The Battle for Lonely Rock
Chapter Four


UPON MY DUTIES AT THE CONFEDERATE CAMP

By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM

Artwork (c) 2002 by Inocentius & Pervertida

Illustration of Battle for Lonely Rock #4

They put a pair of slave's manacles upon my feet, a hobble chain, it did not prevent me from walking but only in a shuffling, half-step way and the weight was uncomfortable. Then I was put into a wagon and hauled off in the direction of the hills where King Carson had his silver mines. The sheriff had been right, the Confederate force was here to protect the silver mines from the Union forces who were less than a hundred miles away to the north...assuming they were respecting the border at all, that is, no solid assumption in these days of the war. But soldiers were spread as thin through the West as any other white men, it may be days or weeks after Union forces had entered Confederate lands before the Confederates would learn of their presence.

Or maybe not, for the reason the Confederate camp had been placed where it was. Water. There were men who needed water and their horses, and that was not something to find anywhere in this scorched, unfriendly land. The Confederates were by Jackrabbit Spring, an oasis of green land that reached down one slope of the hill and onto the shallow canyon between two arms of the hills, and from there the water wended its way downhill. Only when the rains were very heavy did this water go all the way down the streambed to Archer Creek, that drained into the Big Blue Creek. These days, it was already a trickle when it got to the bottom of the hill, the thirsty ground drank it up. But Jackrabbit Spring was there, and so were the Confederate force.

They had maybe a hundred men here. This particular force was financed by the land barons about, so they were better supplied than most of the rebel forces. Their tents were uniform white camping tents, aligned in neat precision. There were three cannon and what appeared to be an ample supply of shot for them. There were horses, enough for each man to ride. To me, it figured that a Western garrison outfit would be supplied like this, while in the East General Lee was having trouble keeping his men in shoes, much less matching neat uniforms such as these men sported.

The men were idle, the driver called to them. "Got us a Yankee here, boys!" he shouted. "Won't nobody have to dig the shit trenches while he's around."

That earned a few catcalls as the wagon stopped and I stumbled out, looked at them. These were not the volunteer force that King Carson had been putting together, these were all strangers to me.

"Hoo-eee, so that there's what a Yankee looks like." one of them said. "Think you got enough men guarding him? This'un doesn't look big enough to be out of diapers!"

I was small for my age and almost used to this by now, I also wasn't going to backtalk anyone with manacles about my feet. I was wearing prisoner's clothing and slave's manacles, and if I wasn't careful, that was how I'd be treated. I should have been grateful they weren't planning to hang me.

"Is that why I'm here? I asked him.

He started to answer, but someone hissed, "Here comes the sergeant." and the men suddenly lost interest and moved away as a large man with a beard and a wide-brimmed hat (the only marks of his rank I could see; all the other men wore forager caps, small flat-topped things with a visor to shade the eyes but nothing to protect the ears and neck from the sun) came up.

"Is that why I'm here?" I repeated to the sergeant. "To dig trenches?"

"Somebody has to do it." he said. "You'll haul water and clean the camp and yes, dig a new trench every day and cover up the old one. Sanitation is important. If you find someone has not used the trench, you are to report it to me. Some men just squat outside their tents and we can't tolerate that. If dysentery gets a hold in a camp, it can take out a third or more of the men. So report it right away."

"Yes, sir." I said.

He smiled and said, "You keep yourself useful, son, and you'll get out of this in one piece, if the men have to smuggle you to safety themselves to do it." His smile was surprisingly gentle and friendly through that beard of his, a lush full wrath-of-God beard that made me think of the pictures they passed around in Bible study class of the prophets, or of the bankers and businessmen back in Boston or Hartford. His eyes were a warm blue, his eyebrows thick and brushy, I bet he was just as hairy all over the rest of him. No man grows eyebrows that thick unless he's got hair on his back and arms and legs and buttocks, so that hugging him naked would be like hugging a bear.

