In the Line of Fire

Mark_Christopher: It’s incredibly dusty. I hate the dust, Afghans, Americans, pretty much everything about being out here.

I hate the fact that I have to deal with so much crap, my men fighting boredom half the time.

I’d jumped at a mission to watch a known terrorist location and actually do something for a change rather than wait in camp for something to happen. I had been hearing noises in the small cave. I was sitting in watching through a scope.

MarineMuscle21: Fuck this place... fuck the heat, the sand, the rich, grey faced old white men who send guys like me here to sort out the shit that disrupts their torrent of blood soaked money.

But, there are real lives attached... mine, my men, all the folks who live here who don't deserve the harsh oppression of ISIL or the Taliban.

So, you need a terrorist leader tracked? You need to find out who he's reporting to, you need to know if his money is coming from the west, from a foreign power? You send Gunnery Sgt. Mat Rock. US Marine Special Forces.

That's me.

It's taken weeks. Weeks of tedious undercover work, of knife fights in alleys, of greasing the right palms and breaking the right jaws, but now this young buck Turkish arms dealer (my cover) is squatting in a shithole cave, being introduced to my target... the guy who's gonna lead me to the money man. He asks me to join him outside...

Mark_Chistopher: I pulled my knife out of my belt, the one thing Sgt Mark Christopher, 22 Regiment Special Air Service, couldn’t have is any noise.

I slowly walk up to see the two of them talking, and I hide in the shadows. One of the people I didn’t recognise, a muscular guy, wearing dusty cargo pants, rugged boots, black t-shirt, and shades... but the target was the other guy, a local who had planted some bombs and wouldn’t plant any more.

Deal with the target, then deal with the muscular guy. I couldn’t use my sidearm, sadly, a gunshot in the confined space could end up being very loud in the valleys outside.

I wiped the sweat from my hand across my camouflage trousers, pulled back my arm, and threw the knife neatly into the back of the terrorist. I went to throw a second knife but the clasp holding it onto my belt jammed and I couldn’t release it.

MarineMuscle21: I'm chatting up my target, thinking through how much more intel I can squeeze out once I meet the money man... I feel a shift in the air, and suddenly senses are on high alert. Just as I decide that we've got another player in the field, a knife streaks out of my periphery and buries itself in his back.

FUCK.

I spin, and take you in a heartbeat; British military pants, but otherwise just a built, white dude. A big, yoked, muscular white guy... in the desert... at my meet, for no fucking reason. And he's trying to pull another knife.

It flashes through my mind that you might be PMC, maybe a deserter or assassin... maybe in deep cover, like me. But whoever you are you just FUCKED my op and are trying to draw another weapon.

It takes me less than a second to close the six meters between us, and I grip your wrist with both hands, jamming it against your hip, preventing your draw, and step behind your ankle, powering through to trip you up and dump you on your ass.

Mark_Christopher: I wasn’t expecting you to move that quickly and that well and before I notice anything I’m already starting to fall backward. My hand can’t move to my knife now as you’ve got it solidly grabbed but my other hand is still free.

And there is a choice here. To lash out and punch either in the jaw or the groin. Something to startle and make you drop your hold on my other hand. Or something else.

But it’s a split second decision and instead I grab your black shirt instead, holding on tight as I fall backwards to the floor. But as I’m going down. You’re coming with me.

MarineMuscle21: I feel this guy grab my shirt, his weight pitched just right, his grip iron... I can feel the brute strength in his arm as I control his grip.

You bring me down with you, I release my grip on your wrist, roll through... come to my feet and see you doing the same. This dude is skilled. Dangerous. Like me.

"Who the fuck are you?" I growl.

Mark_Christopher: Now it’s my turn to cross the distance quickly. But rather than try and slam you to the ground, I charge into you to slam you into the cave wall.

“None of your fucking business,” as a muscular shoulder slams into your chest.

I can’t let them know I was here. Although the voice is American. Is he a PMC out here. For money.

MarineMuscle21: Definitely British, I have time to think to myself, and then you're on me. "Uufffff..." I grunt as your slightly larger and no less strong than me frame hammers me into the cave wall. I feel my shirt tear, rock digging into my back. My feet are barely touching the ground.

I drop a hard, short elbow into the back of your skull, BOOM, hoping for a quick knockout... but, you seem like too much of a stud to drop so easy. Which is too bad, cause that'd be real convenient for me. Expecting the elbow to fail I pull my legs up and crush them around you, a tight full guard, and dig in between your neck and shoulder, working to secure an arm-in guillotine choke.

