Date: Sun, 3 Apr 2005 03:03:38 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Spoils Of War, Part 23

THE SPOILS OF WAR  by Pete Brown.  petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

Read all of Pete's stories in
groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories

Part 23

I never knew what they did to Ahmed.  In the morning
we were showering together, still enjoying each others
bodies, when the guards came, gave me my Gleeson's
Gladiators shorts and T (freshly laundered) and
ordered me to dress.  Ahmed was left in our cell as I
was taken back up in the elevator and out to the porte
cochere at the back where I was told to wait for a
limo to take me to the bus station.

It was some kind of transport centre for the White
House, as there was a lot of coming and going -
occasionally limos, but more often the pedicabs-,
pulled by slaves that had become popular since the oil
crisis -  I guess that in a relatively flat town like
DC, where most of the major buildings are pretty close
together, it's viable to have the slaves pulling
senators, civil servants and staffers around from one
place to another - it wouldn't work in Raleigh,
though, as everything is so spread out and no slave
could run that far towing one of those little
rickshaws.  Still, it was interesting to watch, and it
was good to see other guys sweating their balls off
for a change, whilst I sat - or, more accurately,
stood:  I'd sat at first, until a guard came up and
told me that slaves didn't sit! - in the shelter and
watched.

Although it wasn't cold, it was a pretty vile day:  it
was already raining, and the slaves pulling the
pedicabs looked pretty miserable as their shorts and
Ts clung to them with the wet - I don't know why they
didn't just let them run naked, or in Speedos or
something, as it surely would have been more
comfortable.  At Gleeson's Gladiators training went on
every day, irrespective of the weather, and if it
rained we did it naked:  it takes a bit of getting
used to at first, as the rain on your bare skin can be
very unpleasant, but, believe me, it's better than
exercising hard in clammy whet Ts and stuff.  After
all, the human hide is built to withstand the weather,
isn't it?

Anyway, as I stood there, the rain got worse and worse
and soon there was thunder and lightning, as DC
started to experience one of those massive
thunderstorms that can strike on the East Coast.  The
rain sluiced down, and the lights started to flicker,
then went out briefly, and came on again.  But as I
peered out through the downpour I could see that most
other parts were no longer lit - traffic signals, and
the street lights that had come on as it was dark
under the thunder clouds, were all out.

I'd been standing to one side, near a group of
staffers waiting for transport, and they were joined
by another .  "You'd better come back inside, guys",
he told them. "This is serious.  The storm's knocked
out one of the main power feeders from the West, and
the local supplies can't cope - there's been an
escalating series of power trips across the whole East
Coast, and some of the emergency supplies have failed,
too:  air traffic's in chaos and we're no longer able
to track slaves as we've lost communications with the
satellite.....  We're OK here, as the building's on
emergency power, but the President's calling a crisis
meeting to sort out the rest of it... It's a real fuck
up..."

I just stood there ,and then I realised this was my
chance.... They couldn't track slaves (well, at least
until they sorted things out, and that might take some
time), there was chaos everywhere, and a slave jogging
along was unlikely to be stopped as no one would want
to venture out into the storm....  I knew the risks:
there was only one penalty for escaping slaves, it was
drilled into us:   gelding and then flogging.  Or was
it flogging, and then gelding?  But this had to be my
only chance.... The Pennsylvania border wasn't all
that far away, and that was solidly in the North!

When the guards' weren't paying attention, I slipped
out into the storm, and was at once drenched.  I
walked calmly and slowly down the drive, and at the
gate house tapped on the window.  The guard looked
out, and I shouted, to make myself heard, "Sir,
please, sir let me out..."

"What are you doing out there, boy?"

"Sir, they told me to go to the bus station as the
traffic's all snarled and they can't spare a limo,
sir.  And I have to catch the bus or my owner will
beat me, sir.  I don't want to be out in this weather,
sir...."

"I don't have any orders about you, boy, but not even
a slave would be walking around in this weather if
there wasn't good reason....  There you go...."   He
pressed something in the gate house and the barrier
raised, and I was free.  Well, I was out of the White
House, at least!

