had begun twisting the napkin in her hand. Farrah sensed the unease and patted her hand.
Their meal finished, they went outside. The air was thick, stultifying, the smell of American cigarettes hung heavily. ‘It would be lovely if you had time to take tea with us before you leave, Alex,’ Farrah said, kissing her lightly.
‘Thank you, Farrah. I… I do hope things improve for everyone.’
In the taxi back to the hotel, Alex found her parting words inadequate for what she really felt. She was sure that for every family like the al-Tikritis, thankfully untouched by personal tragedy so far, there were tens of thousands of other Iraqi families already forced to bear the unimaginable tortured misery of the death and destruction within their midst.
The immediate future wasn’t something Alex wanted to contemplate. She now realised going on patrol was not going to be easy for her whatever lay in store.
And she cursed herself for letting Kowolski twist her arm.
* * *
Gene Kowolski sucked on the swollen nipple of the girl’s right breast as she moaned, writhing beneath him, pleading with him to enter her.
‘Do it, Kowolski. Do it to her,’ Francine urged frantically as she lay naked next to him, her hand holding him tightly at his base so that he was now fully erect again.
Kowolski had accepted Francine’s invitation to see her room at the villa rather sooner than he imagined, prompted by a couple of bottles of a Meursault Premier Cru from one of his favourite growers, Louis Jadot, which he knew was American-owned. War-torn Iraq it might be, but getting hold of a decent bottle of white burgundy seemed to be no problem. It was expensive, sure. Hell, that was sometimes the price of patriotism.
When Francine’s room-mate poured them all a generous brandy, then, after a large gulp, declared that being in such a dangerous country made her feel ‘hot and horny’, he knew he had struck home. ‘Yeah, me too – war can make you feel like that,’ he said only seconds before both girls leapt on him, practically stripping him and themselves in double-quick time while he lay there smiling.
He satisfied Francine and himself first while the other girl stroked his buttocks with one hand, gently kneading his scrotum with the other. When she felt him starting to come, she straddled him, rubbing herself up and down on his backside and yelping like an animal.
Francine now guided him into her room-mate, laughing lustfully as she whimpered with pleasure. ‘Oh, yes, yes, fuck me, please,’ the girl cried working her body hard and fast against him, reaching her orgasm within minutes to a tirade of expletives, sobs and moanful sighs. Kowolski reached his second climax of the night shortly afterwards.
As he did, he thought of Alex.
* * *
For a change, Matt McDermott slept soundly that night. He awoke to the comforting lumpiness of the Bible under his pillow. Although he felt closer to our Lord with the Good Book beneath his head, the recent habit was no more than a subconscious form of penance.
Now the morning was one of domestic chores; washing socks, shirts and underclothes, kit that took only a few minutes to dry when hanging from strategic points of the billet. Washing strung from open windows was a soldier’s constant lot.
He took coffee with some of his men, checking the Bradley was clean, fit and fuelled ready to go. He reminded them they were to be on their best behaviour later when a photographer called Alex Stead was joining them as an embed. No one appeared happy about a stranger in the camp.
‘What do he do, sir?’ P.J. the grenadier had asked.
‘He takes pictures, dumb-ass,’ Sergeant Rath replied shaking his head in disbelief while some of the others sniggered.
‘No, I mean who do he take pictures FOR?’
‘Yeah, are we gonna be famous, Lieutenant?’ The Bradley’s driver, Bobby-Jo, turned to look at McDermott expectantly.
The lieutenant plucked up courage and allowed himself a rare
Their meal finished, they went outside. The air was thick, stultifying, the smell of American cigarettes hung heavily. ‘It would be lovely if you had time to take tea with us before you leave, Alex,’ Farrah said, kissing her lightly.
‘Thank you, Farrah. I… I do hope things improve for everyone.’
In the taxi back to the hotel, Alex found her parting words inadequate for what she really felt. She was sure that for every family like the al-Tikritis, thankfully untouched by personal tragedy so far, there were tens of thousands of other Iraqi families already forced to bear the unimaginable tortured misery of the death and destruction within their midst.
The immediate future wasn’t something Alex wanted to contemplate. She now realised going on patrol was not going to be easy for her whatever lay in store.
And she cursed herself for letting Kowolski twist her arm.
* * *
Gene Kowolski sucked on the swollen nipple of the girl’s right breast as she moaned, writhing beneath him, pleading with him to enter her.
‘Do it, Kowolski. Do it to her,’ Francine urged frantically as she lay naked next to him, her hand holding him tightly at his base so that he was now fully erect again.
Kowolski had accepted Francine’s invitation to see her room at the villa rather sooner than he imagined, prompted by a couple of bottles of a Meursault Premier Cru from one of his favourite growers, Louis Jadot, which he knew was American-owned. War-torn Iraq it might be, but getting hold of a decent bottle of white burgundy seemed to be no problem. It was expensive, sure. Hell, that was sometimes the price of patriotism.
When Francine’s room-mate poured them all a generous brandy, then, after a large gulp, declared that being in such a dangerous country made her feel ‘hot and horny’, he knew he had struck home. ‘Yeah, me too – war can make you feel like that,’ he said only seconds before both girls leapt on him, practically stripping him and themselves in double-quick time while he lay there smiling.
He satisfied Francine and himself first while the other girl stroked his buttocks with one hand, gently kneading his scrotum with the other. When she felt him starting to come, she straddled him, rubbing herself up and down on his backside and yelping like an animal.
Francine now guided him into her room-mate, laughing lustfully as she whimpered with pleasure. ‘Oh, yes, yes, fuck me, please,’ the girl cried working her body hard and fast against him, reaching her orgasm within minutes to a tirade of expletives, sobs and moanful sighs. Kowolski reached his second climax of the night shortly afterwards.
As he did, he thought of Alex.
* * *
For a change, Matt McDermott slept soundly that night. He awoke to the comforting lumpiness of the Bible under his pillow. Although he felt closer to our Lord with the Good Book beneath his head, the recent habit was no more than a subconscious form of penance.
Now the morning was one of domestic chores; washing socks, shirts and underclothes, kit that took only a few minutes to dry when hanging from strategic points of the billet. Washing strung from open windows was a soldier’s constant lot.
He took coffee with some of his men, checking the Bradley was clean, fit and fuelled ready to go. He reminded them they were to be on their best behaviour later when a photographer called Alex Stead was joining them as an embed. No one appeared happy about a stranger in the camp.
‘What do he do, sir?’ P.J. the grenadier had asked.
‘He takes pictures, dumb-ass,’ Sergeant Rath replied shaking his head in disbelief while some of the others sniggered.
‘No, I mean who do he take pictures FOR?’
‘Yeah, are we gonna be famous, Lieutenant?’ The Bradley’s driver, Bobby-Jo, turned to look at McDermott expectantly.
The lieutenant plucked up courage and allowed himself a rare
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