The Furies - Must Read free porn video

In the quiet, backwater system of Halderon IV, the old war horse had been put to pasture. She floated majestically in geostationary orbit over the gas giant that star maps called HV-16 and the locals called Lesvous. A bevy of smaller ships darted around the system, all of them hopelessly obsolete by modern standards, consigned to system defense duty and anti-piracy patrols. Compared to the old campaigner, they were state of the art.

Almost one thousand years had passed since her massive, s*******n mile long keel had been laid down in the long ago vaporized shipyards at Arnhem. She had been the first of fifteen ships of her class. Massively built, heavily armored, carrying the then revolutionary, fifteen inch Particle Projection Cannons, and internal bays for a whole wing of fighter/bombers. In her day, she had been the pinnacle of space going naval technology and, with her sisters, had been a thorn in the side of the Terran Authority's reconquest of the galaxy.

For one hundred bloody years, she and her sister ships had protected the Gunarian Confederation from being annexed into the Terran Authority. The Treaty of Sol III in 3745 had marked the end of hostilities, as the Confederation had bowed to the inevitable and joined the Authority voluntarily, rather than face long years as an occupied power. Four years later, she had been refitted and with a loyal Terran crew and joined the Authority Navy.

In her nearly limitless positronic database, the bloody history of the reconquest was stored. She had rained fire and death on the rebellious planet of Sig-Alpha five, taken part in the great naval engagement on Centauri Prime, provided fighter support in the final battles against the Volluskuns and taken part in more skirmishes and fleet actions than most people could imagine. When her battle board was lit, she was as close to sentient as any machine humans had ever constructed.

Eventually, time and technology turned her cannons into pea shooters and her hangar decks into less than today's auxiliary carriers boasted. She had been consigned to the scrap yard, when some bean counter realized she was the oldest active duty ship in the Authority fleet. Rather than scrap her, the powers that be had parked her here in orbit and turned her into a training ship for new pilots.

The old warhorse was quiet now. The only sound and fury aboard came from raw recruits shooting at targets or blowing off steam. Her great guns had been silent for more than a century and the battle circuit that would bring her to full wakefulness had been dark for twice that. She slept, and perhaps she dreamed of battles in days long gone by. She remained as a living monument to man's determination to conquer the galaxy.

***


Erica Davies sat in the darkened conference room, watching the gas giant spin beneath the ship, through the big armalite picture window. Ancient wind storms left mottled yellow spots in the planet's dark green face. A belt of them along the equator had been ancient at the time the Yorktown's keel had been laid.

Departing from a small intra-system liner she watched the shuttles that were bringing in a new batch of recruits. For the last five years her job had been training others to go into combat. At forty-three she felt as old as the ship she was assigned to. Like her, she had been put out to pasture. Unlike her, Erica was still in her prime.

There was no hell for a combat pilot quite like the one she was living in. She felt like the attendant at a filling station, watching the cars go by, but forever kept away from the action. Despite the reams of requests, she was stuck, away from the adrenaline rush and excitement of active duty on a combat vessel. She held her hands up and examined them, turning them from front to back again and again.

She saw long, delicate fingers, with the nails cut short. The skin was still soft and supple, but for how much longer? she wondered. Time, the fighter pilot's most deadly enemy stalked her now. One day those hands would no longer react with lightning speed. The reflexes would fade and the strength would succumb to the ravages of old age. She still had them now and wasting away here while a major war was being fought was slowly killing her.

Every one hundred and twenty days she sent a new batch of freshly minted pilots to the combat zone in Delta quadrant. She had seen the casualty lists and knew that over eighty percent of them never lived to draw their first month's pay. The Trog were the first race humanity had met who matched them in both technological accomplishment and ruthless determination.

They actually called themselves the Slanesshs, but the Terrans referred to them as troglodytes, which had been shortened to Trogs. They were a reptilian race, taller and more heavily built than humans and covered in a scaly greenish hide. They breathed an atmosphere that was very similar to human tolerances and thus, both races coveted the same kind of planet, although the Trogs couldn't survive on the more arid worlds.

Exploration had led to incidents, incidents to threats, threats to confrontation and now a hot war raged. The Trogs had a numeric advantage, the Humans a slight edge technologically, and for the past decade they had been killing each other with zealous abandon. Stalemate gave way to frustration and frustration lead to atrocities on both sides. The war was basically a bloodbath, centered on the jump bottleneck at Yalo. Each side felt it could win a war of attrition, so the plasma kept flying.

Yalo was the key. The only planetary system with a star that provided enough energy to recharge a jumpship's engines, that was strategically placed to bridge the great stellar void called the abyss. Whoever controlled it could make incursions into the other's space with impunity. It was said that more beings had lost their life in that system than all the other systems in space combined. Erica doubted that, having some personal history that let her know better, but the Terran media repeated it like it was gospel in all the war newscasts.

Erica brushed a lock of her long blonde hair from her face as the door to the room slid open on almost silent servos. She didn't have to ask who was there, she already knew. Sgt. Major Tucker. With his arrival she scooped up the folders on the polished table and tucked them under her arm. Erica rose smoothly, with a fluid grace that was almost feline and turned on her heel.

"They're landing now," the grizzled veteran said in his customary soft voice.

"Bring 'em to the squad bay, Earl, and don't spare the fists. We need to toughen them up more, we're losing so many."

"Not your fault, Boss, don't even go there," he said quietly.

Ten years together did something to people. A mutual respect developed that was almost as deep and strong as lovers shared. Erica was a tough disciplinarian, and a stickler for the regs and military courtesy. The big NCO was the only man on the ship who could even think of being so familiar with her except the captain. To everyone else she was a straight-laced, no fun, kill-joy of an old bitch. Old tight-ass, they called her, though never when she was in earshot.

Tucker had watched over her when she was a raw recruit, d**g her ass out of uncounted dives after William had been killed, and saved her from demotion or discharge on a dozen occasions or more when she was younger. It was something they never mentioned, an unspoken understanding that her gratitude was beyond words.

"Mercy. Just be prepared to ride 'em hard. New policy is in effect, we are getting criminals with high aptitude scores who are given a choice of prison or the military again. We aren't winning this one, Earl, and the Authority heads are getting desperate."

"You got it, Boss," he said before turning and disappearing into the cold steel hallway.

Erica glanced out at the stars one last time before heading for her office in the squad bay.

***


Leigh Collins trudged down the shuttle gangway and reluctantly fell into line with her group, purposely standing a half step back from the crisp imaginary line the others toed. While they all gawked at the ship she kept up an air of disdain. What a bunch of rubes, she thought. There was nothing impressive to her, the shuttle landing, massive machines, or scurrying techs. Even the raw size of the cavernous bay made no impression upon her.

