Date: Sat, 16 Apr 2005 06:00:05 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Spoils Of War, Part 30

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

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

Part  30

It took a couple of weeks for Ali's father to notify
us that the doctors had declared all of Ali's wives to
be pregnant, with sons, and that he regarded our
obligation to him as complete.  And, as I had told Ali
they would, our six coffle mates returned to the house
- there was a lot of general rejoicing that first day
back, but that evening a general air of melancholy
prevailed. It was Faisel who voiced it - as we were
all sipping our strong coffee after we had eaten, he
turned to Ali and said "Chief, we have a difficult
struggle ahead of us, I know that.   And it was hard
for me to leave my family.  When I was dragged off as
a slave and sent to America, I had to leave my wife
and my sons, and I had no choice; but this time I had
to walk out of the door myself, and it was the hardest
thing I've ever done.  I could have stayed and tended
my land and seen my sons grow into men, and allowed
them to fight for our freedom when they were old
enough.  But I had promised you, Chief, and Steve, and
so I have returned.  And I will fight with you until
we are free again, or until I am dead."

There was a complete silence in the room at this
point, and I could see all the other guys nodding in
agreement, as they too felt the sadness of leaving
their loved ones.  And he had put into words what we
had all been thinking:  that we would probably be
killed. But then Faisel spoke again "...but chief, if
there's a choice, can you make sure that we only have
to fight until we are free, and not until we are
dead?"  He slapped his thigh and burst into laughter,
and we all joined in.   When the laughter died down,
Ali spoke.  He had tears in his eyes, and no
translation of the poetry of his Arabic can do justice
to the way he thanked them all for remaining loyal to
him, and promised them that "the brotherhood of our
coffle" would never be broken.  It was magnificent,
inspiring, and I knew he was a true leader, not just
an appointed officer, or a hereditary chief.

The second reunion that night, as once more we all
joined our bodies together for sex, was even better.
I loved sleeping with Ali by myself, but sharing six
other men as well was even better:  as I've said,
there is just nothing that can beat eight hard,
muscular bodies sprawled around, over and under you,
waiting for you to smell, touch and taste them if you
wake during the night.

Reality soon set in, though, as Ali was keen to start
the struggle to get "his" slaves freed in the USA.
There were some sympathisers in the country, and with
their help we amassed weapons - nothing very
spectacular, as the Southerners had pretty thoroughly
stripped these out of the land - but rifles, a couple
of sub-machine guns, some grenades, a small rocket
launcher.... and a week later we killed our first two
Southerners, knocking out a Jeep they were driving.

That night Ali whispered to me, so that the others
would not hear "You are quiet, Steve, my lover - I
thought you were a soldier, and yet you seem upset at
the death of those soldiers today. It was an exciting
ambush...."

"Yes, I am sad... It's hard for me, because those guys
were Americans.  And even though they were
Southerners, and the Southerners enslaved me, and
killed my folks as a result of their vile war, those
guys were American soldiers, as I once was.   It's
hard for me to kill my own kind, Ali."

He lay there by my side, deadly still, for what seemed
like an eternity.  "Steve, I cannot have this.  I
cannot make you unhappy.  I wanted you to join in our
struggle, but you are not like us, you are not
fighting for your country - you are right, these are
your countrymen.  You must leave us, Steve....  I will
not make you unhappy, even though my heart will break
when you go..."

I felt again those incredible pangs of love for this
man, who so completely understood my problem.  But I
could never leave him, and I told him so.  "You are
involved in the greatest thing in your life, Ali, and
I will help you.  I could never leave you, not ever.
Not if I have to kill a thousand American soldiers
with my bare hands."

We made slow, passionate love then, with Ali stroking
an caressing me and licking my skin so tenderly, all
the time muttering "Oh Steve, my lover, who will kill
for me...", over and over.

The next morning there was acute disappointment, as we
tuned our TV to CNN and there was no mention of our
killings!  We had all been expecting it to be the main
news, and were looking forward to hearing how the
journalists described the start of our campaign for
freedom.  And three days later, when we took out
another Jeep, this time with three men in it, there
was still no story.

