CHAPTER 1
Aldershot: 4th April 1982
The pub was packed; mainly soldiers; it was the regimental boozer after all, but also locals keen to say goodbye to their boys. There were a small group of hard nuts who thought that picking a fight with a red beret was a reflection of their own vaunting masculinity. The NCOs could have spent the evening in the comfort of their own mess, as the officers were doing. The Colour Sergeant however was a stickler for tradition and his Company drank in a public bar in England before each foreign deployment. He claimed that it reminded the lads who they were fighting for. Many would remark that a lot of the pub's regulars were hardly worth a single trooper's life.
The NCOs had paid for strippers out of their own pockets. None were real lookers but they were enthusiastic and slipped under the tables, dispensing competent blow jobs. For twenty more the lads could take each one upstairs for something more penetrative. It turned out that nobody was that desperate.
Corporal Smith sat nursing his pint of bitter. He was not a heavy drinker and was a bit of a loner. Women were a serious mystery to him. He was heavily attracted towards them but always ended up blushing and spluttering in female company. He had lost his virginity to a cousin; neither of them had really known what they were doing. He was both excited and anxious at the prospect of going to war but had already received his baptism of fire in the badlands of South Armagh. Smith was not technically a member of the Regiment but was attached like the engineers and gunners. He was a Signaller and was attached to the Headquarters Company. He had done his jump training and wore the distinctive badge and red beret of the Regiment. He had gained a reputation as a safe pair of hands and a good shot. He could hump a heavy radio, full pack and SLR all day and then strip the radio down in the dark.
The Colour Sergeant was queuing at the bar when the temperature fell by ten degrees. The sound level dropped dramatically and the crowd parted as if a ship was passing through a quiet bay. The old soldier sensed her before he saw her. He turned and looked the woman in her flat grey eyes.
"Hello, Sergeant Jackson," the woman spoke in a voice a shade deeper than Marlene Dietrich, her accent hard to place.
"Bitch," spat the sergeant and delivered a jaw breaking slap. His hand was trapped in a vice. He kicked the woman in the shin and delivered an uppercut with his spare hand. It was as if he had struck a piece of granite and his toes and fingers throbbed.
The woman smiled and leaned forward to whisper in the man's ear.
"Don't show yourself up in front of your men. You know you cannot stop me."
Sergeant Jackson swallowed.
"Take me. Let the others go."
The woman cocked her head.
"No, I don't want you."
Sergeant Jackson pleaded.
"What sort of monster are you?"
The woman smiled again.
"You are a warrior. You do your job and I do mine"
Jackson could barely squeeze out the words.
"How many?"
"Two. That is not negotiable by the way. Now get your round in."
The woman gently released her captive and kissed him lightly on the cheek. Her skin smelt of wood smoke and cordite.
The woman continued her progress towards the troopers. Many eyes were fixed upon her. The rear view was almost as arresting as the front. She was over six feet tall. Her corn coloured hair was pulled into a tight French plain which reached down to her magnificent bottom. She was wearing a black leather bomber jacket with very broad shoulders, cowboy boots and tight faded blue jeans, artfully ripped at knees and buttocks. Golden skin signalled through the rips.
The soldiers looked up as the woman approached them. More than one jaw dropped. The woman stopped in front of Corporal Smith and bent at the waist ; a small smile on her pale pink lips.
One of the more inebriated soldiers slapped the woman hard on her bottom. She looked behind her and declared cheerfully,
"You have chosen yourself trooper. Now sit down. You are very drunk."
The man felt a sudden stab of fear and sat down as instructed.
"Where was I? Oh, yes. Corporal Smith, you have scored. Get your coat,."
The woman turned quickly; her plait knocking over glasses. Smith jumped to his feet and swallowed. The crowd again parted and Smith followed her out of the pub. She walked down the street, her cowboy boots clopping. She did not even look over her shoulder until she arrived at a door next to a betting shop near the end of the high street.
The statuesque blonde put a key in the lock, opened the door and pulled Smith into the darkness. She pushed him back against the wall and locked her mouth on to his. They were exactly the same height and Smith was amazed by her upper body strength. Her tongue was strong but gentle and drew his own tongue into her mouth.
The kiss seemed to last for ever and Smith was gasping when she broke it. Finally she took Smith's hand and steered him up the stairs. The flat above the betting shop was simply but expensively furnished in a distinctly Scandinavian style. She took a couple of steps back and allowed Smith to stare. Her blonde hair was pulled tightly back from her scalp. She had strong facial features; thin dark eyebrows and high cheek bones framing cool grey eyes. Her nose was thin and straight and her lips pale but full.
The woman ran her tongue along said lips and slowly unzipped her bomber jacket, letting it fall to the ground. Smith swallowed hard again. The woman's breasts were huge but pert with tiny pink areolae and her long nipples pointed upwards at a jaunty angle.. Her neck was long and the muscles swelled onto perfectly straight collar bones which in turn disappeared into big golden shoulders. Her midriff was flat as a board.
The woman grabbed Smith's hands, lifted them above his head and presented another forceful kiss. With a crack the woman dropped to her haunches. It took mere seconds for her to unzip his jeans and pull down his boxers.
"Nice," she observed and enveloped his erect penis with her soft lips. Expertly she pulled back his foreskin and flicked her tongue over his glans. Then she took his entire length into her throat and removed his jeans and trainers. Having done this, she gently rolled his balls together. Tentatively Smith put his hands onto her head, fearful that she might not really be there. Her skin was soft and dry. He casually noted that she had blonde roots.
Smith's previous girlfriend would not countenance oral sex and would only touch his cock if she was drunk. Smith now began to realise what he had been missing as the Viking goddess began to bob up and down. She sensed his approaching orgasm and lifted her mouth of his cock with a loud pop.
He groaned as she gripped the base of his penis and squeezed hard. She kissed him again and then pushed Smith to his knees and stepped back again, undoing the top button on her jeans. Smith did the rest and then pulled the garment down to her ankles. The woman's lower body was as impressive as the top half. Her legs were strong and tanned, smooth with just enough subcutaneous fat to disguise her mighty quads. Her blonde bush was neatly trimmed and stopped above her tanned clitoral hood.
The woman stood up and taking him by the penis led Smith into the bedroom. She decided to keep the light on and effortlessly pushed Smith on to the bed. She climbed on top of him and presented a breast to his mouth. The nipple was rubbery and she groaned as he kneaded the other breast, rather too hard. She sensed when he was ready for the other breast.
The woman sat up and leaned back, magically taking his cock into her hot slick twat without the need of hands. Again she leaned forward and insinuated her tongue back into his mouth whilst riding him furiously. The woman paused again just before Smith came and gripped his cock with her pelvic floor. She smiled kindly, showing perfectly straight white teeth.
