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Sharpshooter

Sharpshooter 2016

Contents

INTRODUCTION 4

INTERROGATOR 6

BALLS-UP 9

CHOICES 13

NO CHOICE 16

UNEQUAL FIGHT 20

TAUNTS 23

NOSTALGIA 25

FEARS 27

DELAYS 30

RELIEF 33

WHITE PIG 36

DOING YOUR DUTY 39

PRAISE 41

MARATHON 44

CHARGED? 47

RECALIBRATING 49

TURNAROUND 52

MATTER? 56

END 57

Sharpshooter A rendsz’ world story

Sharpshooter 2016

Theme: Proxy

Person who stands in for someone else

Can be relied upon to act in another’s stead.

USING someone else on your behalf, someone more disposable, less valuable

Takes heat for another when a task is too risky

For some guys with fewer scruples, a stud looking like that .. captured, he becomes an opportunity. Looking like they can take more than most. Can last it out.Useful stand-in.

Say, you’ve got yourself a useful asset. One you can’t afford to waste. Can’t risk going too far with him? Quandary. What to do? Easy. Put the squeeze on the stand-in. Waste the proxy .. and what have you lost? Makes sense. What have you got to lose?

Exploring the theme of the stud who gets the squeeze. Made to stand-in for another guy. Getting used in his stead.

Callum Norton features as the sharpshooter


http://dictionary.cambridge.org/dictionary/english/place

Sharpshooter 2016

introduction


Sharpshooter 2016

At first the lieutenant hadn’t wanted Scott for the team. “The mission does need a sniper,” the colonel reminded his lieutenant.His officer sneered at the sight of the soldier he was being offered,“Must be joking? Hardly out of diapers. How many years he got under his belt?”

Unobserved both were looking out of the window at the soldier stood at ease outside.“Recruited young. Spotted for his outstanding skills,” the colonel explained.“Passed out in the top 10%,” the colonel added.

“Still wet behind the ears.”The lieutenant was shaking his head, turning the soldier down.“Tell you what …..”The colonel was convinced. Still he eyed the fresh-new graduate out of the window.“Line up your best marksmen. If one of them comes anywhere near him, you can turn him down.”


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interrogator

Getting caught, bad enough. A pair of old rivals squaring up for a fight, worse. Rivers of bad blood between them.

This enemy lieutenant, big-muscled, hefty build, looking like he’d not give an inch. Toe-to-toe .. seemingly pawing the ground for a fight .. squared up against Scott’s buddy. Mwenye, physically no slouch himself either. Eyes ablaze. Equally determined, snapping back his scorn.

What had Scott got himself into? Bad enough being taken prisoner. Then this pair of old enemies muscling up for a fight. Trouble was, it was the other side that held the trump cards.


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“You know Lt. Mzama?”The general was indicating the figure striding out of the shade. Tall, confident. As befitted a man who looked as manly-confident as Mzama did.“You were in Officer School together, I understand …?”Mwenye squinted against the light glaring through the slats of the wall. He knew Mzama alright.“Long time, no see,” Mzama joked. “Been some time ….”Mwenye snorted.“Was that the time you were drummed out of the military? That when you mean ….?”Mzama laughed. He could afford to. He had all the chips on his side.“ ’Bout the same time your father’s silver spoon up your arse bought you this commission, you mean?”

Great, Scott thought! .. Nothing worse, a pair of old rivals with a lifetime grudge. Bad enough they’d got taken captive. Now he had a pair of old enemies squaring up against each other. Knee-deep in bad blood. Trouble was, only one had the upper hand. And it was not his side.“Drummed out … for what was it now ….?”Mwenye was sneering, Scott saw. Not going to let their predicament get him down.“Brain damage, wasn’t?”Mwenye scorn was blazing out of his eyes.“Permanently maiming a recruit? Was that it? Persistent bullying?”The general intervened.“Excuse me for breaking up the party …”Scott noticed the general was behaving gentlemanly. Strange in a guy who’d just nearly had his head shot off his shoulders. But no one should be fooled, he knew from the briefing. The reputation of this man whom Scott had been sent to take out was far from gallant.

Mwenye snorted back, interrupting.“He’s a nut. Out of control.”The general, Scott’s intended target if things hadn’t got ape-shit, continued. Cutting into this confrontation. Taking control .. the officer-in-charge. Pulling together this far from even-sided get-together.“And all the better for it. All the more useful. Since those days, the lieutenant here has put his aptitudes to good use. Top-class interrogator he’s become. Made himself VERY useful.”Which was why Mzama was here now, Scott thought to himself. He glanced over at the enemy lieutenant. He took in Mzama bristling with evil-minded urges to be let loose .. let rip on Mwenye, his old adversary. Powerful shoulders on him, muscled arms. Enough bad blood to pump up his muscular torso. Scott could see he couldn’t wait to get his hands on his buddy.

Nervously Scott saw Mzama smirk at Mwenye. He gave a mock bow. Glorying in his general’s praise of his skills. And appreciating the role he was being given here today. Bad blood gloating, Mzama holding the trump cards. And holding his old foe Mwenye in his crosshairs.The general continued quietly. He confirmed Scott’s suspicions.“And hence the reason for this little reunion …..”


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Mzama versus Mwenye. The general had already weighed up the advantages to be gained from the bad blood between this pair. A man of his nature rarely missed a trick.

“And THIS, I suppose … ?”Scott resented the general poking him with his officer’s baton in the chest. Like some object he’d just spotted. But not an object he wanted to soil his fingers on. Scott was already as nervous as hell. He hadn’t counted on finishing up like this, getting captured. He could resent getting poked all he wanted, though, Scott had a pair of eager soldiers gripping him tight by the biceps. And outside the slatted walls of this hut he could see dozens of eager-eyed enemy peering in. Drawn in for the show. It didn’t look like there was going to be any easy way out.“THIS ….”Another poke with a general’s baton into Scott’s hard-etched chest. A dismissive move.“ … this is your hired hand, captain? Your assassin?”

Scott waited for the heat of the general’s temper to fall on him. But considering Scott had almost fired a high-velocity bullet into the general’s brain, the guy seemed pretty sanguine about meeting his would-be killer face-to-face. But then …. with this particular shot luck had not been on Scott’s side.“You missed,” the general mocked.Another poke in the chest. The general’s face wore a smile. But there wasn’t much warmth in it.“Better luck next time,” Scott quipped back.The general poked his baton upwards. Jammed it hard under Scott’s chin. Forcing Scott to look him in the eye. No smile on his face now.“There won’t be a next time ……”


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balls-up

Scott had tried to take the general’s head off. But, as luck would have it, he’d missed. Only stood to reason, then, the general was going to return the favour.

He was going to resent some punk secreted in the jungle undergrowth .. hidden .. a deadly weapon in his hands .. got the general trapped in his crosshairs .. lined up to blow his brains to smithereens.Stood to reason he’d not take it too well.


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Originally the lieutenant hadn’t wanted Scott for the team. But after seeing what the kid could do with a gun, he was sold. Born in the mountains, taken hunting as an infant still, by ten Scott was competing against grown men in rifle competitions. And soon winning. Putting together this stake-out and the mission to assassinate the general, the lieutenant had put it to Captain Mwenye straight .. The kid looks young, he’d conceded. “But, Captain .. you want a bullet in the general’s head, Private Scott Daley is your man.”

Scott was the best shot trainers had seen in years. By far. Had won himself a reputation as the best shot around. Bulls-eye every time. But today Private Scott Daley had missed.He didn’t do right and wrong. He left that up to others. He had his orders. The others higher up the food-chain had the job of thinking things through. Scott’s orders had come straight down the line. Put a bullet in the general’s head. No question had to be asked.

But this time Scott had ballsed-up, exceptionally. And more ways than one. Who’d have thought the general’s German shepherd would have suddenly leapt up at his master .. pleased to see him .. making the general bend? At just exactly the wrong moment. The general’s escort splattered his brains all over his commander’s bent back.

Stupidly, pissed-to-hell at missing, Scott had told Mwenye they weren’t running. He’d get in another shot, he wouldn’t miss a second time, he couldn’t. His youthful cockiness won over his head. He had a reputation to protect. Scott Daley didn’t miss. Stupid idea!

The preacher had taught him in Sunday School, pride was a great sin. But, even as a child, Scott had instinctively felt that was wrong. Pride made him what he was .. a boy who could beat the best men-marksmen around. Pride kept him what he wanted to be .. the best shot in the army in years. That pride drew him on. That pride was a shield around his reputation. And was what he without that reputation? In the army men died. But reputation did not die.

Mwenye should have known better. He had the rank, he could have ordered a fall-back. But above everything in life, Mwenye wanted the general dead He wouldn’t miss, Scott insisted. Private Scott Daley did not miss. Persuasive. Not a second time, he couldn’t miss a second time. Reputation made Scott the man he was. And pride in his excellence existed to protect his reputation. Protect the man he was. Miss a second time? No way!Mwenye was tempted. They had to be careful, he had warned him .. .. lie low. They’d flood the jungle with troops. They had. Search parties everywhere. And here they were .. captured. Hunted down. Here was Scott, guarded, looking into the face of the general whose head he should have blasted apart.

