PART 29

 

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Warning: This is adult literature.  If you’re not of a legal age to read this stuff, don’t.

 

Disclaimer: This is a work of pure fiction.  No semblance between the characters described here and real individuals -- living or dead -- is implied or intended.

 

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The General bored his attention into the radar display.  He forces were carrying out a full air assault -- or at least, they were supposed to be.  But instead, his air force was mostly littering the ground with the expended hulks of its planes, falling unceremoniously from the sky.  

 

He had to give her points for creativity.  In some cases, she seemed to take them down with lasers.  Other times she would just rip a wing off, or fly straight through the plane as if it were no more than an inconvenience.  

 

She moved at what had to be a blinding velocity.  The radar image refreshed only every 5 seconds, which was an eternity given her maneuverability and speed.  While the radar blips for the fighters moved in a continuous line, hers would bounce around the screen like a ghost.  And she was a deadly ghost at that.

 

Allowing her to cut his air forces to shreds had been more gut-churning experience.  But it was all part of his new battle plan.  It was a two-pronged approach.  As his air force flew against her in futility, his ground forces were preparing for decisive assault on the Ukrainians.  Having shown herself to be arrogant and self-absorbed, she would become lost in the delirium of tearing his air force to sheds, dropping out of radio contact with the Ukrainians at the moment they most needed her.  But the time she realized her mistake, the battle would be over.  

 

She would come begging for mercy to keep her friends and countrymen away from his firing squads.  And when she came begging, she would come to him.  The sweet jasmine scent of her skin tantalized him even now.

 

"Gosh," came her winsome voice over Channel 15.  "I had no idea obliterating an air force could be so fun!"

 

"How can you be so powerful!" the General forced himself to exclaim.  He had to string her along.

 

Checking his computer, he saw that the majority of his enormous tank columns were ready to roll forward.  He hoped that her narcissism in the sky would persist long enough for him to complete his plan.  With luck, in less than an hour, his tanks would be grinding blue-and-yellow shoulder patches under the steel of their treads.  She could never see this coming, he reassured himself.

 

And besides, even if she could, the beautiful blond could never be two places at once.

 

 

--------

 

 

"Hiya," said the ravishing brunette.

 

The tank operator and his companions had found themselves staring, unabashedly, at the most devastatingly attractive woman they had ever seen.

 

"Are you sure you're not lost?"  he asked looking around.  "This is after all, a war zone."

 

"I know," her crimson lips pouted as she brushed ebony strands of hair and colorful ribbons over her shoulder.

 

"And, well, if I were you, I wouldn't be here."

 

"I'm here under orders," she said ambiguously.

 

"Even so," he replied, "I wouldn't be wearing that around here."

 

"You think I don't look good in it?"

 

The ravishing woman examined herself briefly, and the operator's eyes couldn't help but follow.  A boy-short bottom in Ukrainian blue and yellow did its best to contain her generous hips and strong, pert ass.  Her legs swayed fluidly as she walked toward him.  Further up, rigid muscle seemed to define her midriff.  Whatever fat existed on her body had been completely exiled from that part of her body.  Perhaps it had gathered above-- two enormous globes that only reluctantly confined themselves to her blue-and-yellow top.  The top had been designed to show its colors in several vertical stripes, but her mammoth bust line turned well intentioned vertical lines into tortured curved ones. As his eye traveled further up, strong tendons led upward from her collarbone, standing in relief like cables on on a suspension bridge.  Her hair fell in delicate corkscrew curls of rich brown and black hues.  Into these curls, she had tied ribbons of blue and yellow.  Her face was perfect, it was here that he finally became lost.

 

"I know it's a little bit of a skimpy outfit," she admitted, "but I think most men would say that I do a very good job of... filling it out."

 

Speaking of filling out one's garments, the tank operator noticed that his crotch area was getting a good deal more congested than it had been earlier.  He forced himself to refocus the conversation.  "The outfit is risky because of colors.  You know that's the Ukrainian flag.  And we're about to crush them.  If someone finds you like that, you'll be a prisoner of war -- or worse."

 

"OH, I get the whole war-and-combat thing," the girl said rolling her eyes in a way that made him suspect she didn't get it all.  "But it's nice of you to be concerned about me.  What's your name?"

 

"Dmitri"

 

Other soldiers were gathering around now.  And there was a noticeable aggression to the way they folded their arms, the way the jostled into the conversational circle.  

 

One growled, "Did the Ukrainians send us a hot bitch to play with?  Maybe a peace offering?  Ha!"

 

"She's in enough danger around here without you being an asshole.  So, fuck off, Boris," Dmitri scolded.  

