Another commission, and a prequel of sorts to my story Inglorious Sistas. As with that story, readers should be warned that this one is not going to be to all tastes. These stories are written in the mould of the "Blaxploitation" movies from the 1970s; big tough women who devote their lives to taking down the white man. There is a lot of racial language and attitudes on display here, along with violence directed towards the US military. The 'N-word' is not used in this story, but much racially charged language is. As before, the characters of colour in this story are universally strong, smart, competent, and badass. The white characters are decidedly not. If this offends you, then this is not the story for you and you should look elsewhere.
The main character of this story is called Angela Davis, and is very loosely based on the real life lady of that name. I in no way mean to imply that Angela Davis is or ever has been a physically powerful mass murdress for hire. Really the name, and a few aspects of her appearance, are the only things she has in common with her fictional counterpart herein. Again, if you find such a depiction to be trampling over the real person in an outrageous manner, then this is not the story for you.
If I seem to be belabouring the point here, then that's just a refection of how sensitive people can be on such topics.
If my writing style appeals to you and you want a story written to your exact requirements, drop me a line; we can work it out.
If you like the following, I'd also appreciate your letting me know. Writers are all total whores for feedback, you know? Hell, even if you hate it why not drop me a line to tell me why?
I can be reached here
The Platoon was strung out just below the top of the ridgeline, looking down into the valley. It was a hot, humid day - Deke sometimes thought that every day in Vietnam was a hot, humid one. To a guy born in New England, the climate here was just ridiculous. On his list of things that he absolutely hated about being in Vietnam, it ranked second. The people ranked first.
Deke didn't think he had been in a good mood once since he had first set foot in this damn place, nine months ago. But he did have better days and worse days, and he grudgingly admitted that this was one of his better days. The reason was in the bottom of the valley below, just visible in the rapidly fading light. The village had nestled in a large clearing adjacent to the thin river that snaked along the valley bottom. It had probably been there since before America even existed, Deke mused, but this day marked the last day it would ever exist. Every structure in the place was blazing, courtesy of the Platoon's supply of White Phosphorous grenades. The bodies of nearly a hundred and fifty villagers were scattered in and between those buildings. All of them were riddled with 5.56mm rounds from the Platoon's M16 rifles.
"Man, that was a good time!" The Mississippi drawl belonged to Sanders, the closest thing Deke had to a friend in Vietnam. "Did you see that guy, the old one? See what I did? Fucking great, man!"
Deke had indeed seen. Many of the villagers had come out to watch the Platoon walk into their village, including what was probably their leader, a wizened old man with a long white beard. Sanders had walked up to him and without any warning or provocation, emptied an entire 30-round magazine into the guy's face. The brutal action had started the massacre of the village; the Marines had looked as one to their officer, Lieutenant Williams, and seen him reacting not with horror, but elation. Instantly they realised that there would be censure coming from there, which meant that they were off the leash. Finally, after months of unrelenting tension in which an unseen enemy had cost them the lives of a dozen comrades through snipers and mines and booby traps, they could get some payback.
For the next hour they had raped and murdered their way through the village. All of them had heard of Mai Li, a similar massacre which had happened the year before. The desire to carry out a similar action had been a frequent topic of conversation amongst the Marines ever since. Today was their second time doing so.
"I saw it," Deke said. "It was pretty cool, his head just came apart."
"Alright, time to get some shuteye," Lieutenant Williams bellowed from above. "Deke, Sanders, you have first watch. Perkins and Venkman will relieve you in two hours. The rest of you, get your heads down. Good work today!"
The two men watched the sun sliding down slowly towards the horizon. They didn't pay a whole lot of attention to guard duty - that was one of those things they both regarded as largely a waste of time, something the officers made them do just to piss them off and make their time in country that little bit more annoying. So, they relaxed and chatted about the women they'd raped today, the men they'd killed. Sanders and Deke had run out of ammunition pretty fast since they both liked to spray their M16s around on full automatic. After that they'd actually fitted bayonets and gone to town with those.
"Hey, you remember that skinny woman?" Deke said, chuckling at the memory. "The one with the two kids?"
"Yeah, you dragged her off into the trees, didn't you? I saw that. What'd you do to her?"
"Well I was having my fun with her, and she's struggling like crazy, the way they all do," Deke said with a fond smile. In his mind the woman struggling was just a normal part of sex. Foreplay, essentially.
"Love it, Sanders commented.
"Well, I'm right in the middle, and I turn my head and there's her kids, standing there watching me. You should have seen the looks on their faces!"
Sanders laughed out loud. "Oh man, imagine that! Did you stop?"