Unlike most of her fellows, she hadn't volunteered and couldn't give two shits about getting her citizenship. She had grown up on the hive world of Taltos III and before her twelfth birthday she had become an accomplished thief. She would still be there, happy and living below the official radar screen, if her shithead of a boyfriend hadn't ratted her out to save his own skin. She still owed him and he had better be praying she didn't survive this ordeal.

Leigh zoned out as the ship's PR officer began to read a prepared speech. She had been sleeping in an abandoned storage room when they came for her. Tall, grim men in black armor and helmets that covered their eyes. The dreaded TAC unit, storm troopers of the Terran Authority's tenuous grip on the planet.

She had fought of course; her preternatural reflexes and experience from years of living on the mean streets, coupled with her desperate fear had almost gotten her out of it. She had dropped five of them, and was squeezing past the last one standing when he tagged her in the ribs with his stun stick.

Leigh remembered the pain, like a million needles being jabbed into her body, especially in her nipples, mouth and pussy. She had come to in a holding room, with her hair frizzed and everything she owned, including her teeth, aching. They had stripped her, bathed and disinfected her and tattooed a number on her left hip. She was still disoriented when the door to the ten by ten holding room had swung open and a burly man in uniform had walked in.

"Got a name girl?" he grunted as he eased his bulk into the chair on the opposite side of the table that was the room's only furnishing.

"Speak up."

When she remained grimly silent his face softened slightly and his body language changed minutely. Less threatening, but she could tell he was still alert.



"Look k**, I don't need a name, I can just call you by your number. Hell, you don't even have to talk to me, but it would do you well to listen to what I have to say."

"Leigh. My name is Leigh."

"That's better. Okay Leigh, I'm Sergeant Brannanberg. I don't think you need me to tell you, you're in deep shit."

"Why? I haven't done anything," She bluffed.

"Shit girl, half the whores on Balefeas didn't do anything. Most of 'em were just like you, unregistered and grabbed for some petty crime."

"What's that got to do with me?"

"That's where you're heading, k**. First they'll open your head up and stick a nice nano processor in there, it'll make you pliable. Hell, you won't be able to say no. Probably give you a boob job while you're out since the titty fairy wasn't kind. Then it's off to a life devoted to getting off any swinging dick that has the creds your owner demands for your services. Should be easy on you at first, you're young and pretty. But after a while, you'll end up in one of the sleazy places, blowing sailors for a cred or two and engaging in the most depraved shit your little mind can come up with for a fiver."

"I'll die before that," she said. Her voice was steady, but she had heard of Balefeas. Her body was suddenly covered in a clammy sweat. No one deserved that, especially not her.

"Nah, the NAC will keep you from harming yourself, unless a paying customer demands it. Hell, I saw a girl take a horse up her ass there when I was still a wet nose with the one-oh-eight."

Despite her wish not to, she knew in her heart he was being truthful.

"Why are you telling me all this?" she asked. She could hear the fear in her voice and hated herself for showing weakness.

"Well, you're quick. Damned quick. I watched the vid of you taking out most of the TAC team that went to get you. Not bad for an untrained k**. I'm the recruiter for the Space Marines here, but I also fill a small quota for the Naval Air Service if I get one who qualifies."

"And?" she asked cautiously.

"And if you have the brains to go with the reflexes, this is your lucky day," he said, fishing a sheaf of papers out of his black brief case and tossing them on the desk.

Leigh looked them over, but she had never learned to read. The man seemed to understand and took them out of her hand.

"Full pardon, for all crimes against the authority. Registration, as a full human, don't bother telling me you aren't, I know that, doesn't make a fucking bit of difference to me and application for citizenship."

"What do I have to do?" she asked tentatively, expecting the worst.

"Just put your X on the dotted line, k**. You get the pardon, registration and an application for citizenship. Of course you have to earn that, five year commitment to the Navy. Odds are you won't live long enough to draw your first paycheck, but it beats sucking cock for the next thirty years don't it?"

"Some deal."

"If we weren't getting our asses handed to us by the Trogs, it wouldn't even be offered, sweets. You'd already be on a transport and sporting a shaved head, big tits, some new hardware and a different attitude."

"Five years and I'm done?"

"That's the deal. Don't expect to live to see it though, unless you're even better than I think you are," he said, extending a pen to her.

"You're mighty fucking encouraging," she snapped.

"I save the ass kissing for people who have a choice, k**. Honor, glory, duty, great pay, see exotic places, the girls will be creaming their panties over you in the uniform, all that crap. Why not be straight with you? If I told you, you were signing up for a firing squad, I figure you'd take that over the life of a pleasure girl."

"Life sucks," she said resignedly and made her mark on the line.

"Beats the alternative, k**, always remember that," he said as he stuffed the papers in his briefcase and stood up.

***


Katie stared around the huge landing bay with wide eyes. She had never seen anything remotely like it back home. She had chosen the space corps to do her five years of service right after graduating from intermediate school. Well, chosen might be a bit of an exaggeration. The recruiter had been tall, handsome and dashing in his aviator's uniform. His pitch had been smooth and polished, but the whole time he had been staring at her with come hither eyes.

Her pussy still tingled when she remembered meeting him after the job fair for tea at the local pub. Tea had given way to ale and she had been pretty tipsy when she agreed to go back to his room for a night cap. The night cap had tasted a little funny, but she was too far gone to worry about it.

The room had been cheap, but to her eyes it was grand. He had wasted little time, getting her to sign on the dotted line, and then tossed the papers into a stack on the desk. She remembered his strong hands on her shoulders, pushing her down to her knees. She had felt so incredibly naughty as she undid his dress trousers and fished inside for his cock.

She was already well acquainted with the male anatomy and couldn't wait to see what this man had in his pants; she was sick of pale, thin boys.

The sergeant certainly didn't disappoint. He was easily two inches longer than the biggest she had ever had, and much thicker. She gently stroked the satiny skin, watching his pulse in the thick blue vein that ran the length of his cock. It was large and thick, with a pinkish purple head. She was still just watching and stroking him when he tangled his hands in her dark black hair and pulled her towards it.

The head bumped her full lips and she parted them, gently sucking it into her mouth. Katie swirled her tongue around the head, enjoying the strong masculine flavor. When the sergeant groaned, she began to stroke the shaft, sucking until her cheeks hollowed and using her tongue on the underside.

