On the Field of Battle - Part 5

On the Field of Battle - Part 5

A variety of short tales from the myriad battlefields past, present, future, factual or fanciful. Mankind doing what it seems to do so often, and oh, so very well.

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Fallen Warriors

No word had come from the squad that had left that morning and it fell to us to go out and try to track them down and to find out what had happened.  We knew where they were expected to go so, following their anticipated route we began to find signs of their passing.It didn't take long.
Crossing the dunes we followed the tracks as best we could but we soon spied something ahead.  It was a body. Unfortunately one of ours. He had apparently dropped back from the rest, whether to relieve himself, or to watch the rear as they advanced, we could not tell.
He had been grabbed from behind, thrown to the ground and apparently run through with his own sword.

Leaving him to the buzzards we followed the tracks toward the shore, Getting to the rocky ground we lost good tracks but spreading out we started to find other bodies here and there, scattered like the battle was one of pursuit and attack as opportunity presented itself.I found the body one of the enemy soldiers laying in a gap between two big boulders and his head laying on the other side at the end of a long bloody smear, eyes and mouth wide open as if startled at my approach.
Just beyond him I found another body - one of ours.

Still clutching his bloodied sword, he had one arrow in the thigh, one in the lower abdomen and one through the stomach. The killer thrust had to be the one wide gash in his left chest. Probably the "finish him off"  stab that I have used many times myself.  Strong, handsome, very manly, very dead.  He was an experienced and skilled warrior. I had fought beside him many times myself.
I looked to my left and spotted a solitary figure lying face down in the lapping water with the unmistakable flag of a fletched shaft standing proudly out from between his shoulders, marking the spot that now flowed with bright red blood which ran down and stained the otherwise clear blue water with the vital fluid escaping from his pierced body.

 "Over here!" Argo, one of my party shouted.  Hurrying toward him I passed two other corpses lying grotesquely sprawled over the rocks.  I stepped up close to Argo. "This one's alive." he said, pointing to the figure lying in the wet sand at the edge of the sea.
"Please... Please help me." he pleaded. 
Laying on the sand was a handsome young man dressed in a very skimpy cloth garment, his manhood sharply outlined in the muddy, wet cloth. His handsome face, now stained with mud and blood looked up at me with a pleading, helpless look. He was holding his sword, pointed toward me in a defensive posture. Blood stained the sand under and around him as he weakly waved the sharp blade in my direction as I approached. 

"Who are you?" I asked him.
"My name is Marcus." He answered. "Warrior slave of my lord Rastus."
"Did you kill those men back there?" I asked, waving my hand at the body-strewn rocks.
"I fought them as they fought against me." he answered.
"Who did that to you?" I asked, pointing to the sword in his gut.
"That one," he said, pointing toward another of our dead warriors lying nearby. A neat single slit in his chest had gushed volumes of blood and ended his battle quickly. 
"Quick and merciful death. He must have struck at almost the moment you killed him."
"Perhaps if he had struck higher or deeper..." He answered but stopped and looked up into my eyes. He knew what was coming.
"Then I will finish what he started." I answered.Stepping in close, Raising my heavy boot, I gave one powerful kick to the handle of the sword already stabbed into his gut.  The handle slammed into his abs as a thick spurt of thick, dark blood exploded from his back with the blade as it tore through flesh and bone. His handsome face contorted with pain as he dropped his sword into the sand and grabbed for the handle of the sword that now had ripped through his tortured body.
He shuddered and groaned as the thick, dark blood spewed from the broad gasher in both his abdomen and his back. Writhing with agony he rolled back and forth in the sand. His thick cock stiffened and stood out almost as straight as the sword handle.  reaching down with one hand he grasped his thick, stiff cock and squeezed it, shuddering with pain. Suddenly his body wrenched with powerful convulsions as the white semen pumped out the end of his swollen cock and ran down the quivering, pumping shaft into the blood and mud. 
His grip relaxed and he lay weakly panting in the mud as his strength faded. In a few moments he was dead. I couldn't resist the temptation. I knelt down and grabbed his still stiff cock as I grabbed my own and savored the moment of the young warrior's death.  Looking around I saw the other members of the team finishing their own pleasure, spurting across the bodies of those nearby who had preceded them into the warrior's paradise that they too would someday enter. The moment for our brief taste of that paradise over, we gathered our belongings, looted the corpses of anything valuable and prepared to report back about the lost squad.
The other members of the squad were missing and presumed to be captured, taken back to wherever the enemy camp was and probably would be tortured or turned into slaves and sex toys for their pleasures.

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  Walt came to consciousness. Sight, light and pain assailed his senses as he felt the cold blade moving around inside him as he started moving. The battle had lasted only long enough for him to turn around and feel the shaft penetrate skin, muscle and intestines, and a sharp uppercut to the jaw sent him sprawling backward and smashing his skull against a stone as he fell.

Now he found he had been stripped of his boots, shirt and belt. His bloody shirt lay in the water with a pink stain flowing slowly downstream from it. One of the lumps under him turned out to be his knife, but all other belongings, watch, ring, wallet, were gone.  Struggling to pull himself from the cold water, the wounded young man slowly worked his way to where he could sit or lean against a rock and hope for help to happen by before it was too late. The blade ripped and tore at his insides each time he pulled himself along and by the time help arrived, his torn body was already as cold as the water he had fallen into.