"Hell no, why would I? Just adds to the fun.???????????????? "
Deke heard a very slight whoosh followed by a slightly meaty thud. Sanders said nothing, though Deke could hear a quiet gurgling noise. He looked over, and his eyes widened. Sanders was sitting bolt upright, his eyes bugging out comically. A slim shaft of wood protruded from his mouth, the end decorated with several inches of feathers. Two rivulets of blood were pouring from the corners of his mouth.
Deke stared in total shock for a long moment, honestly not realising what he was seeing. It was only when Sanders slowly toppled over onto his side that Deke realised the thing sticking out of his mouth was an arrow. He turned in confusion, looking around. His eyes landed on a figure as it stepped out from the trees perhaps twenty yards further down the slope.
She was tall, he thought. No, more than tall, for a woman she was immense. Easily six feet ten inches tall. She wore a soft brown leather jacket that was open down the front, displaying a heavily muscled abdomen below a truly stupendous pair of tits. The jacket was also armless, showing off the woman's superbly muscled arms. Her biceps must be over eighteen inches around, Deke thought. A short skirt of a matching colour showed thigh and calf muscles that were much bigger even than that. In her big hands she held a gigantic bow, easily six feet long and as thick as his wrist. Another arrow was notched, and through his shock Deke watched as she raised the weapon, the arrow aimed unflinchingly at him. Even at this distance he heard the slight creak of the bow as she drew it, the springy wood bent back by over two hundred and fifty pounds of force.
It finally dawned on Deke that she was about to release the arrow, and that he should probably do something about that. He reached for his trusty M16, drawing a deep breath to yell a warning to the rest of the Platoon.
He was too slow. The giant warrior woman released the string, and the bow jerked against her fierce grip as the arrow leapt forward. It crossed the distance between them in a fraction of a heartbeat and buried itself in Deke's neck. The force of it sent him toppling backwards, scrabbling at the wooden shaft as he began to bleed out.
The giant figure took a long moment to check the surroundings. Only two guards for the camp, both sitting together talking; pathetic, she thought. She made her way up the ridge to the two bodies. Two more whites dead; she smiled in satisfaction.
Towards the top of the ridge the ground levelled out. It was dotted with several dozen dark shapes, the remainder of the Platoon. They were fast asleep, no doubt tired from their afternoon's raping and murdering. The woman drew another arrow from the quiver on her back and selected a target. She aimed carefully; it wouldn't do to miss now.
She released the arrow, and it flew straight and true and buried itself into one of the sleeping figures. She waited for a moment, tense, to see if the man would get a shout out. He didn't. The shape rolled to one side, twitched a few times, then stilled.
She selected her next target. Over the following ten minutes she put arrows into thirty of the men, always going for the fastest or quietest possible kill - arrows struck men in the throat, the heart, the head. One or two managed a strangled gasp, but they were sound sleepers here and it woke nobody.
She would happily have killed them all like that, but she ran out of arrows before she ran out of Marines. Never mind, she had only six or so left. She set the bow down and slowly drew a pair of hatchets from her belt. They were wickedly sharp; she took a deep breath and charged into the camp.
She buried the hatchets into a man's head, smashing his skull in. She never even paused; she was past and gone in a second, yanking the weapons out with brutal force. The next man along she also went for the head, but he began to sit up at the last second and her hatchet slammed into his shoulder. The man screamed, and then pandemonium broke out.
Men woke from their slumber to find themselves sitting amongst the dead bodies of their friends and comrades. Several simply sat there in shock, staring at the carnage around them. Others panicked, jumping to their feet and screaming in terror, running randomly through the camp. Only one or two had the presence of mind to grab for their weapons.
These were her first targets. She ran through the camp, ignoring the quiet or panicky ones - plenty of time to deal with them. Instead she took down those reaching for weapons, her hatchets dishing out pain and death with their razor-sharp edges. As the men fell, she turned for the others.
In minutes, only the officer remained alive. He was on his knees, blubbering in terror at the scene before him. He'd been terrified of dying since the day he set foot in this godforsaken place, and now his day had come.
The woman grabbed him by the hair and lifted him clear off his feet, dangling him from one arm. The other held up a hatchet in front of his eyes. "Shut up," she said simply. He shut up.
"Your men dead, every last one of them," she said. Williams stared at her in terror. "You die too, unless you tell me what I want to know."
"What?" He gasped.
"I want to know the location of your headquarters," she said simply.