The sun was near to setting. "Very good, sir." I said. "What should I do first?"

He smiled. "You've had a busy day. We'll bunk you down and let you get fed and some sleep and start you early tomorrow. You hear that bugle call, you jump right out of bed and I'll put you to work."

"Where will I find you, sir?" I asked him.

He smiled. "As the man in charge of prisoners, I'm putting you in the tent next to my own. You'll take your meals with me. I hope you can cook."

"I can try, sir." I said.

All the men did their own cooking, the quartermaster would dole out the day's rations and they'd have to cook it themselves. It made sense when you realize that any cooking had to be done over an open fire. Can you imagine the conflagration it would take to cook for a hundred men?

So I cooked for the sergeant and his tent-mates, and ate with them and even talked with them. Save for my clothes and the chains about my legs, I was treated as a part of their group, a junior and subordinate part, but a part just the same.

A bugle call awakened me when the first fingers of dawn brushed the eastern sky. I rose, went to the sergeant's tent and was sleepily handed a portion of hard-tack to serve as breakfast. "Chew on that and then get to fetching water for the horses." the sergeant ordered. "After that, come see me."

"Yes, sir." I said and began the arduous task. The horses were watered from buckets, and each horse seemed capable of draining a bucket dry. I toted water fast as I could, carrying four buckets, two in each hand, until my arms ached. The spring was up a small, rather steep cliff-face, pouring out of a horizontal slit in the strata of the earth there. The water was quite cool and I wondered what drove it; most water that jets like that is warm to some degree, for it springs from deep within the earth and travels out at near boiling temperatures.

I don't want you thinking I accepted this life thrust upon me. I still planned to escape, but not here, not from an encampment with chains about my legs. If I was trustworthy, they might let me off the chain after a while. I'd see how the horses were held so I could maybe take one and light out for Lonely Rock. The Salcedo brothers would help hide me....

As the morning wore on, the camp began to stir. I had just about finished with the horses' water when, coming down the cliff side with two buckets of water, I found two soldiers coming up. One was the man who had sneered at me the day before.

"Well, if'n it ain't the Yankee again!" the man said. His face was covered with a brushy beard and he wore today a wide-brimmed hat much like the sergeant's, but there the resemblance ended. This man was no banker; his hair made him seem bestial, akin to the animals. Where the sergeant's beard was clean and neatly trimmed, this man's was curled, tangled, unkempt. "They keeping you busy, Yank?"

"Yes, sir." I said, hating to give him the title, but not wishing to make any disturbance. As I said, I wanted a reputation as a trustworthy camp aide, and from there I could escape. That included saying "sir" to every one of them down to the rankest private. "Fetching water for your horses, sir, and about finished."

"Don't look so tough to me, do he, Hank?" he said to his partner.

The other man (Hank?) was younger and clean-shaven, but the lack of beard didn't make him seem kinder. His face was hard and angular, with a shelf of brow overshadowing his eyes, his mouth was set in grim, solemn lines. "Not much, Luke." he agreed.

"Yep." Luke said, his grin piercing out from his beard like a knife stabbing through an eagle's wing. "He don't look tough, but he sure do look pretty."

"I hear tell this ‘un's Colonel Carson's boy." Hank said, and his mouth didn't grin in the least. "And that the Colonel is snorting steam to get him back again for his own self."

"Really?" Luke said. "Why don't he get a woman instead?"

"Not many women to be had out here. You done seen that. So they go after the young ‘uns, like this one."

"A fine gentleman like that snorting after a Yankee boy's butt? Who would'a thunk it?" Luke shook his head in mock pity.

"Even tried to make this Yank a part of his own regiment of volunteers." Hank went on, slowly and solidly, like a boulder rolling down a hillside, crushing the bushes that lay in its wake. He was heading somewhere with this, and I didn't like the way it was coming right at me.

"Do tell?" Luke was egging him on. "Ain't that a damn shame, the Colonel losing his boy like that?"