 

Another laughed. "I don't want to fuck Boris.  I want to fuck her.  It'll be good practice for what we do to their whole army next."

 

"You boys are so FUNNY."  Her luxurious dark hair bounced a absent hand twirled its way through it.  Her generous tits also bounced as she playfully shift her weight to one leg, jutting a shapely him to the side.  "The Ukrainian guys are too wimpy-ass to take you on..."

 

That elicited an appreciative chuckle.

 

"...So I'm going to do it for them.  I'm going to destroy every last one of you.  Except maybe Dmitri here."

 

The appreciative chuckles stopped.

 

"We should tie her up and take her with us," another guffawed, "so that I can enjoy her when we're done trouncing the Ukrainians."

 

"That'd be a waste," she replied, leveling her gaze at Boris.  "If one of you boys wants to take me home for his personal pleasure, can't it at least be someone with a decent cock?"

 

Laughter erupted from the group, but it was quickly cut off by the sound of sirens, coming in over the mobile communicators.  It was time to mobilize.  A flurry of activity ensued as equipment was hastily packed away and the tanks roared to life.  The collective sound of the armored column's engines resembled the sound of a jet engine, but at a lower and more solemn pitch.

 

Dmitri watched, transfixed, as the delightful woman sauntered up to him with a mischievous sway to her hips.  "You're a nice guy," she whispered, "which one of these big strong tanks is yours?"

 

"This one over here," he motioned, walking her over to it.  

 

In a moment, the woman was on top of the vehicle.  Dmitri did a double take: there was no way she could have lept up there in a single bound, but nonetheless she was there.  She took one of the ribbons out of her hair and tied it around the large central antenna-- the highest  point on the vehicle.

 

"This way, I'll know which one is you--" she remarked with a peck on the cheek "--so that I can come back for you."

 

Dmitri stood, confused and dumbfounded as she sauntered away from him, with a delightful wiggle to her pert behind.  She turned the corner behind an idling truck.  

 

Dmitri heard a whooshing sound.  He followed her behind the truck, but she was gone.

 

-------

 

"Command-Tank 30, report all obstacles and contacts," came the instruction over Boris's radio.

 

"Tank 30-Command, no obstacles.  Clear run to target," he replied.  He was the lead tank, the eyes for the entire column-- to the extent they needed eyes.  The radar already showed nothing of significance.  Ahead, the Ukrainians had their insufficient armored forces in arranged in a defensive wedge-- bracing for the onslaught.

 

Then, Boris saw something.

 

"Tank 30-Command, correction, the fucking girl is out there."  Boris felt the anger welling in him again.  She had made fun of his cock.  How did she know it was small?  It had always been a sore point.  Now it was his turn to do something to her. Hostilities were already declared and therefore no additional permission was needed from command.  Boris grabbed the controls of the gatling gun, while his driver kept a steady course for her.  "I've got her," he told Command.

 

Through the gunsight, he could see that she was walking straight down the middle of the valley, making herself an easy target.  The cross hairs landed on the center of those fantastic tits easily, and his finger rested lightly on the trigger.  The wind made her hair dance on her shoulders.  On her face was a mischievous smile, as if she was teasing someone-- but who?  

 

She was still a hundred meters out when Boris, staring through the magnified targeting scope, saw her lips move.  

 

"Hi Boris," she seemed to mouth.

 

How did she know it was him?

 

"Fuck you," he replied to himself.   Boris squeezed the trigger, hard, as if pulling it harder would make her go away faster.  The gun gave off a staccato roar as it began to fire.  Peering through the scope, Boris expected to see a human body cut to shreds.  Instead, he saw only puffs of grey smoke as the projectiles impacted her supple skin.  After 20 rounds, he paused.  She was unharmed, unblemished even.  Her casual saunter continued uninterrupted.  Even the mischievous smile remained.

 

What the fuck, Boris thought to himself?  He pulled the trigger again.  BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAM.  He looked in the sight again.  Their distance had closed a great deal.  He could see her very well.  Smudge marks were all that disrupted the supple lines of her abdomen, and even they were now being brushed off by elegant fingers.  Her top at taken several hits as well -- several holes that had not been there during their initial encounter.  

 

For the first time a feeling of panic began to set in.  The bullets on this gun were 20 times the size of handgun bullets, designed to penetrate armor.  An impact from one of these had the same blunt force as a motorcycle traveling 75 kilometers per hour.  And he had hit her with 25 of them.  She should have been in dozens of little pieces right now.  But she was unharmed, smiling.

 

Boris watched in befuddlement as she reached toward the ground, displaying her cavernous cleavage as she bent.  This valley was full of rocks -- mostly large ones that had only small portion sticking above the surface, like tips of icebergs.  She seemed to be palming one of these. 