"But... why?" Williams hesitated. He was all by paralysed with fear, but even through the terror he could see that this woman was no Vietnamese; she was American through and through - more American than he was in fact, since she bore the unmistakeable colouring and face of a Native American Indian. He couldn't understand what she was doing here, in the middle of a war thousands of miles away from her homeland, attacking her fellow countrymen. But whatever kind of crazed enemy she might be, she clearly was an enemy - and revealing military secrets to an enemy in time of war was treason.
"Many white men there," she said slowly. "I kill them. All of them."
"I can't tell you that," Williams said, appalled. His entire battalion was based out of the camp, hundreds of men. Surely this woman had to be insane to suggest that she could simply go there and kill them all. But... he looked around his own little camp. Almost forty Marines, every one of them dead. They hadn't even known it was happening until there was less than a dozen of them left. And then she'd gone through them like a scythe through grass, simply slaughtering them. An hour ago he'd have laughed at the idea that any single enemy could have wiped out his platoon so easily, let alone a woman, but this Amazonian giant had done it easily, and not a one of his men had even managed to try and fight back. Somehow the idea of her taking on a whole battalion didn't seem quite so insane after that.
She shifted the hatchet slightly so that the gleam of the dying sun glinted from the razor-sharp edge. "You tell me," she said, "Or I cut pieces off you. Fingers. Hands. Feet. Nose. Lips. Can keep you alive. Make it last long time. Much pain, much screaming for you. Will cut your man parts off, make you eat them. Spend days dying. Or tell me where camp is, and let you live. Decide."
He stared at her with horrified eyes. "Okay, okay! I'll tell! Just please don't hurt me!"
She dropped him to the ground and he scurried to his pack and pulled a map out. He spent a few minutes rapidly explaining the route his Platoon had taken to her, highlighting the position of the camp. She also had him mark the defences on the map - the barbed wire fencing around the camp, the claymore mine locations, foxhole positions, sentry posts, daily passwords and radio frequencies, all of it. She listened as he spilled his guts, almost desperate to tell her everything he knew. He really was most helpful, she thought. What a coward he was... just like all whites, and especially white men.
"That's all I know," he finished half an hour later.
"Good." One huge hand went around his neck. She hefted the hatchet. "Time to die."
"Wait!" He screamed. "You said you'd let me live! You said you wouldn't hurt you if I told!"
She nodded. "Did say that," she said as she raised the hatchet.
"Then please, what are you doing?!" He screamed in panic. "Why!"
"Lied," she said simply. "You white man. All white men die. No exceptions. Scalp you now, then kill."
The hatchet descended in a blur.
Afterwards she spent some time retrieving the arrows from the rest of the platoon, then set about scalping the bodies. She liked to desecrate the bodies a little when she killed white men, it gave those who found them something to think about. Besides, it was traditional. She was a fan of tradition.
It was fully dark by the time she finished. She decided to move a few hundred yards up the valley and camp for the night before making her way to the base in the morning. Tomorrow promised to be a busy day.
Angela Davis reclined on the bunk, staring at the ceiling. Her feet went a good six inches past the end of the bed, her black leather combat boots untied and dangling loosely. Her superbly-muscled arms were clasped behind her head, buried in the thick black mass of her afro. A huge cigar was between her lips, emitting great clouds of smoke as she puffed on it contemplatively.
Down the barracks a card game was going on, along with a loud conversation. Since the players were Marines, the conversation was, of course, about the women they'd had sex with.
Angela was largely ignoring it. In truth, she was planning a heist. It was not often realised by civilians, but most military bases contained considerable sums of money. There were hundreds of soldiers in this base, and they needed to be paid. Locals needed to be bribed, either for information or to ensure their support. Angela estimated that there was upwards of two million dollars on the base, and she intended to steal it. She just hadn't quite worked out the details as yet.
She would need to get the money out of the base, she thought. That much money was bulky, so she would need to steal a vehicle of some kind. Likely a jeep would do...
Her train of thought was interrupted by a male voice. "Tell you what I'd love to have," the voice said. "I'd love to have me some black poon tang. You guys ever try that?"
The laughter around the table instantly stopped. Angela heard a quiet "Shhhhh! She'll hear you!"
"What?" The voice demanded. "Come on, you know you want to try it. I hear their women are real sluts, gagging for any guy. And especially any white guy! You know back in the slave days the negro women couldn't get enough of their white masters. The slave guys loved the idea too, I bet. You just know a black chick who gets a good fucking from a white guy would have high status for a slave, right? All the others would look up to her! Those were good days, too bad it's not like that now! Damn yankees had to go spoil all the fun!" An unpleasant laugh accompanied the sentiment.