"You made it my fucking business when you killed my fucking client, dickhead!" I snarl.

Mark_Christopher: I grunt loudly as I feel the blow to my neck, It doesn’t knock me out but I do stumble slightly and I almost end up going down on one knee. “Fucker. You don’t know who you’re fucking messing with.”

Then I’m grappled and it’s getting harder to move. Especially with one arm pinned and I can feel the wind being crushed out of me and I growl. I can’t let some yank PMC get the better of me.

I can’t get the full strength behind it due to how I’m being held but I’m hoping that the single fist to the balls manages to loosen your grip so I can get to my knife at least.

But I am starting to struggle for air.

MarineMuscle21: It's no small job to keep my grips on this big bull... I squeeze down on your thick, muscular neck. I figure you're only a few seconds from blacking out, and then...

"AAAGGGHH!" I let out a sharp bawl of agony as your punch hits home... I feel my abused balls draw up, my gorge rises like I'm gonna puke, and I let my grips loosen, well loose enough for you to break my guard. As pain rushes from my balls across my nervous system, scattered thoughts form into four tracks -

First, the part of my brain that's on-mission is trying to track how long since this op has gone tits up, how long before the money man gets here, and if there's any hope in hell of salvaging it.

The part of my mind that loves solving puzzles is trying to suss you out...you're young. My age. No way you're just some thrill seeker merc; you've got training. Good training, to be this skilled this young. Why the shit are you out in this hellhole back country killing terrorists?

The part of me that likes to spend my leave in seedy hotels with beefy studs is preoccupied with how thick, hard, and strong your body felt against mine.

Mostly, though, my inner drill instructor is screaming at me. GET THE FUCK UP AND FIGHT YOU PANSY ASS EXCUSE FOR A MARINE! FIGHT OR DIE! I scrabble up, trying to block out the pain, and see you've also found your feet. And your knife.

I reach into my false pocket and pull my own knife from its magnetic sheath.

Mark_Christopher: As I manage to get back away from you for a second I pull my own knife finally free and look at you. Both of us winded. And it takes a lot to wind me.

So I know you’re good. You’re not some hot off the plane here just to have some fun.

“You can die here. Or you can tell me why you’re in the middle of my op.”

I hold the knife in my hand as I circle around you. “Weak little balls, what are you... US Army?”

I’m looking for any weakness. But I’m tired. That is rare. I’m normally fit. But the American was definitely no weakling. And well trained.

MarineMuscle21: I keep my distance, circling... paying attention to your knife but also keeping your whole body in view; the temptation to lock eyes is strong and instinctive, but that's how you miss vital tells, like footwork, which can save your life.

Ok... so: this stud can seriously handle himself. Unfazed in the midst of scenario which would have most folks scared to pissing in their trousers. In the midst of that scenario in the first place. British, and giving me shit about being (A) American and (B) the fortitude of my balls.

I grin. "SAS?"

Several things click into place ; you're here on a deniable op... you have to be, same as me. You may not be any more at liberty to disclose why you're here, even to an ally operative... same as me. To protect whatever you think you need to protect, you're probably willing to leave an extra corpse in the desert if you have to. Same as me.

If we, and way more importantly I, am getting out of this shitstorm alive we have to find some common ground. But the expert way you move with that knife doesn't make me feel good about figuring it out before I get skewered.

I feint right, bringing my knife in laterally, deliberately a little wide... enough to try to bait you into over extending. Praying you do, because there's no time to react if I'm wrong, I stutter step left and wheel a hard left hook at your ribs.

Mark_Christopher: Both of us are being calm. That’s not a good sign. Normally at this point someone is running off or scared. Not many people stand their ground when someone with a knife, who knows how to use it, is standing there

“What if I am.”

As I say that I see the knife heading towards me and I have to step to the side to get away from it. But it’s further away then I expect and I slip slightly on the sand as I move.

I don’t drop my knife but I feel the pain in my ribs as a massive punch hits it. “Fuck,” and then I do drop the knife as the pain and being already off balance means I need to make a choice quickly as I slip a second time on the sand and as I slam to the floor I throw out a large well shined boot to kick your knife away from you.

I may be on the floor but at least you don’t have your weapon which is... something.

I breathe heavily as I start to get up. But slower than before. The ribs in a lot of pain.

MarineMuscle21: All I wanted was to have the advantage, disarm this cornered wolf and earn some breathing space, figure this mess out. Instead, you gotta go and be skilled and canny and disarm me right back.

Godfuckingdammit. I have to control this guy.