"Wonder what it's like to have what a rich man's been having?" Luke said slowly. "And I wonder how a boy's butt is different from a whore's pussy?"

"Reckon there ain't much difference." Hank said. His eyes were wild and jumped about like flies darting over a dead bird, small black dots that moved here, there, up, down, back, up, and forward again. He was watching me, Luke and several other things at once.

"Be nice to find out." Luke said in that slow, hard way of his. "And seeing how he's a prisoner here, who's going to complain?"

"I'll tell the sergeant on you." I threatened. "He's waiting on me right now. I'll tell him. I'll tell him about both of you."

"Now why'd you have to go and say that fur?" Hank mourned.

"Means we'll have to kill him if we take him." Luke mused. "Kill him and hide the body somewhere's, say he's escaped. Then that we shot him when we found him."

I looked down at the camp, desperately, but the hour was still early, the men were moving about, but down by the tents, dressing, shaving, cooking, eating breakfast. I was well away from them, I could call and maybe they'd hear, maybe they wouldn't. But I wouldn't get a second shout.

Luke watched me look about for help I wasn't going to get. "You going to be stupid, boy?" he asked me.

"No." I said and bit my lip.

"You wouldn't go and report us, would you?" Luke said again. "You could get us in trouble, even maybe get us shot, but then there's our friends who would take care of you. We got lots of friends here, fighting for a year does that. Who you got here who's your friend?"

Nobody, I realized. Maybe the sergeant would discipline them, but as he said, he had friends who would even the score. Frontier justice is rough that way, it's not always fair, it's like it's...balanced...by the way people looked out for the ones they liked against the ones they didn't.

Like a set of scales, and I had nobody to put on my side to balance out these two and their friends.

"No, I won't report you." I said.

"That's a good Yankee." Hank said approvingly, gleefully, like a child looking at its birthday present. I wondered about his mind, he didn't seem to be all there.

"You need friends here." Luke said. "You take care of us, take care of our friends, maybe when the time comes, we'll take care of you."

"You understand us, Yankee?" Hank said.

"Yeah." I said bitterly. "Yeah, I understand you."

"Good." Luke said. "Maybe you gonna live after all, Yank." His hands went down and with that same, deliberate slowness, he undid his fly. "Now take it out." he said.

"Yeah, grab hold of his dick." Hank practically slavered. He was bestial, all right, he was a dog, a large, slobbering, lickspittle dog, doing whatever Luke wanted, including tearing my throat out.

I reached out and, loathing this, I slid my hand into his open fly. It was hot inside, hot, wet, foul-smelling. Inside this morass of fetid swamp, his cock lay like a water mocassin, coiled about and I caught hold of it, pulled on it, and it unrolled and unkinked a sharp bend, to pop the head out into the open air. It sat there like a pink-headed mole peering out at the daylight, then slowly it oozed outwards as the shaft filled and fattened.

"That's the way, boy." Luke said, turning "boy" into two syllables. "Bo-ah." "Now lick it for me. Gonna need some spit on it to get into that butt of yours."

"Yeah, come on, suck him, suck him." Hank jabbered. "Come on, come on!" His words were sharp and hard-edged, like a dog's bark. Arf-arf! Arf-arf!

I knelt down onto one knee. God, it was bad enough being taken prisoner by the Rebels, but to be turned into the regimental whore! I wasn't going to be able to wait for them to trust me, first half-decent chance I got, I was getting out of the place!

His cock was malodorous and not very clean. A sharp, nasty smell hit my nostrils as I moved in close to it. I gingerly touched my tongue to it, and felt nauseated when my tongue found a salty ooze there, a heavy, rank, foul thing that clung to my tongue when I pulled it away.

"Come on, boy, get to licking it." Luke growled at me. "Ain't got all day."

I moved in closer and his hand came down and grabbed me, shoved my mouth over his pud. Now the nasty thing was inside my mouth and Luke held it there, held it shoved to the back of my mouth, over half that ill-washed length resting on my tongue and fouling my lips, filling my nose with the stench of his unclean flesh.