 

A moment later, the field of his scope darkened, forcing him to zoom out slightly.  She was still there.  But a massive rock that had been beneath her in the earth was now above her.  It was the size of a small bus, cradled in her lithe and muscular arms.  What type of muscles could hold that many tons?

 

The distance had closed considerably now, and she was less than 50 meters from the front of the column.  She cocked her arms back, causing her enormous breasts to jut in an even more pronounced fashion, and then hurled the rock forward.

 

Boris was too stunned to feel fear, and for the moment, he didn't have to.  A sickening CRUNCH told him that the tank next to him had been hit.  It was not a hollow noise, either, but a solid one, as if the interior cabin had been crushed to a pancake.

 

"Command to all units-- take her out, take her out!"  Gatling guns of the other tanks cackled in a chorus.  But Boris knew the gatlings would be useless.

 

"Stop!" Boris barked at his driver as he shifted his seat to the main gun.  It was silly to use this on a person, he told himself.  He would need a little luck to get it aimed right.  If she moved too quickly, or got any closer, the big weapon would never find its target.

 

And yet, as luck would have it, she remained still.  Boris re-sighted her through the new gun and easily centered the cross-hairs her.  She looked remarkable, even as scores of smoke whiffs bounced off of her, evidence of the futile attempts of the gatlings.

 

A flip of his thumb armed the cannon, and with a squeeze of his finger, it fired with a BOOM.  

 

That will finish her, he thought proudly.  

 

But as he watched through the gunsight, his heart began to sink.  She spread her arms, as if she knew the shell was coming, as if she was inviting it to strike her.

 

The shell hit its target with a monstrous snapping noise -- a sound the shells made only when they hit something unforgiving, like marble.  A bright explosion flooded his scope with light.  He anxiously returned his eye to the scope after his pupil readjusted.

 

"Wow, Boris, that was awesome!"  Her giggle resonated across the plains.  "Do it again," she laughed as she spread her arms.

 

Boris dumbly complied and a satisfied "ahhhh" echoed across the valley.

 

"That one hit a tit," she explained loudly, "Especially nice."

 

"What the fuck is going on here?" Boris whispered to himself.

 

"What's going on," she replied from many yards away, "is that you're learning that none of your weapons can cause me pain -- even an eeentsy weeentsy bit.."  She resumed her walk towards Boris's tank.  Her pace was a fast trot, like a runway model.  And indeed her hips swayed invitingly as she moved.  "But it's different going the other direction.  You can't hurt me even a little bit.  But I can hurt you as much as I want."

 

With the beautiful menace only feet away from them, there was only one hope left.  Boris motioned to the driver, who did not need to be told.  He throttled the vehicle forward at ramming speed.  The tank was heavier than the rock she had lifted.  With luck, they could take her by surprise and crush her under the--

 

SLAM.  Boris was thrown about the cabin -- hard -- as the world turned over on him.  He fell against the walls,, the ceiling, the walls again.  After a terrifying moment, the motion ceased.  Bruised, and battered by the impact, Boris, nonetheless managed to get a look out of the front view finder.  

 

He was looking straight down at the ground.  They were being held vertically, front-down.  The tank jostled a bit-- and then she came into view.  He was looking down the length of her extended arms to her face, which cast a beaming smile back up at him.  Some idiotic part of his brain also took in the expanse of cleavage that could be seen from this point of view.  The more intelligent part of his brain focused on the overwhelming sense of dread.

 

"How'd that feel, Boris, to be the weaker one for a change?  Hard getting used to?"

 

He gulped.

 

"Well, let me make it worse.  You're not just a little bit weaker.  Your strength, next to mine, is negligible.  My little pinky can achieve weight lifting feats that men can only dream of.   Do you get it now?"

 

Boris tried to think of something, anything he could do to stop her.

 

"But don't worry, you can still make a difference in this battle -- by entertaining me."

 

Boris felt the vehicle move again and then slam into the ground with bone-crushing force.  He was on the ceiling.  The driver was out cold.  

 

There was silence.  Maybe if he played dead, he concluded, she would leave.  Maybe if he was quiet, he would survive.  He was in searing agony, but let only a few exhalations escape his lips.  

 

Endless moments passed and he heard nothing more from the vicinity of his tank.  But in the distance, more disturbing sounds were emerging.

 

------

 

Boris slowly crawled out of the top hatch of his overturned tank.  Standing up was painful, given the battery he had endured when the tank was violently flipped.  

