by Rob Rosen
“Pregnant,” says Miner, who now pinches the nipple. “What’ll it be? Ninth? Tenth?”
“Who keeps count?”
“For the good of the cause,” he says.
“You keep on talking women, I’ll shove my dick in your mouth.”
He goes silent and I kiss him, which leads to a slow build toward the usual. But it’s not as usual; the whole of me is now involved. Last thing I recall is pulling out of him and falling asleep.
“I love you, Tom,” Miner says next morning as we dress. “Carry that with you.”
I say nothing, as it’s his word not mine.
The meeting with Colonel Cross and the others is a veritable trial. I give my report and answer about a hundred questions, of which maybe twenty have merit. The rest are posturing among the officers, which there are too many of, though I do understand they have to exercise this bullshit strutting so they’ll have it down when they get to be generals. When the meeting ends around five, I find Miner, drag him to my quarters and fuck the hell out of him.
“Good meeting?” he asks as I ride his ass.
I slap his bottom and thrust all the harder, and when I’ve gotten off and find he’s unloaded into my bedding, I roll him in the stuff and lick it off him. We then settle in for the long haul, and every time I get into him he says he loves me, which I now accept. We pass a month in this manner, days spent on military exercises, nights spent on each other.
The colonels communicate daily with the generals, who are down at HQ in Bakersfield. Those men posture even more than the colonels, so nothing much gets accomplished. We get reports on our desal and nuclear plants, as well as some Sacto activity. I’ve gotten Miner to stop dredging up old words.
The month’s end fairly explodes with word the Modesto desal plant has been bombed by northern forces. This is a first, as there’s always been an unwritten agreement not to damage the water supply, just as there’s agreement to leave nuclear plants alone. Some Sacto general must have gone around the bend. Military posturing gone to hell.
“Holy shit,” says Miner when I tell him in private, before I announce to the men that we’ll be taking a full battalion across the border to lay waste to Sacto country.
“Are we going to bomb their desal plants?”
“That debate may go on forever.”
“What do you think?”
“I hate to see us descend into self-destruction. We’ve done it before, and not to a good end.”
“Now you’re surprising me. I thought you were anti-history from infancy.”
“Some leaks through, but I find it mostly suspect.”
“But you’ve heard the country wasn’t always barren, that rain fell and there was snow in the mountains and water ran free? You know all that?”
“Word goes around. What I can see is that power-craving men brought us down.”
“You’re quite a man, Tom.”
I have no words, so I move on to present matters. “You know we’re headed into what may be the biggest battle in centuries. We mean to lay waste to all they have. That may mean desal plants in Lockeford, Orland and, if we’re up for it, Sacto itself. Raze them and let those who survive the battle die of thirst.”
“Will I be at your side?”
“All the way.”
“Then let’s go.”
When the generals finally settle on a plan, we’ve lost nearly a week, during which time people in the Modesto area are dying for want of water. Chaos descends as hordes move south, and we’re not well equipped for the influx. Tents are put up to house them around the base. There’s no plan as yet on what to do with them, as the local desal plant can’t make any more water than what it does. I’m advised that a platoon of men must be left behind to deal with unrest in our own area.
The Sactos will be manning the border, expecting our attack. It’s decided to enlist help from the Sierras, who are raw mountain people. They inhabit peaks to the east and are said to eat lesser creatures. We’ve no idea how they survive and don’t want to know, but, in exchange for a water pipeline run up there a couple hundred years ago, they became our allies. We turn to them now, as we want to approach Sacto country from their land. We’ll mass our troops in Mariposa, go up into the mountains and drop down across the border near Pinecrest, which we know to be thinly manned. Then it’s through Twain Harte and Arnold and finally across the valley to San Andreas, headed toward the Sactos’ southernmost desal plant. We’re to begin preparations for battle immediately.
We are quick at this, as we’re well practiced at loading guns and ammunition for transport, filling water tankers and stocking great stores of Susten, which, for battle, is in single-use packets. Once ready, we move out, Miner riding with me and carrying that burden of the heart that I now tote along as well. I wish he hadn’t named what’s gotten started between us. As we bump along in the truck, I hope he’ll stay quiet.
It takes a half a day to reach the mountains. Getting through them is laborious, though our trucks can handle it. The problem is our drivers, as they’ve never been on anything but flat ground. One truck is lost as it tumbles down a mountainside. We stop to see if men emerge, and when none do, we move on. The wooly and rough Sierras accompany us in their own crude trucks, which look to be thrown together from scavenged parts. They are enthusiastic about our mission because they know they’re kept safe by our containment of the Sactos. We camp with these mountain people, though our tents are at a distance. I don’t mind when we leave them behind.
