Date: Wed, 14 Dec 2016 12:24:41 +0000 (UTC)
From: Victor Herrmann <doublehelix2632@yahoo.co.uk>
Subject: Rogue Squad Mission Five

Disclaimer: This is a work of pure fiction. Simple as that. This story may
contain some graphic descriptions of violence and cruelty as well as rape
that some readers may find offensive.

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Rogue Squad -- Mission Five
by Doublehelix26

Ryan, 28, explosives specialist, white, lean build, 6' tall, blond
short-cropped hair. 
Johnson, 27, firearms expert, black, heavy but lean build, 6'3", buzz cut.
Peters, 28, recon leader, white, muscly, 6'2", buzz cut blond.
Ramirez, 29, intel lead, Latino, lean and firm build, 5'7", buzz cut.

Recap:

They were four US soldiers, part of an elite squad sent into difficult
territories to gather intel, retrieve US assets, extract hostages and take
out enemy targets. They were sent to remote places where the rule of any
semblance of law and order had one been washed away by years of war and
terror. This team went in when all other options had been exhausted, when
no regular army would want to be caught dead anywhere near those
terrains. Rules are for civilised people. This team didn't operate in
civilisation. Often well behind enemy lines, their mission was all that
mattered. How they accomplished it, wouldn't be questioned. And so, as long
as they delivered results -- and they always did -- no-one cared what they
got up to along the way.

Ryan, Johnson, Peters and Ramirez and been working together for over two
years. Early on, they'd kept up the pretence that they were good soldiers
with values and and morals. But, soon enough, they'd recognised in each
other a desire to have a little fun out there in the field. Armed to the
teeth and trained in the latest techniques of recon and close-range combat,
no-one could mess with them easily. And so, a bit of looting here, a bit of
coercive questioning (aka. torture) there, no-one would ever hold them
accountable. Lines blur quickly when you're out in hell trying to get work
done. And crossing blurred lines is easy.

Now, they weren't necessarily into the same sort of stuff. Ramirez had made
it clear from the start that he wasn't into torturing people. He also
insisted he was straight. Ryan was basically the exact opposite. He had a
knack for `convincing' people to give up information (and sometimes the
will to live). And he was most definitely not straight. Johnson and Peters
were fairly flexible when it came to having a bit of fun with helpless
victims of all sorts.

Mission Five: Eastern Ukraine -- still. The team hadn't exactly hoped to
stay on, after they'd taken out the relay station two days earlier. But
extraction had been delayed because someone in a remote surveillance
facility on the other side of the planet had decided it was too risky to
get the team out. New orders were to stay put, in a safe house identified
by mission control. More of a shack really, the small house sat on the edge
of a dilapidated farm. Facilities were basic but they had running water and
some mattresses. How on earth someone had manage to establish a local
liaison was anyone's guess. Not that it was for them to worry about these
details. As long as the situation was vetted and deemed safe, who could
complain.

Their local liaison had provided them with some food. Nothing fancy, but
eatable. He was still a boy really, maybe 18, if that. Lean build and
slavic features, hair buzzed short. His English was passable and the squad
quickly realised that he liked to practice speaking. So they let him talk
about his family, his village, the fighting that had been going on for some
time, sometimes close to his home. On the second night, the squad sat
around after what had to pass for "dinner" and asked the kid to tell them
some more about the conflict.

The boy started by telling them about the different sides, the rebels and
dissidents, the Russians' intervention. At some point he started talking
about the Pro-Russian insurgents committing brutal acts against his people,
detaining civilians, torturing them, using them for forced labour. Ryan
suddenly perked up, asking the boy to tell them more about the
torture. Johnson and Peters exchanged knowing looks: Ryan the sadist is
after some juicy stories...

The boy thought for a moment, hesitating, and then started telling the
story of a farmer who'd been out in his fields with his three sons on
afternoon: "The man was in his field and his three sons were helping
him. They were preparing the field for the fall, after the harvest. Clean
up, dig soil, you know?" Ryan waived his hand making the boy go on and get
to the good part.

"His sons were always helping in the fields. Strong guys. The oldest was
17. He would take over his father's farm soon maybe. The second one 15. The
youngest was only 12 but already working hard. The family lived off the
income from their farm. Hard work. Their mother had died. This one
afternoon, a group of Pro-Russian fighters came marching across the
field. Six of them. No idea why they were there. The frontline was close
but they should have stayed near there, not walking around in the
fields. They seemed bored, maybe that day there was not enough
fighting. And they wanted not to be bored anymore. So they see the farmer
and his three sons and they come nearer. They have guns on them, pistols,
automatic rifle. Russian supply, you know?" The squad nods. They can
picture the scene. They can also imagine what's next. Been there, done
that...