It had been a while since she'd heard such talk on the base. It hadn't been that way when she'd arrived. But she'd made it clear that such talk was not welcomed and broke a few skulls to underline the point. This guy must be new, she decided. Well, it had been a while since she'd had to teach the lesson. Time for a refresher.
Angela rose slowly from the bed and walked over to the card game. The guys there were staring at her nervously, all except one. He sat with his back to her, still laughing at his own comments. Angela tapped him on the shoulder.
He turned and looked up, his eyes bugging comically. Angela towered over everyone else in the camp, a full seven feet tall. The combat pants and T-Shirt she wore did little to hide her stupendously muscular physique, or the gravity-defying G-cup tits.
She reached down and took a handful of his shirt, lifting him clear out of his chair. He was a little guy, she saw, short and on the skinny side. She held him up to her face, his feet dangling a full eighteen inches above the wooden floor.
"You have something to say about black women, little man?" She asked pleasantly.
"Um, no, that's... I was just joking, you know?" He whimpered. "I'm really sorry if I offended you."
"Uh huh," she said sceptically. "That's good, little man. Real good. Because otherwise I'd have to twist your scrawny little neck for you. You know that, right?"
"Sure, I just, I mean it was just in fun, not serious. Definitely."
Angela nodded. "No harm done, then," she said quietly, and lowered him to the ground. "From now on, little man, you find yourself another topic to joke about, right?"
"Absolutely," he said nervously.
She patted him on the head. "Good boy."
Angela turned and walked out. She made a mental note; when she busted out of here with the money, somewhere along the way that little white bitch boy would die. Hell, she thought, maybe she would drag him along with her when she left. Once she was clear she could take her time making sure he saw the error of his ways when it came to talking smack about his black superiors.
She walked out of the barracks and strode through the camp. Black faces weren't unusual here, of course - America did love to send its blacks off to die for the country that still largely hated and feared them, she mused. She'd come to 'Nam because she thought she would have fun killing people without having to be all covert about it, but it hadn't taken her long to decide that the whole war was basically an excuse for the white folks back home to have massacre yet another non-white population. It disgusted her, and she had resolved that she wouldn't be part of it. Since then, every action she got involved in, she would make sure to take down one or two white American males. She particularly loved fragging officers; her prodigious muscles let her throw grenades amazing distances, and she was lethally accurate with them. At least five Lieutenants had seen one plopping down practically at their feet in the middle of combat. It was the last thing they ever saw before the explosion ripped them apart. Nobody had ever caught her, though she thought at least a couple of people suspected something. She'd simply made sure that the next grenade fell at their feet.
It was fun, but it was painfully slow killing just one or two white guys at a time. Now she wanted to move up. She'd steal money, guns, and ammunition and wage her own one-woman war against the US military. It would be fun.
She decided to walk the perimeter of the camp, just updating her mental map of the place. She followed the barbed wire, passing a couple of foxholes before coming to the main gate. This late at night there was no official traffic, but a handful of Vietnamese hookers were clustered at the guardhouse. That was a nightly occurrence; the girls would bribe the sentries to let them in, then work the camp to make a profit. Angela kept herself hidden in some shadows as she watched the girls come through one by one. Often the sentries would keep one of the girls for an hour or so, using her services as payment in addition to the money.
This time was no exception. The last of the women came up to the guardhouse. She was easily the most beautiful of the women, Angela noted. In fact, in the looks department she really was something, truly stunning. She was small, barely five feet tall, but her tight fitting clothing revealed an athletic body. Angela licked her lips, wondering what the woman's pussy would taste like. Damn good, she suspected.
The sentry there took her money, but then motioned her inside the small building instead of waving her through. The girl appeared not to understand and moved to pass through. The sentry stopped her and tried to shove her towards the door. The girl didn't shove, Angela noticed. The Marine sentry must have been six feet four, but despite her tiny size the woman stayed rock steady as he pushed her. He pushed again, harder, with the same lack of impact. Angela watched, contemplating the scene. Her instincts said that something strange was happening here.
The Marine crossed his arms and said something angry and loud to the hooker. She looked at him, then glanced around before nodding. She gestured towards the door and the big Marine walked into the guardhouse. The woman followed him. And then, just as she walked inside, her hands went to the small of her back and she drew a pair of large curved blades from beneath her jacket.
There was a sudden shout from inside the guardhouse - a shout that instantly cut off a moment later. Angela broke cover and moved rapidly closer, hearing several thuds and grunts from inside the structure. A moment later an arm flopped onto the floor through the door. It lay there for a few seconds and then was dragged inside.
Angela drew her M1911A1 sidearm as she reached the edge of the guardhouse. The woman strolled out and Angela stepped around the corner, levelling the weapon at her face.
