Yours to Command

By DX

Copyrighted, 10/2024, all rights reserved.

 “I shouldn’t even be here.”  Walter mumbled to himself as he looked at the last two bullets in the magazine from his M-18, Sig Sauer 9MM pistol.  “Sgt Montgomery was supposed to be here,”  His hands shook as he re-inserted the magazine.  “not me.” 

 He was bleeding from his head.  A bullet had scraped him, leaving a groove in his skull and a bit of a concussion.  Listing his resources:  at hand he had a broken Kalashnikov, a multi-tool, a flashlight, a first aid kit, and a compass.  

 He was in a small outcropping of a cave, just a slight space.  Wedged in with him was Sheik Bahir.  An opulent man dressed in the finery of a tribal leader.  His regal robes were all ruined with blood stains from where a bullet had shattered his hip.  Slave Chanda was applying direct pressure to the Sheik’s wound.  Blood was oozing between her fingers.

 “I wasn’t supposed to be here.”  Walter whispered to himself.

 Forty eight hours ago Lance Corporal Walter Gains got up at precisely oh-dark-thirty, dressed, and headed over the motor pool.  It was cool, and he watched his steaming breath curl as he walked down the path, brightly lit by street lights.  At the motor pool he checked out an ULTV, a small but rugged vehicle, then drove to the SBEQ to pick up Staff Sergeant Montgomery.

 Staff was sick.

 “It’s your lucky day.”  He said through his mask as he climbed in.  “You’re single, right?  No girlfriend?”

 Walter didn’t really understand the question as it appeared out of context.  “Uh, what?”

 “Just drop me off at Sick-Bay, then head to the tarmac.  Tell them you’re there to meet Mr. Warner.”  He sneezed and blew a massive booger into his mask.  “Ah, fuck.”  He mumbled.

 Struggling with a fully loaded mask, Staff said nothing else until he arrived at sick-bay and climbed out.  “Remember!  Mr. Warner!”  He waved feebly and walked into the clinic.

 Confused, Walter drove to the flight deck.  At the gate, he told the Sergeant that Staff was sick.  “I guess someone should tell a Mr. Warner?”

 The Sergeant smiled.  “Must be your lucky day!  Single?  No girlfriend?”

 “What the hell does that mean?”

 “They didn’t tell you?  Well…”. He paused as he heard the roar of a C-130’s engines as it pulled from the hangar.  “They’ll explain it to you!  You’ll find Warner there!”  He handed him a small plastic sealed package containing ear plugs.  “Hurry up, Devil Dog!  Your transport awaits!”

 Walter shook his head.  “I don’t have orders to…”

 The Sergeant waved him on.  “Double-time!  Ooo-rah!”

 Walter drove where he was directed, until an airdale with a flashlight showed him were to park.  “I have a message for Mr. Warner?”  Walter said.

 “That way.”  He pointed to the C-130, now being loaded.

 Walter sighed, then put in the ear plugs the sergeant had given him.  He clambered out of the ULTV and headed to the back of the C-130.  

 The C-130’s engines made a horrible racket, and as Walter approached, someone pointed to the back of the plane.  There, lights from all the service vehicles flashed and created a myriad, maddening pattern, lighting up the plane.  Walter saw the back of the plane was open and cargo was being wheeled in.  

 On the ramp surveying the operation was a man dressed in a cross between a tan business suit and utilities, looking more like a British soldier from Queen Victoria’s army.  His well polished boots were bloused, his trousers pressed and starched, and his cargo pockets looked as if they’d been glued flat.  To add to his look, he wore a pith helmet with a green ribbon around its crown.  Clasped around his waist was a utility belt the same color as his helmet ribbon.  He had a holster and pistol, and two utility pouches.

 He wore no rank or any insignia.

 Not knowing if he should salute or not, Walter didn’t.  “Mr. Warner?”  Walter shouted over the din.  “Staff Sergeant Montgomery is sick and is at sick bay.” 