“Take a seat, captain.”Mwenye frowned. But the tight grips on his biceps allowed for no dissent. They led him by force to a big chair backing to the wall.“Make yourself comfortable.”


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The general smiled .. almost good-naturedly.“Enjoy the show ….”

Almost inevitable, Scott thought .. Only made sense, didn’t it? First the general ’d take it out on Scott. The general was only still breathing because of that god-damned dog. Not surprising he’d want his own back. As if Scott counted for little, though, the general continued to address Mwenye .. now seated .. and guarded, kept in his place. Mwenye looked up at his enemy, defiant, glaring back at the general .. resenting they had failed to assassinate him. Then anxiously .. as if looking at his enemy Mwenye had read the general’s thoughts .. Mwenye was looking back at Scott. With concern.

The general continued. Mild-mannered, soft-spoken.“You see, captain .. you have much to tell ……”Mwenye was already shaking his head.“You’ll get nothing out of me.”The general nodded.“They all say that first ….”He glanced at Mzama.“Don’t they, lieutenant?”

With a glow of anticipation in his eyes, Mzama eyed Mwenye back.“Not for long, sir. This time .. guaranteed ….. 100-per-fucking-cent.”His vengeful eyes drilled into Mwenye. Scott noticed the general give Mzama a sharp frown. Disapproving of him cussing like that? But quickly the general had turned from his interrogator. Back to his prisoner. His mind was engaged with the enemy captain he had in his hands, Mwenye.

“Just my point.”The general’s head indicated in the direction of Mzama.“The lieutenant here just can’t wait to settle old scores. But over-enthusiasm could lead to spoiling this god-sent opportunity.”Mwenye was frowning back. But reading the situation, his eyes flashed warnings to Scott.“You have much to tell. Don’t want Lt. Mzama here getting carried away, do we? Can have him going too far, can we? Destroying a valuable asset .. if you see what I mean?”Mwenye caught the general giving Mzama a warning look.“Going too far .. letting emotions ride .. not the best strategy. Eh?”The general was smiling with cold eyes into Mwenye’s face.“You catch my drift, captain ….?”

Clearly Mwenye had. Scott saw he was frowning back at him. But Scott himself was still in the dark. Unsure where this was going. The general explained.“In short .. I can’t afford to have you dead, captain. Not until we’ve squeezed every last bit of info out of your valuable hide …...”Mwenye snapped back his defiance. “Wasting your time ….”

The general was nodding. Indicating the pair of them were on the same wavelength.“Again .. my point entirely. You are going to resist, captain .. the lieutenant here will have to


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squeeze you some more. You’ll be hurting. But you’ll fight him every inch of the way .. not going to give in to HIM, are you? In turn, your old friend Lt. Mzama will have to turn up the heat …… Maybe too much heat. Get carried away …..”Mwenye was snarling back. Defiant.“Like I said. Wasting your time .. working me over .. you’ll get nothing.”Mwenye sneered back. With a quick glance at Scott.“Go on. Set your mad dog free. C’mon Mzama. Give it a try.”

The general was nodding.“Exactly. I couldn’t have expressed it better myself. Captain.”He smiled .. seeing he and Mwenye had were talking the same language.“Which is why we are starting somewhere else.”His head was nodding over his shoulder. At the other prisoner. At Scott. The general directed Mzama to the soldier who had come here to blast apart his head.


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choices

Scott was proud of his skills. His prowess with the rifle gave him a place in the world. Only a private but officers looked up to him. Invaluable. Valued. Respected.

He baulked at being treated like shit. He objected to the general poking him around .. like some distasteful object on a market stall.

He resented being used. A punch-bag. A ball to be kicked around. Because he was disposable. He had nothing they could use. Scott might be the hottest shot around. But for these suckers who had a hold over him .. Private Scott Daley didn’t count.


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“What do you reckon? Which is going to save us the most time?”Mzama’s gaze into Scott Daley’s face was ice and fire. The coldness of intent. Mzama was out to hurt. He made no bones of the fact that was going to torture. He was going to publicly torture some white sniper .. because his general had ordered it so. That was all the excuse he needed. And it was something Mzama was good at. Made him wanted, made him useful.

It wasn’t what he’d wanted. His clammy palms itched to get his hands on Mwenye. They had history. Mzama had an itch. He wanted like hell to give it a good scratch. He’d frowned, showing his frustration, when the general had ordered him to bide his time. It was the white-boy Mzama was to work on.

Seeing the annoyance, the general had obliged Mzama by putting him straight. And Mzama had to admit, there was something to the plan. Mzama was to get to work on this young muscular body. But that gave Mzama the chance to torture his old rival out of his head. Mwenye was to be made to watch. The white-boy getting it in Mwenye’s stead. Mwenye’s own man taking the heat .. and Mwenye responsible. As long as he kept refusing to talk.Getting the assassin screaming his head off. All because of Mwenye holding out. The sniper tortured, Mwenye tortured out of his skin, psychologically. And the more Mwenye remained “loyal to his cause”, the more his ears would shrill with the other guy’s screams.

Mzama knew how to drag things out. And he could think of no better reason for that this time round. Make this damned sniper suffer endlessly. The longer his suffering, the greater his agonies .. all the greater pressure on Mwenye. Driving him mad .. with sounds of another guy getting it on his behalf. Drive him mad with guilt. Putting the squeeze on that pampered stuck-up captain. Tormenting Mwenye into betraying his side and spilling the beans. The last thing he’d want to do. And all the more stubborn .. hating to give in to his old rival. So Captain Mwenye, here’s your choice. Pig-headed or guilt. Give in or watch the would-be assassin tortured out of his skin.

Mzama knew to make sure the white-boy didn’t pass out .. keeping up the pressure, relentless. And no way he’d let the sniper die. Persistent agonies putting the squeeze on Mwenye. He could only hope that the pampered captain would dig his heels in. The more he resisted, the more the white-boy got it. And the more the boy screamed, the more the psychological noose tightened around Mwenye’ throat. Choking on his own pig-headedness.Yes .. thinking about it .. Mzama preferred the general’s way of doing things. Using the white-boy’s agonies to squeeze intel out of Mzama’s old foe. And keep the heat under his pampered arse. Psychological torture. Physically torture on the white-boy to break Mwenye’s stuck-up will. Mentally throttling Mwenye on his own guilt. Squeezing this white-boy soldier till Mwenye’s pips squeaked. The general had interesting ideas.

Before, Mzama himself had had other ideas, would have preferred it otherwise. Have that snooty rich boy with the silver spoon up his arse shamefully stripped to the waist. Hands tied behind, a trapeze up between back and arms to keep him upright. Mzama had been itching like crazy to get his hands on that prick since hearing Mwenye had been caught. That supercilious arsehole


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represented everything that Mzama had come to hate. The reason he was fighting on the general’s side now.

And if this Yankee muscle-head finally gave in .. if it went on that long .. squeezing till his white-boy body gave in under torture .. well, then the general would have no choice. He’d order it was Mwenye’s turn. Win/ Win. Christmas and birthdays rolled into one. Squeeze the living daylights out of the white-boy .. mentally throttling Mwenye. But then Mzama ‘d get ordered to start on the real McCoy. Mwenye alone in the crosshairs. Two bites of the cherry. Did it get any better? Mzama couldn’t fail.

Scott stared him back. Ice and fire. Ice-cold this Mzama’s gaze wandering over his bare chest. Chilling as his eyes dissected the strength of will in his muscular torso. And Scott could sense the burning heat of a sadist radiating off Mzama’s skin. Burning to get on with it. He’d tooled himself up .. demonstratively slapping a junior baseball bat into the palm of his hand. Now he was passing it over Scott’s bare front. The caress of a sadist savouring the coming feast. Mzama had personally ripped Scott’s top to shreds. Soldiers had ziptied his wrists in his back. Then his arms had been passed over a bar hanging down from the roof. Hauling it up until the bar was caught up in Scott’s pits. Arms trapped behind, kept upright by the trapeze across his back, digging into his armpits. Standing free, unguarded. Exposed on all sides.

Mzama’s bat tapped down from Scott’s distinct upper abs. Delicately counting off each muscle in that ladder of strength. Upper row, a light tap left, a tap right. Next row .. tap .. tap. Tapped with the threat of a baseball bat. With each soft blow, Scott felt his nerves prick. With each row downwards, his pulse picked up the pace.

The enemy lieutenant picked up his question about efficiency.“What is going to get us fastest .. where we want to be?”Mzama’s bat had reached Scott’s midriff. The fat end was being tapped into his belly button. The haul upwards from the bar jammed in his armpits had pulled up his chest, made Scott’s pants slide down. Revealing the rest of the eight-pack. Plenty of space for a good thwack with a baseball bat. Inevitably Scott had readied himself. Holding his gaze firm, glaring defiant back. But apprehensively he was holding himself tense.

“This …..?”Another light tap across Scott’s taut belly. Wary, the belly button had pulled in defensively tight.“Or this?”Mzama looped the leather strap on the bat over Scott’s trapeze .. keeping it handy for future use. Now .. both hands free .. Mzama had retrieved from his pants a glistening set of steel knuckle dusters.“Which is best? Going to get us somewhere fast?”


