Like the English nurses, autumn leaves fall in a bed of tragedy. The sky and the air are filled with death.
Ducks were swimming in a pond; crows were singing their grim anthem in the dawn of another gorgeous day in October, where tall pines will enjoy the sun on the remote hills of Ural, where giants are said to dwell, and ghosts might be there in the morning mist, like lost memories in the torn fabric of time.
Dynamite sticks go off in a big blast that sends loads of timber in the air and all these birds take off, quacking and crowing and wondering what the hell’s going on.
Lt. Colonel Alikhan is smiling. Mission accomplished–The bridge has been blown and now the English garrison in Birsk are utterly isolated.
Time to go back to the brigade and resupply. Not quite.
There’s one more matter to settle.
The heavy-set Major and Alikhan are discussing about the Cossack cavalry-girls, who are all sitting on the ground with crossed-legs and their hands tied up in their back, not far from the site where the bridge has just been destroyed, where it was overlooking a ford in a deep river bed. Now two cliffs face each other on either side of a gap where the bridge stood.
Anika was exhausted and had no idea how she had been able to walk roped to a horse after her brutal ordeal, but Kovalenko had given the example of toughness and there was no way she was going to falter. None of the girls did. Not even Elsa, whose fragile-looking body was proving as tough as nails.
She did not understand what the enemy commander was discussing with the Major, but she knew it was about her and her girls. The discussion turned into an argument that the Major won.
Anika broke down and panicked when she and every one of her eighteen remaining girls were lined up and ordered to get down on their knees in crude Russian while a platoon of Kazakhs stood ten yards in front of them with their rifles ready.
“No! Please no! Spare me! Spare me I’ll do everything! Everything!” Anika begged in her Ukrainian. Kovalenko and several other girls looked at her with contempt. The others prayed with trembling hands, while Lance Corporal Armstrong and some of the other male prisoners began yelling and protesting, only to be beaten down with rifle butts.
Then the sound of a motor was heard. Approaching fast. Coming from the sky.
The biplane seemed to appear out of nowhere, coming fast from the East as it cleared a hill and veered, and the Kazakhs ran for cover as it soon came within range and the pilot let the machine guns speak.
POPOPOPOPOPOPOPOPPOPPOWW!!!
The Cossack girls were too exhausted to get up. They remained there. On their knees. A few of them were reaped and fell as the biplane roared above and past them. Kovalenko died well, from causes beyond her will. So did Elsa, tragically killed at the very dawn of her life. This is the true face of war.
Darina did not die well. She thought she was safe, but became conscious of her torn shirt being wet on the right side of her belly, where she looked and realized her liver had been punctured. She knew enough biology to understand she had only a little time left.
“Take me home! Take me home, somebody please take me home!” Darina cried out while the Czarist biplane veered and was already in line for a second pass. “I don’t wanna die! AAAAAA AAAAAAAA AAA AAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA RRRHAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!”
POPOPOPOPOPOPOPOPPOPPOWW!!!
KPOW PPP PPPOW!!!
This time the plane was met with return fire from Soviet rifles. A couple of Kazakhs bit the dust. The plane seemed to be veering again for another pass of strafing, but something was wrong with its motor. A thin smoke showed up from its engine and the biplane began losing speed and altitude. It veered off and flew straight to the South West.
There was a lot of dusty confusion on and by the sandy road. Johnny Armstrong pulled hard at his bonds he had spent the night weakening against a stone.
A hundred horsemen rode in the general direction where the plane had gone, the road running about parallel to its path. Cossack girls got back up and took to their heels, no longer feeling any pain thanks to the rush of adrenaline.
“Go after them and kill them!” the Major barked to his men, who were already mounting their horses to chase the fleeing cavalry-girls while Darina was still filling the air with her panicked screams as her life bled away.
Out of sheer instinct, British nurses came to attend the dead and the dying, trying to comfort Darina while other nurses attended to a wounded Kazakh, who broke down in tears as he realized he was being treated by Judith and Helen, the very girl he had raped and helped being raped the previous night. The young man tried to tell them to let him die, but the English nurses kept attending to his wounded arm.