Like a lot of folk I'd been to Washington "to see the
sights" in happier times, so I had some idea of the
geography of the place.  There was complete and utter
chaos around today, though, as the traffic was all
stalled with intersections blocked, and the very small
number of pedestrians who had ventured out were, like
me, soaked through and kept their heads down.  I made
my way to Union Station, and thought about catching a
train North - but, of course, with the country now
split, the few northbound trains there were seemed to
be attracting a lot of attention from officers who
were checking passports - and, even worse, there were
large signs warning that slaves were absolutely
forbidden on these services "whether accompanying
their owners or not".  I read on, and saw that in
small letters underneath it said "Owners are warned
that this train goes to areas where slavery is not
allowed, and slaves would be freed automatically.
Slaves are therefore forbidden on this service."

In one way that cheered me up - if only I could get
North, I'd be free.  But I'd hoped to somehow get on
board and hide, and that didn't really seem possible.
I saw one of the passport checkers looking
suspiciously at me as I read the notice, so decided it
would be best to get out of there before his
suspicions were aroused about me:  I didn't have a
passport, obviously, and had never needed one to
travel around in the USA.  I left the station, and
hugging the walls to shield myself from the rain as
best I could, I slunk around the back - where there
was some sort of goods operation.  As I watched, I
could see UPS trucks loading and unloading, and I
remembered how the driver who had first delivered me
in Raleigh had been a naked slave.

I stood there, shivering in the wet, then saw that
they'd unmanacled one of the drivers and were making
him unload - the men at the receiving bay didn't want
to venture out into the weather, and so had got the
naked driver to do all the work.  This was my chance -
I took off my T and my shorts, and went and joined
him, carrying all the packages destined for elsewhere
in the country from the truck into the station.
"Thanks, mate", he told me as we finished.  "It was
good of those bastards to even think of sending
another slave to help me."

"Well your luck is my loss - I'm fucking freezing in
this rain - and you look half drowned, too."

"Yes, and I've got my whole shift ahead of me - this
was the first drop."

"There's a slave feeding station a bit further along -
I'll watch your truck if you want to cut along there
and get a handful of chow -  that might warm you up.
My fucking owner hardly ever feeds me enough, and I'm
glad to get down here where that slave charity hands
out a bit extra..."

"Hey, I've never seen that before...."

"Yes, it's just around the corner", I lied.  "But
leave me the key in case they want the truck moved - I
wouldn't want you to get into trouble..."

As he scurried off, I got in and drove away.  I felt
pretty safe - if the satellite that did air traffic
control was out because of the power, it was unlikely
they'd be able to track a truck, or me, for that
matter.

It felt good to be in control again - well, not
absolutely in control, but at least I was doing
something to get my life back.  I'd taken positive
action to start to change things, and that always
makes you feel good, doesn't it?  As I drove, I was a
bit worried that I might get stopped, but as I inched
forward in a few traffic queues, the drivers around
and about hardly gave me a glance, as seeing my nude
torso they assumed I was a slave, and that's who drive
UPS trucks, isn't it?  It was tricky when I went past
a cop who was attempting to unsnarl the traffic,
though - he actually made me wind down the window, and
asked me where I was going.

I lied again, and said "Virginia clearing station,
officer, sir.  We've got a whole lot of urgent
stuff..."  He peered in, saw me perched on the seat
buck naked, and even reached down and felt my dick!

"Yup, you're a slave", he told me somewhat
unnecessarily.  "I thought you might be a free man
trying to steal the truck, as there's something not
quite right about you, but no free man would sit there
like that and have his dick fondled!"

He was right, of course.  I had become a slave.  When
I was a marine there was absolutely no way some cop
would have touched my dick without ending up with at
least a broken arm.  I felt my anger rising as I
realised what had happened to me, but managed to keep
my cool.  "Please, officer, sir, may I go?  They whip
me if I'm late...."

He waved me on, and I felt like reaching out of the
window and giving him the finger, but good sense
prevailed.