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no choice

He was in for it. Scott was not fooling himself. Baseball bat or knuckle-rings. Angry he reacted, blurting it out. Determined.

“Not a word.”He snapped his head over at Mwenye.“You hear, Mwenye? Not a fucking word.”Scott shouted it over to his friend.“Whatever this fucker does ….. Mum’s the word …..”

Scott, apprehensive as hell, still he stared back defiant into the fiery urges in Mzama’s eyes. As good as pissing himself with his nerves. But standing up to this prick Mzama. Seeing him alive with the pressing need to get on with it. To beat the shit out of him. Baseball bat or knuckle-rings?


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Mzama was taking it easy. Knowing from experience the power of psychological threat. The power of the mind weakening the resolve. Holding up his outspread hand before Scott’s gaze. Adorned with knuckle-dusters catching the sunlight through these slats. Seeing Scott’s eyes take in the horrible instrument being stuck in his face.

“Brave words.”The general’s raised hands applauded Scott’s defiant outburst .. stood behind Mwenye, dominating over the captain.“For a hired killer …..”The general called across at Scott good-humouredly. He could afford to.“Never did like snipers. Nasty breed. Cowards. Hardly a fair way to fight.”

Scott could have answered back that embedding your troops in among the population .. putting the innocent at risk in any attack .. that was hardly a fair way to fight either. But neither he nor the general were into discussing the ethics of war at right this moment. Scott had other pressing needs for his attention. Mzama playing with his little toy.

Like an actress in a some cheap soap Mzama had overtly dressed his hand. Toyingly spreading his fingers up. Stroking the knuckle-dusters down onto his fingers. Letting the sunlight sparkle on the steely threat. Playing Scott’s nerves as he coaxed the rings down over his knuckles. Knowing what Scott was seeing. Sensing the fears he was raising. After all, Mzama had stuck this particular set of brass knuckles in his pocket for a special reason.

Thick glistening steel .. each knuckle-ring good-and-wide .. each bar adorned with four elevated studs. No ordinary thug’s brutal fighting trick. A set of knuckle rings meant to smash muscle to pulp. Studded force designed to crack ribs. Brass knuckles that could pummel their way through any muscled defence. And no way could white-boy here miss the signs …..!

“This …”Mzama indicated the baseball ball casually dangling off the bar stuck between Scott’s arms.“Or this …..?”Mzama meaningfully clenched together his fists.. Then menacingly he stretched his hand open again .. fingers held up tensed. The steel glistened orange in the light filtering through broken walls. The slats were keeping some of the light out. But not the heat. Or was it the threat of getting himself beaten to shit that had Scott in a sweat?

“You know what I reckon …..?”The general grabbed back Scott’s attention. Did Scott fucking care what that sucker thought? The general .. Scott’s failed target for this mission .. still alive and well .. had taken up position behind the big armed chair. Hands on Mwenye’s broad shoulders. As if they were a pair of buddies about to catch a movie on TV. Settling down with a pizza and a few beers. A movie jam-packed-full with action. With Scott playing the lead role.“Nothing like starting off personal. The personal touch.” The general nodded to Mzama. An order to get things moving.


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Annoyingly Mzama spread out the fingers of his hand .. intimidating brass knuckles pressed on the chest .. outspread hand cold against Scott’s sweating skin. Cold menacing threat kissing the sweaty hardness of Scott’s squared-off pec.

Not reacting to the pawing took some control. Scott felt sick at the touch. At the first sweep of an extended pinkie over his nipple, Scott felt his blood rise. Men did not do that! The hand, still fully loaded with a studded set of knuckle dusters, was sweeping lightly over his right pec. Scott knew the prick was goading him. But it still took effort not to take the bait. “Personal. Getting the feel of each other.”The general’s goading words were followed through. Mzama had the technique. Touching Scott up .. and making him feel sick, angry. A direct line of communication from a threat playing with the nub on his chest straight to a rush of the blood. Scott shivered .. an uncanny mixture of loathing and pleasure .. both at the same time. His girls worked him over like that .. just right .. just the same way. Got him going. But not this fella, not a man. Not this Mzama. This touching him up wasn’t leading anywhere nice ….

The steel-adorned pinkie gave his nipple another taunting pass. Worryingly Scott noticed it was hard. Mzama had got him aroused. The situation was playing on his nerves .. anxiety, fears, arousal .. not far from each other. And if Scott had spotted the change .. a sadist like Mzama, he was not going to miss a trick.

Mzama was massaging the steel lower down.“And THIS .. this feels good …..”Mzama’s steel-coated fingers were tripping down the hardwood ladder of Scott’s solid abs.“Must have taken some work .. to get like this ….”Mzama was smirking .. enquiring without being interested in any reply .. looking mocking into Scott’s face.“Born sportsman, eh?”Scott didn’t bother to answer.“Sports. School. College. The works …..”

Unexpected, unwarned, the hand on Scott’s muscled belly clutched. Fingers clenched into a hard tight grip on Scott’s abs. Finger-tips dug in. Scott’s eyes opened wide .. with the surprise .. wincing at the sudden pain. An unexpected painful seizure. A moment later, it was gone. Mzama had mysteriously let him go.

“In my village .. as a kid .. we played football with a tin can. All we had.”Suddenly again talons clawed hard into Scott’s unwary ab muscles Scott grimaced. Then the shock was gone.“When we were not herding the cattle. Tilling the fields. Hauling water. Working to have anything to eat.”Mzama’s knuckle-ring-loaded hand was tapping open-handed at Scott’s midriff. Instinctively Scott tensed. A light drumming noise of a hard-packed hand on rock-hard abs. This prick Mzama was full of anger, Scott thought. Bristling with resentment. Bitter that life had dealt him a rotten hand. And it seemed Mzama reasoned Private Scott Daley was the source of all he had suffered in his life. Scott tensed. Another drum-slap from a danger-laden hand put him on his guard.


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unequal fight

Scott felt like he was in a place he had never been before. Or had wanted to be. In a place of white heat and cold terror.

Fears that the strength in his abs would give way to the relentless pounding with cold steel. Then his unprotected innards would take the beating. Permanent damage. Probably a messy painful death.

He’d been flexing like crazy. In his head cussing this sadist like mad. Using that hate to put steel into his abs. But still …. his insides were starting to feel badly at peril.

The pride in that strength he had built there .. a lifetime pumping away in the gym, rigorous dedication to his physique in training and since .. they were taking a sharp jolt with each successive assault from Mzama’s steel-clad fist.


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Overloaded with messages of torture. Pain assaulted him everywhere .. deep inside .. on the tenderised surface of his flesh .. explosions bursting in his head. He braced .. he had to keep bracing .. fighting off crippling damage. Teeth clenched. Jaw tight-gritted together. Every effort his muscular force could summon. Every fighting sinew of his physique .. his all .. everything went into defending his innards from Mzama’s ferocious attack. Pummelling away at his mid-section. Each blow solid. The pace unrelenting. And each smack of steel on flexed muscle only seemed to blossom with a rush of intensity.

Running with sweat. Anxious about permanent damage. Sweating. Sweating like made. Feeling himself getting light-headed. From holding his breath too much. From gritting his teeth into each body-breaking blow. Fearing his ab muscles beginning to collapse. Desperate, Scott fought himself back. Manfully he refused to give in to these fears. He knew where each blow would land. Mzama was not being inventive with his blows. No underhand sneaky move. Just a relentless pounding. A paced hammering of his knuckle-rings into Scott’s solid abs. Breaking down the strength. A battering ram.A sharp shard of gorge stung in Scott’s throat. A blow that had broken through. Stinging. Burning like acid in his throat. Making Scott wince.

His mouth ripped open. A punch that burst like C-4 in his guts. A burst of firepower deep inside in innards. Exploding upwards. Punching pain through his lungs. Vomiting in a burst of pain out of his throat.

Mzama had thrown every punch with calculated intensity. But with every hit, experienced as he was, he had been observing too. Watching. Judging the effect. Assessing the reactions. The prisoner had lost touch with reality. Near-blacked out. Kept up by the bar across his back. But his legs had given way. He was for the taking. But Mzama knew when to take a break. After all, the prick was just some patsy. A useful tool, a stand-in. It was that Mwenye who was having the squeeze put on him here. Put the white-boy out too soon .. no way was Mwenye going to give it up. No sign that the stuck-up rich-boy was ready to give in yet. Mzama was going to keep this white-boy dude alive and kicking. And suffering.

“You his fuck-toy by any chance?”Mzama had slapped Scott back to a punishing consciousness. Hard across his cheek. Stinging pain bursting in his eyes. Every injury in Scott’s abs joined in the chorus .. a discordant scream. To tempt him back to life, Mzama had upended a plastic bottle of lukewarm water over Scott’s head. When that had got him going, his white-boy mouth desperately following the flow of the liquid, Mzama had shifted his hand and poured it wastefully down his back.“FUCK YOU!”The show of need was out before Scott could grab it back. Damn! He’d shown weakness. And now Mzama had him back. Conscious .. cursing. And ready for more.

