Here's for you !ziasyn wrote:whens the next update I am really jonsing for some more of this story
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Second day followed the same template. It also got both worse and better. Worse because the first day’s strenuous activity caught up despite every alleviating measure. Muscles felt like ropes of fire and cramps reared their ugly heads, only to be squashed by the judicious use of stretching exercises.
And better because logistics had come up with training wear that complied with the Drakas’ specifications, which boiled down to “no technological trickery”. A pair of shorts, a tank top, and plain, ordinary simili-leather and fabric running shoes. At least the socks and underwear were of the anti-chafing type, which wasn’t too much to ask. And it left nudity to the showers.
Also, Hartmann added ten repetitions to every exercise series. Ten more push-ups, ten more leg crunches, ten more everything. And somehow all managed to complete those, albeit with much effort, screams, and motivational verbal abuse.
The third day introduced a variation after breakfast. Instead of repetitions on the grass field, the company was led at a leisurely jogging pace, to the stretch of river flowing North of the camp. It wasn’t a large waterway, merely the collected streams from the eastern hills, rather fresher than comfortable on the edge of chilly. There was a length of gently sloping grass shore, with the most noticeable feature being a drawn-up bright orange canoe, and Hartmann made them strip again before explaining.
“You all learned to swim, so none of you will hopefully drown on me.” He gestured around at the surroundings. Out west and east the river was disappearing around gentle bends, lined by raised earth banks that were a little too steep for easy climbing and shaded by regularly planted trees. A long time ago, this area had been given to farmlands and the river had been gently canalized, hence the regular-looking embankments. Although the farms had disappeared since and the regions more or less allowed to return to nature, the river was still loosely looked after.
“You maggot-pubes probably don’t care, but I love boating.” the Decurion went on. “So I have decided to take a little paddling trip up the river.” Recruits groaned as loud as they dared. Up meant against the current. It wasn’t too quick out there, but the outcome was clear. “Since I can’t really leave you alone to dick around on camp, I’m bringing you along.” He made a mockingly contrite face. “Alas, there’s only one canoe…” And finished with his trademark sadistic grin. “So you’ll swim along ! And if one of you tries to slack off by drowning conveniently, Cesar will fish him out by the balls too.” The Doberman barked once and got a vigorous stroke on the head. “That’s a good dog !”
There were isolated snorts from the rear ranks of recruits. Hartmann pretended not to hear them. “One last thing ! When we land again, the last of you monkeys to get out will be on shit detail for the remainder of the week ! NOW GET IN THE WATER !”
Sixty bodies ran into the water and about the same number of yelps cried out when the temperature difference registered. And more when some of the recruits began to splash water around both to warm up and to whip up less enthusiastic comrades. Soon the scene dissolved into a water fight with every Tollan splashing and spraying at his neighbours, then angered female exclamations as a couple of the girls were lifted out of the water on enterprising male shoulders, the owners of those showing manic grins between flailing thighs.
Hartmann chuckled quietly as he dragged the small hard plastic boat down in the stream, followed by his animal minion. His charges were taking the situation with enthusiasm. But better not they waste all their energy fooling around.
“Goddamit !” he bellowed, once sat on the canoe’s dug-out seat, paddle in hand. His powerful voice brought the agitation to a halt, and sixty dripping wet heads turned to face him. “This isn’t a day at Fun Wet Adventure Park ! Now form up on me and swim like the slimy mudworms you are !” He emphasized the command with a good whack on the nearest Tollan head for extra motivation and began to leisurely paddle away, keeping a corner of an eye on the recruits to make sure they followed. The joyous din subsided then as the company began to swim after him, the only sounds remaining those of vigorous breathing snorts and limbs flailing through water. Good thing the Empire had mandatory swimming classes at school. The boys and girls were following his moderate pace. Paddle slowly a half minute, stop and drift, wait for them to catch up. Repeat. They made a hundred meters like that, Cesar barking from time to time at the rear of the little boat whenever he deemed one of the swimmers to be slacking, which happened more frequently the next fifteen minutes. On the last segment, fatigue was beginning to show among the less regular practitioners, and a dozen recruits were trailing behind gasping for air between strokes that were becoming more and more irregular.
“Almost there ! Just a little more ! Don’t falter now !”
Hartmann’s shouted encouragements seemed to have an effect. The perspective of arriving - somewhere, soon - gave new strength to everyone, and they slowly turned another gentle bend to discover another grassy beach ahead. With a landed utility aircar upslope and a pair of Army gophers chatting idly under the shade, with neat folded piles of clothing beyond and something else that spurred the swimming Tollan youth forward. A rank of gleaming silver thermo-regulating containers. Dry clothes and hot drinks seemed like heaven right then.
