As the sun rose above the hills, Lt. Lisa Falk nervously peeked over the edge of the ditch. No living soul in sight. All of the other squad members lay dead around the rocky slope. Her first combat mission! Her romantic vision of battle had been shattered by the nightlong slaughter.
It all started out so wonderfully too! Lisa's platoon was part of one of the first co-ed combat units produced by the American Army. Their first assignment was to Somalia, Africa as the spear-head of a UN task force. Their enemy was the self-appointed dictator of Somalia, Mufar, and his vicious bandits. Lisa and her friends heard all of the horrible stories about them -- about their religious fanaticism, how they killed without mercy, how they treated their women like inferiors. After graduating from high school, Lisa felt it was her patriotic duty to enlist, and help overthrow the extremists, and set up a Western, feminist, and equal democracy. Now she was 21, and a graduate from boot camp, skill training as a combat soldier, and officer training school. Lisa, being an intelligent and charming young woman, quickly won the friendship and admiration of everybody she associated with. With nearly perfect scores in all of her exams and courses, she was the youngest woman officer in the American armed forces.
A week after their arrival Lisa went out with the rest of the platoon on their first combat patrol out into the jungle. Lisa loved how fine and polished everyone looked in their brand new combat fatigues and gear. They marched all day, tall and proud. As dusk approached the lieutenant ordered a halt for a quick break in a clearing on a hill. Relieved, Lisa sat down next to John Newman, her old schoolmate. Lisa unfastened and took off her hot, sweaty helmet. She was a lovely redhead with gentle, innocent eyes. An energetic smile always adorned her gorgeous triangular face.
"Oh God, will we ever stop walking and go back to camp?" Lisa moaned.
"I certainly hope so, I'm getting pretty tired too." John replied.
"Johnny, do you think we'll run into... you know... the extremists?"
"Oh, I highly doubt it."
"I hope you're right. The stories scare me. They give me the creeps."
"Don't worry Lisa. I doubt we'll even see an extremist for quite some time. They're all cowards -- they prefer running over a fair fight."
John's head exploded into a shower of shattered bone and gore as a stream of high caliber rounds ripped through him. People screamed and scrambled for cover as machine guns raked the whole side of the hill. Mortar rounds sent streams of shrapnel into soldiers foolish enough to bunch up. 30 seconds into the battle, and already half the platoon was dead. The enemy had silently taken out all of the sentries, and completely surrounded the rest of the group for the kill. Some found cover in time and started returning fire, only to be picked off by snipers.
All seemed lost, when a sound music to Lisa and her beleaguered comrades made itself heard over the nightmarish din -- the roar of gunships bearing down on the battle.
"Yes! We'll show those assholes!" a man Lisa didn't know exclaimed as the gunships charged up over the tree line.
Suddenly the lead aircraft burst into flames as a stinger plunged into it. The others pulled back, but were torn apart by a storm of rockets. The enemy had thought of everything!
The last to die was Lisa's sergeant, Denise Dawson. A tough, gaunt woman, Denise stood her ground, shouting encouragements to her surviving teammates, until she too went down under a hail of bullets from all directions. Lisa didn't fire off a single round. More terrified than she had ever been in her whole life, Lisa fell into a muddy ditch and blacked out.
Now that she was awake again, Lisa's mind raced. What would she do now? Lost and confused, she couldn't make it back to camp, assuming it even still existed. And she couldn't live out here all alone. Glancing down Lisa saw a radio clutched in the hand of a dead woman corporal. No, she couldn't use it. The enemy had almost certainly hacked into their communications channels, and would hunt her down if she attempted to use them.
Lisa barely stopped herself from letting out a shriek as a figure climbed over the hill into view. Anonymous behind a faded bandana, combat goggles, and a dented helmet the man clamored down the rocks. He wore old camouflage trousers and shirt, and carried an AK-47 rifle slung over his shoulder. He was not alone. At least 20 other men followed behind him.
Terrified, but seeing no alternative, Lisa stood up and walked towards the group, hands behind her head. Seeing her approach, the leading figure gestured towards her, and two men ran down. Lisa bit her lip painfully as they each gripped one of her arms, bruising them, and led her towards their leader.
Upon reaching the first man, his two minions held her firmly as he looked her over. The grimy appendages protruding from his fingerless gloves slipped into his shirt. They pulled out gripping a large bowie knife. Lisa tried desperately to hold back the tears as she felt the cold steel caress her cheek and throat. Suddenly and swiftly Lisa's captor whipped down the knife, slashing open her vest. The two men ripped it off down her arms. Now free of the stifling armor and gear, Lisa's womanly figure, at 5' 4," 120 pounds, revealed itself.
Through the goggles Lisa could see the leader's eyes wander down to her buttoned shirt barely containing the lovely mammalian features behind them. The top several buttons were undone, teasing the eye. The bottom of the front of the shirt was also unbuttoned and tied in a knot, showing her delicious navel. Lisa didn't have a bra, and had no need for one. A year earlier, on a foolish dare from her friends, had enhanced her already ample breasts with implants. To her feminist friends she claimed to regret it, but inside, guiltily loved how they complemented her beautiful face and curvy figure.
The man nodded to the two men holding Lisa. They finished stripping off her gear, and picked up the metal cuffs on her belt. Lisa heard a click as they forced her arms behind her back and snapped her wrists together with her own cuffs. Then they searched her again. Lisa felt scared and humiliated as they roughly ran their hands down her body. She bent her head in shame as they explored her breasts and crotch. Being a traditional feminist, she had permitted only a couple of men to kiss her before, and she never let any of them touch her. Being cuffed and roughly groped by two savages wasn't exactly the way she had in mind to be intimately touched for the first time!
Done with the amusing task of searching their prisoner the guards shoved Lisa forward and forced her down on her knees. Their leader stepped up and put his hand under her chin, squeezing her cheeks painfully, and tilted her head back and side to side, sizing her up like a slave girl at the market. An exploring hand slipped into her unbuttoned shirt and groped her left breast. Lisa gasped softly when he found her nipple and gave it a sharp tweak. Meanwhile he slipped the other hand down her trousers and stroked the neatly trimmed hair around her womanly region. To Lisa's relief, he didn't go any further than this. He violated and humiliated her, but he didn't enter her.
When he was finished, he signaled to the rest of the group, and they started moving back up the hill. One of the men grabbed Lisa by her arm, pulled her up on her feet, and shoved her forward in the same direction. Exhausted, famished, and humiliated she meekly followed the leader down the hill and through the trees. Soon they approached an old, large pickup truck hidden in the brush. The leader pushed her into the back and climbed in after her while one of the men took the wheel. The leader sat with Lisa on sprawled across the seat, watching her chest move up and down with her heavy breathing.
As the truck moved down a rough trail through the jungle, the leader removed his bandana and goggles. To Lisa's surprise, he wasn't a native Somali like she expected, he was a white man! His face was smeared with grime and filth, but still Caucasian none the less.
Lisa brought herself up onto her knees at the man's side. Now that she was fully awake and composed, Lisa felt enraged. How dare this barbarian treat her like some sort of sex slave? Lisa decided to chance trying to talk to him. By this time, over two thirds of the Somali population spoke English as a first language, so it was likely he would understand her- especially since he appeared to be a white man.
"Sir? Do you understand me?"
No response.
"Look, sir, this humiliating treatment is intolerable! I demand you give me all of the rights guaranteed in the Genev-"