"They are censoring the news!", Ali shouted.  "See,
they are afraid of us!    They need to hide the truth
from their people...", and all his six men cheered,
and I tried to be enthusiastic.

I never publicly pointed out the errors that Ali made
to him at the time, as a leader needs a certain degree
of appearing to be always right.  But later that day I
had a private meeting with him, and told him we ought
to plan properly.  "Look, there's a problem here... I
don't think CNN were censoring the stories of the
deaths of those five guys at all:  the Southerners
probably have more than twenty thousand troops here to
keep your country under control.  Five deaths from so
many is hardly noticeable - probably on those same
days a few more were killed in car crashes, or
accidentally shot themselves, or whatever.  This is
not going to work, Ali - eight of us could kill
perhaps ten a day, on average - how long will it take
to get rid of twenty thousand invaders, even assuming
they don't catch us first?"

"You are correct, Steve.  What can we do?  Is my cause
hopeless, are you saying?"

"No, it isn't.  But all recent wars have not been won
by mere force of arms, by killing troops.  They have
been won by the force of public opinion.  We must
change Southern opinion, and I think we can do so in a
way that shows that we're humane and so gets us
international advantages,  that gets us more fighting
men, and which thoroughly demoralises the South to the
point where they wish to leave us alone!"

"Truly you are a genius, Steve.  How is this to be
achieved?"

"We will stop killing the troops.  Instead, we will
capture them, and announce that they are not prisoners
of war, but the spoils of war, and as such are now
enslaved.  Then we will offer to sell those slaves
back to the Southerners - or, rather, to their
families back in the South, and the price will be
measured in coffles of our enslaved fighters.  For
every Southerner we enslave, the price to free him
will be a whole coffle of our men.  And it's a
positive feedback loop - the more of them we capture
and enslave, the more we will have for 'sale', and the
more coffles will be returned, so the more fighters we
will have, so we will be able to capture more of
them...  And, at the same time, we will show the
Southerners how utterly humiliating and cruel it is to
enslave free spirits, fighters, their own fighters,
and, by implication, ours."

As we discussed it a whole host of problems started to
appear, not least of which was where we were going to
keep the men whilst we were waiting for them to be
ransomed, and how we were going to make sure that the
Southern government did not suppress news of our
activities:  as I pointed out to Ali, to have the
maximum impact we needed everyone in the South to be
somehow involved.  The first of these problems was
resolved when Ali remembered being taken by an uncle
as a child to a copper mine the family owned, deep in
the desert.  It had been defunct for many years as
they could not compete with the Australians, but Ali
remembered that deep down, at the bottom of the shaft,
there was a natural cavern which in mining days had
been used for marshalling the material to be sent to
the surface, and so on.  We drove out to see it, and
it was really hard to find, even though we knew it was
there - the entrance was a tunnel leading into a rock
escarpment and the ground all around was rock and
rubble, rather than the conventional "sand" as one
thinks of desert being made of.  As I pointed out, it
would be difficult to locate vehicle tracks, or to see
a reasonable amount of activity because of the deep
shadows cast by the rocks, and so we would be
relatively safe from the Southerners' spy satellites.

When I came to the question of publicising our
activities, we asked around and found a research
student at the university who was very much in
sympathy with our cause.  I realised the power that
Ali exerted as the son of a ruling council member when
this sophisticated looking guy, dressed almost as a
westerner, fell to the floor and kissed Ali's feet at
our first meeting!  It seems that although was a
burning patriot he had chronic asthma and so had never
been able to fight in the army, and consequently had
now been taken with all the other young men back to
the USA as slaves.  It had been good for his career,
he confessed:   as one of the only students left of
his generation he had rapidly gained a position of
power and influence in the university, but this had
added to his feelings of guilt.  He was therefore
eager to help us, and his speciality was in the
technology of broadcasting.

I talked to him about our plans to make captured
soldiers into slaves, and how important that it was
that this should be seen in the South, and he at once
suggested "acquiring" one of the unused channels on
the satellites that  broadcast TV.  We had no money,
but he explained that using his knowledge he could
send command signals to them, using the special
command codes, and gain entry to their transponders.
And when I pointed out that the South would be
listening to our transmissions, he simply laughed.
"You soldiers are so unsophisticated", he told me, "We
will uplink to the satellite with a very highly
focussed tight beam, and unless a Southern aircraft is
actually flying through it - unlikely, as they have
little fuel to spare - it will be undetectable."