As my knife flies out of reach I drop in on you, landing in a reverse scarf side mount. I grapple for your far arm, trying to lock up a kimura. "Marine Force Recon, here, Jeeves," I grunt.

Mark_Christopher: I struggle slightly bringing my knee up into your balls and shaft, but I don’t have the leverage and it doesn’t do that much.

I can feel the pain in my shoulder from the lock now as I try to relax slightly hoping you move so I can get some leverage or a real knee into your sack.

“SAS. You make a habit of fucking up ops do you? I should fucking kill you.”

MarineMuscle21: I grunt as you take another shot at my balls. "Jesus fucking Christ, lay off the balls you pansy-ass limey fuck!" I release the kimura and move to knee-on-belly, so I can look you in the eye. I grip the back of your neck in one hand, try to control one of your wrists with the other. "YOU ruined MY op... do you have any idea how goddamned long I've been working that piece of shit? And you just fucked it all! If you'd waited a goddamned hour..."

Mark_Christopher: "Yeah well I am lucky I even hit your balls they’re so fucking small. Bet your fucking girlfriend is getting smashed by the fucking next door neighbour while you’re over here.”

I was proud of my balls and cock. Although none of my squad mates knew what I got up to on leave.

“I was sent here to kill him and not leave anything behind. Not my fucking fault that you were here. Not our fault that our superiors didn’t tell each other.”

“You call me limey again you fucking yank and I’ll fucking break your neck.” I try to break out of the wristlock again, failing but showing that I’m not giving up.

The SAS didn’t give up. Even if it was just for pride.

I’m struggling less right now. Either because I’m trying to figure out the right move to get rid of you or because ultimately we are on the same side.

MarineMuscle21: "Break my neck? You got backup I ain't seen, limey?" I tease, staring you down. Jesus, but you're handsome. Those eyes, that jaw.... focus, Marine.

I release your wrist and stand up. Warily. "Look..." and suddenly it occurs to me that your mission here might be to keep me from following the money back to Britain, even if you don't know that that's your mission.

Fuck.

"...you interrupted a meet," I finish, trying to think on my feet. "It may be unsalvageable at this point, but in ten minutes or less my target is going to be here, and I need to get a name from him."

Fuck, now I'm having to decide if it's even safe to leave you alive. I hate it.

I don't even know you. But my gut cares what happens to you. I must be getting soft.

"Fuck it. You tell me your mission here. Disclose, buddy."

Mark_Christopher: I get to my feet and look at you as I lean down and pick up my knife, putting it back in its sheath.

“You’ve got your mission. I’ve got mine. I’m not giving you the full disclosure because you’re not cleared. I've told you what I can.” I put out my hand. “And I could have broken your neck and ruined your chance at a sex life. Don’t bet against it. Yank.”

“But we are on the same side. The guy you’re meeting. I need to tidy him away as well. You get your intel. I get rid of him then I can head back to base and this fucking mess can be forgotten.”

“Unless you want to go for Round 2.” I rub my shoulder after the lock and smile as I look at you.

MarineMuscle21: I grip your hand, feel the strength there. "Round two sounds like fun. Maybe some other time, though." I look over at the corpse of my former target. "Problem is, this shitstain was introducing me to the guy who's coming. You kinda wrecked that, Jeeves."

How am I gonna do this? How am I gonna get the guy who's coming to trust me when the corpse of his client is rapidly cooling... Oh. Of course.

"Want to make it up to me?" I ask, giving you my best shit eating grin.

Mark_Christopher: I smile. “Yeah and in round 2 I won’t go easy on you.” I adjust my t shirt and trousers so they’re looking less out of shape after the fight although I’m covered in sweat.

“Depends what you want, Yank.”

“Let’s just say if it gets me round 2 there’s pretty much nothing I won’t do.” Mainly since I'd like to see the Marine with some less clothing next time.

MarineMuscle21: "'Go easy,' my ass, Jeeves. I'll lay you out," I say, but it's playful. Bros talking shit. Jesus, I hope I don't have to kill this stud. "Here's how you get round 2, then: maybe, just maybe, this guy will trust the scummy Turkish arms dealer he's meeting for the first time enough to give up the name of his backer even when his client is dead when he arrives... IF the scummy arms dealer has captured the soldier who killed his client."

Mark_Christopher: I smile as I look at you, thinking about this, and whether it will work or not. Ultimately we both get what we need for our operations and there doesn't seem to be much downside to this.

"Sure... in the spirit of international cooperation."

"But once you get the name, he dies. Can't have him seeing who I am."