Mzama was behind Scott. He’d grabbed him by the hair and his hand yanked Scott’s head hard back. Scott cursed. Not for the dumb-ass suggestion .. Mwenye’s fuck-toy? .. He cussed because he was hurting like hell. He’d always been obsessed with perfecting his abs. Hours and hours in the gym working them up. Putting himself to the test .. inviting other guys in the academy .. all built


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athletes themselves .. getting them to give it to him as hard as they could. Scott’s way of proving himself. A way to make himself invincible on the job .. his way to make him feel good. Abs able to take whatever life threw at him.

But a sustained attack with metal-coated knuckles ……. Nothing, not even his solid rocks, could fend against that. Sweating, gasping, hurting. The sweat running off him in rivers. And now that damned Mzama was tugging at his hair .. had his head pulled back.

“Go fuck yourself!”Mzama ignored the invitation. Snorting he sneered down Scott’s ear.“There were rumours, y’know .. in officer training .. that fuckhead over there .. see him? .. glaring at us …?”Scott couldn’t see Mwenye. Mzama held his head right back. All Scott could see .. through pain-bleary eyes was the tin roof of this shed. And the shimmer of heat radiating down.“Rumours were .. our captain here .. was into men …. Some no more than boys ….”

Scott’s back was arched backwards. He tensed as he felt the hardness of metal knuckles glide down his back .. slicking in the river of hot sweatiness on his skin. “Covered up, of course. Rich-boy there .. he had his means. Recruits who spread the rumours .. somehow they quickly left .. couldn’t make the grade …..”Scott gasped out. A punch to his kidney from a brass knuckle.“… bought off by daddy’s money ….”Mzama yanked the head back hard. Jarring Scott backwards.“He fuck you yet?”Scott grunted out loud. A knuckle duster dug in deep. Hitting the same spot. But harder.“Fuck y …..”Scott’s curse exploded in a burst of spit. A steel-clad punch slammed into his spine.


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taunts

What the hell did Scott care if Mwenye was into guys? He’d made no move on him. They’d been on this mission together for two days. Camped out in the jungle. Sleeping together. Not a hint of anything.

Some wind-up anyway, he reckoned. But Scott WAS damned irritated by Mzama’s goading hand squeezing on his ass. Still locked in that backwards arc, Mzama pulling back on his hair.

Pissed at having his ass-cheek groped. Getting riled by fingers working themselves at his back passage.“He top you, stud? Take you up the arse?”


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Stupid .. Scott knew he was being played. Shouldn’t believe any of this bullshit about Mwenye being gay. But Mzama had got up his nose. Like a dumbass he reacted. His manliness being provoked. Mzama was toying with his manly pride. Any sucker who even made a move on his ass .. like this sucker Mzama groping him .. he would soon know he’d made a bad mistake. This was all crap, no way was Mwenye into guys. But Scott was hurting. His senses were being burned up by the raging hurt in his guts. This asshole WAS getting him riled.Pissed off he reacted.“Go get fucked, asshole.”

Scott gasped. Suddenly the steel-clad hand had shifted. Taken unawares. Tricked. The hand had hold of Scott by the balls. Mzama had deftly wound his hand around Scott’s hip. He had a strong grip into Scott’s groin. Scott tried to shift. He tried to wriggle himself free. But Mzama just tugged back on Scott’s scalp. The hand in his crutch pressed Scott’s backside provocatively into Mzama’s front.“He gone down .. on THIS …?”Scott felt Mzama’s own groin grating into his backside. Angry he tried to slam his ass back into Mzama .. trying to dislodge him. But his attacker just squeezed. Pressing down on Scott’s tackle .. pushing Scott’s ass back into himself. A sharp thrust with the groin. A mock grunt down Scott’s ear.“The captain feel good inside you?”Keeping the tight grip on his scalp, twisting Scott over backwards.

“Had this in his silver-spoon gob, did he?”Scott froze. Mzama’s grip shifted to his testicle and crushed down hard. Thumb and finger had seized him by one of his balls .. and squeezed. Hard. Fucking hard. Scott went rigid. The pressure went intense. The grip on his left nut increased. Desperate Scott wriggled. He squirmed. But the squeeze just got worse. Scott jammed backwards with his ass .. fighting to dislodge the grip. Mzama just hung in. The force between thumb and finger just grew.

Scott froze. His eyes .. pressed upwards .. seeing only the hot tin roof above .. open-wide. The pain kept his body taut. The pressure on his nut slowly drew open his jaws .. with a hiss. Tense .. his whole mouth gaping wide. Thumb digging in .. squeezing .. crushing. A ragged groan of a man-in-distress shuddered out of Scott’s throat.“You his fuck-boy?”Mzama grunted out the taunt as his muscular forearm increased the pressure on the captive nut.


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nostalgia

"You won't remember the old South Africa, captain ....."The general had ordered Mzama to take a break. The sweat was running off him.

He'd earned his pay. He’d put his all into beating the hell out of the sniper. But both of them could do with a breather. Mzama so he could keep putting on this squeeze.

The kid too needed a breather. Couldn’t keep beating the shit out of him. He’d pass out before they’d got enough heat under Mwenye.

Stood behind, hands on his captive’s shoulders, he’d felt Mwenye squirming. His hands had registered the guilt. Having someone take the heat for him. And angry at the ferocity that was being smacked into his paid help.

Mwenye was not indifferent to his sniper having the shit whacked out of him. Ashamed. Someone else getting worked over. On his behalf. Maybe they were getting through?


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The general ordered his lieutenant to take a break. First, though, he had ordered that white hide stretched out over the table-top.“Nor your old man either, captain. Too busy at home licking the arses of the old colonial masters ….”Scott was ignoring the prattling, the general lording it over Mwenye. Scott was too busy fazing out his fears out what was happening next. When the goons had released him from that trapeze, he’d taken his chance. They’d untied his hands from behind his back. Soon as he could his elbow lashed out. Caught a sucker in the ribs. The shock had sent him staggering back.Any triumph was short lived, of course. A club smacked him in the guts. He doubled up. His injured guts exploded inside .. winding him badly. An elbow caught him across the back of his head.

He was bent over the table-end before his head stopped whirling. Over the end of some heavy-duty table, arms stretched out in front, tied. Feet on the ground, the edge digging in to his waist. He tried to pull on his arms. At the opposite end of the table, Scott saw Mzama. Grinning at him. Taking a long swig out of a water bottle. Knowing Scott would kill to get his hands of some of that.

“Spent six weeks in some Afrikaaner hell-hole, myself ….”The general was rambling on. Presumably talking to Mwenye. Scott only knew he wanted to break that Mzama’s neck. For the beatings .. for the burning in his guts .. the edge of the table-edge digging in .. reminding him how much he hurt.“Waiting trial .. six weeks in jail …..”

There was a pause in the general’s narrative. Scott tensed. Wondering why things had gone so quiet.“Get those pants off his white arse.”Scott froze.“Gonna give him a dose of his own white medicine.”


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fears

From the table-top Scott threw out his warning to Mwenye .. while he still could. While he could trust himself not to weaken.

“Whatever you see this asshole do …..”Scott had turned his head in the direction of Mwenye. But stretched out flat on the table, hands pulled up in front, he had little or no movement. Mwenye was out of sight.

But he could hear. All Scott had to do .. he simply shouted over the hard muscle of his shoulder.“Not a fucking word .. You hear .. whatever this asshole gets up to …..”He felt a slight shiver .. fears at what his words might lead to.“Whatever he does …..”


Sharpshooter 2016


Sharpshooter 2016

Scott was interrupted. Suddenly having to focus on himself. The blade that had cut through the waistband of the camo’s felt cold and menacing against his pain-sweaty skin. More like a machete by the feel. And sharp as hell. The way it took nothing to cut through the webbing belt …. not something you’d want to face in a fight.

The general carried on as if Scott had not shouted out. Ignoring Scott’s defiant display. Taking no notice of the folly that shouted out that they’d not get to him. This young sniper boasting he was “going to take it like a man”.“No evidence against me, of course …. But I was black. In the old Afrikaaner regime, that was guilt enough. ”Scott could not see whom the general was prattling on at. The general was rambling on .. Scott presumed he was talking to Mwenye .. stuck in the chair staring at Scott’s bare ass.“Six weeks .. awaiting trial .. had to let me go free .. eventually.”Scott twitched. The general’s hand stroked down his muscled globe .. his touch cold on Scott’s bare backside. Coming to rest not too far from his back passage. Scott bit down on his bottom lip. Fearing the worst. After all this taunting about taking it up the ass.

“In jail .. innocent or not .. didn’t stop those bastards, though ….”The general’s tone actually sounded light-hearted, oddly, as he recalled his days in a South African jail.“Every day .. every opportunity .. in public, too .. one of us black BOYS was made to pay the price. For being born black ……”A finger was stroking backwards and forwards lightly over Scott’s skin. Worryingly close to his crack .. up and down. Scott wanted to blurt out. A warning. A protest. On the tip of his tongue to tell that perv to move his fucking hand from his ass. But he knew .. like this .. nothing he could do .. only going to goad the general into laughing at Scott’s helplessness. And play with him all the more.