That wasn't all, though - he suggested that as well as
our broadcasts via the satellite, we should have
webcams constantly monitoring the captives, and
provide bulletin boards for folk to show their
support.  He seemed confident that by using sufficient
"hops" across the Internet and by constantly changing
them, the Southerners would not be able to trace their
source.

Ali was seething with impatience as all this was going
on:  we had work to do in constructing cages to hold
the captives, we had to buy stocks of slave collars,
and a big quantity of slave chow, and we needed to
acquire all the TV equipment and get it installed, and
lots of other stuff like that.   Although he was fully
engaged in all of this, Ali still wanted to get out
there and actually "fight" the occupiers, and try as I
might, I could not persuade him to hold off - in bed
one night he slyly confided to me that he had
personally gone out and slit the throat of one of the
occupiers when he had found the man on sole guard duty
at an isolated control valve on one of the many oil
pipelines in the country.  I felt slightly sick -
look, I was a soldier, and that's what soldiers do:
kill or be killed.  And I had no love for the South.
But I still felt concerned about the death of another
American.

Ali seemed really pissed off that I did not share in
his delight at the death of "another one of the
invaders" as he put it, and went on to start to
question my loyalty to the cause all over again when
he saw that I was not as enthusiastic as he was.  I
pushed him over onto his back, and straddled him,
lowering my ass onto his belly.  Before he could
resist, I grabbed his wrists and held them immobile
above his head, then I put my head down towards his
chest and bit into his nips, hard and sharply, so that
he screamed out, and tried desperately to get away
from me (useless, of course, as there was no way he
could dislodge my solid muscle from him, or free his
hands as he was at such a mechanical disadvantage).  I
bent my head down towards him again and he shouted for
me to stop before I bit him again, and I glared down
at his face.

"Listen, Ali, and listen well.  Don't you ever dare
question my loyalty to you.  Not ever.  Not in even
the slightest way!  But what you did was fucking
stupid - you were never a soldier, someone who had
proper training:  you were just a guerilla fighter,
and now you think you can carry on getting away
without a proper strategy.  It was stupid to kill that
soldier - for one thing, we're going to need captives
soon, lots of them, and he could have been the first.
As we capture more and more of them and they find out
what's going to happen to them, it will get harder and
harder and you've just thrown away a potentially
valuable asset.  For another, the South will try to
brand us as terrorists, but we want to be known as
freedom fighters, guys who are only concerned for the
freedom of this country and the repatriation of the
slaves.  Terrorists kill soldiers randomly, freedom
fighters only do it when absolutely necessary.  And
finally, you've reminded the  South about just how
vulnerable they are when they put a lone soldier on
guard duty in some remote place - they'll start to
send out a whole detachment now, and it will make our
job of taking captives even more difficult."

He glared at me, and I made a feinting attack with my
teeth at his left nip - just grazing it with my lips.
I know Ali's nips are incredibly sensitive, and he
thrashed around again, trying to avoid me, as I
repeatedly bobbed my head up and down in mock attacks
on him.  He was crying out now not in pain, but in the
hope of avoiding pain, and with laughter, almost.  As
his body writhed under me I could even feel his dick,
rock hard against my ass.  I raised myself for an
instant off his belly, then crashed down again,
trapping his dick in-between my ass and his belly, and
he screamed once more with the sheer erotic pain that
must have gone through his dick as it was crushed and
trapped.  But then, slyly, he tried to work himself
backwards and forwards under me so that his dick head
was massaging my ass hole.  It was my turn to give
little cries of pleasure now, and I pushed my face
close to his.  "So.... You think you're going to fuck
me, do you?"

His tongue ran over his lips, as it did when he was
sexually charged, and his pupils were wide open as he
stared up at me.  "Yes, Steve... You want it, don't
you? You're enjoying my hot dick sliding over your
moist ass... Get up again and sit down on me and I'll
fuck the brains out of you..."