 

About 40 yards away were the woods.  He could make it, he figured, if he ran while she was distracted.  Carefully, Boris peered around the corner of his vehicle to see how far away she was.  The field was already strewn with the remains of four tanks.  She only about 20 paces away, was now walking up to a fifth tank.

 

The sight of her took his breath away.   She had grabbed one tank by the gun and raised it over her head like a mallet, then she slammed it down on another tank with deafening force.  When she raised her deadly mallet, the target of her exertions was now buried in the earth, only the top of its crushed turret showing.

 

She held her mallet/tank high above her, and turned toward Boris.  The orange light of the smoke-laden battlefield cast her generous curves in merciless, hard relief.  Her breasts, the target of such violent gunfire, almost seemed to taunt him with their jubilant shape.  

 

Boris, you should run now, he told himself.  But the image of her, displaying such immense power, was somehow mesmerizing.   It was deadly to stay, but he didn't want to go.

 

As she walked up to yet another tank, she turned her head directly to Boris, startling him.  

 

"You like to watch?" she asked.  "It's ok, you can watch until I kill you."

 

Run, damn it, Boris's mind screamed!  But his body stayed.

 

"Want to see how easy it is for me?"  She laughed.  She dropped her "mallet" as a tank barreled toward her at ramming speed.  She extended an arm.  "Your muscles were created by evolution.  Mine were created by design."

 

The tank rammed into her, producing a whining sound as it treads dug uselessly into the ground.

 

"That means my muscles are about 10,000 times more efficient that yours.  They were originally less, but my designer made improvements."  The woman's arms began slowly to lift over her head, and the tank ominously rose up with them.  "I don't know if you were a math major, Boris, but 10,000 is a lot."

 

Boris heard a wheezing sound.  Belatedly, he realized that it was him.

 

"Let's see."  The ravishing brunette shifted the weight of the vehicle to one arm and raised the arm up and down experimentally.  "This feels like it's about 100,000 pounds, which isn't so bad.  To me, that feel like a bowling ball.  I could probably hold five of these -- in one hand."

 

Boris felt an erection growing in his pants.  He had never been attracted to strong women.  But goddesses were another matter entirely.

 

The woman pivoted on her heels and hurled the tank at another.  The flying one slammed into its target with a bone-chilling CRUNCH.  Both vehicles seemed to collapse with the force of  the impact.

 

"Strike!"  she laughed.  

 

Boris felt a bolt of fear clench his insides.  She was right.  This was nothing more than entertainment for her.  

 

"Strike - that was a bowling joke," she explained.  "You'd think if I was 10,000 times as strong I'd be 10,000 times as funny, but it doesn't work like that."

 

From behind the corner of his felled tank, with the smell of smoke in his nostrils, Boris did his best to show her he was laughing, but it was an awful attempt.

 

Another machine gun cackled, and another other useless volley of bullets impacted her.

 

"Ugh, that's annoying.  Here, watch this!" she exclaimed.  The girl launched into a rapid series of cartwheels before springing off her hands and landing on tank number eight or nine or whatever it was.  

 

She bent down at the waist, and then a huge tearing sound emanated from the tank.  Before Boris's eyes, she was ripping the main turret right off the vehicle.  After completing her task, she emerged with an armful of the main gun's artillery shells.

 

"Here," she motioned him toward her.

 

Boris tentatively stepped out from behind his tank.  He felt his legs carrying him to her at a jog-- carrying him closer to certain death.  But what was he to do, deny her?

 

"Hold these," she instructed, piling about ten of shells into his arms.

 

Boris tried to cradle the shells in his arms, but each was about 20 pounds, and holding all ten of them was impossible.   A number of them clunked to the ground.

 

"Sorry," Boris lamented.

 

"Oh, don't be," she said lightly.  "You're not that strong.  I mean, after all, you're a man.  Here, watch."

 

She hurled one of the shells at an approaching tank, and the target exploded with a loud THUNK, producing a fireball that hollowed out the center of the vehicle even at the as outer armor remained.

 

"I've never seen anything do that to a tank before," Boris observed cautiously.

 

"Oh, that's because I fire shells at several times the speed your turrets do."  The woman flexed a bicep.  "Gotta love these guns."

 

She fired a handful of shells in rapid succession, blowing even more tanks to bits.

 

"I'm not sure I want to see any more."

 

"Oh, yes you do.  I saved the best part for last-- these."  She cupped her tits, which were still encased in the increasingly tattered blue-and-yellow sports bra.  "Feel them."

 

He cautiously ran a hand over the surface of her sports bra. The nipple, in its hardness, dented the surface of the garment, even though the bullet-proof material was nearly an inch thick.  He tried to dent the material himself, or the flesh under it, but he may as well have been pressing into solid oak.