"God damn, who'd have thought it? A cocksucker like you on this backwater," he exclaimed.

Katie preened at the praise and redoubled her efforts, twisting her hand on the shaft as she stroked and cupping his balls with her other hand. Soon he grunted, and his hands locked onto her head. He began to pump his hips, slowly fucking her face. Each time his cock head hit the back of her throat she would gag, but she was loving it.

Without warning he pulled her to her feet and undid her tight pants. He shoved them to the floor and then put his weight against her, riding her down on the bed. Lying with his weight on her, he reached between their bodies, grasped his cock and rubbed it up and down her moist lips. When he found her entrance he thrust himself forward, driving four inches of his hardon into her yielding body.

Katie gasped, and then moaned as he sank the rest with another thrust and began to stroke into her. She wrapped her legs around him, raising her hips to meet his thrusts. Soon she was groaning and whimpering as he relentlessly pounded into her. It felt indescribable and she realized what she had thought of as good sex was c***d's play.

He had come with little warning, pumping his load into her and rolling off while she was still panting. Her head was foggy and she thought this was how a girl was supposed to feel after sex, before the darkness had rushed in to claim her.

She awoke alone in the room, with someone pounding on the door. She had scrambled into her pants and opened the door, only to be grabbed by a strong man in shock armor who twisted her arm and lead her downstairs to a bus.

He had been a great fuck, but she swore she would rip the son of a bitch's dick off if she ever met him again. They hadn't even let her tell her folks good bye. Just a quick trip to the space port and she was on her way.

Bastard.

***


Rachel Loudelk's mind was also drifting as the PR officer's speech dragged on and on. The tall girl with dark hair and bronzed skin stood head and shoulders above the girl on either side of her. Even the one size fits all, unisex, gray jumper she wore couldn't disguise her lush curves or proud breasts.

Unlike her fellows, she hadn't volunteered for service. She was the eldest daughter of a tribal elder on Crotius, a reservation world. Her people had a centuries old agreement with the authority. In return for letting them live their simple lives, without interference or exploitation, they sent a guaranteed quota of warriors each year. It was a mater of tradition and honor that the eldest c***d of each member of the council always went when they came of age.

She wore a small medicine pouch around her neck, a parting gift from her mother. It was also part of the agreement that she could wear it while on duty. Her people were the only members of the military who could wear non-regulation ornaments. She wore it with pride, and felt superior to those around her. They were all in it for the money, or the glory or personal gain. She was there as part of her people's warrior tradition that spanned back across the ages to when man hadn't even left the tiny ball of dust that had spawned him.

She was physically gifted and had breezed through boot camp, the mental games being c***d's play compared to the grueling training she had undergone while studying with her mother, a tribal shaman. Long before her drill instructors said so she was tough, capable and confident. She kept a cultivated aloofness among her peers, which many took for a feeling of superiority.

Beneath the façade she was a warm and vibrant girl and her gregarious nature chafed at the isolation. She was hoping to make friends among the pilot trainees, now that the mind games of basic were over and she could lower her guard.

"All right, listen up," a deep baritone bellowed.

The cadets were all snapped from the near catatonic state the endless speech had produced. The PR officer was smiling and saluted before he exited, leaving the standing on the pad with only a giant of a man in an NCO's uniform that had more stripes than any of them had ever seen.

"I'm Sergeant Major Tucker and for the next four months, your sorry asses are my responsibility. The officers will make pilots out of you, I'll make soldiers out of you. I want you ladies to get your gear and form up over by blast door C. You've got two minutes to get whatever it is you've got in there, out of your system, or I'll be taking it out personally. Move!"

Leigh moved slowly over to the gear bags and located hers. She shouldered it and moved over to the blast door with the rest of the excited cadets. Her contempt for her fellows was barely contained and was sufficient to keep anyone from introducing themselves.

"Form up, follow me," the sergeant bawled, then exited at a swift route step.

They had learned to march in basic, but Leigh would be damned if she would become a faceless cog in the Authority war machine. She intentionally stayed out of step.

"Halt!"

The big man walked back to Leigh and stared at her from under the smokey bear hat.

"Did you forget to take your dildo out this morning, sweet pea?" he asked with a big smile.

"No, Sergeant," Leigh replied, ignoring the suppressed giggles from her fellows.

"Well, are you just too stupid to stay in step?"

"No, Sergeant."

"Listen girly, you got hot panties or something? You looking for some dick?"

"No, Sergeant," she replied through clenched teeth. Everyone was staring and laughing at her now.



"Well, sugar britches, why you trying to get daddy's attention then?"

Leigh was fast, incredibly fast, but she never even saw the backhand that sent her sprawling to the deck. Big, ham sized hands seized her jumper front and jerked her to her feet. She kicked out, landing a solid blow between the big man's legs. To her amazement he just smiled.

"Keep it up sugar, I like it rough," he said.

She was jerked up and slammed to the deck, the shock of her feet hitting so hard sent waves of pain up her legs and into her knees and hips. Before she could move he drove his knee between her legs. Leigh screamed, she had never felt pain like that. With total disregard the big man slammed her, face-first, into the bulkhead, causing her to see stars. Several backhanded slaps, delivered in rapid fire had her tasting blood. He beat her casually, unhurriedly, and without the faintest hint of emotion.

In her life she had been beaten by several men. Angry men with fire in their eyes, aroused men with lust showing on their faces and even a sadist with unholy ecstasy as he inflicted pain upon her. Tucker's face showed nothing, he might have been swatting a mosquito for all the concern she saw. It was calculated, brutal, and at the same time almost casual. It was the most frightening thing she had ever witnessed.

He stepped back and executed a spinning kick, driving the sole of his combat boot into her stomach. She fell to the deck and retched. Her body screamed and she tasted the smoky taste in her mouth that let her know a tooth was broken. He pulled her up to her feet by her jumper and locked eyes with her.

"Now darling, you fall back in with these other twats and keep up. If I have to stop this collection of split tails again, I'll pull every hair out of your cunt while the whole damn ship watches on closed circuit."

Leigh staggered back to her place and fought the nausea and dizziness. She was disoriented and in pain, but she kept up, certain of only one thing. If she screwed up again, he would do exactly as he promised.

***


Holly Dupree marched along, occasionally stealing a glance at the small girl struggling next to her. Holly was from old earth, the scion of a very rich family. Her parents had protested violently when she chose to earn her citizenship in the Navy, rather than taking the civil service job they had arranged for her.