There was never a whole lot of traffic on the highways
now, as I've mentioned, and what little there was got
thinner and thinner as I drove north.  There were new
signs that I'd not seen before, warning me that I was
entering the border zone - who'd have thought that
would ever happen in the middle of the USA?  And then
one that said "Border one mile. Passports and bills of
lading must be produced. Prepare to stop."

This hadn't really occurred to me - I'd been so glad
to get out of DC that I hadn't planned this move
carefully.  I drove on, and saw the border - rather
like when you crossed between some states in the old
days with a big arch thing across the highway, but now
there were wooden barriers, and armed guards.   I
pretended to slow, then, at the last minute, floored
the accelerator and simply crashed through the barrier
-  I was almost thrown out of my seat as the barrier
slashed across the front of the truck, the windshield
shattered. And as I drove on, I could hear the sound
of gunfire.

I once went to Mexico for a short vacation trip, and
as you cross the border from the USA into Mexico,
everything changed:   the freeway turns into an
ordinary road (and not a very good one, either), a
whole mass of billboards and other stuff appears, the
cars are all old and belching smoke, and there are
beggars sitting there.  Well, conditions in the South
compared to what they used to be were not marvellous,
but in the North, it was the Mexico thing all over
again - the tuck started to jump around because of the
potholes, everything was dark as there seemed to be no
lights, and there was even less traffic.  I drove very
cautiously to the North border post, and it was just
some sort of shack by the side of the road in a very
run-down looking neighbourhood, and there was no one
around, so I drove on.  As I thought about it, I could
see what was happening - the North was even worse off
than the South, as it would have almost no oil at all,
and without that, and with no slaves, there wouldn't
be the resources to fix the highway, and to build, and
get things started again after the war, would there?

At the next town I drove around, looking at the kids
playing in the gutters and the few poor-looking
stores.  Still, I thought to myself, it may not be
much, but at least I'm free!  Then I saw it - right at
the end of the street, almost the only smart looking
building in the whole place: "US Army Recruitment
Office", it said.  I drove up, quickly strode across
the sidewalk, and went in.

Like so many of those places it was staffed by an "old
soldier" - well, a guy in his fifties, probably a
sergeant or something, doing a job of selling the army
to young guys like me!  He sat stiffly behind a neat
desk piled with material, and I stood in front of him,
smartly at attention, and said "Marine Steve Masters,
sir, reporting back for duty."

He looked completely amazed, told me to stand easy,
then asked me why I was naked, and why a US Marine had
a giant ring through his nose!  "I knew they were
relaxing the standards a bit, soldier, but that's just
plain ridiculous!", he said.

I asked for permission to speak, and as soon as he
heard that  I was an escaped slave, his whole mood
changed dramatically.  He shook my hand, told me I had
the right spirit, then went to a cupboard and found me
a pair of Jeans and a T - it was the stuff he wore
when he had to clean the place, he told me.  It felt
so odd to actually have stuff on me that covered my
legs:  I could feel the fabric of the Jeans brushing
the hairs all down there, as this was the first time
I'd worn anything other than shorts since I was
enslaved.  Then he used the phone to call the local
base, and told me that he was going to shut up shop
early and give me a dammed good meal!

He took me to his neat little house, and started to
put a meal together - not much, and I couldn't help
noticing that the cupboards were almost bare.  "A
sergeant's pay doesn't go far these days, you know",
he told me.  "What with the inflation, and the
rationing, it's hard to keep going.  But this is your
first meal back home, and we'll do our best.  But
before you eat, do you want to get rid of that ring?"

"Oh yes!  It's a vile symbol of being a slave.... I
can never get rid of the tattoos, but at least that
could go."

"Come on then, son.... Out the back to my
workshop...."

It was really well equipped out there, but he didn't
need most of the stuff - he just clamped the ring in a
vice as I knelt there, then used a diamond wheel,
very, very carefully, to slice through the ring so
that it could be pulled out of my nose.  It really
felt great, but odd, all the same, to no longer have
it lying there on my top lip.  My tongue kept coming
out and probing for it, as if it knew something was
missing.

