Berica's Battle-Ready Welcome
In just three days, I'd wiped out 33 Kyrria ambushes. Night patrols were my personal slaughterhouse. Word of my kills reached HQ, and I shot up to private first class overnight.
The Marines rolled in right on schedule. After a brutal naval clash off Olba Island, they'd seized temporary sea control.
Of course, it was shaky as hell—could vanish any hour. The Marines slipped through the gap and hit the beach fast.
"These fuckers look like total assholes just from their getup."
The Marines stood out from us Army grunts even in their uniforms. We were comrades for the op, but there was this subtle chill between branches. Barely three hours after they landed, shit hit the fan amid the thick tension.
"My rifle! Someone stole my goddamn rifle!"
One of the Third Squad dimwits had lost his gun. Rifles don't grow legs, and even a total moron wouldn't chuck his into a creek. Only one suspect.
"Jacking" was Marine slang for stealing.
"Listen up, you fucks. Stick to your shitty sprinklers—the ones our grandpas used in the war. Quit swiping ours."
"Proof's probably in your shitty barracks. Hand over the rifle! We're coming in!"
I munched popcorn and watched the show. Thought about flipping their camp upside down, but if a real fight broke out, I'd end up as a bullet sponge for these idiots. Op was almost over anyway, so I let it slide.
Time dragged on. Tomorrow was the big push on the Kyrria outpost. Kickoff at 0400. Captain Johnson ordered us to baby our gear.
I pawned rifle cleaning off on Coren, then headed to the Marine artillery tent. Personal business.
They were prepping for tomorrow too, scrubbing mortars like mad. The one I wanted was a woman brushing out a barrel with a thick wire brush.
Yeah. A woman.
Marines with chicks? Heh. Fucking jackpot.
And hot as hell too. I'd been pent up, ready to take any warm hole, but heaven dropped an S-tier babe right in my lap.
I sauntered over with supply smokes. In war, cigs are currency. Cash gift offensive. One Marine eyed me.
I ignored him and offered the pack to the officer chick. She looked up from her scrubbing, snatched a cig smooth as silk, and lit it with a match from her pocket.
"Morning, Lieutenant Berica."
"Duran Dos, right? What're you doing here?"
"What else? Came to see your pretty face, ma'am."
She smirked, blew smoke in my face. Didn't piss me off—made her sexier. Cigs stank like ass, though.
I lit my purification cig beside her. Only kind I smoke—mint chocolate flavor freshens the mouth. Good for health too, they say.
"Saw the face. Business done. Get back to work."
"Nah, feels wrong just peeking and leaving. How about we crack a fancy canned cake together?"
"Hmm. Toss in that slick N1 Gliko of yours and some rations, maybe I'll consider."
Expected a slap, but she played ball. Cool as fuck.
"Hell yeah! How about my heart instead of the gun?"
I hammed it up; she grinned, handed her brush to a grunt who glared daggers.
Her eyes flicked to my crotch. Tongue dart—pure sex.
Grabbed my spotless Gliko from loyal Coren. She smirked, took it.
"Nice. Why don't we get shit like this?"
"Ammo too?"
"Our sprinklers take it. You planning to desert?"
"Kyrria scum? Fists'll do. I like beating over shooting. Best pistol's right here."
Pat my groin; she laughed, dragged me behind the tent.
"Looked that way to me. You're the real waste in Marines."
Brothel suits you better.
Marines obsessed with weapons. First day, they jacked Army Glios. She slung mine over her shoulder, offered hers.
"Steal someone else's."
Berica tallied favors tight. Brothel material. Upfront payment only.
Offered rations. As she grabbed, I smacked her hand. She scowled.
"Roger, ma'am. Warzone. Officer bullets same as private's."
She snagged the cans, scanned around, dropped her pants. Face said she craved this. War stress relief's rare.
"Calling yourself a whore?"
I dropped trou, showed my thick barrel. She licked her lips like with the Gliko, eyed it hungrily.
"Do this for all Marines?"
"Not my call. With a boss like you? Sign me up."
She engulfed my cock sudden. Warm tongue slithered like a live snake. Pro skills from jump.
I savored her slurping, tickling my piss slit. Worries melted—top-shelf service.
"Mmmph~! Feels good."
Denied it, but Berica's whore-tier. Cheap too—cigs and cans. Pent-up price drop.
"Some already sniffing."
She bent over, pants to knees—uniform no match for her firm ass. Trained hard; angles everywhere.
"Bush blooming wild. Rule against trimming for women?"
"Nah—visible without spreading."
Grabbed her tight cheeks. Soldier bounce perfection.
"Whatever. Here goes."
"Ahhn~! Yes~!"
She gushed plenty—no long foreplay needed. Combat rations pussy.
Tight grip, sweaty from jungle heat. Her stink fueled me.
Plap! Plap! Plap! Plap!
I pounded hard. She stifled moans, failed. Jungle echoed flesh slaps and whimpers.
Rumor of me bagging Berica spreads fast.
Fine by me—marking territory.
Assault prep done. 0330 now. Thirty to go.
Gear-checked First Squad stared at starry sky, faces grim. Comms guy by Johnson yapped with HQ on his antenna-extended radio. Finally:
First Squad and Marine First spearheaded. Coren hyperventilated. I patted him.
"Chill, dumbass."
"Hah... Sir, stick by you, I live?"
"...Anywhere riskier than me?"
Protagonist buff dodges direct hits—but bounces 'em to my flank. Hug me, eat stray bullet.
EEEEEEEEENG!
Ear-splitting bomber whine from afar. Go signal. Johnson nodded.
We bolted front. Marines matched, but B Sector route to outpost.
Outpost chaos. Tables turned from days ago. Olba's stalemate ping-pong.
BOOMBOOMBOOM!
RATTLERATTLERATTLE!
Kyrria AA lit the sky. Bombers dodged, dropped. Our Army and Marine arty joined.