“Keep the British alive!” the Colonel had bellowed.
Other nurses were treating Private William Holmes, whose thigh was torturing him. The bullet wound had begun to fester.
“He needs to be taken to a doctor before it’s too late!” Mina Harker said, where all her nurses attended to the wounded, finding comfort in this return to their familiar work. And the weirdest form of revenge as they saw how disturbed some of the men felt as they were treated by their own victims.
Only Rose cursed and said “those pigs deserve to be let bleed and die”. Captain Mina Harker slapped her and ordered her to help.
Mina Harker, like Judith Baker and all the other nurses, had woken up in a tent, naked amid a group of men shrouding her in their strong smell of urine and musk. Each girl was wondering whether she was dead or alive. Intense, lingering pain between her legs, and at her bruised hips where countless men had held her, told her the latter was the most likely.
The men had helped them finding their ruined dresses and whatever was left of their Red Cross apron. The lavender blue and the white aprons had both taken a brownish colour where dirt was the common theme as each girl was being helped back in her clothes by her rapists, in a scene that felt even more surreal than the gang-rapes. The nurses now realized that such things were to be expected in war. Even the bizarre kindness shown by those brigands once they had fulfilled their basest instinct.
Now Mina Harker kneels beside William Holmes and the same Feldvebel who took his pleasure inside her is giving her the last of his liquor flask so she can at least have something for the boy’s festering wound.
Rifle-shots and shrieks ring out here and there in the woods. Cavalry-girls scream before they’re shot.
In the woods plays a tragedy where each fleeing girl, barefoot, hampered by her night-long ordeal, soon gets overtaken and shot. The Kazakhs are tired by a lack of sleep and the excess of pleasure, so they carry out the murders with that kind of tired military efficiency where they commit the war crime without hesitation.
When the last rifle-shot echoes among the trees where the crows will soon return, Alikhan and his men round up the prisoners and find that two are missing–the British Lance Corporal and one of the dark-haired nurses.
***
The enemy pilot is in dire straits. The dying motor forced him to land in a small clearing where he couldn’t avoid ending the plane’s path in a reception committee of tall pines, where the plane crashed at low speed and the pilot jumped and ran away from the fuel fire. The nearest trees caught fire, but the lingering dampness from recent rains made sure to signal his position by a tall column of smoke.
The pilot now runs as fast as her pesky injury in her right leg will allow. Lieutenant Fanny Moisant crouches within a thicket and taking stock of her M1911 Colt .45 pistol and her one-day food supply she’ll need to ration, when the enemy hooves meet her ears.
Trembling, the Yankee adventuress stays hidden. She slowly starts making her way around the crash site and back toward the east, where she still has a hope to make it back to the White Army’s new frontline. A good 20 verstes away. If she finds a way across the running river where there’s no more bridge.
The heavy-set Major smiles as he sees the burning Sopwith Camel. “A British plane! Is there another English girl in it?” he says for a Feldvebel and other men to laugh and show their teeth as pale as nightmare against their copper skin and high cheekbones. Their narrow eyes light up as shadows of joy.
Major Miras Akhmetov gave the orders as soon as it was learned that the pilot was gone. The hundred-strong squadron now rides all around the site in order to encircle the fleeing pilot. They’re all seasoned hunters who are used to track game in wooden mountains. They were going to make him pay!
Lieutenant Fanny Moisant knows she must move. She also knows the enemy is moving faster. Every cracking branch could be the footstep of a man who has dismounted. She goes where the trees are denser, feeling cavalry will have a harder time following her.
The enemy are all around her. They ride where the trees are thickest. They expect the pilot to go there. After dismounting where the hill gets too steep and the tall pines seem to gather close congregations along with white birches, a junior officer and his twenty men are walking too loud on the bed of fallen leaves.
Fanny hears them. Those sounds are too regular and repeated to belong to nature. They’re closer than she thought! Already!
Trying not to panic, she finds a thicket of half-naked shrubs and decides to lay still where she feels no one will see her. She finds herself face to face with a hare, who decides to run from this thing it sees as a dangerous giant.