 Mr. Warner turned, and his glacier cool eyes regarded the young Lance Corporal.  Warner was excessively handsome, with a cleft chin that could smash ice, and cheek bones that could cut paper.  He had either just stepped off a movie production, or Walter had accidentally driven on set and was talking to the leading man.  

 Mr. Warner motioned to his ear, showing his ear plugs, then walked into the back of the plane, inviting Walter the follow.  From the wall, Mr. Warner pulled down two head sets, handing one to Walter, and plugged them in.

 Hearing the click, Walter adjusted the mic.  “Staff Sergeant Montgomery is sick.  I dropped him off at sick-bay.”

 A warm smile crawled across Mr. Warner’s face and he glanced at his watch.  “Must be your lucky day.”

 “Why does everyone keep saying that?”  Walter said, a little hotter than he intended.

 “Strap in.”

 Panic flashed across Walter’s face.  “What?  Uh, I have get back to motor-pool.”

 “Not any more.”  Mr. Warner said casually.

 “But I checked out a ULTV.”  Walter protested.  “I gotta bring that back.”

 Mr. Warner glanced at his distractedly.  “It’ll be taken care of.”

 Walter looked to head out of the back of the plane, but the back hatch started to close with a painful whine.  “What?  Wait!  Wait!  I’m not supposed to be here!”

 Warner held up his hand.  “Calm down Marine.”  He then took out his mobile.  “What’s your name?”

 “Lance Corporal Walter Gains, sir.”

 Mr. Warner tapped his phone, then reached up and turned a switch on the com.  “Hey, Skipper?  Can you step back here?”

 Stunned, Walter watched the pilot, a Lieutenant Colonel, climb down from the cockpit, walk over and plug into the com.  

 Mr. Warner pointed to Walter.  “This is Walter Gains.  Would you inform him he’s with me?”

 The Colonel looked at the young Marine and smiled.  “It’s your lucky day, War Dog.”  He pointed to Mr. Warner.  “He’s your new commanding officer.  His wish is your command.  He says, jump, you say, ‘how high’, while you’re on the way up.”  He then added.  “Don’t salute.”  He then looked at Mr. Warner.  “With your permission, we’re cleared to taxi.”

 Mr. Warner shrugged.  “It’s your plane, Skipper.”

 The Colonel nodded, unplugged, and disappeared up the ladderwell.

 Walter blinked as he realized that Mr. Warner had just commanded a light colonel, pulling him out of his cockpit.

 Mr. Warner, was in charge.

 Mr. Warner nudged him.  “Buckle up.”

 So commanded, Walter sat down in the web harness against the wall, and bucked up.

 As they taxied, Mr. Warner held out his phone and showed Walter his new orders.  Walter had been assigned to a command he had never heard of, and based in a place he had no idea existed.  Mr. Warner flashed to another page and pointed at the words, Non-Disclosure Agreement, then showed Walter where to sign with his finger.  He then slid to another document and signed out to Walter a web belt, holster, a 9mm pistol, thirty-one rounds of ammunition, a first-aid kit, compass, K-Bar, and sheath.  

 Walter signed.

 The engines roared and the C-130 rattled and ran, and slowly, desperately crawled its way into the sky.  

 When they reached cursing altitude, Mr. Warner clicked on the com.  “In the remote region of Somewherestan, in the mountains of Irrelevant, there is a band of tribesman called Urktus.  They have been their own kingdom before the building of the pyramids.  They live as if it was the third century, but they like their twenty-first century toys.  Well, in their mountains they are sitting on a massive vein of raridium.  We need it.  I can’t stress how important this stuff is.  More importantly, we need no one else to have it, especially the Kragiras, sworn enemy of the Urktus.  Sheik Bahir is friendly to our country and we are going to do everything to make sure it stays that way.”  He looked at Walter.  “Nod if you’re with me so far.”

 Walter nodded.

