She slowly came out of sleep, becoming aware of his presence. She could feel his cold clammy hands groping her breasts, his hard cock thrusting into her, his hot breath tickling the back of her neck. She began to struggle, to escape from him. His arms wrapped tighter around her as he thrust harder and faster into her. She began to scream and to thrash about, trying to escape, trying to get away. "You are mine," he whispered into her ear, "You are mine for ever and ever." With a final scream she sat up ready to run only to find that she was alone... in her sleeping bag... in her little tent... in the woods. Her ragged breathing continued as she struggled out of the sleeping bag and got out of the tent barely in time before she vomited on the ground. She remained hunched over with the dry heaves long after everything in her stomach had been lost. Her tears mingled with the sour taste of vomit in her mouth and her sinuses. She curled into a fetal position, hugging her knees to her chest, as she screamed into the slowly approaching dawn. He had found her again. This time after only a few weeks, he had found her. She thought to herself, "I'm 27 for God's sake and a nightmare could still destroy me". Her bitter tears continued until, with the rising of the sun, she fell asleep in the protective pool of sunshine making its way through the forest trees.
+++++++
He realized the mission was coming apart at the seams. The children and the Nuns were barely half way to the LZ and the clock said they weren't going to make it.
As the group continued to trudge through the forest, he fell back along the line of march until he was walking beside Lieutenant Maxwell and Gunnery Sargent McCrery.
"I don't think we are going to make it guys. The claymores slowed them down and made them cautious, but at the speed we are going, they will get to us before we get everyone to the LZ."
"I agree, Sir," the Gunny replied, "I think we need a little rear guard here to slow them down again."
"I am not going to risk you or your Marines, Gunny," he said.
He looked hard at the young Marine Lieutenant. "Sorry I got you and your Marines involved in this Mike," he said, "How about you give me the SAW and all of its ammunition. I will lay back and give them something to think on while you get the NCs out the backdoor."
When the LT and the Gunny objected, he made it an order.
"What do you think you are you going to do by yourself, Sir?" McCrery asked
"I can establish an ambush," he said, "I can hold off pursuit long enough for you to get the civilians and troops to the LZ."
"You might have the balls but you don't have the skill to do that, Sir!" exclaimed the Gunny. The Navy Officer, for that is what he was, had not noticed the impromptu conference had drawn the attention of the other Marines who were circling the three participants.
"Johnson," he snapped at the Lance Corporal, "you and Bonehead are with me. Sargent Kepski, you stay with the El-Tee and Mr. D here. Make sure everyone gets to the LZ."
He was objecting and countermanding the Gunny's orders when he felt a blow to the back of his head and things went dark.
He came to sitting with his back against a tree, feeling the down wash from the blades of a CH-47 helicopter. Sgt. Kepski was looking at him sheepishly, "Sorry about the hit, Sir, but what the Gunny said is what the Gunny wanted... so sorry, but you were out-ranked."
"Where is the Gunnery Sargent?" he asked.
The boyish grin fell from Kepski's face. "He didn't make it Sir, they held for almost an hour but ran out of ammo and got overrun. We couldn't move the platoon back until we got the kids here and by then it didn't matter."
He struggled to sit up better. "Where is your Boss?" he asked. Kepski's face got even darker. "When the shit was hitting the fan, the El-Tee, did what all good Marine Lieutenants do... he took half a squad, charged back to join the Gunny and died."
He sat next to the open rear hatch of the '47 as it climbed out and went skimming across the tree tops of the forest below. He was angry, angry that things had worked out as they had. Angry that the children had been put in danger in the first place. But he was livid with anger at himself... it was his plan and his leadership that had killed those Marines. He had fucked up... he had failed them.
+++++++
The old man was staring intently at the screen of his laptop. He had been trolling this site for months now and it looked as if his efforts would be paying off again. The site was a chat room utilized by the BDSM crowd. It was part of the 'dark web'; if you knew it existed, you were allowed in, but if you did not know how to get there already, no one would ever tell you. He was looking for a specific type of person, a trafficker in children. His teeth were bared as he spotted his latest target enter the chat. He had identified and localized two traffickers previously in this room. Both ultimately had been dispatched and as was his want, they had not disappeared, but were left significantly disassembled and publicly displayed as warnings to anyone who would hurt a child.
As he was about to engage in tonight's planned activity... starting the dance to reel the next trafficker to his doom, his focus was drawn to another name; one that he had seen before but had dismissed as the wrong profile. He knew she was female and in her mid-twenties and was identifying herself as a submissive. Beyond that and her user name "noh mask," he knew nothing but something was tugging at his mind, trying to get his attention.
+++++++
He was sitting in Comms, having traded the night duty with one of his fellow JOs when the call came in over an open freq in the clear. No one ever contemplated that HIS billet or skill set would ever be called upon for use, so he had become the "utility infielder" of the JOs; he filled in with everything from PAO for reporters to covering slots as needed. Tonight was no different but tonight the fates had set things in motion as they determined things needed to be.
"Mayday, mayday, mayday," said the tinny voice coming out to the SSB radio that monitored the civilian Guard Frequencies, "We are in need of medical and security aid." The voice had the weird inflection that was typical of someone for whom English was a second language and who had learned it from media and interaction rather than through formal schooling.
Grabbing the microphone for the SSB, he clicked the transmit button and said, "This is USS Saipan on Guard, who is calling Mayday?"
The voice came back, "this is Sister Emilie Garson, I am with the Little Sisters of Charity. We run an orphanage and school in Kigali province."
"Why are you calling Mayday, Ma'am," he asked, "do you have an emergency?"
"Yes, the local warlords are moving through the area and rumors are they want to take the children. They will sell the girls into slavery and turn the boys into soldiers. We need help. Are you Americans?"
"Yes ma'am, this is USS Saipan with PHIBRONSIX and MEU Two Five (25) embarked. Can I relay your distress call to anyone in your government?"
"They are all corrupt. We do not know who to trust. For all we know, the government officials ARE the warlords."
"Ma'am, there is not much we can do here. I can forward your call, but that is about all."
The signal strength was falling on the SSB's meters and the Sister's voice was modulating higher as a consequence. "Please, help us. Please... children... hssssss."