Hartmann reached the shore first, disembarked and pulled the boat up as Cesar watched over the recruits arriving next in one and twos, panting and bedraggled. It took five good minutes for the last one to drag himself up, sputtering water and cursing at the perspective of cleaning the bathrooms for the next three days. The steaming goblet of coffee momentarily quelled his frustration. Nothing like adversity to make one appreciate small things. Even the four women weren’t paying attention to the Army flunkies ogling their wet and glistening bodies.
The Decurion let his charges blow off steam, catch their breath and warm up, cradling his own coffee mug and observing them with a professional eye. There were already group dynamics at work among the recruits, clusters gravitating around a nascent leader or simply circles of like-minded individuals coagulating. The company was beginning to acquire an identity. He would use that, later.
Eventually he clapped his hands loudly, the signal for everyone to shut up, line up and listen.
“I’m glad none of you apes drowned. I hate paperwork !” He glared, made an offended face. “But I’m pissed off at your performance, or should I say : lack of performance ! Rats swim better than you ! If your life was on the line, you’d be dead now !”
He paused a second, gauging their reaction. Most were listening rather passively. A few were fidgeting and watching their toes. Some were trying not to glare indignantly. Those were the ones with the most potential.
“They told me to make soldiers out of you ! Well I’m fucked ! FUCKED ! I’d have more chance to achieve that goal with a heap of shit !” He started to pace in front of the recruits.
“But that’s my curse in life ! Faced with the impossible and finding a way to do it ! Like taking a bunch of wimpy schoolkids like you and turn them into something remotely fit to be called soldier !” In fact, it was harder than training Janissaries. Those were after all either plantation lads, tough and used to physical work, or conquered soldiers who only needed to be whipped back into shape and drilled to obey their new masters.
He caught sniggers from the two Tollan Army pukes and shot them a bloodcurdling glare. Wearing a uniform didn’t make them soldiers, merely glorified drivers. They had no basis to deride his charges and his expression made it clear enough that they shut up abruptly and took a step back before retreating to the aircar where they pretended to look busy checking the craft’s fenders and cleaning imaginary dirt spots.
Switching back to the lines of recruits, Hartmann stared at them, arms akimbo.
“Break’s finished ! Time to haul it back to camp. Just follow the path, you can’t get lost. I want to see all of you at the gate in fifteen minutes. MOVE !” There was no need to outline the consequences of getting lost or failing to show up in time, he decided.
He watched them run off, and once they were all out of immediate sight strode up to the waiting aircar. The drivers scurried into the forward compartment, not really wanting to stay any closer to him as necessary, a reaction that brought a satisfied smirk to the object of their apprehension. Serf material, those two, he decided.
There was a nifty aspect of the Tollans’ ancient Earth heritage. Their week counted seven days, although the rest of the calendar didn’t coincide perfectly, not unsurprisingly given their star system’s different configuration. So with the seventh and last day of the first week came a surprise for the sore and tired recruits. Sore and tired, but nevertheless feeling fitter than ever before, the flood of hormones from physical exertion accumulating in their system in a process that was very familiar to their Draka mentors.
Hartmann had put them to their paces all week and pushed them beyond what they thought themselves capable of. They were beginning to shape up and exsude a nice healthy glow, which was also becoming fairly distracting in the four female ones. The little, and fairly innocuous cases of grab-ass and playful verbal sparring between them and their male counterparts were proof enough than they all needed to blow off steam in order to keep things civilized inside the company.
Therefore, the recruits fully experienced the previously unfathomed bliss afforded by a late morning wake-up call on their first sunday on base. There was a comparatively leisurely physical warm-up and exercise session, followed by the same simple and whole mid-day lunch. The early-afternoon biofeedback training was devoted to breathing control, with passing (and apparently unrelated) mentions of how these techniques could be put to good use in other contexts than combat.
Cohortarch Olufsen himself chimed in afterwards, with a short speech about the importance of self-control and the related need to care for one’s body needs.
The recruits eventually found out why.
It was mid-afternoon when a small Navy transport shuttle landed on the parade square, kicking up small clouds of dust as its skids disturbed the gravel. The training company was neatly aligned in clean fresh clothing, having showerd just before, and they all expected some important brass types to climb down the open hatch to inspect them, somehow. It made sense, didn’t it ? Although why a cargo transport and not a VIP one…
There was a collective gasp of goggle-eyed surprise when, instead of the expected uniformed and medalled officials, a pair of obviously civilian young women appeared, followed by more. Two dozens, in fact. All ranging from fair-skinned to caramel tones, young, pretty if not beautiful, and clad in garments that didn’t appear to have modesty as a goal.
Somehow, the four older men and women who accompanied them, clad in tan Draka uniforms, managed to bring a semblance of normalcy to the preposterous scene. They were clearly herding the… girls, and were greeted with warm familiarity by the two resident Draka officers under bemused Tollan stares.