She was regretting her idealism now. The beating the small girl had taken could only be described as brutal. Holly had never even been spanked before she arrived at boot camp. In the thirteen weeks there she had been slapped repeatedly, punched, kicked, and pinched. Her big breasts had seemed to be an inviting target and they had been so bruised and swollen before boot camp ended she had gone up a cup size.

The DIs had been merciless, and she had always been a target. It wasn't that she was clumsy or dumb, just that she had never had to do for herself. There was a maid back home to clean up and make the bed. A valet to help dress her and a cosmetologist to do her makeup and hair.

Despite the abuse, she had persevered and was now excited to be training on fighters. Her black belt, or primary drill instructor, had made her take the aptitude test a second time, not believing how well she had scored. The greatest thrill of her young life had been marching up to him after graduation and receiving her first salute from the son of a bitch.

The dark haired girl stumbled and started to fall. Holly's hand shot out, grabbed a handful of her jumper and kept her on her feet.

"Lean on me," she whispered urgently.

The girl looked up at her though pain glazed eyes and nodded dully. Holly slipped her arm around the girl's small waist and half-led, half carried her through the maze of corridors.

She wondered why she was helping; the girl had been so mean tempered on the flight no one would talk to her. Then she remembered boot camp. The first five k run. She had been the one stumbling then and if it hadn't been for another dark haired girl, doing for her exactly what she was doing now, she would have washed out on that hot summer day.

She had paid her back, on a hot sultry night. Allowing the little butch to suckle and nuzzle her big tits until she fell asleep. She had thought that evened the score, but she realized now she was really evening it. Helping someone in need with no expectation of reward. As they filed past the Sergeant Major, into the squad bay, Holly held her breath. He saw them, she could see it on his face as plainly as day, but he said nothing.

***


Mindy closed her eyes as her hips moved into the fast driving rhythm she knew Leia adored. The room was dark and smelled heavily of aroused women. Sweat dripped off her lean body as she drove the thick dildo into the lush redhead beneath her.

Mindy was naked, save for the red harness around her waist. Leia wore a thin olive drab tee-shirt that covered her full breasts and the thick, fire proof socks all techs wore. Mindy was between Leia's splayed legs, holding her body up on her arms and working the big dildo into Leia's tight, pink pussy.

The insistent alarm continued to buzz, but for a few more strokes they both pretended it didn't exist. With a soft moan and sigh, Leia came. Her pale body arched and her hips shot up to meet Mindy's. The lithe blonde collapsed onto the redhead's soft body and for a timeless moment they lay still.

Mindy rolled off her body and lay panting as the redhead sat up.



"Thanks love, nothing like a quickie to make the shift seem short," she said with a giggle.

Before Mindy had even caught her breath Leia wiggled into her coveralls, leaned over and kissed her damp brow and slipped out of the room.

The tall girl rose and unbuckled the harness, tossing it and the slick dildo into the dirty clothes hamper. She showered quickly and slid on a pair of issue boxers. An issue tee and issue knee stockings came next. From the closet she retrieved the long black trousers, grey blouse and black dress jacket. Another induction day, another class, another night of missing her girl. What a fucking way to live, she thought as she placed her cap on her head and sprinted for the squad bay.

***


Raven "Lucky" West sauntered into the squad bay. She wore the same dress blouse and trousers as Mindy, but instead of a dress jacket, she wore a leather bomber's jacket. 151st fighter group, Hell's Angels was stenciled on the back, along with a logo of a starfield with a scantily clad female devil on a motorcycle. On the left sleeve was a stylized hand of cards. Five of diamonds, two of clubs and three aces of Diamonds.

Only an ace with over fifty sorties to their credit could wear the jackets, in lieu of a dress jacket. The patch was her badge of honor, the five and two representing sorties flown and the three red aces each represented five confirmed kills. Hearts indicated ten, Clubs twenty. An ace of spades represented fifty. Any pilot who saw her would know immediately she had flown fifty two combat sorties and scored fifteen confirmed kills.

Lucky wore hers mostly because "Surfer" Gibson couldn't and it gave her a leg up in the pussy contest. Lucky was a tall girl, with wide hips and heavy breasts. Her face was pretty, but not stunning and the glasses and long brown hair softened her appearance a bit. She was excited today, more so than she usually was with an incoming class. She had seen the new policy regarding training. Thirty fresh bitches, straight from planet side and not a swinging dick to be seen anywhere they were allowed to go. A dyke's dream come true. She couldn't wait to get a look at them and decide which one she was bedding first.

"Surfer" Gibson was a tall, lithe girl with a toned body and jet black hair. She was stunningly beautiful and the uniform showed off her trim body to best advantage. She was casually leaning against an RFD MkII trainer and had the same hungry look Lucky was sure she was wearing. The two butch flight instructors had a friendly standing wager. They kept score on the recruits they bedded during each four month cycle. Whoever lost had to play the bitch for the other during the two week down period between classes, when they kept each other company.

When Captain Davies entered the bay from her office they both came to attention. Lucky suppressed a grin when she noticed how gingerly Surfer was moving. She had gotten in her last fuck before the new class arrived less than an hour earlier and she could still see visions of the lithe girl's upthrust ass as Lucky's big red dildo pounded into it.

"Ladies," Erica said with a nod.

"Captain," Lucky replied with a salute.

"Boss," Surfer replied before saluting.

"Where's the Goose?" Erica asked after returning the salutes.

"Here," Mindy called as she entered the squad bay at a trot.

"They should be here any minute. I don't need to tell any of you we're taking a beating out there or that our pilot losses are unacceptably high. Command is asking us to put more emphasis on defensive formations and evasive maneuvers. Tucker will enforce stricter discipline. Goose, they aren't hitting what they shoot at, that's the word from the field, any ideas?"

"Yeah, take the skirts off and turn 'em loose on real time targets. You're never going to learn gunnery shooting at stationary targets and drones," she replied.

"Lucky?"

"I agree, Captain. Letting them go live is going to result in more training accidents, but you can't substitute for the real thing, even the simulators aren't the same."

"Surfer?"

"If we are going to go live, lets change up the flight training and stress landings first." she replied thoughtfully. "That's where we have the most accidents."

"I don't know," Erica said thoughtfully.

"It's up to you, Boss," Lucky said, "but if you want them to survive longer in combat, you're going to have to risk losing a few in training. That's the way it always works."

"All right, I'll run it by the man."

The sound of marching feet echoed in the squad bay, suspending the brief meeting. Tucker marched them in sharply.

"Platoon, halt! Left face! At ease!"