The woman spun and knocked the gun aside. Angela blinked in surprise; the woman was small, but she'd never seen anybody move so fast - and knocking Angela's arm aside was something very few people would be able to do. She was a pint-sized powerhouse, this one.
"Stop!" Angela said, holding up her weapon as the woman drew one of those curved blades and drew back, preparing to strike. "Just hold on one minute, I want to talk!"
The woman hesitated. "Talk?" She said, and Angela was not at all surprised to hear perfect English, right down to the accent.
"Yeah, that's it," Angela said, taking a couple of steps forward. The woman backed up to keep the distance between them, knife still poised. Angela genuinely didn't know if she could have aimed and fired faster than the woman could strike with the blade; either way, the thought of a woman who could match her prowess at killing was a thrilling one.
Angela glanced into the guardhouse, and it was the scene she expected. All four of the sentries were dead, and rather gruesomely dead at that. That knife must be amazingly sharp, she thought.
"You like to kill whites?" Angela asked.
"Hell yes," the woman said. A smile twitched the corners of her lips. "I've killed many of your people since they came to my country."
"Me too," Angela said simply.
The woman frowned. "You kill your own?" She asked.
"They ain't nothing to me," Angela said, cocking her head at the corpses. "They're white and I'm not, they're male and I'm not, and that means they're scum and I'm a Goddess."
The woman smiled slowly. "Good philosophy," she said.
"I'm Angela Davis, what's your name?" Angela asked. She lowered her pistol, and the woman lowered her knife.
"China Black," the woman said. Angela extended a hand, and the two shook.
"Well China Black, I have an idea for you. You like cutting up white guys, and I get that. It's a fun time. But you can do more, if you help me. The bigwigs back in Saigon don't care about losing a few soldiers, they lose soldiers every day. But they do care about losing money, and there's money here for the taking. I'm going to take it... be easier with your help. And I'll cut you in."
"How much?" China asked cautiously.
"Couple of million, maybe more," Angela said. China's eyes widened slightly.
"Deal," she said.
"Okay, first we need to knock off as many of the camp soldiers as we can," Angela said. "All of them, if we can."
China looked at her strangely. "All? How could we expect to do that? There's at least five hundred men in this camp. I thought I would be lucky to kill ten men tonight."
"Follow me and I'll show you," Angela said. She led China through the camp. They passed a few soldiers along the way but drew no real attention. Angela was a well-known figure in the camp, of course - seven-foot-tall muscular black women were not exactly common here, so she was instantly recognisable. But she walked the camp often at night, so whilst she was a spectacular figure she was also a known and expected one. China Black attracted no more attention since the sight of Vietnamese hookers in the camp was also commonplace.
They passed the accommodation portion of the camp and made their way to one of the several weapon and ammunition dumps. It was a collection of tents, ringed with thick coils of barbed wire. There was only one access point, guarded by five men. "Just follow my lead," Angela said. She lit a cigar and took a long drag, enjoying the smoke for a long moment before she walked up to the entrance, putting on a sexy rolling of hips as she approached them. China followed along with her.
The men stirred as they approached, a couple of them unslinging their M16s. "You're the black chick, the tall one," one of them said, demonstrating his stunning observational skills. "What are you doing here?"
"Well we wondered if you boys could help us at all," Angela said in a sexy voice. "See, my friend here is looking to do some business. Me, on the other hand, I'm no pro, I'm just a very gifted amateur. And I'm feeling awful horny myself. So, we wondered if you gentlemen would be interested in helping us out with that. Because I hear that you are the go-to guys for a lady who needs a little action, you dig?"
All of the men swapped glances. Everybody in the camp knew that Angela was a ball-busting bitch. She'd once been straight-up propositioned by a guy, and she'd responded with a punch that had practically caved his face in. He'd been in hospital for six months and wound up getting sent home for some major reconstructive surgery. He refused to bring charges against her or even testify against her, because he was terrified of what she would do to him if he did. Without any evidence nothing ever happened to her. But everyone knew about it.
To have her proposition them should have set alarm bells ringing, but the men were after all men, and the offer of sex from a woman pretty much overrode any other considerations. Especially when the woman in question was a dominant sex Goddess with a wet dream of a body, like Angela. They swapped grins, contemplating the pleasures to come. "Hell yes," the lead one said. "Why don't we all go into that tent there..."
They followed the guys into a nearby tent. It was piled with crates of M16s and M60s. "Get your clothes off, Aunt Jemima," one of them said eagerly. "You too, slanty. Let's get to it!"