BUT .. no fucker took Scott Daley up the ass! In boot camp guys had larked around .. hazing was commonplace. But one prick, one big bully, he’d thought he’d try his chances .. helped by a gang of his goons. Scott had soon taught him the error of his ways.But here was that same guy, the manly Scott Daley .. his ass exposed .. pants in tatters down his thighs. How the fuck was he gonna turn this around?

“My first time …..”The general’s hand was now spread out across both golden globes. Like he owned Scott Daley’s ass. Just start patting it like I’m some fucking dog …..! Don’t you dare!Yeah, Scott Daley? He heard his own inner voice taunting him. What the fuck you gonna do?

“ .. in the canteen …,” the general continued prattling his reminiscences. “ …. breakfast time .. three big burly guards .. men still eating .. the white brutes ordered the table cleared.”Incredibly Scott heard the general chortle .. recalling his first time in that jail. Brazenly taken by the


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guards .. the other prisoners standing around. Helpless. No one was going to come to his help. Not in that place.

Scott realised he was chortling because the general had Scott just the way he himself had been. The reason the general had ordered Scott stretched out the length of his table. Bent at the waist over the edge. Pants ripped away. Except ….“Stretch his legs.”Scott panicked. His worst fears confirmed. Having his legs spread, Open to abuse.

Men jumped to. Following orders. Grabbling his ankles. Going to tie them to the table legs. FUCK THAT! Scott freaked out. He kicked out a leg. But the grip stayed on him. Grunting with the effort, digging one leg immovably to the ground, the other lashed out. But he wasn’t dislodging the fucker who had him by the leg.

He bawled out loud. A hard blow. In his back. Punched on the kidneys. Steel-hard. Again. Another knuckle-duster job smashed onto the same injured spot. Pain burst in Scott’s head. His head whipped upwards. Taking another brass-knuckle job on his back.


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delays

“Some BOY gave them a wrong look …. “The general was still reminiscing .. still reliving his days in Apartheid’s jail ….“or some poor sucker didn’t look down fast enough ….. caught the guards’ eye ……”

Scott lay there. Running with nervous sweat. Steeling himself. Dreading what came next.

Gritting his teeth at the pawing his backside was getting from the general’s clammy hand. Imagining the shame .. forced to take a man’s cock rammed up inside him …..

He’d raised his head once .. to find Mzama at the other end of the table. Smirking down at him. Toying with fingers on an out-stretched fist .. clad in glistening steel. Goading Scott with the blows he’d just taken to his back. Reminding Scott there was not a damned thing he could do to help himself. Making Scott’s blood boil. The sight of that smug-faced Mzama filling Scott with rage.


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Sharpshooter 2016

So he couldn’t help himself? So he was going to have to take this, eh? No choice. No point in fighting them, then. Scott swore to himself. They could take his ass, he’d have to put up with that. They could rape his virgin ass. It would hurt. It would hurt like mad .. they’d make sure it did. BUT .. that was not the end of it. These fuckers would not break him. They’d rape him to shame him. Hope to break his spirit. Make him suffer so Mwenye would crack.

Well, damn these bastards. He might cry out. But it’d be with pain. Not with shame. The pain might get to him .. but like hell would they break his will! Like hell would Mwenye hear him beg to talk. Getting fucked up the ass by a man .. shaming, belittling. But FUCK ‘EM. They’d not get to him like that. He’d not demean himself. He’d not give another twist of the screw on Mwenye’s resolve. He’d fight’ em. He’d take ‘em on. Not for his ass, though. It’d be his dogged resolve slugging it out with theirs.

The general was still prattling on, the prick. Scott was stuck with the man’s hand resting on the sweaty skin of his backside. He assumed the general was trying to get through to Mwenye. “ ….. if those kaffir-haters wanted to teach this BOY a lesson he’d never forget …..”Despite himself Scott was getting jumpy. On edge. Bloody furious. But still twitchy as hell. This delay .. this prattling-on .. it was messing with his mind. He wanted to scream, Get-the-fuck-on-with-it! But that would only give this asshole a feeling of greater power. He glanced up, saw Mzama taking a big swig of water from a plastic bottle. His supercilious grin! Torturing Scott with his thirst! Both just combined to fuel Scott’s anger. Anger he quickly turned into a cast-iron resolve. Fuck ‘em. He was going to fight ‘em tooth-and-nail.

Again the hand stroked over Scott’s ass-crack. He heard the general give an odd chortle .. remembering bygone days in a white-man’s jail. Or was that tone of mirth because he was going to stick it to Scott. Get his own back. Give this white-BOY a taste of his own white-assed medicine?“ .. if those kaffir-haters wanted to put on a show ….. they other guys at breakfast looking helpless on …. ”The tension was getting to Scott. He bit on his bottom lip. Calming himself. Taking a deep breath.“ .. then THIS is the toy they always got out.”

Could it be the general had got his cock out? Scott was dying to know. The general was actually standing there with his fly open and his hand working up his dick? In front of all these guys? His own men? Scott was bursting to twist around and see. Curiosity nearly got the better of him. Just in time, he stopped himself. Reckoning they would read that as a sign of his nerves getting to him. Beating him. He clenched his fists together. Then he forced his body to relax. Best to be relaxed when that bastard’s hard-on pressed itself to Scott’s ass.

A sudden sound. Scott tensed. Unsure what it meant. Before his brain could unscramble the sound of rushing wind, something took a giant bite out of his ass. He yelped. He went rigid. His hands stretched out in front clenched tight.“Sjambok.”


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Scott vaguely heard the word. But his head was in a whirl.“THIS. Sjambok. Always their favourite toy.”

The hut was full of cheering. Scott missed the general’s grunt, lashing out with a second strike. His blood was racing, heart pounding. That strike had his senses in a spin. The next blow hit. Smacked across a pair of white muscled globes. Like a lightning strike. A flamethrower lit up Scott’s ass. Cheers rushed in from soldiers peering in through slatted walls. Applause for the general’s strike on Scott’s white-BOY ass flooded the hut with hot pain. Shock rushed the length of Scott’s spine. Heat swamped every fibre in his out-stretched body. Unstoppable, he yelled.


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relief

Not gonna be raped then? Not getting it up the ass. Scott’s spirits had momentarily lifted. Thrashed. Across his ass. But his relief was short-lived. Another blistering stroke tore apart Scott’s self-control. Closing off his brain. Slamming his damaged belly into the table edge.

The laser strike sent weakening shudders of pain sizzling down his legs. Searing flames ricocheted up the length of his backbone. Jarring his shoulders upwards .. the pain clawing its vicious marks across his face. Body on fire. Head exploding.

Two more. In total, five will-crippling blows bit into his bare ass. Rapidly following on. One blistering blow after the other. Scott had yelled out .. couldn’t help it .. couldn’t stop himself. Shocked. Pain loaded upon pain.


Sharpshooter 2016


Sharpshooter 2016

Why couldn’t he just shut his mouth, Mwenye thought? Let him concentrate. Stay focussed. Resolved. But the general insisted on keeping up his narrative.“One of the benefits of being an officer ……”Mwenye was stuck in his chair. With every yelp of pain off his friend on the table he had shuddered. Mwenye was sweating. Not a single blow had been laid on him. But he was running with sweat. Anxiety for his new-found American friend. Best shot around .. best in years. But that reputation wasn’t helping him now.

“ ….. delegation.”Mwenye was not really listening to the general Mwenye had ordered Scott to assassinate. And stupidly they had got themselves taken prisoner for Scott’s mistake. The sniper had missed, he’d wanted another shot. His mistake. But Mwenye’s sympathies stayed with the guy howling on that tabletop. To get his attention the general poked Mwenye in the chest with the end of his cruel whip.“Don’t have to do our own dirty work. Officers like us … Do we?”

Mwenye heard his friend Scott groan. Stretched out on the table. That stinging thrashing on his bare backside had stopped. The speed of the blows had clearly robbed Scott of some of his strength, though. The shock had weakened his senses, it seemed. Too much for a body to take in .. all-at-once.

“Delegation. Perk of the job ….”Mwenye was ignoring the general’s prattling. All his attention .. and guilt .. was for his friend Scott. The beating had stopped. Scott was gasping .. breathing heavily .. sucking in air .. undoubtedly his way of fighting himself into getting back some control. Loudly getting his wind back. Then, unaccountably, Scott’s breathing changed. All staccato. His whole body shuddered. He’d lost it suddenly. The burning in his flesh juddering .. uncontrollable .. that muscled body riven with trembling pain.

“You. Soldier. You listening?”The general’s sharp tone grabbed Mwenye’s attention back. The general was jabbing his attention in the direction of one of Scott’s guards. The soldiers who’d tied him up .. keeping him pinned down on the table. Keeping Scott’s arse controlled to take the flogging.“You want to do well by your general?”Mwenye saw a soldier .. looking terrified .. open-eyed .. his whole body almost springing to attention when his general snapped at him.

“Take this. Do your best.”The general was holding out his sjambok. He shook it when the soldier didn’t moved .. frozen by fear to the spot.“Give it the sucker.”Mwenye saw the soldier wilt under his general’s glare.“And do not fail me.”