"Typical!", I replied, laughter breaking out, "You not
only want to fuck me, but you want me to do all the
work!  I've been busy all day, and now you want me to
ride your dick.  And yes, although your dick feels
really good against me,  my own needs exercise
more...."

As I said this, I let go of his hands, flipped him
over on to his belly, and pushed his face down into
the bed as I gripped his neck with one hand, squeezing
my fingers in-between his hard sinews so that he knew
I was in control.  I then fucked him, being
particularly strong and fast, so that he knew I was
still mildly displeased with him, but that I also
still loved him.

The next morning, Ali showed another example of being
a leader.  After we'd breakfasted the guys all wanted
to go out and kill another occupying soldier, but Ali
stood there and said "You imbeciles!  We need these
soldiers as captives.  There will be no more killing,
unless they resist us.  We must work to make ready for
our scheme...."  No mention of me, no "Oh, I was
wrong..." - he just made them feel that they were not
thinking as clearly as he was.  I guess that's what
leadership is about, really.

Still, for all that day, and the next, and the next,
we toiled away clearing out the copper mine, dragging
the heavy sacks of slave chow down there, welding the
metal cages... sweat was pouring off us and we were
all exhausted.  As ever, Faisel joked and said that
we were working away like slaves!

Ali continued to seethe with impatience, though, and
in spite of his fine words I was worried that he might
lose his cool and actually go and kill some more of
the occupiers.  So I contrived it so that we all
focussed on building the cages - for maximum effect
they stood in the centre of the chamber, about eight
foot tall, with the bars no more than six inches apart
curving over at the top to make the roof.  They were
utterly bare inside,  so we knew that once the
captives were in them there would be nowhere they
could conceal weapons or anything.

Even as we continued to work away on installing the
cameras and communications stuff, Ali took a couple of
the guys and they came back four hours later with two
captives - a young guy who can't have been more than
nineteen, and someone I took to be his sergeant as he
was n his mid thirties.  They were cuffed with their
hands behind them, and the men were none too gentle as
they pushed them along, unwillingly, down the steep
ramp into the mine.  As they were forced into the
first "holding" cage and the door was slammed and
locked, a cheer went up from our guys.  But I wasn't
pleased to see that both men appear to have been
beaten up, judging from the amount of blood on their
faces and clothes - somehow that didn't square with
Ali's description that their capture had been "a piece
of cake" as he and our guys had simply pulled them out
of their Jeep when it stopped at a water hole in the
desert.

I insisted that the men were uncuffed, as there was no
danger of their escape, and they stood there, rubbing
their wrists, and glowering at us through the bars.
The young guy looked scared out of his wits, but the
sergeant was angry, and almost ordered us to notify
the occupation authorities as "provided you all act
sensibly I'll do my best to make sure you're not mown
down like the rats you are when we're rescued."
Well, that wasn't a really cool thing to say, was it?
And after I'd translated it, the men all roared with
laughter.

We had to leave the two of them there that night as we
went back to the city, and Ali was about to post guard
over them.  "No", I told him.  "We need all eight of
us to search out new captives.... And, anyway, it will
be a good test:  without any of us there they'll do
their damned best to get out of the cage, and if
they're still there in the morning, we can know it's
totally secure."

The following morning we took two individual soldiers
off the streets in two separate incidents - we just
kind of surrounded them, and then, before they could
draw their weapons, we had them cuffed, gagged ,and
rolled into the back of our light truck.  All the guys
were laughing and congratulating themselves on how
easy this was, but I advised caution.  "Look, my
friends, they are Americans, but they are not stupid!
These men were only alone because they have had three
years or more when all the you fighting men were away,
taken as slaves.  So they had nothing to worry about.
They did not even carry their weapons cocked!  As it
becomes known that we are taking prisoners, it will
get harder:  they will always patrol in pairs, they
will be ready to use their weapons, and some of us may
be shot just for approaching too close...."