 

"I've got the power of a small country packed in each one of those.  Wanna see?"

 

He had no words.

 

"Watch."  Louisa pointed a casual finger at a group of the hulking vehicles as they approached.  She waited until the four were in a line, and then let loose a bright blue beam.  The beam sliced through all four vehicles instantly, igniting their oil and ammunition in four massive fireballs. 

 

Then, she splayed her hands wide and a cacophony of lightning bolts emerged, illuminating the whole valley in blue.  Fifty more tanks instantly succumbed to the vicious beams.  Boris saw the hopes of his army fade before his eyes.

 

"Just look at that."  Her eyes assumed a glazed look, as if partially hypnotized, as she gazed at the ruined plain.  "Nearly unimaginable power.  I feel like a deity on earth, crushing army after pathetic army that stands in my way.  What a rush!  Have you ever heard of a girl getting turned on by that shit?"

 

"Uh...." was all he could supply.

 

"Neither have I.  I feel like the desire is being injected into me, from somewhere inside. I feel like I'm being prepared for something really huge. "

 

The cackle of weapons fire interrupted her.  Boris and the girl stood on top of a broken tank, surrounded by others in even worse shape.  The few remaining functional tanks in the rear of armored column were now targeting them.  They let loose a hail of gunfire on the two people.

 

"Whatever I'm being prepared for, too bad you won't get to see it," the girl smiled.  "Looks like I don't have to kill you.  Your people are going to do that for me."

 

Boris turned toward the tanks in the distance, motioning them to stop.  He wasn't sure if they could see him.  He was wondering this even as he heard the whine of the approaching shell.

 

---------

 

Dmitri's copious sweat on the steel handle made an acrid smell.  Through his scope, he had watched countless other tanks perish.  It was only a matter of time before she found him.

 

This was all so pointless, he told himself.  They take territory, then we take territory, then they take territory.  We're just grist in the mill of war.

 

But she, Dmitri thought, she was something special.  To gaze on her for just a moment was an unexpected pleasure.  To know that he would die at her hands was somehow reassuring.  If you're going to be slaughtered, Dmitri said, at least you can die knowing you were slaughtered by the finest creature on earth.

 

A deafening SQUEAL crushed Dmitri's thoughts.  Turning, Dmitri saw the thick steel of his turret breached by two perfect feminine hands, separating the metal like they were opening curtains.

 

"Damn it," a delightfully feminine voice said to itself, "where is that joint where it all comes together?"

 

Her hands wandered lower, cutting through more steel with about the effort most people cut through soap bubbles.  

 

"There it is!"  The was another monstrous SQUEAL and the turret was completely off.

 

Above was daylight, and her.

 

"Hey cutie," the girl said.  "Promised I'd come back for you."

 

 

---------

 

"I see that you made a new friend," Tammy exclaimed from high in the sky as the other supergirl approached her.

 

Louisa glanced over her shoulder, where she had dropped off Dmitri only moments ago.  He would be safe at the Ukrainian command headquarters.  "He had the guts to stick up for me before he knew who I was," Louisa explained.  "I like that in a man -- guts and loyalty."

 

The blond girl looped an arm around her friend and turned her attention to the battlefield below.  Smoke rose from where the column of tanks once stood -- a swath of shattered, smoldering earth several miles long.  More smoke rose from scores of scattered spots in the hills behind, where the aircraft had fallen.  And utter destruction was easily visible on the plain where the enemy artillery once stood.  Tammy shifted her gaze to view the hundred-foot-deep trench which she had blasted as a defensive moat around her own troops.  The western, Ukrainian side of that was untouched.

 

"How awesome is that?"  Tammy asked.  "This army was well-equipped, well trained.  And we have already smashed half of it to pieces...."

 

"...effortlessly," Louisa added.  "They fired everything they had at us, and it did nothing more than amuse us.  Then, we flexed our own muscle and reduced tanks and planes to shit.  This isn't combat.  This is entertainment."

 

"No force on Earth stands even a chance of resisting us-- of resisting even one us.  And we are four."  Tammy smiled.  "Are you feeling the same thing I am?  A weird, foreign feeling?"

 

"That we will soon be called to tear to shreds everyone that stands in our way?

 

"Exactly.  I resisted the feeling at first, this desire to dominate.  But it is coming on stronger and stronger now, and it feels..."

 

"...awesome," Louisa whispered.

 

Tammy nodded.  "As in massive, irresistible mind-blowing awesome."

 

The two girls remained silent for a moment as the wind murmured through their hair.  Finally, Tammy jabbed her chin at the enemy forces.  

 

"Crush them," she ordered.  "However you see fit."