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Mwenye could see .. this soldier would not fail. He looked horrified. Singled out by his general. Singled out to do his will.

Obvious why the general had chosen him. Mwenye saw it as clear as day. Wide-eyed and terrified, he’d please. Every sinew in his frightened body would do his best to please. AND the soldier was built for the job. All of Mzama’s men had stripped off their tops. It was hot in this shed. The heat on the tin roof raged down on them from overhead. Everyone was running with sweat.THIS soldier .. HE was built. Broad muscular back. His shoulders rounded off with muscle that looked like small melons. Exceptionally built. Picked on by the general. Picked out to finish off the job.

Mwenye looked over at Scott. He was glistening with sweat. His bare backside was glowing a patchy red. Scott had got his breath back, it seemed. Those worrying rasping sounds had eased, the shuddering had ceased. But, Mwenye suspected, not for long.


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white pig

“And you know how best to please your general, soldier?”Mwenye could see the private looked worried. Powerfully built. A physique that could not fail to hurt.

Odd .. a muscled man-in-his-prime .. almost shivering under the glare of his general. Not one used to occupying the limelight. Fearful for getting singled-out .. thanks to his physique .. wilting under the close scrutiny of his senior officer.

The soldier just looked back at his general open-eyed.“I want to hear him squeal. UNDERSTAND?”Mwenye saw the soldier’s eyes flash open even wider. Worried at hearing the demands. Worried if he was up to this task.


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Worried about all eyes on him. A simple soldier not used to this. Centre-stage. Under his senior officer’s glare. His mates peering through the slats in the walls at him. Wondering if he could pull this off. Expected to make this American sniper squeal. The general wanted him to match his own efforts .. and then some more. To finish off the job. Thrash the hell out of that white arse and let his general hear the soldier squeal. To please his general. And not to fail.

“You from a village, soldier?”The general’s question was firm. Mwenye saw the soldier nod. Unable to open his mouth for fear of betraying his nerves.“You ever catch a pig? Ever kill a pig?”The solider hesitated. Staring back at his superior officer. Mwenye could almost believe he’d see the man start to tremble. Then he nodded. Of course a man from the countryside had done that.

“Exactly.”The general nodded at his man.“THAT is what I want to hear.”His head briefly nodded at his prisoner stretched out helpless on the table, his bare backside glowing painfully red.“Make this white-arsed sucker squeal like a pig.”Mwenye knew .. the way this private stood transfixed by his general’s focus on him .. trembling under this officer’s gaze .. he’d do more than his best.“Do your duty, soldier.”

With anxiety Mwenye saw how the general had played the private well. The man .. for all that muscled strength clinging to his taut muscular frame .. he was terrified. Singled-out for a responsibility he had not sought. Picked on by his general .. a man the simple country-man otherwise might never have seen .. or wanted to see .. the poor guy just wanted to get paid. Paid to feed his kids. To get paid he had come to fight. Not to be singled out by a general.It was inevitable. Mwenye knew Scott was going to get a beating from hell. The mother of all thrashings. This private was going to do everything in his power to please. And letting off Scott Daley .. that did not come into it.

“He doesn’t know a thing.”Mwenye blurted out. He had to do something to intervene. That heavy-muscled private .. looking like some taut prize-winning bodybuilder .. he was going to beat shit out of Scott’s arse.“Let him go. You’ll get nowhere with this.”Even as the words came tumbling out, Mwenye heard the blunder in his own head.“Precisely …..”The general turned back to Mwenye. He grinned.“This white-BOY .. he doesn’t know a thing. No use to me. Can waste him. No loss.”

The general had taken up position behind Mwenye’s chair. Forcing an anxious Mwenye to follow him with his eyes. Making him twist his head over to keep contact with him. He placed one hand on


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Mwenye’s shoulder. Almost friendly-like. The other he twisted in Mwenye’s hair. And forced Mwenye’s vision back on Scott Daley stretched out. His bare ass glistening a painful-sore red. That prime bodybuilder of a soldier stood ready with the sjambok .. awaiting the nod to begin.

“Remember …..”The general’s hand in Mwenye’s hair tightened. There’d be no looking away when Scott’s arse was taking the heat.“.. ….. it is you I want to talk to …. Worth talking to …. ”The grip in Mwenye’s hair tightened. Pulling his hair at the roots.“It is you that has questions to answer ….”He laughed.“Any time you are ready, captain.”The grip squeezed. Mwenye could not help the pained grimace on his face.“It is you prolonging this for your white-BOY friend ….. You, captain, are torturing him ….”


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doing your duty

The general’s grip in his hair yanked Mwenye’s head forward. Directing his line of sight to the helpless naked body stretched-out over the table.

Mwenye shook his head to release the grip, it just tightened. He couldn’t stop the wince on his face. Hurting .. but not as much as Scott would. Guilt gnawed away at Mwenye’s guts. And yet he couldn’t give in.

“That .. white-BOY there .. no use to me ….”The grip shook Mwenye by the hair. Mwenye grunted out the hurt.“Except .. to persuade you to talk.”


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Suddenly a disembodied voice burst out into the overheated air. “In your dreams, asshole …..”The shed was redolent with orange light from outside. The heat from the tin roof was like a sauna. For a moment Mwenye did not place the sounds. Scott bawling out through his sweat and pain.“Mwenye .. not a word. Not a god-forsaken-fucking word.It wasn’t just the danger of the general getting intel that got to Scott .. launching an unsuspected ambush on Mwenye’s camp. Scott’s crew were there too. All his buddies. They’d be sitting ducks.“WHATEVER happens .. keep your mouth shut.”

Mwenye felt it through the hand on his shoulder .. the general was chortling. Laughing at what he saw as the folly of Scott Daley. Beaten. His backside exposed. Already glowing from a good savage thrashing with a sjambok. He was aware, he was listening in, Mwenye realised. He knew what was going on here. He knew his arse was going to get a flogging from hell.But still Scott was bravely telling Mwenye to keep his mouth shut. To do his duty. Scott ’d suffer hell. But he’d die before he’d give in to these suckers. To this general. And doggedly young Scott Daley was ordering Mwenye to do the same. He had seen Scott’s muscled body shuddering. In agony after that thrashing. Now no longer gasping for air. But his forehead was pressed in tortured agony to the tabletop, Mwenye had seen Scott’s back rising up and down rapidly .. as his strong will struggled for strength and air. But still the young soldier was putting up a fight.

“Brave words, white-BOY.”The general nodded at the private. His brawn-muscled solider. Picked out for looking the part. Singled out because he looked built for the job. The general gave him the signal. Ordering the private to do his duty.


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praise

“Great job, soldier.”The general’s shout of praise threw the private off his stride. He’d worked himself into the task. A half-dozen blistering blows with the sjambok had lit up his prisoner’s hide. “Keep it up.”

Mwenye had shuddered at each hit. The sight of Scott’s hips slammed into the table. Smashing his brutalised abs into the sharp edge.

Guilty as hell, Mwenye had trembled .. catching the jerk in the muscled torso jar across the table. The clutch of hands together .. Scott’s fingernails digging into balled palms. In-between strikes Scott had his forehead pressed into the tabletop .. muscles in his neck turned to solid steel .. liquid steel as pain spasmed cruelly in his neck.

Biting on his bottom lip, eyes crunched together .. barely holding himself together when another fearsome strike lit up his arse. Agony crunched Scott’s head upwards .. pain reverberating in shock waves up his backbone. Explosions in his head.


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Anxious, open-eyed with fear .. despite the praise from his general .. the soldier seemed to tremble as he paused. Halted by his general’s raised hand. Anxious he was letting his superior down .. failing to please. The soldier’s fears got the worse of him .. completely overlooking his officer’s words of praise.

“Great job. Great start.”Mwenye saw the private visibly tremble. Waiting for the BUT …..It came. But not targeted at him. From behind Mwenye felt the general’s hand tighten on his tensed shoulder. He resisted the temptation to twist around.“Something is missing …..”Mwenye frowned. His eyes remaining on the sweat-coated torso of his buddy. Scott was trembling .. sweating like crazy .. his body still reverberating off the pain of another half-dozen murderous lashes at his bare backside.

The hand of Mwenye’s shoulder tapped. As if the general had suddenly found the answer.“The count. He needs to hear the strikes counted out …. Not fair. Poor sucker.”Mwenye felt a rush of anger at the general’s tone. He was playing this like some game. And Scott was suffering like hell. No joke!“Those kaffir-haters .. they had me stretched out. And they got another inmate to call out how many hits …..”

The hand of Mwenye’s shoulder squeezed tight.“Call them out.”The tone was not a suggestion. The clutch on his shoulder made the words into an order. Scott’s dire situation made it an or-else.“Tell your muscle-bound American assassin .. tell him how many that bullet cost.”

From behind his voice snarled.“Count!”Unaccountably Mwenye felt a rush of anger.“FUCK YOU!”The general answered with a sharp slap across the head. Furious Mwenye twisted around in his chair. Not thinking .. he couldn’t do a thing .. his hands tied behind. The general grabbed him by the hair. His face contorted into a grin. Mwenye realised his mistake. He’d let himself be got at. Puppet on a string. Bonus point to the other side.“That was six.”The general mocked Mwenye’s futility. His hand jerked Mwenye back to Scott’s sweating torso. His hand shook Mwenye’s head.“Count. SIX.”Then the voice holding on to his scalp softened.“Or you want we go back to ONE again?”


