Chapter 15: The Invasion of Troy

Since being brought to the Eastern Shore, Arabella had spent her time relaxing by the beach. Paris had been gone for several days and Arabella wondered if she was any better off on the Eastern Shore with a man she barely knew than in Staunton with Simon. As she had done for the last few days, Arabella put on her skimpiest bikini, grabbed a book, and headed down to the beach as soon as she had finished breakfast.

Standing on the back porch, she stared across the bay. The sky was clear and the weather was beautiful but she was surprised when she heard thunder off in the distance. Stepping off the porch, she waved to the old man next door, the one the neighbors called the Colonel.

"Sounds like we might get some rain later today," Arabella said.

"Rain? Hell there ain't a cloud in the sky." His eyes looked worried. "That sound's like artillery."

Arabella lay in the sun; her skin shining with tanning oil, already bored but determined not to pout about the path that she'd taken. She had read about a chapter of her book, rolling over twice in the process, when a shadow covered her and caused her to look up.

"Hey you!" She struggled to get up from her beach towel and give Paris a hug. "Whoa man. You stink!"

She searched in vain for clean piece of cheek to kiss. Looking at his tired eyes and the slump in his shoulders, she knew that something was wrong.

Paris sank down on the beach steps, his eyes staring at the waves lapping up on the shore. Arabella started to untie his boots and waited for him to talk about whatever was bothering him. She'd gotten the right boot off and had started on the left before he broke the silence.

"They're really throwing everything at us now." His voice was a tired whisper. "We thought that we would be able to push them out of Cape Charles. That it was another raid. But then they brought in tanks."

His mind went back to the carnage that he had just left. The front had crumbled around his ears but Paris had worked hard to keep his troops from completely disintegrating in the face of the enemy.

"Those are regulars out there! In tanks! " Paris screamed into his radio's handset. "I need some support. Where are the tanks?"

The Shoremen had captured several tanks when they'd raided the National Guard armory near Onancock but eight tanks couldn't be everywhere at once. Paris shut his eyes in despair as the electronic voice gave him the bad news.

"No armor support available. Dig in and hold as long as possible."

"Wilco." Paris threw the handset onto the field table.

The Army had arrived at dawn on fast moving LAVs, their 50mm cannons spewing high explosive shells and tracer rounds. Once the LAVs had penetrated the Shoremen's defenses, infantry poured out the back of the vehicles and began clearing operations. Paris' troops had held them off with anti tank missiles all day but, as darkness fell, the government had brought up artillery and used night vision equipment. Shaken but still not defeated, the Shoremen fell back. The only question was how much longer could they hold.

Suddenly noticing that Arabella was undressing him, Paris returned to reality and stood to allow Arabella to unbuckle his web gear.

"They ran past our bunkers before we could get organized. They're using infrared sites and short range missiles to knock out our positions before we can get a shot off." Paris teetered on the edge of hysteria, his voice just above a whisper.

"We thought that we had them stopped a couple of times but there were just too many tanks. They were less than a mile south of here an hour ago. And now were running low on anti-tank missiles."

Once she got his clothes off, she could see that Paris' body was covered with nicks, cuts, and abrasions. He looked at the scratches on his arms as if seeing them for the first time.

"Got these in Cheriton." He laughed wryly. "One of their LAVs rammed the building we were using for a TOC. I had to jump out the window. Jerry Bullers got the LAV with a rocket."

Not wanting to interrupt him, Arabella took Paris' hand and led him into the Bay. Once they were waist deep, she stopped him.

"Skin the cat" she said in a motherly voice.

Arabella pulled his T-Shirt over his head and, before he could react, pushed his underwear down into the water.

"Once we get you clean, we've got some catching up to do." Paris hissed as the salty water cleaned his scratches but he smiled at her pampering. As she splashed water on his chest, he reached for her and drew her close.

"I'm clean enough for the next step." His grin was back in place. He effortlessly lifted her into his arms and waded back to the beach.

"So this is how you spend your days while I'm working?" he teased lightly as he slid the spaghetti strap from her shoulder and freed her breast.

"I thought I'd get a good tan before going home."

Paris didn't reply. Instead he led her back to her beach blanket and pulled off her bikini, tossing the pieces toward the steps that led up to the house. Arabella lay on her back, her knees together as she watched him with growing anxiety. Paris took her calves in his hands and opened them, bending her legs until her knees touched her tits. Without any preamble, he fucked her on the beach blanket, never saying a word.

Once he'd cum, he pulled out of her and stood. "Take your time on the tan," he said as he picked up his gear and shook the sand off. "You can't ever go home."

She was stunned into silence. She tried to convince herself that he was still in shock from the attack as they walked back up the stairs to the small house that he'd put her in the night she arrived. Arabella stood behind him, chewing her lip as he rooted through the refrigerator for something to drink. Finally summoning the courage to speak, she innocently asked how long he could stay.

Paris, his voice tired responded, "I'll be home when I'm done. My people need me. My father is depending on me. I'm sorry but you'll just have to be patient."

"Then how are you different from Simon?"

"I'm the one fucking you."

Paris showered and returned to his headquarters without another word to Arabella. He passed the night coordinating his defenses against the government's probes. During one of the counterattacks that Paris led, the Shoremen regained much of what they had recently lost and pushed the front line back towards Cape Charles by over 20 miles. Eastville was now the front line. In the grim days of attack and counterattack, many saw the government snatching defeat from the jaws of victory.

Despite the generally poor morale and hectic work schedule, Simon continued to meet with Patty. Although it was no secret that they had been seeing each other, they had always been discrete about their liaisons. This time however, her message had instructed him to meet her on the terrace behind the Q rather than at some secluded beach spot as they had usually done. The small gazebo sat on a low bluff overlooking the water.

Simon approached the old wooden structure, wondering why she had chosen to alter their normal routine of meeting on a secluded beach. He saw her sitting on the swing clad in a short white dress. As Simon stepped on to the wooden deck of the gazebo, stopped to admire the view.

In front of him, Patty sat on the wooden bench swing dressed in a white silk kimono. Smiling at him, she opened the robe and bared her tan, voluptuous body to the warm night air. Her breasts and crotch, paler that the rest of her skin, seemed to glow in the soft moonlight.

"Tonight we're going to skip the playing around. Get over here and fuck me." Patty cocked one leg onto the swing. Simon appreciated how the movement had spread her pussy lips. The breeze carried the spicy smell of her excitement to him.