 “Good.”  He smiled.  “Part of their ethos is hospitality.  Any welcomed visitor will be offered to sample their hospitality.”  His cold eyes peered at Walter.  “These guys will jump off a cliff if they fail to please their guest.”

 “So no matter what,”  Walter offered.  “I’m happy.”

 Mr. Warner nodded slowly.  “and accept their hospitality.”

 “Oh, well that’s easy.”  Walter said, relaxing.

 “Your lucky day!”  Mr. Warner said triumphantly.  “Not every day you get to lay pipe as part of your job description, am I right?”  He leaned back into the harness as he thought.  “Yeah, guys like us, you know,”  He flashed his wedding ring.  “the wife isn’t too keen… so that’s why we bring a single guy like you to sample the hospitality.”  He grinned at Walter.  “Sacrificial lamb.”

 Walter looked confused.  “Lay pipe?”

 Mr. Warmer fanned his hands, back peddling.  “Okay, one more time.  We need to be their favorite guest.”

 “Yeah,”  Walter said not fully understanding it.

 Mr. Warner blinked.  “I’m surprised I have to explain this to a Marine.  To be clear, there will be a woman,”  He paused,  “or man, however you swing, to show you all of their hospitality.”

 “Yeah.”  Walter said, now understanding it.

 Mr. Warner shook his head.  “You don’t get it.  They will show you… everything.”

 “Yeah, everything.”

 “Sex, Marine.  She’s going to want you to sleep with her.”

 Walter’s face lost all expression.  “With me?”

 “Yes, you!”  Mr. Warner pointed to Walter.  “Besides, you’re a good looking guy!”  He smiled.  “I’m sure she would be happy to sleep with you.”

 “What if she doesn’t?”

 Mr. Warner tried to speak several times before finally finding words.  “She will.  I promise.  You just let it happen.”  He smiled.  “I will be giving the Sheik the latest high tech, while your job is to enjoy the hospitality.  Those are your orders.”  He snapped his fingers as he remembered something.  “Oh!  Take this.”  He pulled something with a lanyard and draped it over Walter’s neck.  “Whatever you do, don’t lose that!”  He slapped Walter on the back.  “You get to take one for the team!”

 Walter smiled weakly.  “Your wish is my command.”  He replied less enthusiastically as he looked at the object Mr. Warner had given him.  

 A gold, ornate, old timey key glinted in the dim light.  Walter slipped it under his blouse.

 Hours later they landed in a place that didn’t have a runway and met with the rest of their team which comprised of U.S. and U.K. civilians, all armed with holstered pistols.  They then drove by hummer to a place with no roads, then on horse back up into the craggy rocks where there was no trail, before arriving before two, massive iron doors nestled in a titanic crack in a mountain face, hidden from the world.

 When the doors slowly opened, Lance Corporal Walter Gains stepped back in time.

 It was a city carved from solid rock.  

 Dark, hooded and shadowy men dressed in flowing robes, strode out, rifles slung over their shoulders or casually in their hands.  Walter noted it was a mishmash of FNRLs, M-16s, SA80s, and one M1 Garand in sniper configuration.  Each man had a curved dagger tucked into their waist sash.

 Walter followed Mr. Warner’s lead and dismounted.  Unfamiliar with horse technology, Walter’s foot snagged in the stirrup.  Balanced precariously on one leg, he struggled not to face plant.  He could hear the laugher of the men around him as he desperately tried to keep his balance by hopping in a circle with one foot on the ground, and the other tangled in the stirrup.

 The horse, perhaps trying to be helpful, took a casual side-step, and inadvertently took away the last of Walter’s balance.  As Walter prepared for impact, he smelled the wonderful aroma of jasmine.

 Strong, lithe arms embraced him and held him up.  Then, with an easy sweep of her hand, slipped his boot free from the stirrup, and stood him up.

 Walter looked into the eyes of the jungle, and thought of rain rolling across a deep green leaf.  She had delicious, creamy skin, and vibrant, fiery red hair.  She was dressed in near invisible swaths of silk, showing clearly her curves that ran for days.