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Death Game Trying my best to remain out of sight, I hid in the thin cover of the dead brush.  Alone and naked, armed only with a knife, I was the target of a kill or be killed game that I had chosen to join for the same prize that the others in it had joined to gain and call their own. The prize was a million dollars cash. The rules of the game? No one leaves the desert except the last one left alive. The big man that was currently tracking me had killed five other players that I witnessed. I had killed three myself but this guy was good.  My only hope was to hide until he was almost on me and strike before he can react.

He moved like a cat. Stealthily moving, searching for tracks and moving ahead. 

There! he spotted my tracks and he was coming. No second chance now. Kill or die.

Springing up from behind the bush, I gave my best impression of a war whoop, scattering a big handful of sand into the air to distract him. He stopped, looked in my direction and raised his knife. I thew my knife and hoped for the best. 

I heard the deep thud as the blade slammed into his breastbone.

"Unhhh!" he grunted. His throw was interrupted and the blade flipped harmlessly backwards. He grabbed for his chest, arched his back and tumbled over backwards like a big oak tree felled by a lumberjack.

He landed hard, flat on his back and did not move after his arms fell to his sides. I ran up to him and stared at the bronzed, muscled body as the realization that it could have been me lying there with my heart split with a long thick blade instead swirled through my mind.  His beautiful body beckoned and I knelt down, feeling his massive abs, powerful arms and thick hair. His semi hard manhood stood up from his body from a nice bush of curly red hair. I had to touch that beautiful shaft before I headed back to collect my prize...

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Surf Duel Fighting in the surf seemed like a great idea. David was a good fighter, fast, agile and strong, plus he loves the thrill of the kill. "Nothing hotter than to feel the resistance of the blade just before it penetrates a guy's skin and slips in through his body, stopping as the hilt presses against his flesh."

The challenger was tall, muscular and very handsome. This was going to be really hot... "Can't wait to see the look in his eyes as he feels the death thrust."

Stripped down to his boxers David waved his knife at the handsome intruder. His deep blue eyes flashed with fierce anger as David sliced for is chest, just barely nicking his left pec and drawing a small red stain that flashed red and washed away, and re stained his chest as the fight drew on in the splashing waters.

Turned on by the sight of the small wound, David could feel his manhood swelling in his soaking wet boxers. His opponent couldn't help but see his swollen manhood bouncing in his face as he slipped in the wet sand and almost landed where the next swing of the blade would have ended his life. David now got to see his opponent's swelling cock tenting the briefs, taunting him by it's sheer size.  This guy was huge!

Now it was getting serious. (Not that it wasn't already...) David's pulse raised as he parried a thrust meant for his chest and countered with a slash that took a slice out of the handsome brute's forearm.

Yelping with pain, the fighter stepped back just far enough to quickly look at the fresh gash in his arm.  He wiped it on the only thing he had, his briefs, right across the front and that huge pointed tent.  David nearly squealed with delight at the sight.  That huge boner, outlined by the rich red of fresh blood on this beautiful specimen of manhood.  He was already taken by it but now that bouncing beauty was irresistible.

Each move of this massive shaft now beckoned. David wanted it so badly.  He imagined himself playing with it as his opponent died in his arms in the surf. He wanted him to last long enough that he could suck him dry of any cum he could produce, to feel that massive shaft choking his throat with it's huge size, to taste the... "Unghhhh!"

His imagination was brought to an abrupt and painful end as he felt the blade tear in through his abdomen just to the left of his appendix scar. The enraged fighter ripped the blade from his gut and rammed it in again, this time farther to the left. As the hilt pushed him backwards, the fighter grabbed him and held him up close as he slammed it in for a third time in David's lower left side. David took one last swing at the wonderfully proportioned body holding him and stabbed the blade weakly into the fighter's side. The fighter responded by driving the blade in deeper and twisting it. David shuddered and stiffened with pain.  Falling backwards, he slid off from the thick blade and landed in the shallow water.  Looking at the billowing surf stained with his own blood he looked up at his opponent.  Those deep blue eyes were still filled with rage but that made them all the more alluring.  Raising his knife high over his head, the fighter threw it downward with one last burst of rage.

  The blade slammed deep into David's gut and stood there like a flag planted in conquered territory. His mouth opened but nothing but blood came out. He stared with disbelief at his ruined body.  Life was rapidly fading and he could feel his manhood reaching a never before felt level of pain and ecstasy as his shaft started pumping, flooding his boxers with a huge volume of hot cum that poured out into the cool salt water and washed away.

His opponent watched the spectacle at his feet.  The wound in his side was not serious and the warm blood running down his side felt strangely erotic as he watched David dying in the pink water.

Slipping his briefs down, he grasped the thick shaft and started stroking himself as the bloody figure at his feet started weakening.

David watched as the world began to fade. He closed his eyes with the pain but reopened them as he felt warm, thick fluid hit his face while his victor arched his back in sexual ecstasy.  The last thing he saw was  his killer raise his foot, place it on the handle of the knife in his gut, step down, driving it in through his tortured body.  The hilt resisted for a time but with increased force it ripped through the wound and his killer's foot pressed flat against his stomach, the knife now completely inside. Lastly he felt the warm and merciful feel of the blade as he was pushed down into the sand, the blade ripping out through his back, the waters washing over him thus ending his short but wonderful life as a warrior.

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