I never got to eat the meal, though, as a military
jeep with two soldiers and a lieutenant in it pulled
up just as we left the workshop.  The recruiting
sergeant and lieutenant exchanged a few words, then
the lieutenant over to me "Are you the escaped slave,
Steve Masters?"

"Sir, yes, sir.  Marine Masters ready for duty again,
sir."

"OK, in the jeep...."

I thanked the sergeant for his kindness, and leaped
in, sitting beside one of the soldiers in the back
whilst the other one drove, and the lieutenant sat in
the other front seat.  There was so much I wanted to
ask... Were any of my old comrades still in the
service?  Had any more of them escaped, as I had now
done?  Could I have some leave before rejoining my
unit?  When could I try to call my folks?

I was about to start asking the questions, when the
lieutenant turned around and said "Cuff him, soldier!
You know how they try to escape...."

Before I could do anything, there was a cuff around my
wrist, the other end of which was firmly attached to
the Jeep.  "Sir, there's no need... I'm not a
deserter.  I want to rejoin my unit, sir!  I'm not
escaping from the Marines, sir!  I'm proud to be a
marine - I was only escaping from being a slave in the
South!"

The lieutenant turned around to look at me, and he
seemed somehow sad.  "Look, soldier, I'm sorry....
This is a shit duty I have, but you'll know that a
soldier has to obey orders!  We're a border patrol,
and we have to return all escaped slaves to the
South."

"No, please... I'm a marine...."

"No, you were a marine.  You were captured, and
enslaved.  And now you're an escaped slave."

"But there isn't any slavery in the North, surely?"

"No, that's right. We're prohibited from keeping
slaves here, just as we have been since 18-whatever."

"So why are you doing this to me, sending me back?"

"Look, Steve, that's what's so hard about this job.
We all hate doing it.  And we keep it a secret from
the folks around here as otherwise they'd never notify
us when one of you guys makes it back home.  To end
the civil war there was a treaty between the North and
the South - both sides knew neither could win in the
end, so it was best to settle.  The agreement says
that there would be no reparations on either side, and
that each side could keep property and so on captured
from the other - the so-called 'Spoils Of War' clause,
that they're still arguing about.  We'll never know if
our negotiators were just stupid, or whether it was
done deliberately just to make an end to the whole
thing, but by that time all you captured guys were
already slaves, and so you were 'property' under the
terms of the settlement.  So we respect the rights of
the South, and we have to send you back..."

"You mean those bastards in Congress just signed away
all our rights...?"

"As I said, it was tough, but they wanted  to get an
end to it all.  And, I guess, they didn't want a lot
of disaffected soldiers streaming back home, and
finding the mess we were in.  Without their families
and such, they might have turned dangerous, turned on
the government for getting into that mess in the first
place... I can see why it was easier to let you stay
down there."

"But you don't have to send me back.  You could just
pretend I never crossed the border..."

"No we can't, Steve!  We got a message earlier
alerting us to the fact that there's an escaped slave
in our territory - the footprint of the tracking
system extends up here for a hundred miles at least.
So the South knows you're here, and they'll demand you
back.  So we have to send you - we can't upset them!"

"You can't upset them - people who enslave men?  For
fuck's sake...."

The soldier sitting next to me casually struck me with
the butt of his rifle.  "Keep a civil tongue in your
head, slave", he snapped.  "Be polite to the
lieutenant..."

It wasn't just a gentle tap, either:  I was lucky not
to be knocked out.  My head was ringing, and had I not
been cuffed, I'd have struck him back.  The lieutenant
went on  "No, Steve, we can't upset them  We don't
have much any more, but what we do have is mostly
dependent on the South - all of our oil, for example.
So if they say send the slave back, we do."

"Yes, and a good thing too", the soldier sitting next
to me added.  "It's bad enough finding a job here now,
without a whole lot of slaves coming back and making
matters worse!  And there aren't enough proper houses
that weren't damaged by the war around here, either -
if the slaves all came back, the prices would
skyrocket and decent folk couldn't afford them.... Not
that you'll ever be needing a house - they cut your
balls off, don't they?  So that will stop you having a
family...."