I always tried to get the men to see the bigger
picture like this, but their enthusiasm for fighting
was often too strong.  Still, it was with good heart
that we went back down into the mine, and there,
standing dejectedly in the cage, were the young
soldier and the older sergeant still.  We pushed the
other two captives in and uncuffed them through the
bars, then I reminded everyone that we needed these
men alive, so they'd better be fed and watered.  We
gave them a container of slave chow, and a big
demijohn of water, and the sergeant at once started to
complain:  we were required under the Geneva
Convention, he said, to feed prisoners properly, and
this was slave chow.  What was more, they had nothing
to eat it with, and no way of taking the water.  And
they needed what he so quaintly called "sanitary
facilities with adequate privacy."

Some of the other guys had a smattering of English by
now and I did not need to translate everything, and
before any of the men could strike out at him in anger
for his insolence, I went up to the bars and called
him over.

"You are a sergeant, you are older than these other
men, and you have been a soldier longer?"

"Yes, but they are not my men, not in my unit..."

"You are still the ranking person, and the most
experienced.  So let me give you a piece of advice:
we are all freed slaves, and for the past three years
all we have eaten is slave chow.  And we ate it with
our hands.  So you would be well advised to tell your
men to do the same thing.  And to share the water -
you are all men, you can simply share the one
container:  if some of your spit gets into it, it is
of no consequence to us, and it should not be to you:
you will soon be used to more than each others saliva!
 But you are right about the sanitary facilities:  the
rock floor here does not allow us to dig a shit hole,
as we often had to use, but we will provide you with a
covered bucket.  But as for the privacy.... well, as
you will see, as slaves you have no right to expect
that."

"We are not slaves!  We are soldiers, prisoners of
war...."

"You are not prisoners of war, sergeant.  You are the
spoils of war, a war for the freedom of our country.
And the spoils of war are turned into slaves, as you
in the South did.  Now, I advise you to remain calm
and not to annoy my men:  as ex-slaves they have no
love of the men of the South, and if you provoke them,
things could be very difficult for you."

"You are not allowed to ill treat prisoners of war..."

"Any you have not understood that you are no longer
soldiers, no longer free men.  You are not prisoners
of war, as I have explained: by being captured you
have taken the first step to becoming slaves."

I turned and walked off, and ordered a bucket to be
placed in the cage.  Our men made a point of standing
there and watching the prisoners as they squatted to
use it, just as we had often been watched as, totally
naked, we had to use a shit hole in the corner of our
own cage.  The sergeant and the two most recent
captives seemed to be able to manage it, but I felt
really sorry for the young guy who had a real problem
in pissing in front of an audience, let alone
crapping.  If only he knew, I thought, what was going
to happen to him, he'd be truly terrified.

My memory fails me about the precise details of how we
captured the next four men, but as I was present, it
was done as humanely as possible without undue and
unnecessary violence.  When we had them hog tied on
the floor, I do remember that one of the men went to
kick out at them viciously, and I grabbed him and in
turn slapped his face - hard (we tended to use
physical means of reinforcing our orders).   "There
will be time enough for punishing them", I snarled at
him, "without stupidly damaging them:  think of these
men as slaves already, who are worth a lot of money.
You would not damage other things you own, would you?
We need them whole, preferably unblemished, for when
they are exposed on TV."

We watched the TV to see if our exploits were being
reported, but still there was a stony silence.  As I
explained to the men, this was understandable as the
Southern army would be contacting the men's families
and so on before releasing the news.  And it would
anyway sound bad to inform the public that there had
been four separate kidnappings!

Our technical advisor had apparently been "seeding"
the Internet chat rooms and so on with news of what
was about to happen,  and although we had announced
the captures, it was being met with cynicism and
disbelief as there was almost an official denial from
government sources.  Nevertheless some dedicated
"conspiracy theorists" had been starting to make a
noise about it, and our expert was able to deduce that
there were over one hundred thousand "viewers" when we
started to process the men later that day - I had
decided that we would do it in batches of eight, as
that was a good number to control, and it had a
resonance for us with the numbers in a standard
coffle.

