Copyright© 2016 by Yulianna Vovk
Action/Adventure Sex Story: Chapter 1 - When their recently independent country is invaded by its larger neighbour, two teenage schoolgirls flee their boarding school and escape to the mountains. They join the Partizans who are fighting the invader and soon find themselves caught up in a deadly fight for survival.
We must be quiet. We are lying on the side of a hill, in a small stand of trees. We are watching the road for the enemy convoy. Soon, it will be dusk. If they do not come in the next few minutes, we will have to move closer, increasing the danger.
It is already close range, only 150m from our cover, and we know my RPG will be effective. But, when I launch the rocket, the flash and smoke will give away our position, so it is fire and flee. We must be back down the hill, across the stream and into the woods as soon as the truck blows. Then we will welcome the fading light. This is our land, we will find our escape by instinct, while the enemy blunders after us, into the trap.
I turn, smile at you, touch your cheek. If we get away from this, we will have gentle loving tonight. If not, this will be the last time we lie down together. And I think of our pact - we will not be captured. At the end, I will shoot you before I shoot myself.
There is still enough late summer evening light to see the road. The enemy trucks will not use their headlights, they will have to slow to negotiate the bend onto the narrow bridge. That will be my moment. I have already sighted the launcher. I will take the first truck, block the others.
You smile back, brush some hair from my face. I really must cut it off when we are back in camp. I hold your hand, kiss it, then point at the hillside opposite.
We hear the faint noise of the invader's trucks, distant but closing. A crash of gears as they crest the rise and start to descend towards the bridge. I feel you tense as you line up your M-16. I spread my legs, dig my toes into the earth and settle the RPG launcher on my shoulder. I know I am at the limit of my best range but closer would be too dangerous.
The first truck reaches the bottom of the slope and slows to turn on to the bridge. I centre my sights on the cab and gently squeeze the trigger.
The missile accelerates from its launcher and the rocket motor ignites. In less than a second, it strikes the cab of the leading truck. In the evening light, the flash is bright red and orange. Dark smoke billows from the tangled metal, even before the truck swerves violently and crashes through the flimsy barrier of the bridge and into the dry gully. More explosions follow, as the ammunition for the truck's machine gun explodes.
I watch fascinated for a moment, as the enemy soldiers try to scramble clear of the wreckage. Some are wounded by the explosion, some burning in their uniforms as the fire quickly spreads. I hear the sharp crackle as you fire a burst from your M16, and see a soldier spin, his arms outspread in a dance of death as your bullets drive into him.
Then you are hitting my shoulder and dragging me back into the trees. "Come on," you hiss urgently. "Let's go!"
I shuffle backwards on my belly and roll behind a tree. I sit for a moment and then dive into the bushes, back down the reverse slope towards the stream. I can still hear the explosion of the truck echoing in my ears, the confused shouting and random firing of automatic weapons from the bridge. I know the invader is ruthless, disciplined. Their officers will soon have the men back under control and start a sweep up the hill towards our firing position.
I hear you crashing through the bushes to my right and we emerge at the stream almost simultaneously. It is no more than knee deep as we plunge across. We drag ourselves onto the opposite bank and scramble up the slope to the treeline. The forest is thicker here and we can afford to pause a moment, catch our breath.
I look at you, see the wild look in your eyes. I know I have that look too. It comes with the kill, the sudden release of all that pent up energy. We were given this mission, we planned it, we studied it for days. And we have executed it. We have let the invader know that he cannot move freely around our country. His boots may be here, but this is still our land, and we will extract a price for every moment he chooses to spend on it.
I turn to watch the stream and the clearing on either side. This is what our commander called "the killing ground." I put down the RPG tube and unsling my AK-47. At this range, in this light, it will be as effective as your M16.
I smile at you, signal for you to take cover, while I move a few metres to my right. Here, I have three different firing positions, and can move between them in relative safety. This is a good place to hold the enemy, to inflict some serious losses on his forces.
I cannot see you now, but I know you will follow our plan. We will wait until the leading soldiers are trying to pull themselves up out of the stream. You will throw your two grenades to land among the troops on the opposite bank, while I will aim my fire at the vulnerable men on the near bank and in the stream.
I can hear them now. The loud whispered orders, the calls for reassurance, as they crash through the bushes on the opposite downslope. And then the first of them emerges warily into the clearing by the stream. I hold my breath, waiting for more of them to show, and I pray that you will hold your nerve.
An eerie silence descends on the woods, as everybody pauses, waiting to see what will happen next. And then I hear a rustling sound in the bushes, behind and above me.
I freeze, then bring my weapon to bear in the direction of the sound. If this is the enemy, I know that I am dead. I can just hope to take some of them with me. The bushes move again and part. I am staring into the cold eyes of a killer.
Boom! The first of your grenades explodes among the enemy soldiers on the far bank of the stream. And boom! The second follows almost immediately. But in that short gap, the wild boar rears and crashes back into the forest. I spin and fire at the panicking troops as they try to scramble out of the stream. At least one falls, the others ducking below the bank, where I know they are crouching in the cold, rushing water. Simultaneously, a burst from your M-16 fells a couple of men who try to make it back to the opposite bank.
I unhook a grenade from my belt and pull the pin. I crawl forward and wait a moment. As you fire again, I raise myself slightly and lob the grenade down and just beyond the bank of the stream, where I know the enemy soldiers are hiding. The screams which follow the explosion tell me that I have a successful strike.
In the momentary silence that follows, I can hear the shouted orders from the woods on the opposite bank. No need for subtlety now. The enemy is bringing his weight to bear in this uneven contest. The chatter of a light machine gun marks the beginning of his counterattack. The bullets rip first into the forest canopy above our heads, showering us in torn leaves and splinters, then kick up the earth in front of our faces, driving us back and down below the ridge.
A second machine gun opens up, accompanied by assault rifles, as the enemy soldiers prepared to dash for the stream and force a crossing. Against these odds, our position is indefensible. I crawl over to you, tap your shoulder and signal you to follow me. I use my elbows and my feet to propel myself up and into the thicker bushes, then turn to provide you with covering fire if necessary. Soon, you are beside me and we take just a brief moment of eye contact to affirm our feelings. We have had a triumph, but a small one. If we escape this, make it back to camp, we will be heroes for a night.
You smile, and I feel your love through all the smoke and fire and death. "Let's go," I whisper, and we push our way through the thicker undergrowth, trying to void the cuts and scratches from the branches.
I hear the shouts of our pursuers as they cross the stream in force and start to climb after us. We cannot lose time now and start to jog through the clearer woods. Even so, we must be careful; turn an ankle now and we may as well be dead. There is no hiding place, and if we cannot run, we will die where we stand.
It is cold now and my sweat chills me. The sun is long gone and, anyway, never provides much heat this deep into the forest. But the gloom is our friend. Already, it is too dark for the enemy to execute any sensible pursuit. Unless he brings in a helicopter with heat seeking technology, he will not find us.
I check my watch. It is 1hr40 since I launched the RPG and there is no longer the clamour of the chase. I put my arm round your shoulder and we walk this way for a while, silent in our appreciation of a job well done, reflecting on the action. How many did we kill? We will never know. But we know that we are alive, we are free, and we are ready to fight another day.
As for tonight, we are just an hour from camp, now. Once there, we will be debriefed by our intelligence officers and feted by our comrades. And only then will we be able to go to our tent, strip off our combat gear, and settle down to some gentle love making.