I look around and nod, "But you're going to have to make it look good... one time only offer here... you're going to have to give me a few scrapes and bruises to make it look like a proper fight... not like I was just kicking your arse."

MarineMuscle21: "YOU kicking MY ass, Jeeves?" I say incredulously. I step back and put my fists up, grinning. "I wasn't the one resorting to nut shots, bro. Speaking of making it look good, I probably need a couple bruises, too." I come in fast, firing a fast jab jab cross combo, at, like... 75% intensity, like we're having a hard spar. Just wanna muss your face up a bit, not concuss you. After all, might need your help surviving the next half hour if this guy brings guards with him.

Mark_Christopher: I take a deep breath and wince slightly, it's quite unusual to not even guard against the hits... I step back. "Fine..." And then slam my fist into the bridge of your nose... probably slightly harder than I should have done, but I have something to prove.

"And nut shots are fine, it's about winning. .. no matter what."

"You'd have done the same, yank... wouldn't you." I shook off the hit, shaking my head. "Right... one more... side of the mouth, make it bleed a bit." I smile. "Be honoured... not many people get to do this."

MarineMuscle21: I'd figured we'd have a quick spar, rough one another up. When I see you don't try to defend, I concede to myself that this is definitely a more efficient approach. I reciprocate, take my lumps passively. FUCK, that hurts though. I can feel my nose run with blood, but a ginger exploration with my fingers shows you didn't break it. Grudgingly, I admire your precision.

"Sure, ib mayh life depended on it," I say, sounding funny talking around my bloody nose. "You dibnt feel dabt dangerous, tho." I grin, then clock you in the face, knuckles busting right on your lips, making sure to get a little drag on your teeth. Maybe, technically, a little rougher than strictly necessary. "Bust my eyebrow oben, Jeebes."

Mark_Christopher: I wipe some of the blood across my mouth as I look at you and jump at you slamming my elbow into the side of your face before hitting the corner of the eyebrow as hard as I could to ensure it drew blood.

My momentum slams us both into the cave wall for a second, our bodies right next to each other, and a slight shudder goes through me as I imagine feeling this body with some less clothes on... not imagining that you'd ever want that in return.

MarineMuscle21: I see stars, next thing I know I'm pressed up against the cave wall, this hard-bodied bastard tight against me. "OW, man!" I grip the back of your neck and pound a short punch into your meaty pec. The THUMP of my fist hitting thick, hard muscle under your shirt makes my dick throb against your leg, but I'm annoyed enough with you I kinda don't realize it's happened. "We're just making it look good, not going for the title belt. Jesus." Now that the flow of blood from my nose has slowed, I sound pretty normal. I stare into your eyes, gripping your neck.

Mark_Christopher: “I’d expect a US Marine to complain less,” I say spitting blood into the ground. “As if you’d ever give less than 100%.”

I look back at you and smile. “Complain later,” as I look straight at you. “When we can be somewhere safe, less sandy, with a fucking shower.”

“Round 2. I’ll show you the SAS wins. Every time.”

I pat the side of your face gently, more like a comrade, for the first time. “Right. We’d better get ready. Hadn’t we.”

MarineMuscle21: I look at you, busted up, bloody, wearing that vaguely condescending grin that only the British can do. It's somehow adorable on you. "Yeah, we probably hadn't. Had. Whatever." I grin, release my grip and slap you on the back.

THREE WEEKS LATER...

New orders. Maybe I'm finally getting out of this hellhole. It kinda chaps my ass to think that I owe it to some random SAS asshole I ran into in the desert... I grin and my dick stirs a little as I think about him. Probably never see him again, we're both practically ghosts. In and out with anonymity. Man, the guy was a pain in the ass and he fucked my op... but, if he hadn't been there, the double cross the money man tried to pull would've probably gone differently. Guess his guards didn't expect a "bound" prisoner to have a knife in his pants.

Went down differently than expected, but we got a name, before we left him cold in the desert. I'm guessing I'm off to Eastern Europe, now... that's where the money trail leads, and I'm just hoping it doesn't lead back to Britain, to someone who can put the SAS between me and them. Jeeves was a fucking pain in my ass, but I'd hate to hurt him. Fuck, I never learned his name. Of course, he didn't learn mine, so...

I approach the command tent; new orders involve JSOC, which means cooperation. Probably gonna get saddled with German BND. I enter the tent.

"Ah, Sgt. Rock," says the captain. "Allow me to introduce your teammate for this mission: Sgt. Christopher, SAS."

"Fuck me."

TO BE CONTINUED...

Published: 2020-01-19, viewed 90 times.