Erica surveyed them, the expectant faces and bright eyes. She read them all, from the farm girls to the city girls, the cocky to the shy. It had become routine for her. And it killed her to know she would be sending most of them to their deaths in about four months. One in particular caught her eye, her face was bloody and she marked the girl as a troublemaker if she had already earned Tucker's ire.

"Welcome aboard TAS Yorktown. I'm Captain Erica Davies, Boss to you all. I know you're all tired, so I'll keep this brief. I assume Lt. Commander Haniford has already bored you to tears," she said, waiting for the titters and giggles to die.

"Yorktown is the oldest ship in the fleet, the last with a fully functioning civilian city onboard. York is completely off limits to you all, for now. Anyone caught there will be jailed. No exceptions. Don't say you weren't warned."

She looked at them for a long moment before continuing.

"We'll be your training crew, so let's get the introductions over, and let you draw your temporary bunking assignments. I'm Yorktown's Air Boss, anything that flies is my responsibility. I've been a combat pilot for longer than most of you have been alive. Lucky?"

The stacked woman moved confidently to the front of the formation as Erica stepped back.

"All right girls, my name's Raven West, but you'll call me by my call sign, Lucky. We do things a little different here, you'll each get a call sign and you'll be known by that for the rest of your training period. Get used to it, get used to responding to it. In combat, it's what you will hear from your wing mates and you need to answer to it as naturally as you do your given name."

She paused briefly, and then continued.

"I'm the senior flight instructor here. I've got five years combat experience and over fifty sorties. I can teach a monkey to fly one of these birds, and I can train you if you're willing to learn. Surfer."

The dark-haired girl glided to the podium. She surveyed them quickly, settling in on a tall, busty blonde for her primary target.

"Marina Gibson. Surfer to you. I'm also a flight instructor, but my primary job will be to teach you unarmed and armed combat techniques, as well as a physical training regimen to get your bodies ready for the Gs you'll be pulling. I have four years combat experience and have killed a Trog, hand to hand. Goose."

"I'm the Goose," she said, from her place near one of the planes, "I'll be your primary gunnery instructor. If you don't kill them, they will kill you. Lucky and Surfer will show you all the acrobatics, with me it's deadly serious. I wash out half of those who fail each training class. Anyone can fly one of these things, but it takes dedication to be a good shot. If I think you aren't as serious as you need to be, I'll form forty-four your ass, most ricky tick. Tucker."

"I'm Sergeant Major Tucker. Don't have no fancy call sign. You'll call me Sergeant Major. First one to call me sir, I'll take you across my knee and tan your ass. I'll teach you how to perform effectively as a unit. Discipline here is my responsibility and you girls are going to be as disciplined as the emperor's guard, mark my words."

"All right," Erica intoned, "fall out, find your rooms and stow your gear. I'll be conducting interviews this afternoon and all of tomorrow. You have free run of the flight crew service area. Get to know your way around. Come Monday, be ready to start learning. Dismissed."

***


The express lift that took her from the flight deck to the bridge rose soundlessly. Only the slight sense of motion in her stomach gave away that she was moving at all. It rose five hundred decks in the space of a minute before it stopped with a gentle bump and the doors hissed open.

"Air Boss on deck," the sentry called out before she even got out of the lift. Everyone on the bridge snapped to attention.

"As you were," she said and the crew went back to work.

They were all young and fresh faced. Command rotated them every six months; just about the time they started to figure out a bridge crew on a parked ship was about as useful as tits on a boar hog. This crew had just arrived with her cadets and would get a thorough, if narrow, taste of life on the bridge of a star ship.

Captain Quarrels sat in the padded skipper's chair, with his ever present cup of tea. He was in his eighties now, at that point where you either get promotion to flag rank or start thinking about life after the service. He was qualified, but knew he wouldn't see another promotion. Command of the Yorky was a highly prestigious way of easing you out. His days in uniform were numbered, just like hers, and the two career military personnel shared a bond.



"Captain," she said, offering a salute.

"Erica," he replied with a mischievous smile.

"Permission to speak to you in your office?"

"Of course, of course, come along young lady," he said, rising stiffly and limping to the blank door that marked his office. Inside the room was sumptuously appointed, with real wood furniture and real silk upholstery. He sat behind his big desk and smiled easily.

"What can I do for you? Haven't decided you're hard up enough to take me up on my offer of bed and breakfast, I suppose."

Despite herself Erica laughed. He drove her to the brink with his lack of formality, and made passes at her that were so intentionally clumsy they were comical. One day she swore she was going to take him up on it, just to see his face, but not today.

"I suppose you saw the directive from command?"

"Which one? The one that reprimanded the chef for cooking too much or the one that directed me to institute harsher measures to stop fraternization, as if I can control hormones with orders, or the one directing me to begin live situation training, forgetting the ship hasn't moved since before I was born?"

"The one directed at the flight crew," she said, shaking her head.

"Oh come on, smile. Yes, I saw it. Stupid. It isn't as if you are sending them off half-cocked, so to speak."

"Perhaps we are," she began.

"Poppycock. Utter balderdash. You do as fine a job training these c***dren as anyone in the fleet."

"I'd like your permission to go to live fire gunnery drills, sir."

"Do you think that's wise?" he asked, suddenly serious.

"I think it's the only way we are going to give them an edge. The instructors all agree. I'm just concerned about safety."

"You're the Air Boss. I'll rubber stamp whatever decision you make, my dear. I too, think it's the only way we can give them a more realistic training program, but I would never have stepped on your toes to suggest it..."

"Thank you, sir," she said, saluting.



He smiled and gave her a wave as she exited.

***


Lucky, Mindy, and Surfer all sat at the wooden table and downed beers as fast as Bel, the crippled bartender, could bring them. It was their last evening of liberty until after the initial flight training was completed and as usual, they were tying one on, speculating and telling lies. Bel sat with them often, as much one of the girls as any man could be. In fact, Lucky had dubbed him an honorary lesbian. He wore that title with as much pride as he did the small medal of honor around his neck.

His bar was the place where the pilots on board hung out. Small, smoky, and filled with memorabilia from his flying days, he had bought it off the last owner, who had also been a combat veteran. There were no patrons this early and the bar girl knew better than to go near Lucky or Surfer when they were drinking. The last time she had found herself mildly drunk and sandwiched between them. Not something she would normally mind, but the two of them were so competitive she had missed three days of work before she could walk straight afterwards.

Bel was a short man, with thick arms and a barrel chest. He had been crippled when his Executioner had been too close to the line of fire of a battleship's main battery. Both legs had been vaporized below the knee and he now got around on prosthetics. He passed more tankards around and eased into a chair.