Lieutenant Serik spots the running hare and looks where it runs from–a thicket of shrubs that lost most of their leaves. He silently motions the nearest men to move and surround the spot, while two men run after the hare and make their presence well known to all beings a hundred yards around.
Trembling and peeing her air-girl’s trousers out of sheer fright, Fanny remains still. Trying to run would doom her. She silently pulls out her M1911 pistol, the one her rich rancher father gave her on her nineteenth birthday.
“Surrender!” Serik barks at the pilot he just spotted lying down. In bad Russian.
Fanny turns and looks at him. He has a revolver and it’s aimed straight at her, while two cavalry-men are also pointing their rifles on either side of him. One man, out of nowhere, presently pokes his bayonet at her buttocks, as gently as a caress, letting her know she only has one option left.
In tears, Fanny thinks of turning her own .45 Colt on her. Her hands are trembling! She’s shivering with fright on the bed of autumn leaves and she’s seized at her waist. Her wrist is restrained, where a painful twist rips the gun from her hand while someone pulls her leather flight helmet and she’s surrounded by surprised exclamations as her brown hair warms the atmosphere as it cascades down on her shoulders.
“Oohh!” Serik lets out. His young cock immediately starts going rigid. They all gasp upon seeing the opportunity.
Fanny starts to cry, almost silently, as they undo her leather jacket and remove her white scarf. She’s wearing the usual pale khaki tunic under it. Hands grope her trousers and the men smile as they feel her buttocks. She knows all too well what’s going to happen. More men come. A dozen men, at least, surround her.
A man pulls out two silver coins out of her pocket and laughs. It’s written something in Latin letters on it. He only understands the Eagle on it. Fanny knows she just lost her two good-luck quarters. The Yankee girl prays as she remembers what’s written on them. “In God We Trust”
Serik knows he doesn’t have much time. The Major could come anytime. If he wants to have this female pilot, he must do her now. Now! The men silently nod at him. A Corporal’s face explodes with grinning anticipation.
Serik wonders why he feels so horny even after taking high pleasure inside an English nurse with black hair at some point during the night. It must be the surprise and the high excitement of the hunt. And the fact this girl is also white and foreign.
Silence surrounds her. The crying pilot is grabbed and forced down on all fours and her trousers are swiftly pulled down. Her naked buttocks give a powerful invitation. What an unexpected pleasure!
She’s so thin at the waist! Can’t be much older than twenty. Her skin is so filled with light under their eastern gazes! They all know, and she knows, that the impossible is about to happen. She keeps praying in her all-American belief that the worst cannot happen to her. Her dad’s money is going to save her.
Serik kneels behind her. Her sobbing intensifies where she begins to struggle against her shifting reality. Grinning Asians restrain her arms where she’s on her elbows and knees. The enemy leader is right behind her. Not to comfort her. His eyes trying to resolve the round equation of her vast buttocks against her slim waist hugged by her flight jacket, Serik drops his trousers and slobbers his erection!
Her sobbing turns into long wails as the penetration hits her and all she used to believe in turn into nothing and Serik can’t believe how fast his pleasure surges! His hands on her bare skin are something Fanny can’t comprehend. What’s happening? It hurts!
“Daddy! Do something!” Fanny screams as her pussy gets raped. Her Yankee English doesn’t register. The brigands hear her and laugh at her.
Lieutenant Serik, his trousers down being the one thing he has in common with her, begins to pound her harder as she receives the mad strokes while feeling the earth and the fall leaves under her elbows where mad-grinning Asians hold her hands together and others play with her long hair.
His grunts fill the cathedral silence along with her despaired wails. He feels her contractions, smells her urine, smells the fresh earth, her terror! Her terror, yes! Where his erection swells into a heated act that soon gets out of hand. Serik shouts and looks high up at the gathering of tall pines!
“AAaaaaaaaaaahhA—YYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAArrr!!!”
His ejaculation has heat and urgency. He becomes a flashing star where bliss becomes one with pain. Fanny doesn’t understand why she’s now experiencing pleasure.