I had our men dress in typical "guerilla" costume, to
heighten the effect of us being an army.  Normally we
wore Arab robes to blend in with the mass of the
population, but now we dressed in drab fatigues and T
shirts, with scarves wrapped around our necks.   The
whole outfit emphasised how strong and tough we were,
especially as we were all still deeply tanned form all
those years of working naked.  I talked to the men and
told them how important it was to be disciplined and
professional looking.  "We are all used to working
together closely, and we need to maintain that now.  I
do not want the viewers to see us arguing, or
ill-treating the prisoners, or anything like that:
we are an army of liberation, and we will act as
proper soldiers."

Ali stood there, and added "Steve knows about this.
Obey him, or you will feel my wrath.  Although you are
my men, I will not hesitate to deal harshly with
anyone who wilfully disobeys orders - these soldiers
in the cage may need a guide to show them how slaves
behave, and if you disobey me or shame me, you may
find yourselves fulfilling that role."

The men all laughed as he said this, but I wasn't so
sure that he was joking - this was a serious business
for Ali.  Still, it was time to begin.  I ordered the
men to place a small table and a chair in the middle
of the chamber and had the cameras focussed on it.
Then commanding them to hold their weapons cocked and
ready, and not to hesitate to shoot if there was any
risk of one of the men trying to escape, I ordered the
cage to be opened and for them to drag the first man
out.  As I expected, it was the sergeant who presented
himself, almost pushing aside one of his men who
happened to be nearest to the gate.

I sat there on the chair at the table, and had a
notebook and pen in front of me.  The men pushed the
sergeant with their gun buts so that he was standing
in front of me.

"Name, serial number, and home town...."

"I only have to give my name, rank and serial
number.... that's all that's required under the Geneva
Convention", he almost spat at me, and reeled off the
details.

"No matter, sergeant.  As I have explained, you are
not a prisoner of the war.  You are a slave.  But I
expect we will soon find out where you come from soon
enough, as this scene is being broadcast and I expect
one or more of our viewers will recognise you and
e-mail us.  Now, unclothe."

I had agreed with Ali that I would be the interrogator
this time as my English is of course perfectly clear,
whereas his has a distinct Arabic accent, and we did
not want any possible confusion either in the minds of
the captives, or of the viewers.  "You heard me,
sergeant.  Unclothe.  Remove your uniform.  Get
naked!"

I could see all the other captives watching, their
faces pressed to the bars of their cage.  Turning
slightly towards them, so they would be sure to hear,
I said "I will say it once more:  Strip!.  If you fail
to obey my orders, I will do what we do to all
slaves... You will be punished."

"You cannot punish prisoners of war...." he began,
until he was struck to the floor, his limbs twitching
uncontrollably and his cries echoing around the
chamber:  I had motioned to one of our men to prod at
him with a slave prod, albeit at a power level that
one would not generally use as it was normally too
incapacitating.

The camera turned to watch the sergeant as his spasms
gradually subsided. He painfully struggled to his
feet, and before I could say more, I spoke to him
calmly, and directly into the camera.  "That was a
slave prod, sergeant.  A standard slave prod, such as
is in use many times a day all over the South for
disciplining unruly slaves.  You are a slave now,
property of the Army Of Liberation, and if you do not
behave as a slave, you will be punished.  We have
slave prods aplenty, and of course canes, tawses, and
whips.  If you do not want to experience these, you
should learn that when your owner gives you a command,
you obey."

"No, I'm a soldier, a prisoner of war...."

I nodded, and he was prodded again, and this time it
took considerably longer for him to recover.

"You are wrong, slave.  You are not a prisoner of war.
 You are part of the spoils of war, captured by the
Army Of Liberation.  And just as you did to the men of
the North, as spoils of war you are going to be
converted into slaves, and sold.  Let me advise you to
obey my orders, or you will feel the slave prod again
- and after a certain time, because we can continue
this all night and you will tire of it before I do,
you will obey me.  You are my property, and I will not
hesitate to have you prodded until you understand that
- and I will also caution you that after a certain
number of prods, it is not unknown for slaves to
suffer catastrophic heart failure!  You cannot escape,
you can only obey.  You must learn to obey, as all
slaves must, totally and completely.   Now, remove
your clothes - it is perfectly proper for an owner to
wish to inspect his property, and I want to see your
body."

End Of Part 30