-hand by a Waffen SS brigade, in Arnhem and even their commanding officer Richard Fletcher, the oldest one of all, had lost his life on the field of Agincourt. Then for some unknown reason, hours later, they shook off their wounds and realised that they had not died at all! The Irish sergeant had been a member of the rebellion of 1916 and still held a grudge against all Englishmen, but this squad had his back and he had theirs.

Within a two-hour forced hike, the two Frenchmen reported back to their commander that the rebels had made the huge mistake of halting and were in the process of setting up an ambush for them,

"Une ambuscade et pas une très bonne, "Henri Le Dufour tutted in disgust, his comrade simply rolled his eyes,

"Douze hommes, une mitrailleuse Bren infiltrée à l'arrière du faux campeur!" He looked over to his comrades, "Idiots!" The platoon chuckled and smirked. Killing had become commonplace to them, lives that stretched out for decades, made them feel almost sorry for their enemies, but the pay was excellent, and the other benefits were more than enough compensation. The commander shrugged and looked over to the Irish sergeant,

"We'll give them a little surprise, I think," His muddy midland accent reminded his comrades of his lowly archer background,

"Aye, we'll let the paratroopers here," He indicated Harry and George Watkins two brothers who parachuted into Holland in Operation Market Garden in 1944," to 'drop in' on them and we will move through from the west," The Irishman muttered," I assume we are owed some 'R and R' after this little excitement. I have built up a terrible thirst. I could drink the equivalent of the Nile, in whiskey, when we get back to civilisation!" The commander smiled,

"Let's get this done and find you some whiskey!" The Commanding officer expected his hazard pay to be thinned out sustainably funding his sergeant's drinking binge.

The firefight was brief and extremely one-sided. The rebels fought bravely but found neither their tactics nor bullets were effective. The rebels' bullets tore into the uniforms but had no effect, unlike the ordnance that wiped out their opponents with hot, violent slaughter.

Once the team had accounted for the dead, taken anything of any value, and gathered up the ID discs of their slain enemies, they made it back towards the main road, where their truck would be waiting to pick them up.

After their patrol, the truck had them trundled off to the nearest large town, to attempt to wipe out yet another collection of disturbing memories, with whatever distractions could be gleaned from the town of Etournbi. The Irishman and the Brits went off to find as much extra alcohol as they could, as was their habit. The rest of the platoon made their way to the hotel, ensuring their weapons were safely under guards they could rely on and met up with the Colonel.

The Colonel was dark, darker than the natives of the Congo and the oldest of the company,

"I see you have fulfilled your contracts again, so I bring your bounty, and in your rooms, willing girls to entertain you," He laughed and tossed a briefcase, filled with $100 notes,

"I'll be in my room, do not disturb me for two days!" Lieutenant Fletcher climbed the staircase, made his way down to the end room, and opened the door. He saw two beautiful dark-skinned Congolese women; one laying on the bed in a black bra and panties matching set and one leaning against the bedpost of the four-poster, who ore no bra and only white panties. Her breasts were small and pert, with dark wrinkled areolae and stiff little nipples as was her friend, just as he liked them,

"Welcome ladies, you will forgive me if I take a bath; perhaps you might join me!" He stripped off his uniform and dropped it on a convenient chair, untied his jungle boots, and pulled off his khaki fatigue pants, leaving himself naked. His thin, wiry frame, sun-bleached skin and fair hair. The girls took the hint and walked over to him and he smiled as he led them to the bathroom of his room. The first girl, Mala, found the taps and ran off the hot water and filled the tub, Richard found the second girl, Kulu happily pulled off her panties, allowing himself to kiss her ebony lips, and fondle her breasts, to her delight,

"You want fuck me!" She uttered in broken English, she reached down to hold hid large stiffening cock,

"I will want to fuck both of you and often, my darling girl," He took her right breast to his mouth and kissed her nipple.

After his bath, Richard lost himself in the two women, who were pliant enough to be kissed, touched and fingered to arousal, that when Richard took them dripping bath water on the carpet floor over the bed, they were excited enough for him to lay them on the bed. While he slipped his cock into Mala, Kulu was made to sit on her friend's face and have her pussy licked and fingered by her. Richard, once a shy and callow youth, had his virginity taken by a tavern wench in Southhampton, before he set sail for France in 1415, and even though he had lived through countless conflicts; he still craved the moment of complete joy when he split his seed with a woman. Over the years, he had been with many different women; women of different colours and cultures; rich and poor alike and for a time he could forget the horrors that he waded through to lie on a bed with one, or two.

His pace inside Mala built up and she moaned, whilst trying to tongue the quivering flesh that sat on her face,

"Shall we see how you fare beneath me?" He helped the girl dismount her friend and take her place on the bed, on her hands and knees. Without hesitation, Richard pushed his engorged cock into her dark pinks, revealing for a moment the bright pink of her sex, "Ah, isn't that better?" Kulu could only gasp at his sudden invasion of her body,

"Ahh, you is big?" She moaned, and Mala took up position by her colleague's rump watching the large white member slipping in and out of her friend's tight folds. Richard pulled out completely, and Mala sucked on his cock before threading it back into the shivering wetness of Kulu. This continued for a few minutes, until Kulu began to shake violently,

"I cumming...you feel it?" She gasped and punctuated her words with a loud, long moan and Richard pulled out to witness as the fountain of her own waters spurt from her sex,

"Me next!" Mala demanded, aroused with the sight of her friend being so royally squired and Richards' insistent, investigating fingers that probed her,

"Then you ride me, madam!" He slipped onto his back and pulled the young ebony onto him, revelling in the sight of her impaling herself on his white rod.,

"Oh, that good! I want it inside.." Her words trailed off as she began to bounce vigorously on his cock, working herself to a much-needed release. Kulu, now recovered from her orgasm, swiftly offered her mouth to Mala's breasts, sucking on them, whilst Richard threaded a finger into the girl's, back passage,

"Oh, you want dirty?" She cooed, clearly having experienced cock in her puckered hole before,

"I want everything, my dear," Richard smiled, feeling the first signs of his climax, " but we have all day and night to explore what you have to offer!"

After two days and nights, fuelled by room service food, alcohol and their youthful energies, the two girls staggered away into the bright sunshine of the third day, declaring that they would need a week for their various holes to recover from his attentions.

An hour later, the Colonel arrived with yet another mission for him. One that would test him like none before.

End of Chapter One.