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Mwenye panicked. He called it out.“SIX! Six fuck-you!”The general had jerked his string.

Stupid! Only later he realised. They hadn’t agreed on a number. The general hadn’t condemned Scott to a specific number of srrikes. To thirty lashes. Back to the beginning or start from six .. it was all the same. Ten. Twenty. Thirty. The number didn’t matter. Not until Scott squealed. Until he was squealing like a pig. Scott Daley’s arse was doomed .. until he squealed. Or until Mwenye called a halt. And squealed himself.

The squeeze on Mwenye’s head tightened sharply. The solider had been given the nod. Scott’s crimson-screaming arse took another body-crippling blow. Shocked the force tore his head up. Pain juddered in his shoulders. Agony was twisted in his face.The hand shook Mwenye’s head again. A reminder.“SEVEN!” The general had Mwenye by the short-and-curlies. And he knew it.


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marathon

The soldier looked less tense. His general’s praise .. lavished with his officer’s encouraging words .. he had really got into it. Throwing his all into each strike.“Loosen up, soldier.”

When his general spoke, now the soldier listened eagerly. Willing to benefit from his advice. Eager to do a good job. Wanting to please. Selected to do his officer’s bidding.“Not so fast. Think of this as a marathon.”

Mwenye felt a shudder of fear in his guts. At the thought of this agonising torture being dragged out .. on and on. He couldn’t image how much a man could take of this. Scott was suffering. Between hits his back gave sudden violent tremors. Running with sweat .. from the heat .. from this torture. And the guilt was cutting Mwenye to shreds.


Sharpshooter 2016


Sharpshooter 2016

“Who’s in a hurry here?”Scott Daley was stretched out there for Mwenye .. to torment him. The general wanted intel. He wanted to know how his troops could best inflict maximum damage on Mwenye’s side. But Mwenye’s information was too valuable to waste him. “Certainly not the captain here. He seems content to sit here and watch.”Wrong. Inside Mwenye was suffering too. Torn between his duty and this inhumanity. For the general Mwenye was useful .. but Scott was dispensable. By making Mwenye watch this horror .. the general was banking on breaking Mwenye’s will.

“This is not a sprint.”The soldier’s face frowned. He hadn’t got the point. Kindly his superior officer helped him out.“Take your time. Let each one count …..”The general’s tone softened. “Take it from one who knows …. My arse learned it too ….!”His voice dropped. Almost intimate with the private.“Let the force of your strikes send this sucker to the peak of pain. Let’s watch him agonise there. Let your pain strike into every muscle .. twist torture into his every sinew ….. Before you zap him with another mind-bender.”A slow mark of recognition flickered on the soldier’s face.“Keep him there. At the breaking-point. Gasping. Trembling. On fire. Shuddering.”The private nodded. “No rush. Take it slow.”The soldier was new at this kind of game. Grateful for his general’s tips. Eager to do the best job he could.

The general cast a knowing eye over the sweat-drenched pain stretched out on the table.“In breathless agony .. like at the peak of a mountain.”The soldier was nodding. Understanding.“Before hurtling down .. overcome with body-breaking pain. Shattered.”Like father-and son. Teacher-and-student, the pair united. General and private working together.“THEN you hit this sucker again.”Benevolently. As if wishing to assist his soldier in doing his best.“Hit this damned assassin as hard as it gets ……”

The soldier had taken his general’s advice to heart. Mwenye knew the type. He was a simple guy from up-country. He was in this war to put food on the table, to feed his kids. But this general had singled him out .. recognised the potential in such an incredible physique. “Let’s hear his white-BOY arse squeal. Eh?”The private appreciated his superior’s kindly attention. His praise. His words of help. The tips. Glowing that his general had made it in his best interests .. to beat the hell out of Scott Daley’s arse.Grateful. Appreciative. So he did.


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Blow-after-stinging-blow. Scott gasped. Each agonising strike with hard-braided leather into his ass jarred Scott’s helpless torso along the table top. Each blow smacked the edge into his damaged lower abs .. a crippling punch into burning guts. Futile Scott yanked at the cuffs on his wrists. Muscles of his back rigid in a fight he could not win. Tortured, in-between blows, he fought the overwhelming pain, gouging his fingernails into his palms.

“Twelve.”Beyond the molten lava stream eating at his ass, Scott heard Mwenye’s voice. Counting out the body-breaking lashes into his bare backside.“Thirteen ….”Pain reverberated up his backbone from that last agonising blow. In sickening surges, madness raced through tortured muscle up into his brain.

Underneath him the table-top swam. A stomach-churning swirl. Vomit burning in his gorge. His vision smarting with streaks of salty sweat. Above him, his backside had been dowsed by petroleum. And some fucker had thrown him a match. Drowning in the fiery flames of agony.

“Eighteen!”The number didn’t matter. Just the invitation to make him squeal. Squeal like a stuck pig. The American hired assassin. Paying the price. “Twenty-one!”No holding it in. In some distant plane of the universe, Scott heard a voice yelling. Giddy with the reek of pain. Intoxicated on violence and gore. Scott heard an agonised voice. Like some victim drowning in a lava flow. Shuddering flesh and agonised life consumed in molten magna.Burning in a fiery sea of nerves. No escape from an inferno of pain. Every thought burned from the victim’s mind, every sense seared from its body.Engulfed in spasms of tortured agony. Scott slowly melted into tormented unconsciousness.


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charged?

Scott was pissed. Pissed as hell. That beating had taken a lot out of him. He’d stopped hearing Mwenye’s count around twenty. The pain had just got too much.

And then the yelling out had taken over, drowned out the count. No shame in that. A couple of dozen hefty swipes with the sjambok .. anyone was going to be letting rip. His ass was on fire. Since they’d freed him from the tabletop, his legs were struggling to keep him up.

They’d come for him .. releasing his bare ass from that tabletop. Scott was shattered, they were having to hold him up. But he was fucking pissed too. First sucker that got to close .. Scott’s elbow got him in the face. Earning him a thud punched into his back. So shattered it hit like a sledgehammer.

Scott felt breath down his neck. Somehow he pulled it off. Instinct threw his head back upwards. Gratified by a shocked cry. A wet splatter down his back. And the feel of an enemy body tottering backwards.


Sharpshooter 2016


Sharpshooter 2016

It took five of them. They must have released him while he was out. And then slapped him back to a swirl of gut-wrenching consciousness. It took five of the cowardly pricks together to get him back into the cuffs .. having to hold him up. If only his legs had any strength left in him, he’d had given them worse. Every time he lunged forward, though, a thigh gave way. But still he made them work for it. Inevitable, eventually they’d struggled him back into the cuffs, hands above his head. Scott tried to kick out in return .. but there was nothing left in his legs. Seeing it was safe, spotting his weakness, they dished it back. He got a few good well-deserved humdingers thwacked into his abs. Hurting, he hung. Struggling to put strength back in his trembling legs.

Panting, chest heaving, getting his breath back .. Scott saw the general looming again. Next to him. Taking hold of Scott by the hair and painfully helping Scott him to his feet. He smiled sadistically into Scott’s glare.“I enjoyed that ….”Meaning slamming a sjambok dozens of times into Scott’s tortured ass.“Brought back the old times.”

Scott tried to shake his head free. His ass was on fire. The strength in his legs was letting him down. He was pissed-off as hell. But the grip in his scalp held on to him.“Glad to accommodate.”Scott sneered back sardonically. He gasped it out, answering back came hard. But he was determined he was going to give this asshole no satisfaction. Pleased when the general scowled. He’d thought he had won the upper hand.

In response, the general snapped his head angrily over at his lieutenant. “Are the tazers charged?”Mzama looked a bit confused. Not expecting the question.“Maybe,” he answered. “They can be quick enough ….”The general gave a pull at Scott’s scalp. Smirked triumphant into his glare. Putting him in the picture. Then he ordered his lieutenant.“See to it.”

Scott saw that Mzama had to force his way out of the entrance. Words must have gone round. Some white sniper asshole was getting done-over. Soldiers were peering in for a view. If Scott had managed to get himself free, he’d never have got out. Mzama had to use his physical build to get through the press. Get out and order the tazers charged.No second-guesses who they were meant for ……


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recalibrating

With trepidation Mwenye heard the general sending Mzama off on his errand. Sending for tazers. On top of everything else. How much was this poor soldier supposed to take? How long could Mwenye last out?

Scott had endured a lot .. masterfully. Like he was born to taking shit like this. Incredibly he was still showing signs of fighting back. But zap him? Let Mzama on him with tazers? That sadist .. knowing every zap into Scott’s muscled belly was one in the gut for his old rival.

A glance at his buddy told Mwenye he couldn’t let that be. Scott had had his strength beaten out of his backside .. could hardly stand. Brutally punched and beaten while Mwenye was made to watch. Guilt at this brave young soldier taking it for him.