The boy continued: "So they call to the farmer and his sons, make them
interrupt their work. The fighters approach, say, `drop your tools, will
you.' The farmer tells his sons to do as they're told. You don't want to
disagree with fighters. So there they stand, no weapons, helpless. The
fighters are with them now. One of them steps up to the middle son, grabs
his face, make eye contact. The father wants to protest, but he's
scared. The fighter moves on to the older son, prods him, shoves him a
bit. He's checking out the sons like they're cattle. Then he checks the
youngest son. Suddenly he asks the father, `which one should we spare?'" --
Ryan grins and exclaims, "hah, good one."

The boy goes on: "The farmer doesn't understand. One of the other fighters
pull his gun and aims at the farmer's head. The other soldier asks again,
`which one?' The farmer is confused, and very scared. His boys are
terrified too The youngest starts to cry. The fighter doesn't want to wait
anymore and say, `ok, fine, I'll choose then. I'll spare the oldest one.'
And he pulls his handgun and walks up to the oldest son and shoots him in
the left leg. The boy collapses screaming on the muddy ground, rolling in
the soil. The farmer, in shock, wants to help, but the soldier pointing the
gun at his head now holds him back. Another soldier steps up as well, two
of them holding the farmer so he can't interfere."

Ryan is clearly hard by now, his stiff cock pushing aggressively at his
pants. Johnson is fairly aroused as well. Always into a bit of sick fun.

The boy continues: "But the fighter said he was going to spare the oldest
son. So if a shot leg is to be `spared'... And now he sees what's
happening. one of the other fighters gags the screaming wounded boy with
some rag. The kid is squealing in pain. But that wound will heal. The
fighters, two each, now handle the other two boys: they rip their clothes
off. The boys know better than to put up a fight. The farmer can't help
them because he's still be held. The naked boys are pushed to the
ground. And then the fighters have their way with them." -- Ryan can't help
himself any longer, he whips his hard cock out and starts pumping.

The boy doesn't even seem surprised. Maybe he's used to soldiers blowing
off some steam. In fact, seeing Ryan masturbate, he's getting a hard-on as
well. Almost as if to please Ryan, he goes on, "They rape the two boys in
front of their helpless father. One fighter, then the other. They are
brutal and the boys are hurting. When they've finished, they swap to hold
the farmer. They don't even cover themselves. Then the other fighters have
a go as well. Some of the fighters go more than once, so they can enjoy
both boys, the older and the younger. They're laughing, they cheer each
other on. The farmer is helpless." -- Ryan shoots his load and grunts
noisily. His comrades sport supportive smiles. The boy is slowly rubbing
his pants, probably thinking the soldiers won't notice.

"Then, after a long time, they seem to be done, pull their trousers up,
gather their things. But the leader has one more idea. He says to the
farmer, `now your turn!' The farmer doesn't understand. He's shocked from
having watched his oldest son be shot, lying on the ground, whimpering in
pain; and from watching his other sons be raped by these men. Now what do
they want? The two fighters holding him seem to understand, because they
rip his trousers down. And they walk him over to his youngest son, lying
impassively on the ground, his used body soiled. The leader shoves the
farmer to the ground and commands,'fuck your son, you dirty bastard!' The
farmer is devastated. He can't believe what they're asking. And he doesn't
want to do it. The leader sees this. He walks over to the oldest son, still
gagged, and says, `you do as we say or your oldest son gets it.' And to
prove he's serious, he shoots the boy in the other leg.

The farmer has no choice. He starts touching himself, somehow, slowly
getting ready. He manages to get hard, all fighters watching him, his other
two sons watching him. And then he lies down and enters his youngest
son. He takes a long time because he doesn't like it. His cock is quite
large and his young son suffers. But he must finish. And when he finally
cums in his son, the fighters pull him off quickly: they want to see he's
not faking it." -- Ryan cheers, "way to go!"

... "Finally satisfied, the fighters pack up and move on, joking,
laughing. The farmer gets dressed and helps his boys up. His oldest son is
in a bad way but he will get him help. The next morning, he takes his sons
to the West where it's safe. They never return to their farm. This," the
boy waves his hand around the room, "was their house." --

The squad enjoyed the boy's story. Ramirez heads to the other room to grab
a smoke. Peters and Johnson join him. Which leaves Ryan to ask the boy if
he is going to do anything about his own hard cock. The boy grins and
unzips his pants provocatively. Ryan grabs hold of the boy's cock and, both
standing up, quickly pumps him to orgasm. He feeds the boy his own cum. Who
would have thought that a secret military liaison could be some much fun?

Sending the boy on his way for the night, Ryan joins the others. They're
going to have to stick it out for another night yet until, hopefully,
they'll finally be extracted.

The mission continues...