"Indian girl is hot," Lucky commented.

"Straight as an arrow, too," Goose observed.

"Ya think? I kinda got a good vibe from her," Lucky went on.

"Indian, shmindian, I can't wait to get between the legs of that blonde bombshell," Surfer added.

"She's straight, too," the Goose predicted.

"Honey, there ain't none of 'em straight once I get between their legs. She'll be giving me head before she knows thrust from yoke, bank on it," Surfer said with almost arrogant confidence.

"Go ahead, set your sights on her, it won't be my ass Lucky is tearing up," Goose said, smiling evilly when Marina blanched.

"You bitch," she hissed at Lucky.

"Not me, I swear it," Lucky said holding her hands up even as she started laughing.

"She didn't rat on you. I know how a girl with a well fucked ass moves. I'm not above taking the back door from time to time and Leia loves it," Goose said while pouring another drink.

"You are so whupped," Surfer said, trying to change the subject.

"Oh Lucky, that's it, tear me up baby!" the Goose cried in a reasonably good imitation of Surfer when she was playing bottom.

"One of these days, Goose, I'm going to tear your ass up," Marina threatened.

"When did you girls get so into ass fucking?" Bel asked.

"It wasn't my idea," Surfer said petulantly.

"You've got a cute ass, you didn't complain when I started," Lucky said.

"Shut the fuck up," Surfer growled.

Lucky managed a big shit-eating grin while Bel and the Goose hid theirs behind their steins. A group of techs came in and Goose checked them out, disappointed to see Leia wasn't among them.

"How bout that farm girl, the one with the nice ass?" Goose said.

"Straight," both Lucky and Surfer said in unison.

"I think you're both wrong."

"I wonder if she's a natural blonde," Surfer said, returning to the current object of her attention.

"It's probably shaved, she looked pretty freaky to me," Lucky opined.

As the hours passed, their speculation grew from orientation to shaved or natural to wild and freaky or missionary only. The bar filled, then slowly emptied and still they carried on. It was well past 03:00 before they staggered out, leaning on each other for support.

***


Leigh had been dreading it for several hours when her turn came. She entered the Air Boss's private office and sat stiffly in the chair before her desk. The tall woman took her time going over Leigh's dossier before looking up.

"Nasty shiner, you've got there," Erica commented.

"Yes ma'am, should have been watching where I was going," Leigh replied instantly.

She wasn't a faceless cog. But she wasn't dumb either. Alleging on the Sgt. Major would get her run out of the service, and Balefeas was waiting if she washed out.

"At least, you're not a rat."

Erica looked into the recruit's eyes and felt her breath catch in her throat. There was something there, something disturbing. She was an excellent judge of people, but this girl was an enigma. And something about her was disturbingly captivating.

"Well, recruit, I've looked over your folder. Pull your weight, learn the job and respect your fellows and the past will carry no weight with me. Screw up again and I'll personally see you on the next transport back to that shit hole you were born on, and you know what that means as well as I do."

Erica saw the anger flare in her eyes, and felt the challenge.

"Permission to speak freely, recruit. Get it off your chest, it's the last time you'll be free to show your ass around here," Erica said, coming around the desk.

"I don't care about your fucking navy. I'm not intimidated by your trained gorilla. And I'm not intimidated by you!" Leigh shouted, before launching herself at the tall woman.

Leigh was angry. Angry with the world for turning on her, angry at the Sergeant Major for embarrassing her, angry at herself for losing it, knowing full well she was throwing her life away, but more than anything she was angry with this tall woman, who brought home to her in a threat, just how out of her control her life had become. Leigh's sudden attack caught Erica off guard and the short girl quickly caught both her wrists.

Erica drew her right arm back quickly, while forcing her left arm out. This pulled Leigh close to her body, and allowed the Air Boss to use her weight. She pressed forward with her chest, but the small woman surprised her, releasing both of her wrists, sliding under her arm and locking her arms around Erica's waist. Erica grimaced, and then used her legs to propel herself backwards. The lip of the desk hit Leigh in the small of her back, and both women went across the desk, landing in a heap on the other side, as the roller chair shot out of their way and things crashed to the ground.

They came to their feet, but Leigh still had all the leverage. She was suddenly aware of how soft the tall woman's body was in her arms. She smelled the faint scent of lilacs from her hair, and saw her pulse beating in her elegant neck. There was something disturbingly sensual about her commander now and Leigh felt an unfamiliar thrill at being in control.

Erica smashed back with her elbow and the air left the small woman's lungs in a rush. A second vicious jab and Leigh released her hold, realizing she could be battered in this position with no way to defend herself or exert control over the taller woman. Leigh kicked free of Erica's body, knocking the tall woman to her knees. Both women came to their feet, facing each other and panting.

They circled warily, each looking for an opening. Leigh saw one first, skating to her left she feinted towards Erica's midsection, and then threw herself at the tall woman's legs. It should have knocked her down, but Erica had not been fooled by the feint and drove her knee up, catching Leigh squarely in the chest.

The wind was knocked out of her and before she could get a breath, Erica kicked her hard in the ribs. She rolled over onto her back and was staring down the barrel of Erica's dress pistol. Leigh's anger burned out as suddenly as it had risen and she relaxed on the floor, trying to breathe.

The door opened and Tucker stepped in. Seeing the big man, Leigh died inside, realizing she had just let her temper seal her fate. She wondered if the Air Boss would shoot her. Suicide by design was better than what awaited her.

"MPs are on the way, Boss," he said. Leigh noticed his voice was different, softer and deferential, almost meek.

"Belay that." Erica said, still breathing hard.

"What'll I tell 'em?" he asked, cocking his head and giving her a quizzical look.

"Tell 'em to get the boys from Bio down here, I saw a rat. And get this piece of shit out of my office," she said, indicating Leigh with her boot toe. Tucker nodded, reached down and bodily lifted Leigh by the scruff of her neck. He walked out of the office, with the small woman's feet dangling two inches off the floor.

As the door closed four men in shock armor came running around the corner. Leigh found herself with her feet on the floor and stood there, weighing her chances of making a break for it.

"Relax, boys," Tucker said easily, "False alarm, the Air Boss has a furry visitor. I'll put in a call to Bio, sorry to have shook you out,"

The leader smiled and took his helmet off.

"Don't sweat it, Sergeant, first action we've had in months. I'll need a signature though," he said, pulling a pad from his back pocket.

Tucker signed it and the MPs headed back, grousing about women and their frailties.

"What the fuck is going on?" Leigh asked as Tucker propelled her towards her quarters with a shove.