It soon abates and Serik, breathless, wonders what he’s doing there with his hands on a female butt. What is she doing here?! Fanny thinks she’s about to wake up in her childhood home in Kansas. What is she doing here?! With her trousers down and her knees and elbows planted in some forest floor. Her naked skin kissed by the breeze.
Then he remembers.
The Corporal nearly pushes him away!
Serik watches as the Corporal and several more men take their pleasure inside the pilot, whose face is kept on the forest floor among fallen leaves, whose leather flight jacket is still on her back while her buttocks look incredibly pale against the leather and the forest. She keeps wailing and sobbing. They keep grunting.
Some of the men don’t partake. They’ve had enough of such matters the day and the night before. They’re happy to watch while sipping liquor or smoking. Somewhere in the cloudy sky, the smoke shows where the plane finishes burning.
It’s an urgent gang-rape where each man dies fast inside Fanny. Her face caresses the ground with each new thrust, each new man. She keeps failing to understand this is actually happening. Why doesn’t her dad do something? They fill her up with their yak milk. One by one. Fucking her like a bitch in the only position they know well.
Soon, it is over and the ghost of a she-officer is brought up to her feet. They even help her fastening her belt back around her waist while the officer checks her papers. “Sub-Lieutenant Fanny Moisant, written in Cyrillic letters. Born on the 08/07/1895. Pilot.”
Serik slides her M1911 Colt pistol inside his belt. He shall keep it as a souvenir. But what was a woman doing with such a big pistol? She clearly couldn’t handle the recoil.
She’s brought back to the crash site where her Sopwith Camel is but a heap of charred wood and the twisted ruin of a British motor. The fire-struck pines are still heavily smoking. Some nearby trees have caught the smoking disease, but the forest fire is clearly about to die.
“Name and rank!” a heavy-set Major barks. She confusedly sees the three red squares on his open collar and notices his thick neck and pudgy face.
She doesn’t answer, keeps looking at the ground.
The Major understands why, seeing the grin on Serik and his men. He slaps her anyway. She falls.
“Name! Rank! How much plane?” he adds in his bad Russian. As she lies prostrated, he appraises her slender legs and her whole figure under her pilot’s outfit. His tongue licking his lips tell everything about his intentions.
“F-fhh, Lieutenant Fanny Moisant. My plane, one.” She speaks Russian, with an accent that makes him raise his eyebrows and smile.
“I see you found something exotic to play with, Lieutenant!” the Major bellows in a language Fanny has no idea of, only knowing it’s the language spoken by those brigands who look like Mongols.
Major Miras Akhmetov grabs her and picks her off the grass, then throws her away, only to pick her up again and slap her to the ground. He basks in her cries.
He orders that she be brought back to him. On her feet. The sun pierces the clouds, almost as if wanting to see what’s next. There’s a grand show of sun-blaze among the morning clouds, but no-one cares.
Akhmetov helps the crying pilot out of her flight jacket and she breaks down in tears as the heavy-set man smiles at her while stroking her long hair. She shudders, but knows she can’t struggle in their grasp.
“No, please! We have three other planes I’ll tell you all you want to know but please please please not this again! Not again!”
Fanny’s Russian is broken, just as her voice and the rest of her. She bitterly cries as the repulsive Major smiles out of his pudgy face and violently tears her tunic open, freeing a display of tits informing him she wasn’t wearing anything under it.
The sweating Major removes his cap and wipes his face with his lower sleeve, letting his balding head shine under the sun. He enjoys the breeze cooling his face, where he grins and listens to the music of her pleas and her sobs. The men restraining her are also grinning. Some of the men are a bit tired of raping women, but it’s not everyday they can fuck a white foreign girl who also happens to be an officer!
Akhmetov loves how she whimpers as he presses his lips into one of her breasts. They’re the right size for his small hammy hands. He cups and cherish them with some rough affection that gets his fire surging. He lets his finger gently linger on her nipple.