We take Pinecrest in less than an hour. Its resident force numbers are less than fifty, and having never had any intrusion from us, it has become lax. In our first battle of this war, we swarm and kill them all. We lose just two men.
At Twain Harte, we’re back on the flat we know. This area, though Sacto territory, is uninhabited. Even the scratchers have left. You know a region is done when the lowest of humanity calls it quits. This works for us, and we bivouac near an untended road. We eat our Susten and enjoy water from our tankers, half the men eating while the other half stand guard. The colonels and majors meet and allow us captains to look on.
“We expect resistance at San Andreas. That’s the first major outpost. Once we take that, we’ll head for their desal plant at Lockeford.”
Our forces stretch out for some distance, seeing how we must carry supplies to sustain us. We remain ready to fire at first sight of Sacto forces. There’s no letting them get the first shot. We are the aggressors now, laying waste as they did.
The biggest battle is expected at San Andreas, so getting fired upon by hard-charging Sacto trucks near Arnold catches us by surprise. A company of theirs lay concealed in a long draw. They rise up and open fire, which sends us scrambling. In no more than a minute, we’re charging, heavy artillery taking out two of their trucks right off. Machine-gun fire blazes as we fully engage.
We remain in our trucks, as do the Sactos. All are armored and equipped for battle, drivers experienced at dodging one vehicle to chase another. Gunfire is constant, and amid the smoke, we suffer jolts of shells hitting the mark. Our machine guns are fired from gun slots, and I’m heated as my M82 sends out a constant stream of bullets. Miner is beside me, doing the same, and I glance at him once to see him with teeth bared like some animal. I about come in my pants at the sight. I’m hard, of course. The bigger the battle, the greater the arousal and the more urgent the need. Miner glances at me as if he feels what I do, but then we’re both back to our weapons, our war.
We take Arnold after two days of battle, driving their forces back toward their base. Once we’ve got them in full retreat, I command my gunners eyes front so I can fuck Toth in the back of the truck. We’re silent, just the quick slap of flesh, and I know the men listen and get hard. Hell, I’ll fuck ’em all if they want, but then I’m coming and it’s a gusher, all while the truck races ahead, my men firing, but not like me. I slam it into this man who’s got hold of me and I give it to him good, driving spunk up into his bowels as gunfire drives me
harder and harder. When I’m done, I bite Miner’s neck to show him I get what’s between us.
I have to pull out quick because the truck stops. We’re at the base and the driver calls out about a barricade. “Swarm,” I call as I do up my pants. Miner turns to me, working his cock, and I watch him come. He finishes quick, zips up, and we prepare to hit the ground. I’m ready to kill them all, as is Miner, who carries my spunk.
The base is sorry looking and the barricade is no more than a couple of badly damaged trucks on their sides. This is no match for us as we swarm in all directions, firing on anything that moves. I’m fueled by having just come. Release empowers me, and I kill and kill, decimating their forces. Miner is at my side, firing steadily. Then he’s falling and I stop.
“Keep on!” I shout to my men, while I remain fixed, looking down at the fallen man before me.
He lies on his back, eyes open, knowing his fate. I pull my pistol from its holster and take the aim like I’ve done on countless men and even women and children if they’ve gotten in the way. The death shot. The dutiful death shot.
I’ve never had such a moment as this. Killing is my job, but I can’t bring myself to shoot this man. I think how it’s his fault, with his words and such, how he’s compromised me, yet he’s the one now offering encouragement. “It’s all right,” he says. “Just do it.”
I have to finish him and join my men. Questions will be raised if I don’t, and I’ve never been questioned, not ever, because there’s never been a need. I look down at Miner and see blood at his armpit. The bullet missed the armor by inches. I holster my gun and pull him up, get his good arm around my neck and move him into the remnants of a building.
“You can’t do this,” he says.
“Hell I can’t.”
I prop him against a wall and pull off his helmet, then his armor. The wound gushes and I put my hand over it, but this does no good. Blood surges from between my fingers.
“I’m gone,” he says. “You can’t linger, you can’t. Follow procedure. I’m going to die anyway, so end it. For you and for me.”
“I can’t kill you,” I cry, tears running down my face. I haven’t shed them since childhood, when I was whipped for it. I don’t fight it now. Let them whip me.
“Kiss me,” says Miner. “And rub my cock.”
I open his pants and get out his soft prick. I take it in hand and he moans. As I work him, I kiss him, gently, as he likes. Loving, as he likes. Then gunfire comes near and Miner pulls back. “Do it, Tom. If you don’t finish me, they’ll finish you, and I can’t bear that.”
I start to do up his pants, but he says to leave them open. His hand slides over to take hold. “Not a bad way to go. I love you, Tom. Now do it.”