The tall man said nothing, until they were in Leigh and Rachel's room and he shut the door. With that same casual disinterest, he smashed his balled fist into her stomach, doubling her over. With both hands he caught her jumper and jammed her back into the bulkhead. Her head smashed into the wall and she saw stars. Her face was even with his and her feet were dangling well off the deck.

"I been doing this a long time, girly. I was whipping recruits into shape before you got your first period. I know your story and it don't mean shit to me. I've washed out hundreds of pukes like you, who don't belong in my beloved Navy."

"I don't want to be in your fucking Navy!"



"If you'd rather be working on your back, just say the word," he replied in that strangely soft voice.

Being reminded of what she was avoiding by being here took the fight out of her. Her temper had nearly cost her again and she was still not sure why it hadn't.

"I'm sorry, Sergeant. I thought that was where I was heading when you showed up."

He looked long and hard at her, his brown eyes boring into her. Leigh met his gaze, even though she felt an overwhelming desire to lower her eyes.

"Sorry don't cut it here. You got a chip on your shoulder the size of this ship and you've been throwing a personal pity party since you landed. Woe is me, I'm so put upon. Everybody hates me, guess I'll go eat worms, Boo hoo hoo," he said with sarcasm dripping from the high falsetto he used.

Leigh saw contempt in his eyes and anger, but she also saw something that hurt even more, pity.

"I am being screwed over," she protested, but it sounded hollow even to her.

"Yeah, that's some screwing. That's twice the Boss has stuck her neck out for you. Twice she's risked twenty years of spotless service to keep you out of trouble. I'd have form forty-foured you from the get go, but I have less tolerance for uppity pukes than the Boss does"

"I never asked her for any favors!"

"No, your real tough, a real lone wolf. But she's done it just the same."

"Why?" Leigh demanded.

He shook his head and sighed.

"You think you're the only one who ever came to the service to avoid Balefeas?" he asked.

Tucker dropped her to the floor and, spinning on his heel, exited the room. For a long time, Leigh sat on the floor in shock.

***


Erica was returning the things they had knocked over to their rightful place when Tucker slipped into her office.

"All square," he said.

"That girl is going to be the end of me, Tuck. I just feel it."

"Lotta rage in her. Lotta hate. Maybe too much to salvage. You're running a lot of risks, Boss."

"I know, Tuck, I know. But I can't condemn her to Balefeas without trying, you know I can't."

"I know. For what it's worth, I think she has the makings. I just don't know if she can let the hate go, but I've seen worse in my time. I remember this one hellion from Hell's Kitchen..."

"That's enough out of you," she scolded.

"I haven't started yet," he replied with a grin, before exiting her office.

Erica sighed and collapsed in her chair. Leigh's file was still open before her. She had only to fill out a forty-four and she would be rid of her. Discipline case, unfit for flight training. It was that easy. Instead she scrawled 'attitude problem' in the notes field and tossed the folder in with the others.

As she sat there, she wondered if she was really taking chances because she didn't want to send the girl to a life of sexual slavery or if there was another reason.

Erica hadn't been physical with anyone since her fiancé William had been killed. She was in her sexual prime and still she avoided men. But when the small woman's hands had locked around her waist, she had felt it. A thrill that had nothing to do with the danger.

She was very proper, but she wasn't dumb. She knew all about Lucky and Surfer's activates as well as the Goose's girlfriend. She had never felt herself attracted to any woman, but in the dark, quiet of her office, she couldn't get the small girl's face, especially those angry eyes, out of her head

***


They all stood at attention in the big bay. It was the first day of training and a big day. Their numbers had already been thinned by three. Two medicals and one reassigned by the Air Boss after her interview. It was a big day for them for another reason. Today they got their call signs. A training call sign wasn't the same as the one your mates chose for you when you joined a group, but a surprising number of pilots kept the one they were given. This was because the call signs usually were tied to some personal trait of the pilot.

They all waited now while Tucker read out a list of infractions. No one was spared, everyone had done something wrong in the last forty-eight hours. Unlike boot camp there was no harassment for infractions, just a demerit. Enough of them and you washed out, so it was serious business. When he finished he stepped back, saluted Lucky, and marched off.

"Okay, girls. It's time."

She stepped up to Holly and saluted.

"Welcome to the one hundred and first training wing, Jugs."

The blonde rolled her eyes and Lucky winked, causing her to blush.

Katie was next in line and waited expectantly.

"Welcome to the one hundred and first training wing, Lou."

"Why Lou?" she asked in confusion.

"You remind me of the girl from the cartoon, watch that first step, it's a lou lou," Lucky replied with a smirk.

On down the line she went, when she stopped in front of Rachel Loudelk she paused.

"As I understand it, you Indians already have a warrior name. What's yours?"

"Little Cloud," she replied without hesitation.

"Cloudy it is then, welcome to the one hundred and first training wing."

She paused in front of Leigh a few moments later.

"Had one for you, but Tucker insisted, so welcome to the one hundred and first training wing, Rebel," Lucky said, with a wink.

When she finished with the unofficial ceremony, Lucky walked over to a table that had been set up and grabbed a clipboard.

"Listen up, girls. The basic unit in the Terran Air Service is the flight. Five fighters make up a flight or four bombers. Flights are arranged into commands, commands into groups, groups into wings and wings into flotillas. There are enough of you for several flights, so we are going to break you up that way to begin training. You'll each be assigned a flight for the duration of training. You'll bunk together, attend classes together, and train together.

In your training, the instructor will assume the position of fight leader. For you girls who end up short sheeted, an extra instructor will fly. When I call out your names, get to your quarters, get your gear together and report back. Do it as a group, you'll be reassigned rooms together."

"Cloudy, Jugs, Lou, Rebel, group one."

She waited until they had made it to their rooms and grabbed their gear.

"Boxer, Red, Wolf, Tease, group two."

***


"I still like vixens," Jugs said hopefully.

"No fucking way, I know it's cute and all, but I'm not calling myself a bitch," Cloudy responded.

They were sitting in their room, discussing what to call their flight. Cloudy sat on her bunk in just a tee and the white cotton panties they were issued. Her long black hair was worn in a pony tail and even after weeks with no sun, her skin had a golden bronze tone to it.

Lou sat next to her, wearing the simple bra and boxers she had been issued. She was tapping her foot on the floor and had a thoughtful expression on her face. Her skin was pale. Next to the big Indian, she looked like a ghost.

Jugs sat on her bunk across from them, topless and wearing her BDU bottoms. She seemed totally at home with her large breasts bared and no one seemed inclined to ask her to cover them.