I was really pissed off with his attitude, and it was
made worse when the lieutenant added "Yes, Steve, if
there were a wholesale repatriation of the slaves, or
if it became known that we were 'soft' on them and
that they wouldn't be set back if they did make it
across the border, there would be all those sorts of
problems.  I know it's hard on the individual, but for
the greater good of the country, you've got to go
back."

"Please, sir, just this once - make an exception. Tell
them you lost me or something...."

"Shut the fuck up, boy!  I've been too lenient with
you, I can tell!  I've been trying to deal with you
like a soldier and explaining what the reality is.
You've been a slave too long, it seems to me - just
downright stubborn and incapable of seeing reason, so
I'll have to start treating you like a dumb slave, and
if I have any more nonsense from you, I'll stop this
Jeep and have my men beat you up."

With that, he turned around and ignored me.  I was
seething inside now - these were my own countrymen,
fellow soldiers!  And they were going to send me back,
send me back to be gelded and whipped.  It just wasn't
right. I know a soldier is supposed to obey orders,
but some orders are just plain wrong, and it might
have been OK for the Light Brigade centuries ago to
follow orders blindly and get destroyed, but that's
not the way today!

I was getting desperate, as we got closer and closer
to the border.  I was going back to absolutely certain
mutilation, if not death.  I just had to do something.

Look, I didn't like having to hurt fellow soldiers,
but their attitude to me had been pretty shitty,
hadn't it?  Even though I was chained, and it was very
risky, the alternative was certain for me, so it was
worth taking::  I grabbed the soldier sitting next to
me with my free arm around his neck, and simply
crushed his windpipe, at the same time bringing my
legs upwards and kicking out at the driver's head in
front of me, that caused him to crash into the
windshield and lose control of the Jeep.  It careered
all over the road, went into the ditch and ran into a
tree.  I was thrown forward, the cuff on my wrist
cutting into me painfully, and as things recovered, I
saw the lieutenant struggling to get his gun out.  I
was quicker, though:  the dead soldier's gun was right
next to me and was within my reach, and I pulled it
out and shot the lieutenant square through the head,
as he was still trying to free his.

It was awful having to fumble through the dead guy's
clothes to find the key for the cuffs, but I did.
Although my wrist was dripping blood, I could still
use it, just about.  I looked at the Jeep - it seemed
that it might still be serviceable, so I pushed the
three bodies out, and after a lot of revving and a
whole lot of cursing from me, I got it back on the
highway.

It's horrible to strip a corpse, especially as a guy's
bowels let go when he dies, but I had to have
something other than my Jeans and T to wear.  So I
took the combat jacket and cap from one soldier  and
the least awful trousers, and drove off - to a casual
observer, at least, I was just a soldier now driving
along on ordinary military business, and I sped along
the highway, north, determined to get out of the
tracking satellite's footprint as soon as possible.

I did about a hundred and fifty miles before the Jeep
ran out of gas, and of course I couldn't risk going
into a gas station - not that I'd seen many - to fill
up.  It was almost certainly rationed, and there were
probably special procedures for military vehicles
anyway.  So when I was empty I drove it off into the
forest at the side of the highway, tossed in the
jacket and trousers, and trudged back to the highway
in Jeans and T to try to thumb a lift.

There wasn't a lot of traffic anyway, and what there
was was mostly trucks.  Even though I stood there for
a couple of hours with my thumb out, none of them
stopped.  So I started walking - always north.  It
wasn't so hard, as I'm a fit guy as you know, and I
put on a good pace.  Mind you, I was hungry - the
military jeep had only wielded a couple of ration
bars, and I was soon ravenous.

About ten miles down the highway I was fortunate in
that there was a truck stop, with a number of trucks
parked outside, and the appetising smell of burgers
and fries drifting around.  Now you may think that
that's pretty tacky, but you need to remember that I
had only eaten slave chow for ages.  My mouth was
literally drooling, and I had some cash, from the dead
soldiers, I'm ashamed to say - no one likes taking
from the dead, do they?  But needs must.

I ordered a double burger, a double portion of fries,
and a huge glass of milk, and had the dollars out when
I got to the register.  She took the money off me, and
then said "And your ration card, please?"