"Yes, let's," Angela said. She took a long drag on her cigar, blowing a perfect smoke ring towards the roof of the tent. Then she reached out and snapped his neck.
Before he could even fall, China sprang forward with her blades in her hands. She swung one with blurring speed, and a man's head toppled from his neck. Another opened his mouth to scream, and the second blade buried itself tip first in his throat.
Angela punched another one in the temple, and he went down. She raised a leg, and her huge thigh muscles powered her heavy combat boot down on his head. An ugly little cracking sound filled the tent, and his body jerked once and then went still.
China's blades sank into the abdomen of the remaining man. She flicked her arms and the blades sliced his stomach open, spilling his intestines all over his legs. She decapitated him as he collapsed to the floor.
"What are those things?" Angela asked.
"Kukri blades," China said. "Indian in origin, famously used by the Gurkhas. Very good chopping and slashing weapon. Quieter than a gun."
"I like them," Angela said. "Now come on, we're on the clock."
She led China through the ammunition dump, searching out a particular tent. "This is it," she said, leading China inside. Like many of the tents it was piled high with crates. Angela ripped the top off of one of them. The inside was filled with two dozen cylindrical hand grenades. "Gas," Angela said. She ripped open another crate, the stout wood no match for her powerful arms and fingers. "And gas masks."
"These are lethal?" China asked. "I thought CS gas was for riot control."
"CS is, but these are mustard gas," Angela said. "They're not supposed to have these. They're not even supposed to exist. But a lot of things don't make it into the official record, you know? Now grab a bag, grab a mask, and let's get to work."
The two women loaded up a pair of bags with nearly a hundred gas grenades. Angela also stocked up with an M60 and ten belts of ammunition draped around her huge shoulders. All in all, she was toting over 175 lbs of weaponry, but to her colossal strength it might as well have been a bag of feathers.
China stocked up as well, picking up an M16 and twenty of the thirty-round box magazines in addition to her grenades. Angela talked her through what to do, and the two women stepped out into the night.
When they reached the accommodation area they donned their gas masks. The Marines slept in a series of barracks tents and semi-permanent prefab huts, typically fifteen or twenty men per structure. Some four hundred of the base's five hundred men were sleeping or relaxing in the thirty-four huts, the rest being out on guard duty or other tasks. The structures were arranged in two long rows, facing one another across a wooden walkway the soldiers had dubbed Main Street.
"Death to the white man," China Black breathed quietly.
"Amen to that," Angela said. "Let's kill the fuckers."
The two women split up, one on each side of Main Street. Then went to the first tents and each drew a pair of grenades. They pulled the pins and quietly rolled them in. There was no explosion, just a quiet little thud as the women moved on. Each grenade began to spew a jet of sickly yellow gas which started to spread through the tents. Heavier than air, the gas clung to the floor as it along the bunks.
The men inside were asleep, and neither the quiet thud nor the hissing gas discharge woke any of them. The gas spread quite slowly; by the time it reached the first man Angela and China had already rolled grenades into the next three tents in line.
Men began to die. Most never even knew it was happening; the foul yellow concoction reached their sleeping forms, and they inhaled it and died without even waking. A few were startled out of their sleep, but their own instincts worked against them. It wasn't unusual for camps to be attacked, but it was always either a sniper or a mortar team putting a few shots in, just to kill or wound a couple of men and make sure everyone else had a sleepless night. It underscored the fact that there was nowhere in Vietnam that was safe, not really.
So, the Marines responded to the threat they expected, by rolling off their beds and lying flat. In doing so they took themselves directly into the thickest part of the gas cloud.
China and Angela worked their way methodically down Main Street, throwing two grenades into every structure. Here and there men burst out onto the wooden walkway, clawing at their throats, desperate for air. Angela chuckled as she watched them slowly keel over and die. The thought that hundreds more white men were dying unseen at her hands was joyous; she felt a deep pleasurable tingle in her pussy and wondered if China would be up for doing something about that once they were clear. She had the feeling that the gorgeous little woman didn't rely on men for her pleasures and was eager to find out if she was right about that.
They came to the last structures, a pair of prefab units, and tossed the grenades in. Angela saw movement inside, and lights snapped on as the grenades went off. No need for stealth now! The took another couple of grenades and threw them hard, sending them bouncing to the back of the building before she moved on.
"That's it!" China said triumphantly. "We got them!"
Angela pulled the M60 off her shoulder and loaded it with one of the belts. She held the impressively large weapon easily in one hand, over thirty pounds with the belt on it making no impact on her thick biceps. Angela readied her own M16.