Rebel lay on her bunk above Holly's head, still fully clothed and staring at the ceiling.

"I suppose the flying circus is too long?" Lou said.

"Yeah, Surfer said one word, at most two," Holly replied.

"Bollocks," the country girl exclaimed.

"We're supposed to learn to work together, but here it is past midnight and we can't even agree on a name. Rebel, you've been pretty quiet, what do you think?"

"Black."

"Black what?" Holly inquired.

"Just black," she said with a shrug.

"Black flight? That's not half bad," Cloudy said.

"Works for me," Lou said, standing and removing her bra before mounting the top bunk.

"I still like vixens," Holly said as she wiggled out of her BDUs and got under her blankets.

"Off," Cloudy commanded and the lights died.

Rebel lay quietly with her hands behind her head, staring up into the inky blackness. In time, she was able to make out the soft breathing and sleep induced mumbles of her mates. She was desperately tired, but after last night, she was even more afraid of sleep.

She wasn't really sure why she was afraid, the dream had been far from scary. It had actually been her first really erotic dream. She had wakened with achingly stiff nipples and the uncomfortable wet feeling in her boxers that she associated with dressing quickly after sex. All in all, it had been very pleasant. The problem was the object of it had been her tall, straight-laced commander and that revelation had been far from pleasant.

***


The lights came on automatically and reveille was piped into their room. Boot camp had made its impression and they all rolled out, making bunks and quickly dressing. They moved quickly to join the other girls lining up outside the cafeteria. It would take weeks before they were able to untrain themselves from the boot camp habit of doing everything as if the very hounds of hell were following them. Breakfast was hearty, but plain and all were surprised to find coffee and tea. In boot camp they had been forbidden caffeine or nicotine, here they could have both, but it was still a shock.

They ate quickly and with few words, shoveling the food down and hurrying back to their quarters to make sure their gear was stowed before formation.

Tucker was there, looking immaculate and wide awake. He took a head count from Corporal Sands and then ticked off a few things on a clip board.

"All right, ladies. This is your last formation for the next two weeks. You will spend the next two weeks in small group exercises. Discipline will be maintained, inspections will continue, and demerits will accrue."

A hubbub of voices broke out and Tucker cleared his throat.

"I'll still be watching you, ladies. I expect you to maintain proper discipline. Infractions will get you a lot worse than demerits," Tucker growled.

***


For the last five minutes Rebel hadn't been able to keep her eyes of Holly's boobs. The large, soft orbs bounced under her leotard and, during many of the exercises that left them inverted, obscured her face entirely. Cloudy and Lou were both having trouble as well, and for once, Rebel was happy to have small tits.

The four of them wore drab green leotards and grey leggings. Surfer wore a tight blue sports bra and shorts.

"Spin…No, use your legs only, like this," she patiently instructed.

Zero-g calisthenics. Rebel had never been so completely worn out. Intricate moves, with no resistance at all. Isometrics, yoga, dance, the routine seemed to be designed to kill her.

Surfer proved to be a far tougher taskmaster than even Tucker. She was relentless, forcing Rebel to go on when her body shrieked in pain. Muscles she didn't even know she had ached, throbbed and protested, but still the dark haired girl wasn't satisfied. Holly broke first, doubling over and clutching her breasts. Lou was next, curling into a fetal ball and whimpering as she clutched her sides. When Cloudy finally stopped, panting and sweating, it was just Rebel and Surfer.

On and on it went, far past the limits she thought she could bear. Yet she refused to quit, refused to give up, and more importantly, refused to fail again. Surfer pushed her, pushed her hard, but eventually the exertion began to show on even her beautiful face.

"Take the grav back up, Penny," she called at last.

They all descended slowly to the floor, and as the weight of gravity made itself felt, Rebel collapsed on the padded floor along with the others.

"Not bad for first timers. Jugs, you're coming with me this afternoon, after I clear it with the Boss. Cloudy, Lou, hit the whirlpool. Expect pains in places you didn't even know you had. Rebel, no one has ever stayed with me for a full session the first time out. You just might make it, girl."

With that, the tall girl rose and exited the training room.

"Ohhh, fuck," Lou groaned.

"What was that shit?" Cloudy asked in a breathless whisper.

Holly just made a sound like a wounded a****l. Rebel stood dazedly and took a faltering step towards the exit and the short hallway to the whirlpool. Unaccountably, she stopped and turned back. Cloudy was trying shakily to get up. Lou hadn't moved and Holly was still curled up in a ball. Rebel felt something strange, a compulsion she was unfamiliar with. Deciding she was too tired to fight it, she trudged back and extended her hand to Cloudy.

The warrior's eyes were defiant for just a blazing second, and then melted into a grateful smile. Rebel helped her to her feet and together they helped Lou up. It took all three of them to get the nearly u*********s blonde to her feet. In a shaking, quivering group, they slowly aided one another to the whirlpool.

Rebel pulled her clothes off with difficulty, finding even the usually automatic ritual to be too much to do without conscious thought. Her arms and hands were shaking so violently by the time she was naked, she was forced to hug herself and breathe deeply, like she had just run from the authorities after a heist.

Cloudy ended up helping Lou undress and Rebel aided Holly. The poor girl was in agony and Rebel felt for her. Despite her pain and fatigue, she couldn't help but ogle Holly's big tits and smiled when she saw her soft blonde pubes. She helped her to her feet and together they hobbled into the deep whirlpool to join Lou and Cloudy.

***


Holly was lying on her bunk when Surfer walked in. She looked fresh and fit, totally recovered from the work out.

"Oh come on, girls, it wasn't that bad," the superbly fit pilot chided.

She wore olive drab coveralls and seemed none the worse for wear from the morning's exercises, unlike the rest of them who were in varying states of immobile pain.

"Surfer, kiss my ass," Lou declared vehemently.

"Love to, but you have to earn it," she replied unflappably.

"Up and at 'em, Jugs."

"Screw you," the blonde blurted out and then moaned and cradled her aching breasts.

"Damn, I should have brought my strap on with all the invitations I'm getting today."

The dark haired girl grabbed Holly's hand and bodily pulled her to her feet. Every muscle in Holly's body seemed to protest and knot at once and she would have fallen if Surfer hadn't held her up.

"Come on," Surfer said, half leading, half carrying the tall woman with her.

Parked outside was a jeep, which Surfer helped Holly into and then got in herself. She drove carefully through the squad bay, but opened it up some once in the long service corridor. When they passed the large yellow line painted on the floor that signaled the bound