"Come on, boy, get to working it! Damn!" Luke grunted.

Reluctantly, I gripped that foreskin with my lips and I pulled it forward over the glans, shuddering as the motion poured more of that heavy precome onto my tongue.

"Unh!" Luke groaned. "Yeah, boy, that's it, come on, suck me now."

"Yeah, come on, suck him." yapped Hank.

There was nothing else I could do. Despair gave me a certain amount of shielding from this, I had to do it and it didn't matter I didn't want to, just do it and get through it. I began to work my lips on Luke's prick, milking the pungent shaft, feeling more of his prejizz boil out of him. He was getting into this, I realized, this outpouring of pre-coital fluid and the heavy, feral grunts he loosed as I moved on him, made me realize that.

If I couldn't make friends here, maybe I could make something like friends. People who would do what I wanted them to. People to use.

That gave me added courage, and I began to use my talents honed upon those lovely Hispanic pricks in the morning, the long hours sucking those Latino dongs, bringing them to delightful fruition, now this was a skill that would save my life. I closed my eyes and dreamed that this was Alonso or Ignacio. Those groans that Luke was making, they sounded much like Alonso when I would suck him.

"Uh, uh, yeah, boy, yeah!" Luke moaned and his words spoiled the fragile illusion. I opened my eyes, looked up and poured my anger through my eyes into him. He grinned at my look, he understood my feelings, he understood and he didn't care. "Yeah, boy, you're a damned good cocksucker." he panted. "I bet that shit-ass Colonel Carson makes you suck him every night and twice in the morning. Uh, uh, damn!" he threw back his head and moaned as I plied my expertise on him, looking up at him with hate in my eyes.

He was getting closer, I knew, a few more minutes...and his hard hands yanked me away from him. "That's good enough." His heavy breaths heaved the words at me like so many rocks. "Now, let's try out that butt of yours."

"Can I have him suck me while you do it?" Hank panted out. Damn, why didn't the guy loll out his tongue and wag that saber at his side like it was his tail!

"Sure thing." Luke agreed. "He's going to like having two rebel dicks in him at the same time, won't you, Yankee?"

I unfastened my trousers in silence.

"Won't you, Yankee!" Luke snarled at me. The anger, the raw cruelty in that voice, cowed me, and in that moment of timidity, I answered.

"Yes, sir, I'd like that a lot." I said.

"Now turn around and bend over." Luke ordered.

Hank was fumbling at his trouser buttons, and I knew then he was mentally deficient in some way. Maybe it was shell-shock, or battle fatigue, or maybe he was born like that and since he could march, aim and shoot a rifle, his fellow soldiers didn't care. He got his trousers open and waggled his hard uncut cock at me like it was a sausage he was trying to sell me. "Here it is, come on, come on!" He coaxed me.

"Go on, suck it!" Luke snarled at me. "Bend way over and suck on it!"

I bent over, cursing myself for my weakness, my desire to live outweighed every principle I had, every ounce of my self-respect.

Hank, at least, was clean, he had bathed, if not this morning, the night before. He had this sole virtue in his side. He smelled of rough soap and a slight amount of clean sweat, nothing worse. I could deal with this. Gratified, I sucked his dong inside and didn't even mind that he hadn't washed the soap away very well and tasted of it still, a rough lye taste, caustic...but not foul. I began to work my lips in all their skill on Hank's dong, and he was almost giggling as I did it. "Hot damn!" He said. "Got me a Yankee sucking my dick!"

I felt Luke's pud pushing against my anus, and I prayed that I had put enough saliva on it to ease that hard passage. It wasn't a question of would he be gentle, only how badly would he hurt me?

Quite a bit. His cock found my anus and he pushed it in, hard, it ripped into my bowels and I groaned, closed my eyes, tears leaking out of the corners. I didn't have to like this, I only had to endure....