Tears veil Fanny’s world. Looking all around her, she’s hit by the copper tone of their skin and realizes she’s been and going to be gang-raped by Mongols in dark khaki uniforms that seem specially designed to intensify the foreign fire in their skin. Her secret-most thoughts force shame down her core by making her feel a putrid kind of excitement because they look fearsome and exotic–It’s almost as if her core wants more of them.
“Noo! Please Daddy! Do something! Do something!” she shouts against herself in this Kansas English no one cares for in Ural.
On the other side of the world, it’s about nine in the evening and not eight in the morning. A rich rancher looks a picture of his adventuress of a daughter. He has no idea where she could be. The last letter he had from her was sent from Kamchatka five months ago. Sitting with his after-dinner whisky by the fireside, he longingly looks at a picture of her taken four years ago on the day he gave her this impossibly powerful pistol, a .45 Colt “Just in case.” Wherever she is, God would not allow anything bad to really happen to his beloved Fanny. She’d soon be back from her airplane follies and settle down in Kansas with some proper rancher. (See image)
The vulnerability in her nipples says she’s simply a woman. Her rank becomes pointless, a mere decoration on her wide-open tunic as she gets passed around and all sorts of earth-faced men come and suck her tits. Most of them are barely taller than her and this inflates her sense of humiliation out of anything that can be said.
They soon lower her trousers again and the topless officer is allowed to keep her boots where they bend her over and the heavy Major is already behind her, where they keep her standing while the Major punches his slobbered cock inside her. They’re short enough to mortify her where she stands.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHRRR!!”
His victory cry echoes far and wide where the pilot is raped near her wrecked Sopwith Camel that used to be marked with three red stars, each one standing for a Soviet plane she killed. He’s holding the crease of her hips and uses her in this position he loves to grunt in. Her Russian leather boots near his yak leather boots, his hands on her white skin a powerful statement that anything can happen in war.
“Daddy… Do something… Something, do, Daddy…” Fanny mumbles on, over and over again as they hold her wrists and keep her standing where she’s utterly shaken by the Major’s repeated rams. Part of her body responds strongly to getting bucked and forces whimpers out of her.
The international savagery is soon consumed.
Overwhelmed by her buttocks against him in motions that soon get blurred as he remembers when he raped an English nurse with golden hair, Major Akhmetov emits improbable sounds that perhaps remind his men of a rutting yak as he shivers in such a trance she thinks he’s having a fatal seizure.
“aahaahaannjjjjhhhhhhkkhreghh…”
Even his men are worried.
“Good fuck!” he says as he pulls out of her. They all laugh. She sobs.
He looks on, wearing a satisfied smile as men upon men rape the white-ass pilot in the same bent over position, many of them cupping her tits as they press themselves upon her when they give her their semen.
“She loves how we love her!” Serik says upon hearing her intensifying moans before her unwilling orgasm is met with a loud round of laughter.
However, most of the hundred men watch and enjoy a cigarette or a sip of liquor. The men who do rape her often close their eyes and think about the English nurses they have tried out. The rapes aren’t as urgent as the day before, but they do feel urgent to Fanny, who has no idea how she’s going to live on after this.
At some point, they feel her body deserves to be seen naked. So they help her out of her aviator’s outfit. Her long boots are pulled and her woolen socks give way to a pair of light-filled feet that get Serik into her as her wide cavalry trousers get pulled off her legs. Several men find a new meaning to life as they buck her while she’s naked on all fours. Serik rubs his cock on her feet before pinning her under him with her legs up and against his shoulders, where she tries not to look back at him as she feels this young officer is even younger than her!
Her feet keep pointing at the overcast sky, inspiring many Kazakhs to masturbate, and then Serik dies inside her. “AAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAYYYYYYYYYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!!!”
More men try her out in this exotic position. Fucking a white girl with her legs up provides even longer and harder ejaculations! Yes, this is a great fuck! She deserves their sperm. Fanny goes crazy as she’s hit with another orgasm, just as some brute with a huge black moustache explodes inside her.