In the event, neither weapon was needed. A few more men emerged, but none made it more than a step or two before collapsing. Great yellow clouds began to spill from the structures as the gas spread; a mild breeze was blowing, taking the gas out towards the nearby perimeter.
"What now?" China asked.
"We need to take down the rest of the camp," Angela said. "Most are on the perimeter, so we pick a spot and just work our way around. There's a hundred of them, but they'll be expecting the attack to come from outside the wire. That gives us the initiative, and a big advantage. No stealth now; we move fast and hit hard."
"Don't give them time to organise," China said. "Finish them off whilst they're still confused."
"Smart girl," Angela smiled. "Now let's move."
In the forest around the camp, a large figure approached stealthily. The woman known as Scalp Hunter had been surveying the area for several hours, checking how well the reality matched up against the map the Lieutenant had drawn for her earlier. He'd gotten a few details wrong, probably because of the stress he was under when she questioned him, but on the whole, he'd given her an accurate description. Now she was making her final approach. He plan was to crawl under the barbed wire then silently slip between a couple of foxholes. It would be tricky, but she was confident that she could do it since she knew the location of the holes along with the claymore mines sitting just beyond the wire. And once inside... her hatchets would take many a white man's scalp tonight!
Suddenly a rattle of gunfire cut through the night, off to her right somewhere. Automatic fire, she thought. Too heavy for an M16, it was probably an M60. She frowned as another long burst sounded and slipped into a slight hollow in the ground. Not much cover, but every little helped. She thought fast; clearly some kind of attack was going on, which meant the safest thing she could do would be to slip away, look for another target and then perhaps coming back another day. But... she fingered her hatchets, feeling a snarl on her face. So many white men for the taking... she didn't want to leave. She wanted to kill, she wanted it very badly indeed. She began to work her way slowly forward.
Angela and China were having the time of their lives. Their weapons were so hot they were literally smoking; they darted from foxhole to foxhole, pouring rounds into each before moving on. Soldiers around the perimeter were spooked by the fire, and many responded with the classic tactic which had been nicknamed 'reconnaissance by fire', also known as 'fire at everything in sight to see if any of it fires back'. The volume of fire convinced still more of the Marines that a major attack must be going on, and within minutes grenade and mortar fire began to join the storm, generating still more confusion. And all of it was directed outwards, just as Angela and China had hoped for. Barely a tree or bush within five hundred yards was unmolested as the Marines poured rounds out into the forest... but only out. It would be lunacy to have turned that fire inwards towards their own camp, of course.
And so, the two merry murderesses made their way from foxhole to foxhole, slaughtering men by the dozen.
Somebody must have had the bright idea to fire a few parachute flares, because a glaring white light flooded the area. Angela hesitated to see if any fire would come her way, but nothing did. She turned to move on, only to stop suddenly.
The woman wasn't quite as tall as Angela, but she was close. And if anything, even more muscular. She was clad in a rather revealing outfit of brown leather and carried a pair of medium sized hatchets in her hands. Both of them had chunks of flesh clinging to them and both were dripping blood.
"Hi!" Angela said brightly. "I'm Angela, and that over there is China Black. We're here to send the white man right to hell where he belongs and steal a shit-ton of money along the way. You up for joining us?" She had no idea who this woman was, but one thing she was certain of was that she wasn't in the US military. Which meant she was an enemy, which meant that she was on Angela's side.
"Killed many white men tonight," the woman said, and there was absolute relish in her voice. "Will kill many more!"
"You and me both, honey!" Angela crowed. Damn, she thought to herself, this was turning out to be one crazy night! "Now let's move it! We got whites to kill!"
The three women sprinted into the night. Over the next thirty minutes they obliterated the defences of the base. Towards the end the last twenty or so soldiers began to realise that reinforcements, which should have been pouring out within minutes of the first shot, were not in fact coming, and that this was probably because fighting was already happening behind them. Some of them came out of their foxholes to investigate, and the three lethal beauties started facing some opposition. The men were quickly exterminated by the vastly superior combat skills of the women.
At the very end everyone began to run out of ammunition, and it came down to edge weapons and hand-to-hand combat. Here again the women were utterly dominant; China's expertise with the kukri blades and Scalp Hunter's skill with her hatchets simply overwhelmed the bayonets wielded by the soldiers. Angela was no great shakes with a blade, but she had a talent for ripping a rifle right out of a man's hands and then beating him to death with the stock. She broke at least four of the fancy M16s over men's heads, tossing them aside contemptuously. "Piece of fancy crap, all plastic and aluminium," she growled, "gimme an M14 any day."