Inward and inward. It was like a cannon muzzle was being crammed in there, a huge round cylinder thrusting my buttocks apart, invading my intestines, filling me beyond full, into the realm of insanity.

And he stopped, he was inside me, his hips chock-a-block against my buttocks, and he wormed around like that, new areas of pain, but then, thank God, my bowels began to adjust. Blood greased the way, the folds of my innards straightened out to give more room...and I could accommodate him now. I was used to being fucked. I was able to take a man's cock under even these coarse circumstances. Thank God!

"Thank God!" I breathed out around Hank's dick. Luke's hands caught me by my hips and he began to hunch at me, driving that dong in and out of me. But I could take it.

I began to suck Hank's cock anew, the clean cock, I could pretend it was Ignacio's cock I was sucking, clean and flavorful and warm and gentle! I was home, I was back with the Salcedos, home with them, and they were fucking me from both ends like they always did, and it was good, it was good!

"Damn, I think the Yank's getting into it." Luke said as I moaned with rising lust. "I think we done turned this Yankee boy on. Yeah, boy, you got Confederate dicks in you, boy! We all gonna fuck you boy, every boy in gray going to use your butt! Yeah, boy, yeah!"

Luke fucked my butt now with rampant carnality, he was getting into this, he was fucking me, and in fucking me, fucking every Yankee who ever tried to take the slaves away from him and his family. He had reasserted his mastery over the human race once again, he was again part of the upper class, part of the masters, part of the rulers.

Hank was just enjoying the fuck, I don't think he would have cared who was sucking him, he would have taken man, woman, boy, dog or tree knothole with equal pleasure. He was moving his hips in slow, fluid motions, an absurdly gentle treatment, while I was being forcibly ravished from behind, in front I was given consideration of a sort, for he let me use my own pace and my own motions, letting me stay in control, and taking what I gave him with gratitude and delight.

With hard, animal grunts and growls, Luke was plunging into me frenetically, with no finesse now, just a hard ramming into me any way he could, I mattered nothing to him, I was less than nothing to him, and that let him fuck me any way he felt like. He rode his hard bestial rut to its height, and with a cruel roar like a lion pouncing on its prey, he gave a few hard jabs to me and then shoved it in deep and held it there, and that was how he came, holding stock-still, letting it flow deeply into me while he quivered and held still. His cock pumped a load into me and even then, as his cock softened, he didn't let go of me, he held me tightly still, panting onto my back, making me feel his weight and his sweat and his slippery, sweaty dong inside me.

Hank was moaning now, urging me like that with his sounds into servicing him faster, grateful for some boon of dignity, I gave that speed to him, sucking at him harder, swifter, and he moaned, like a baby moans in its sleep, and those moans were his only warning, and his sperm poured into me in a long, slow, gentle river.

In that unexpected kindness, my own passion took fire from the heat on my back and in my ass, I moaned, my hand caught my dong and began to pummel it and after a few dozen swift motions, I shot my seed onto the hard, hot rocks.

"Yeah, the Yankee likes being fucked." Luke panted as he let go of me and rearranged his clothing. "Come on, Hank, get yourself buttoned up. We're going on patrol today, they'll be sounding the make-ready any minute now."

"Okay, Luke." Hank said and his bearded, too-bright eyes looked at me. "You were good."

"Thanks." I said.

"We'll do it again tonight." he promised me and turned to follow his comrade.

Tonight? Not if I could help it.

But I couldn't, unless I was very careful and a bit more than lucky. I pulled up my own pants, picked up the water buckets, and walked on down the hillside toward the waiting horses.

Maybe if I stuck close by the sergeant, I wouldn't be caught alone by those two.

But what about the others, the ones they would tell about the new camp whore? How many men would be visiting my tent tonight? I shuddered at the thought of it.

But should I risk telling the sergeant? And would he even care if I did?

THE END OF CHAPTER FOUR
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