They now keep her lying on the ground amid them. She’s Eve-nude, the air a bit chilly, and she’s being baptized with Kazakh semen on her tits and face as they all take turns in masturbating above the pretty foreign girl. They don’t care how she became a pilot. They don’t even care about the risk posed by the other enemy planes, who could be looking for her. All they care about is the insane bliss they experience as they watch as their surging bolts of yak milk land on her.
“UUUGGHH!” one of them says. Fanny only understands this international language—The UUUUGGH followed with this heated fragrance that she’s being familiarized with. She’s no longer crying. She’s numb with shame.
Alikhan and the rest of the force arrive, with the nurses riding supernumerary horses and the English prisoners nearly dragged behind.
“Are you out of your mind, Major?” he hollers as he rides near his second-in-command. Another plane attacked us! We need to ride out of here quick!”
Before long, Fanny, who’ve been helped back in her uniform, finds herself roped to a horse and forced to walk too fast for what her weakened legs will allow. She’s soon picked up and tied to a long staff, then carried by two soldiers like a piece of meat. The only things in her mind are the pain and how many more of those men will use her and how. She misses Kansas. Deeply.
***
Lance Corporal Johnny Armstrong felt lucky. He had grabbed Agnes as she ran and hid among thick pines with her, just in the nick of time, before a group of cavalrymen rode so close that one horse nearly stepped on Agnes! Then the pursuers had spotted a fleeing Cossack and rode after her! A scream had rung out and rifle-shots had silenced the girl.
He remained there with Agnes for the longest time. Hugging her in a protective gesture. There was a short-lived rain, then the sun made a happy return and it seemed that each one of the tiny ferns had turned into a green wand loaded with wet diamonds. Among the clouds, a majestic rainbow felt out of place.
When he was certain the enemy was gone, Johnny nudged Agnes into standing up. Some fallen leaves had tiny pools of rain water and he drank from them. Agnes did likewise.
“I think our frontline is about a day’s walk away, Agnes, but we must find a place to ford this river. Let’s go north! South means death for us.”
Agnes started walking. Slow. Each step hurting her. With the adrenaline gone, pain was ruling her body.
Johnny picked up the brave nurse and carried her. He’d need to stop and rest here and there, but it would be faster this way.
They walked by three corpses of Cossack girls. The first corpse had been shot clean through the heart, twice. He stopped and rested there for a while. Agnes offered a quick prayer. Then she was back in his arms and off they went.
Zildana was more painful to see dead. Her breasts and crotch were bare and it was clear they had raped her before blowing her brains out.
“She was so young and beautiful!” Johnny said.
Then silence fell on this true face of the war. They found the third corpse not far off. The girl had also been raped before being killed and mutilated.
Agnes began singing in German, her overexcited soul remembering the song for no reason at all. She had treated a German prisoner who had sung it over and over until he died from his wounds three days later.
Wildgänse rauschen durch die Nacht
Mit schrillem Schrei nach Norden –
Unstäte Fahrt! Habt acht, habt acht!
Die Welt ist voller Morden.
Unstäte Fahrt! Habt acht, habt acht!
Die Welt ist voller Morden.
“It’s a beautiful song. I like your voice. What does it mean?”
“It means that the world is full of Death and murder.”
Above them, a flight of wild geese seemed to reprise the song with their cackling…
Habt acht habt acht Habt acht, habt acht…
Agnes broke down in tears. Johnny gave her a comforting hug and she let herself cry in his arms. She had heard him say “I like your voice” and felt desired, when she felt like filth after so many men had used her as their pleasure thing.
His simple sentence had reminded her who she used to be — a young woman, pretty and desired. Could she still be the Agnes she used to know? When she’d be back in England, would she be able to face her mother, her father and her siblings without looking down in shame? What if she became pregnant? Perhaps she whispered this, as Johnny spoke…
“If you’re pregnant, Agnes, I’ll marry you if you will have me.”
Johnny had forgotten he already had a wife in England. He had no idea what to say to a girl who had been gang-raped into oblivion over the last twenty-four hours. He felt he was lucky. To still be alive.
🔞 Candy.AI 🔥 AI Sex Chat – Roleplay, Erotic Stories, Try for Free 🕹️