As the newcomers line up in front of the standing recruits, keeping eyes demurely - no, submissively down and making no attempt at hiding their choice bits, Decurion Hartmann chose to relieve the general puzzlement.
“All right, boys and girls” he addressed the recruits, booming voice and ramrod back as the other Drakas watched with amusement, “you’ve had a tough week. And the next one will be tougher, and the next likewise until I’m satisfied that yes, you may begin training as soldiers. If you think the past days were hard, think again.”
He could tell they were only half-listening, their eyes riveted on the female formation facing them. “But right NOW” he barked, getting their full attention again, at least for a few seconds “it’s time for another part of your basic training. One that’s just as essential despite any pretense at the contrary. Yes, I’m talking about fucking. Not only it’s a great thing to look forward to after the fight, it also keeps your mind focused the rest of the time.”
He grinned. “So that you girls” he looked at the four female recruits in turn “don’t have to shoulder the weight of those horny cocks. Although you’re free to participate if you so wish. It’s your choice, no pressure. After all, it’s recreation time !”
A staggered cheer went up after the Decurion’s last words. The male recruits were realizing that yes, they weren’t dreaming and those pretty girls in front of them were here to satisfy the urges that had only grown stronger in the week with no real possibility of release. But some faces weren’t showing the same level of elation. A few were frozen in shock, embarrassment, hesitation.
“Questions ?”
A hand rose at Hartmann’s verbal prompt.
“Speak, recruit !”
“Master Hartmann, err… It’s -, err, who are they ?”
The million aurics question, the officers thought in unison. Faced with the truth - or as close to the whole truth as manageable - how would those Tollans react ?
The Decurion took a breath, feeling the expectant stares upon himself.
“These girls were Goa’uld worshippers. We captured them in the Atheros diversionary attack. Now here they are, all clean and pretty and bug-free for your pleasure.”
“They’re... prisoners of war ?” the same young man sought again and Hartmann nodded.
“Exactly. They were captured, along with their families. Those are the rules of warfare. Woe to the vanquished ! You know this rule well, don’t you all ?”
This question was rhetorical indeed. All of them, especially the natives of Nautona, were intimately familiar with it. The more so when they had been on the receiving end before.
And the psychological turmoil was expected by the observing Drakas. Many of the trainees were thinking back to their own captivity, or the testimonials of others, and were torn between two reactions. Pity for the captive girls on one side. Lust, and desire to get even, to get back indirectly at those who had aggressed their people or supported that aggression, on the other. And above all, the call of natural instincts, grown stronger by the Draka-designed training regimen.
Eventually nods and ayes answered Hartmann’s question and he allowed himself a satisfied smirk. Yes, the pieces were coming together.
“Good. I don’t suppose you apes need the fucking manual, so get the best of your time until evening meal. Dismissed !”
Arms crossed, he watched the men crowd around the tattooed girls and pull them willy-nilly toward the dormitory. Rather willy, in fact. These serfs were trained and meek, all implanted with subdermal locators. None would try to escape. And the Tollan men seemed all too eager to use them. A short laugh escaped the Draka’s lips. If only the Damnyanks saw that. Their silly prattle about universal human rights and values, so much bullshit they took for granted, ignoring the true nature of human mind. Conquer or be conquer, dominate or be dominated, fuck or be fucked. This was the universal truth. At least these Imperials didn’t seem to have all that crud in their eyes.
Still, some were dragging behind, clearly hesitating or uneasy, hemming and hawing and looking at him sideways as if they had unresolved questions. He took a few strides toward them.
“Anything wrong ? Or are you not into women ?”
They shook their heads and the informal leader answered.
“Master Hartmann, we all have fiancees or girlfriends home. We’re… not sure about all this.”
The Decurion gave them an appraising glance, then nodded.
“I see.” He stared at Cenor in the eye, but almost softly. “Tell me. What’s your fiancee’s name ?”
“Natylis… Master.”
“And why, tell me do you love Natylis ?”
Cenor thought for a moment.
“I… I mean, I love everything about her. I always knew she was the one, my soul-mate. I’d do anything for her. I… want to protect her. I don’t want to…” he stopped speaking, throat tight and voice on the edge of breaking.
To everyone’s surprise, Hartmann put a hand on the young man’s shoulder and squeezed.
“I know, lad. I know what you’ve been through. And I know why you want to be a soldier. You’ve got the best reason for that.” He patted the shoulder again. “You want to become a soldier, and you’ll learn to be one. This is part of training. Don’t fret about it, it won’t change your feelings for her. These girls” he pointed at the last ones entering the barracks, from where a concert of whooping and hollering was already seeping through the thin walls, “are tools. Like a rifle, or the weights we’re using to build muscle. Tools. Treat them well, but in the end, they’re just that. Don’t get touchy-feely about it or it will detract you from your goal.”