 Her dimples flashed as she gave him a warm, bemused smile.

 “Thank you.”  He managed to say.

 A moment of pride hinted on her face.  “You have my key, I am yours to command.”

 Lost in the music of her words, Walter had no idea what she was talking about.  He looked around for a bit of guidance and saw other women, draped in vibrant gossamer veils, were fawning over the party, while Mr. Warner shook hands with, based on his royal garb Sheik Bahir, while showing off the gift of new computer servers.

 The woman, still holding Walter’s arm, gently lead him to follow the rest of the party, and Walter, awestruck and bewildered, numbly followed.  Everyone was laughing and chittering like friends re-united.  Walter noticed everyone had a beautiful woman holding their arm.

 “What do I call you?”  He asked the woman holding his arm.

 “What ever you would like.”  She said, smily dubiously.

 Walter swallowed nervously.  “What does everyone else call you?”

 “Slave Chanda.”  She said proudly.

 “Can I just call you Chanda?”

 She smirked.  “In private.”  

 Slave Chanda ushered him to a bench along side the rest of his party outside a central building.  There she knelt before him and began to remove his boots.

 “Whoa, careful there.”  He warned.  “I’ve been percolating in those boots all day.”

 She pulled off his sock, then lifted his foot slightly, and put her nose to his toes.  “They smell of blossoms.”  She said happily.

 Walter was speechless.

 Slave Chanda gently washed, then dried his feet.  She then helped him up, and lead him into the great hall.

 It was a huge, arched, palatial room lit by hundreds of lanterns.  The steady lantern light illuminated the mosaic tiled walls and floor.  In the center was a massive fire pit where cooks worked the spitted lambs roasting in the flames.  Musicians played happily, and filled the air with the top ten hits from the year 800AD.

 Slave Chanda lead him to sit on some giant pillows, carefully arranging them so he was comfortable.  She then gave him a drink, cutting it with a little water, and fed him cheese and grapes.

 Walter checked on his party.  Mr. Warner and Sheik Bahir were laughing raucously.  The rest of the men each had a drink in one hand, and a slave in the other.

 “My orders are to be happy.”  He reminded himself.

 “What did you say?”  Slave Chanda pressed, her voice almost lost in the echoing sounds of the festival.

 “Oh, nothing.”  Walter replied.  “I’m good.”

 She nodded to his drink.  “Drink slowly.”  Her wonderful eyes regarded him.  “You don’t want to over do it… yet.”

 Walter nodded and sipped.  

 It was molten fire.

 Walter, a U.S. Marine, displayed no emotion as he swallowed the lava, but Slave Chanda sensed his distress.  

 “Is it not to your liking?”  She pressed.

 Walter glanced at the others, then held up his cup in a silent toast and sipped again.  As his lips went numb, he tasted on the one part of his tongue that had not been burned with acid, a flourish of liquorish.  “It’s lovely.”

 She added a splash more water.  “Pace yourself, we have all night.”

 Walter looked at her, and was trapped by the magical green glow of her lidded eyes and didn’t notice when the servers brought him dishes of couscous and lamb and spiced olives and flat bread and rice and more lamb, until Slave Chanda was stuffing his face with it.

 He also noticed as she refilled his glass, she cut it with even more water, giving him a sly wink.

 As dessert was brought around, the music grew louder and Slave Chanda got up and danced.  Through her thin, translucent veils he watched her shifting, swaying hips slide and jerk to the beat of the music.  He could see her silhouette through her veils and she had the curves of dunes, sweeping and heaving through the desert sands.  When she arched back, he saw her breasts were magnificent and bountiful, very, very bountiful.  As she turned, her eyes sought his and pulled him into her trance.  Although she danced for everyone’s entertainment, and she would dance for anyone who held her key, Walter couldn’t help think she danced for him alone.

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Copyrighted, 10/2024 all rights reserved.