"Uh?"

"Your ration card, sir.  We're not allowed to serve
food off rations here."

"Yes.... Of course....", I stammered.  "Look, I forgot
it, it's on my night stand at home.... I come this way
every couple of days.... Can't I just bring it in next
time I'm passing, and you can do it then...."

She looked almost pityingly at me.  "Look, I'd like to
help, especially for a nice guy like you.  But you
know the penalties for selling food without the right
ration stamps... I'd not only lose my job, but I'd get
at least a year in a labour camp.  We were all warned
only last week - the government is really enforcing
the ration laws...."

"Here, use mine...."  I turned around, and the trucker
standing behind me was handing over a card with his
photograph on.  "...You can pay me back when you're
next through."

"Hey, thanks...", I started to say, but the cashier
was now insistent.  "I'm sorry, sir, it's an offence
to use another person's ration card. I can't accept
this card, sir, for the gentleman's food.  No ration
card, no food - that's the law."

I couldn't believe I was hearing this.  Ration cards
and stuff in the USA!  I mean, we were the land of
plenty, weren't we?  We'd fed the rest of the world
when it was starving.  What had things come to?

The trucker - a typical trucker, in my view - big,
hairy, loud - pushed past me.  "Well this is my food
now", he said.  "So take my fucking card, before I
stick it up your ass!"

She did, with very bad grace, and the trucker and I
went over and sat on a table together.  I got out my
bills to pay him, and he accepted them, then said "and
the same again...."

"What?"

"You heard me!  Off-ration food, twice the price!  You
don't think I believe that bullshit about you coming
back next week, do you?  You don't even look like a
trucker!  If you ask me, you're one of the renegades,
some law breaker who's on the run, and who hasn't got
a ration card.  Am I right....?"

For some reason I distrusted this guy, and I didn't
want to tell him my real story, so I just mumbled
"Yes." And stuck my face into my burger.  Man, was it
good!  And the milk!  And there's something very
special about fries, isn't there?

My whole attention was paid to the food, and I
realised as I scoffed the last mouthful that I'd been
going at it like a wolf  - my whole body thrust
forward my shoulders going up and down as I tucked in.
 Then I looked up, and saw him looking at me.

"Yes, a renegade, for sure.  When did you last eat?"

"Yesterday."

"And before that?"

"Well, it's hard to say..."

"A big guy likes you needs a lot of fuel, I reckon.
You can't keep a body like yours going on thin air and
water!  Do you want another?"

"Won't you run out of ration stamps?"

He laughed.  "Me, no!  I mostly ship food on my truck,
and I can always trade ration stamps for the odd case
of stuff that is 'spoiled in transit'.  I can easily
sell off a case here and there in return for favours.
So where are you heading?"

"Well, New York."  I said the first thing that came
into my head.  But once it was out, it seemed like a
good idea - it was probably far enough north so they'd
lose me on the chip tracking satellite, and in a big
city, there's always opportunities to make money, do
deals, and such, isn't there?

"I'm going there.  They always need food deliveries!"

"Can I ride along with you?"

"The law doesn't allow it, you know that.  They
stopped hitchhiking and casual pickups to make it
harder for the renegades.  I can be fined, sent to a
labour camp....". So now I knew why none of the trucks
had stopped.

"Look, I can pay you...."

"You might be a decoy, put here by the government to
catch poor honest truckers like me...."

"No!...."

"...but then, I doubt that they'd get government
snitches to starve themselves, like you were.  So you
can ride with me, but you will have to pay.  If we're
stopped, I can always tell them you're a relief driver
- you have got papers, haven't you?"

"No... I left them on the night stand...."

He laughed.  "We all know you don't travel without
papers any more!  That's a sure recipe for the labour
camps.  Where have you been, boy?"

"Uh, kind of out of it...."

"You are a renegade, I'll bet.  But you're a
nice-enough looking guy.  And I reckon that with all
the new laws, some guys have good reason to go
renegade and try to dodge all that compulsory work at
the weekends and such like.  So come on...."

End Of Part 23