Sharpshooter 2016


Sharpshooter 2016

Tough as it sounded .. but probably best Mzama overdid it. Got carried away. Blasted the poor sucker out of his skin. Heart give in .. after so much strain. Take poor Scott out .. tough to think that. But it’d save the poor sucker more suffering. And it ‘d certainly deal with Mwenye’s guilt. But would this general let that? Mwenye suspected not. Lose his ace? Lose the leverage? He reckoned Mwenye was too valuable to hurt. Maybe he saw Scott as just some hired help. Dispensable. Useful just for getting at Mwenye. But let Mzama kill the poor sucker off? Leverage wasted with Scott’s life? Mwenye doubted he’d let that. Some leverage was better than none. So …. tough as it looked, poor Scott was still gonna get tortured out of his sweat-drenched hide.

Mwenye couldn’t let that happen.“All right. Let the kid be …..”Instantly Scott reacted. His head shot up. He glowered across the stinking humidity at Mwenye.They’d strung him up again. Stretched to the full. Made to stand on tiptoes. Every battered muscle stretched and hurting. Every bruised tendon trembling with pain. Strung-up and the tazers on the way.

“Shut the fuck up, Mwenye.”Scott’s head was up. Blinking through bleary eyes. He bawled across the heat.“You tell ‘em nothing. You understand me. NOTHING.”Mwenye hadn’t been planning to. He wasn’t offering intel up. All he’d wanted was somehow to take Scott’s place.“You give ‘em SHIT! UNDERSTAND?”

Mwenye saw the general freeze. Worryingly he saw him frowning. The general’s eyes passing back and forward. From the naked Scott strung up. Over to Mwenye still guarded, sitting opposite the torture victim. And back again.He cocked his head. A deep frown was creasing his brow. The general was thinking. A knot twisted in Mwenye’s gut. Fearing Scott had blundered.

Mwenye could see the computations flicking over the general’s face. Scott’s outburst .. the tone of voice .. not the way some hired hand acted. Not some white private just doing a job and caught up in a load of shit above his pay grade. Scott’s outburst had come with authority. The tone had been demanding. A private giving orders like that to a captain? The hired help ordering the client around?

And Mwenye saw that the general had spotted that. Not some hired assassin. This young punk .. what he’d taken .. how he’d taken it .. not some ordinary hired help. Not some ordinary grunt with a shooter. The punk had taken all this .. beaten till he could hardly stand ….. And still this solider had the guts to order Mwenye silent. Still he was tough enough to keep taking it. Knowing the tazers were on the way. Putting himself up to take more? What hired assassin did that?

The general looked interested, curious. Eyes passing from the stretched muscle-head private that fumed at his superior officer .. over to what was the general’s real target .. captain in the enemy army with intel to give. But who was really in charge?That hadn’t been a plea for Mwenye to keep quiet. The private had been ordering the captain


Sharpshooter 2016

around. Orders from the hired assassin? And a hired sniper offering to take more .. taking on the tazers? Not likely. It was like this young sniper wasn’t fazed by getting worked over. Nothing new to him. Had this punk trained to cope with this? Had he gone through beatings this bad before? It was like he knew what he was letting himself in for. And accepted it. What kind of soldier was like that?A sniper? A sniper only? Or ….. was this young punk something more?


Sharpshooter 2016

turnaround

The general’s gaze took in Scott’s naked body.. strung up, battered. Playing over the taut physique. His two men had worked it over well. Bruised, abused, hurting .. and it was only going to get worse.

But something was not right. That spirit? That toughness of mind? On top of the doggedness of that etched torso to keep absorbing the hits? That normal?

Facing down two determined torturers .. they’d put everything into the job. Unfazed though hurting. Unintimidated. That just some ordinary soldier? All that punishment and still finding the spunk to keep giving it back at these two guys?

Intrigued the general bit on a lower lip .. thoughtful. Eyes assessing the battered abs .. nodding at memory of how brutally that sjambok had taken his arse. Thinking, working something out. The general’s eyes crept back .. up from the tight muscled torso .. peering into the sniper’s .. as if trying to read his soul.


Sharpshooter 2016

Scott saw the general’s gaze all over him .. devouring him. Engrossed. His eyes were all over Scott’s face. Reading his mind. As if peering into his core. “I wonder …..?”The general’s baton was gliding over Scott’s chest .. downwards. “What have we got here?”His eyes peered into Scott’s face again. His head cocked to one side. Enquiring.“Have I been getting this all wrong …..?”

His face creased .. having second thoughts, thinking things through.“Tough as nails ….”The baton was playing around Scott’s exposed abs .. stroking them up and down.“Built like this ….?”The general was looking into Scott’s eyes again. “Absorbed those beatings.” An anxiety was starting to knot in Scott’s gut. “Tough bastard …..”

The general was smirking into Scott’s face. A goading look .. like he had guessed a secret.“Tough as nails …..”The general was giving Scott a knowing look. He was beginning to fear the general was catching on .. working out what he was.“You’ve trained to take torture? That your little secret?”The baton had jabbed up under Scott’s chin. Forcing his head up. Stretched, upon his toes, Scott could do little more than snarl back. “Even thinks he can face down a tazer …..”The knot in Scott’s guts gave another twist .. the grin on the general’s face said he had caught on. “And ordering this captain not to talk ….? Tazers be damned …..”He had made up his mind.“Takes a special kind of man, that. A SPECIAL kind of soldier ….?”

The general grinned. Forcing the baton up higher under the chin. Forcing Scott’s head back.“Some tough dude ….?”Scott felt his heart beating faster. The general had convinced himself. He was tempted to tell him to go get fucked. But he reckoned he’d said enough. Best keep his trap shut.“Not the hired help.”

The general was smugly nodding into Scott’s defiant face.“Well, well, well …. What have we got ourselves here ….”The baton jabbed up.“Ranger? Delta?”Another hard jab made Scott lose his cool.“Fuck you!”


Sharpshooter 2016

That only got the general to chuckle.“SEEEAL?” he joked.

He stood back. His eyes took in afresh the muscled torso. Evidence of how much this soldier had taken was written all over his naked body. Badly bruised in his abs .. Mzama’s clubbing had left a painful memory on him there. But he’d taken it and was still full of spirit. Proof that this so-called “private” was hard as old leather. And afterwards that thrashing .. after his soldier had laid his sjambok into his arse .. how many times? He’d squealed. This punk had let rip. But who wouldn’t? This sniper had taken more than any simple grunt would do. And certainly more than any paid mercenary.And still he had the guts to order Mwenye to keep his trap shut. Faced with having the shit blasted out of him. Knowing Mzama was charging up the tazers. And what that was going to mean. Ordering his captain to do as told .. prepared to face Mzama on his return. A run-of-the-mill grunt? A hired help? Just some private good with a high velocity rifle? Like hell!

“Got ourselves one of those .. what is you Americans call yourselves ….? .. When your government can’t admit they’ve sent in their Special Forces? .. Trainers. You a trainer, kid?”The general’s eyes peered into Scott’s core through his eyes. Reading his mind. Searching for Scott’s secret.“The land-of-the-free sent you in .. secretly .. under stealth .. a “technical advisor?”Self-satisfied the general snorted happily to himself.“Sent you to blow my brains out?”Sneering he chortled. At this sight of a Special Forces guy whose mistake had got him into this.

Without turning round, not missing off his superior smirk into Scott’s glare, the general snapped off an order.“Corporal, take the captain to a cell. Make him comfortable.”Mwenye resisted as they dragged him to his feet.“What you want with him? He knows nothing ….”

The general didn’t turn around. His smug eyes kept boring into Scott Daley’s face.“Beg to differ.”He smirked.“Our American friend knows an awful lot ……”Scott guessed he’d been rumbled. Defiant he smirked back into the general’s smugness.“Wasting your fucking time …..”Pleased with himself, the general shrugged.“Time will tell …..”

He gave a quick glance at the soldiers guarding Scott.“Pull him up. Off the ground.”His eyes now travelled down the length of Scott’s muscular body as the soldiers jumped to it and started to haul on the rope .. watching the muscles stretch .. Scott’s toes lifting off earth. Eyes on inflamed muscle as it stretched. Gauging the hurt as the jerks pulled on bruised flesh. Assessing the growing strains as the torso dangled in the air .. pain hauled through battered ribs. “Then go tell Lt. Mzama .. his tazers are needed here.”


Sharpshooter 2016


Sharpshooter 2016

matter?

Did it matter if the general was right …. If Scott really was Special Forces ….. SERE trained ….? Or just some simple army grunt? Did it matter?

Did it make a difference whether a simple private from the Rangers had anything useful to give ……? Who shared valuable intel with a private? Was that going to matter?

Did it count that the general might have got it all wrong .. ? If Scott was just some ordinary army grunt who was an excellent shot ….? Was that going to make a difference?

What WAS going to matter .. what the general believed. What he thought he could gain? And


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acting on what he believed. Like really putting the squeeze on some SEAL prisoner. And coming up with some game-changing intel.

….. Fact is ……Scott Daley is going to get tortured out of his skin. Believing he’s got something to give. Believing they can squeeze it out of him. Or die in the trying.

Looks like it’s going to turn nasty.Time to withdraw. Before the cries chill the bones ……

end


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