I stand, and as I hear men outside, I fire the fatal bullet amid a cascade of tears. Miner’s head snaps back with the shot and my eyes close for maybe two seconds before a soldier rushes in. “Jeez, Miner’s hit?” he says.
“Gone,” I reply. I’m then swept into battle, rushing ahead while feeling like Miner still has ahold of me. When Arnold is at last secured, when hundreds of Sacto men lie dead, I go back to where I left him. It’s quiet now and my tears are gone. I pull his hand from his dick and tuck him away, as I want him presentable for the processing team. I kiss him one last time, knowing I’ve lost something in this battle. I get up, blow out a sigh and head out to the men, as there’s much to do, Arnold being one conquest of many.
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
BRENT ARCHER has several short stories published with Cleis Press. His upcoming novel, Pennington’s Conquest, second of the Golden Scepter series, will be out soon with MuseItHOT Publishing. When not writing, Brent can be found either on stage singing or sipping a glass of wine under his grape arbor.
JONATHAN ASCHE’s work has appeared in numerous anthologies, including Wild Boys and Best Gay Erotica of the Year, Volume 1. He is also the author of the erotic novels Mindjacker, Moneyshots, and most recently, Dyre. He lives in Atlanta with his husband, Tomé.
XAVIER AXELSON (xavieraxelson.com) is a writer living in Los Angeles. Xavier’s work has been featured in various erotic and horror anthologies. Longer written works include The Incident, Velvet and Lily.
A. R. BELL is a corporate communication specialist with a degree in world literature and a master’s degree in Irish studies. Bell’s first literary attempts were pieces of romantic fan fiction and Bell’s writing later transitioned toward historic erotica.
EVEY BRETT (eveybrett.wordpress.com) has the same birthday as Japanese filmmaker Akira Kurosawa and a fascination for Japanese history. She lives in southern Arizona with her horse and has published numerous works with Cleis Press, Lethe Press, Loose Id and elsewhere.
DALE CHASE has written male erotica for seventeen years. Her second novel, Takedown: Taming John Wesley Hardin, was published in 2013; her first, Wyatt: Doc Holliday’s Account of an Intimate Friendship, came out in 2012. Dale has several published story collections and novellas while continuing to write for various anthologies.
ERIC DEL CARLO’S erotic fiction has appeared with Circlet Press, Ellora’s Cave, Cleis Press and other venues. His mainstream science fiction and fantasy have been published in Asimov’s, Analog, Strange Horizons and Shimmer, from Ace Books and DarkStar Books. Eric lives in his native California.
RHIDIAN BRENIG JONES has herded sheep in New Zealand, taught English in Poland and run a bar on the Costa del Sol. Now settled home in Wales, he leads an adult literacy program and writes at dawn and dusk. He lives with his husband, Michael, and French Bulldogs, Coco and Cosette.
RICHARD MAY writes gay short stories, erotic and not. His work has appeared in several literary journals, anthologies and his book Ginger Snaps: Photos & Stories of Redheaded Queer People. Rick also organizes several literary readings and events. He lives in San Francisco, in exile from Brooklyn, New York.
RICHARD MICHAELS has appeared in three previous Cleis Press anthologies: Best Gay Erotica, Volume 1, Best Gay Erotica 2015 and Special Forces. Recently, one of his stories was in the collection Not Just Another Pretty Face. His stories have also appeared in several leading gay magazines.
RILEY SHEPHERD publishes both fiction and erotica. Riley has gender, age, ethnicity and many other demographic characteristics, all of which may or may not influence the characters, points of view and situations chosen herein. But Riley doesn’t consider demographics to be particularly interesting.
B. SNOW’s goal as an author of gay romance is to write at least one story in every subgenre. Her published works include a paranormal Regency novella, a short novella about a time-traveling codpiece, and four anthology stories: two contemporary, one historical (pirates!) and one rip-off of a fairy tale.
SALOME WILDE (salandtalerotica.com) has published dozens of erotic stories across the orientation and gender spectrum, in genres from hard-boiled and Southern Gothic to Kaiju porn. Editor of Shakespearotica: Queering the Bard and Desire Behind Bars: Lesbian Prison Erotica, Wilde welcomes new writing challenges, of which gay warlords is certainly one.
ABOUT THE EDITOR
ROB ROSEN (therobrosen.com), author of the novels Sparkle: The Queerest Book You’ll Ever Love, Divas Las Vegas, Hot Lava, Southern Fried, Queerwolf, Vamp, Queens of the Apocalypse, Fate and Midlife Crisis, and editor of the anthologies Lust in Time, Men of the Manor, Best Gay Erotica 2015, and Best Gay Erotica of the Year, Volume 1 , has had short stories featured in more than two hundred anthologies.