Chapter 3

I now wear the “Battle of Detroit” medal proudly over my right breast, although at the time shortly after the battle, when I was still prone in the hospital bed minus part of my left buttock and with my right arm in a plaster cast, I had grave doubts about the wisdom of continuing military service.

It was almost a joke that I was promoted to group Sergeant because I was the only survivor of my unit of fifteen female fighters. My exploits were grossly exaggerated for purposes of morale boosting and I was actually assigned to an all-male unit guarding the approaches to Las Vegas much to the chagrin of the regular Army forces. I stayed in that bed for almost three weeks before being assigned to the transfer company camped right on the waters of the Great Lakes with mostly female defensive fighting units forming a perimeter on all sides including the one facing the dark waters to our North. There had been persistent rumors of North Korean fast-boats raiding to capture prisoners for interrogation. The last thing I wanted was to fall into their clutches because they were notorious for total lack of mercy to American females regardless of age or beauty. I had seen the propaganda videos in training and my innards cringed at the memory of the disgusting loss of dignity visited on the poor victims of their vicious methods. Our recruit training procedures paled in comparison to their imaginative use of depravity to break the spirit of the female prisoners to remove any semblance of resistance or hint of feminine pride.

The first thing I noticed in the mirror in the dayroom on the morning of the day of my capture was that my breasts had shrunk a bit either from lack of proper nourishment or deprivation of sexual activity during my period of recovery. I tweaked my nipples and was satisfied that they both responded with the usual erect perkiness that preceded any eminent opportunity at orgasm. Unfortunately, there were few male subjects at the transfer station and I had little desire to couple with a willing female fighter missing the key ingredient of a stiff cock to make me really happy. I could grab one of the magazines of the naked recruits taking the test of coupling proficiency at the training centers. It was a well-known fact now and the raw recruits were fully aware that their humping expertise was being recorded for the pleasure of perverts around the world. It didn’t seem to dissuade them from the most outrageous tricks to get their partners off in record time. I remembered when I was taken from behind by a caveman with bad breath and a dick that punished me in the wrong entryway the entire time. The handlers were laughing at his confused misdirection and held my face up so the hidden cameras could see the torment in my eyes. I guess it was kind of funny considering that even the dumbest male recruits knew how to find a convenient pussy in the dark.

Anyway, we got hit from the Lake side at high noon and most of the defense force was wiped out before they could fire a single round at the enemy. The North Korean bastards were an efficient raiding force and surprise was on their side. Most of the recruits, myself included, were not armed and we had no idea where they were storing the long-arms needed to hold off the attack. I snatched a worthless shot-gun from one of the female defenders and ran as fast as possible, considering my shot-up battered bottom trying to find a cubby-hole to hide from the well-armed vicious raiders. Judging from the rapid take-over of the base, it would all be over in a matter of minutes with very few survivors. I desperately wanted to be one of those because I felt I was far too young to die just yet.

I lifted a grate and descended into an evil-smelling hell-hole of urine that must have been a holding pit for the urinals of the main mess-hall. It was either that or the grease-pit that actually smelled even worse. The silly shot-gun slid off my shoulder and I was unarmed once again. The odds were so great that I didn’t think it made much of a difference. The last thing I saw was a pair of young female recruits being gagged and hog-tied in the middle of the parade ground and I knew this was raid to find fresh female flesh for the enemy propaganda pipe-line. In my mind, it was a fate far worse than death, but I knew I would accept it rather than end it all like a sheep for the slaughter.

Things quieted down real quick-like and I started to have hopes of getting out of the mess. Unfortunately, right at that moment, the grate was yanked off the frame and I was pulled up by my hair from the pit and deposited on the sidewalk with my face down in the dirt. I heard the sound of laughter and I assumed they were considering my cast still on one arm and the rearranged curves of one buttock missing a chunk of meat but still nicely healed with a proper scab. My arms were tightly bound with plastic handcuffs and my ankles hobbled to prevent me from running but allowing me to walk and not be carried. They turned a hose on me because I must have offended their delicate nostrils with my urine pit scent. The force of the water was enough to knock me down on my knees more than once and I heard them laughing at my slap-stick attempts to stay on my feet.

We were herded into single file and boarded a small fast-boat like cattle heading to the butcher. The last indignity was the way they ripped our tattered clothing from our bodies leaving us naked to their amused eyes. I knew it was just the first step in the “softening up” process to rob us of our dignity and any hidden vestige of resistance still lurking in our devious female cores.

One of us was moving slowly due to a broken or badly twisted ankle and they had a short discussion before slitting her throat and throwing her overboard right in front of us. Right after that, the same little group of “sorters” stopped right in front of me and they prodded my broken arm and kicked my scabbed over backside with highly polished boots. I could see them having the same sort of discussion and made a point of quickly jumping to my feet at attention and bowing to show them I was in full control of my limbs and would not present any problem by slowing them down in the performance of their duties. It seemed to have worked because they lost interest in me and moved on down the line looking for weak sisters to cull from the herd for optimal results.

This part of my diary about my period of captivity is censored because the physical details of my treatment are so distressing for female readers that I have decided to keep them out of the official record. I will give an abbreviated outline of my challenges to give some background for my decision to volunteer for sniper duty in the North Korean occupied territories of the former States of Washington and Oregon. About the only positive feature of their composition was the fact that they were almost exclusively male fighters and seemed to be eager to spread their seeds with little regard for humanitarian concerns. No female of a nubile status was safe in their proximity. The effects of that fact led to a boom of sorts in successful rise in birth rates for the period of their occupation and a noticeable genetic influence of increased IQ for future generations. The same benefit was found in the Chinese occupation of the southern states in the second wave of invasion into the homeland by Asian armed forces.