There were understanding nods. Well, he couldn’t force them anyway.
As the group began to walk away, Hartmann kept his grip on Cenor, tightened it even, wrapping his arm fully around the young man’s shoulder. He spoke almost to Cenor’s ear, in a low, matter-of-fact tone. “Listen, you need to get past whatever trauma you had during the Goa’uld Occupation. Fuck it away, boy. Pass the pain to someone else, so to speak. Understand me ?” His eyes bored into Cenor’s, close enough for the lad to smell his breath. He was pleased to see him stand his own eyes straight, forcing any apparence of weakness back. There’s some steel down there. Only have to temper it.
A last clap on the back, and a friendly - if virile - cuff on the back of the head sent Cenor smiling towards the dormitory.
Hartmann watched him go.
This one has potential, I think.
An hour later, the Decurion was slouching off in the recess of his personal quarters, half buried in a deep scented leather couch and scratching idly at Cesar’s head. And telling himself that he ought to have appropriated one of the pleasure girls for his own use. He had needs of his own, after all.
The visiting Draka officers were still in Olufsen’s office. Hartmann had known it was time to leave after a half-hour of exchanging news, gossip and small talk, before the conversation slipped over his pay grade. Not that it could be very juicy anyway with the possibility of Tollan intelligence listening. Which they had to assume as a matter of fact, always.
His own room wasn’t palatial - but he’d known worse. It was clean, warm and comfortable. Good enough. Besides, there was no point getting bigger accommodation without serfs to take care of the chores. Sure, there were Tollan cleaning personnel, but… it wasn’t the same.
Cesar’s ears suddenly pricked up. Seconds later, someone knocked at the door. Not a Draka. The rapping was different.
“Come in !”
The wooden door pivoted on its old-fashioned hinges and Hartmann kept his surprise from showing on his face, sitting still, hand immobile over the dog’s head.
“Recruit Sorinna.” He raised an eyebrow. “What brings you here ? I thought I’d be rid of you monkeys for a little while” he ended in a gruff tone that didn’t fool anyone. Not her, anyway. And right now she wasn’t showing the recruit’s harried apprehensiveness, or rather, she was pushing it back behind a kind of self-confidence that brought a tingling feel of expectation to Hartmann.
She snorted lightly and made a casual, dismissive little hand flutter.
“Umm. I’m not into other girls. Noira, on the other hand, is having the time of her life in there, like the boys.”
He nodded. “And you…?”
She stood hands clasped behind her back, head proudly up. Almost arrogantly. Just like her breasts, now that Hartmann bothered to notice. Her reply came in a sly voice.
“I prefer men with more… experience.” And the tip of her tongue humected her lips furtively. She went on before the sitting man could speak. “Remember the first day, when you told me I’d be too exhausted to give you head ? I’m not tired right now.” Her confident posture slipped a little, repressed nervousness coming back to the fore now that she had figuratively shot her arrow. And if she’d been wrong about it… she’d be shoveling shit for as long as she stayed in the camp.
Her target was taken aback by the casual way she had come on to him. Part of him wanted to berate her - was she crossing the line here ? Or maybe not - they were making rules as they went here. There weren’t any female janissaries. She wasn’t a serf - technically, legally, practically, whatever one bothered to call it. She was a free woman, albeit not a Citizen, and under his authority.
Gears ground in his mind for several seconds. At last they clicked into place. There was a willing and attractive young woman, and he was horny as hell.
He rose up and took a step ahead to face her, then curved his right arm around her head and grabbed a handful of her hair to pull her closer in one swift stroke while his left hand came up to cover her lips. She gasped in surprise as he brought his mouth inches from hers and rasped in a low, almost hissing voice, eyes locked on hers.
“You’re pretty bold to barge in and ask for a screw like I’m here to pleasure you.” He tightened his grip on her mane, drawing a little yelp from her. Now, gagged and unable to breathe properly, she was staring with barely concealed fear in her eyes instead of the self-confidence she had shown before. “Tell me, are you expecting any special treatment for that ?”
She shook her head gingerly, a short chopped motion constrained by his firm handhold.
“Good then, because you won’t get any. Either you’ll meet the standards, or you’ll fail. Is that clear ?”
She nodded in the same restricted manner, her chestnut eyes wide open and staring. He smiled, baring his teeth. A victorious, contained grin.
“So we’re on the same wavelength then. Perfect.”
His hand left her face and dropped to her right buttock to squeeze and knead the firm flesh ; and at the same time he brought his lips onto hers, feeling them part away to let his tongue in. She managed to let out a little moan of surrender before his kiss silenced her and she closed her eyes.