With the last of the men dead, the women began to make their way through the camp. Here and there they encountered non-combatants. Doctors and nurses, clerks, maintenance personnel, all of them fell to the women's lethal skills. "This is fun!" China yelled as she flung one of her knives into the chest of an MP.
"Hell yeah!" Angela darted around a corner to find herself face to face with 'little man', the guy she had spoken to earlier. "Hiya darling," she crooned, "remember me?"
"What! Angela! What's going on! I think the VC are attacking us!" He babbled.
"No honey, I'm attacking us," Angela said. She seized the man by the throat and dragged him out into the street. "Hey, Scalp Hunter!" She yelled. "Come meet a friend of mine!"
The Amazonian warrior strode over. She was a beautiful, intimidating sight under normal circumstances. Now she was splattered with blood and her face had a joyous expression of complete sadism on it; the poor man had never seen anything like it.
"Want to scalp him!" She thundered. "Want to scalp every white man, all of them!"
"Time for you to lose some skin, you racist mutherfucka!" Angela crowed as she lifted the man bodily from the ground and threw him fifteen feet through the air at her new friend.
Scalp Hunter caught him and smiled a terrifying smile. "You die now, white man," she informed him.
He instantly wet his pants in terror as she plopped him unceremoniously onto the floor and grasped a handful of hair. "No please don't!" He screamed. "I'll do anything!"
"Anything?" She asked, pausing.
"Anything, anything at all! Just tell me what to do and I'll do it!" He pleaded.
"Well then shut the hell up while I kill you," she said, and swung the hatchet.
The three women made their way to the camp command post. There were always a few Marines protecting the place, they knew, but they made short work of those and burst into the bunker. The Lieutenant Colonel was there, along with a small support staff. Men scrambled for their sidearms as Angela, China and Scalp Hunter burst in. The three ladies swept through the room at speed, blades and fists and feet lashing out, felling men left and right like dead wood. In under a minute every one of the support staff lay dead, wounded or unconscious. The Lieutenant Colonel was cowering in the corner, stunned at the speed and brutality of the attack.
"Officer," China Black said, peering at him. Her face had a look that was positively gleeful, the kukri knives poised to deliver one last death. "Hello white man... are you ready to die at my hands?" She demanded gleefully.
The man paled, then looked at Angela. "Davis... is that you?" He said, his eyes going even wider. "What's going on here?"
"Death to white scumbags, that's what's going on here," Angela said with a slow smile. "And you're next, white boy."
"You... you're going to kill me?" He asked, terrified.
"Hell yes we are! But we'll give you one choice. You can die easy, or you can die hard. A quick snap of the neck and it's all over... or these two ladies can cut pieces off you for the next couple of hours, whilst I watch. Which is it to be?"
"I want to live, please," he whimpered.
All three women laughed. "Well that's not going to happen, white man," Angela said gleefully. "Make your choice, or it will be the slow death for you."
"Please don't torture me, please, I'll do anything!" He begged.
"Well I'll tell you what... you give me the combination to the safe in the admin building, and I'll consider it," Angela said. It was a transparent lie of course, but it never ceased to amaze her how people would buy into the most absurd lie if they desperately wanted to believe it.
"Yes! Absolutely!" He said, literally crying with relief. "Anything!"
Angela led the group to the admin building. Scalp Hunter picked their victim up and carried him there, his slim body no burden on her bulging muscles.
The safe turned out to be five safes, each more than twice the size that Angela had expected. She frowned, examining them. That was an awful lot of safe for a million or two. "Open them," she ordered. He hurried to obey, twirling the dials frantically. In a few minutes all five of the safes were open. Angela stared.
"Is that... gold?" She asked finally. It certainly looked like gold. Bricks of gold... hundreds of them. There were also stacks and stacks of cash. This wasn't a couple of million dollars, she mused, there must be fifteen times that much here. And the gold would be worth a lot more than that. "Why do you have all this?" She demanded.
"I don't know," the man sobbed. "The general comes in every few weeks with a couple of civilians, they bring boxes of it. I'm not sure where it comes from."
Civilians. Angela looked at it thoughtfully. She'd heard rumours of shady goings on in Vietnam, special forces selling drugs and using the money to fund black ops. Could it be that she'd stumbled on some sort of funding centre for such a program? Definitely a possibility.
"China, we're going to need a truck," Angela said. She filled the lethal lady in on where the motor pool was and China ran off into the night. She returned fifteen minutes later with an army truck. "Let's get to work," Angela said. The three women roped the officer into helping them, but it still took about half an hour to load all the money and gold into the back of the truck. It helped that all three women had the strength to lift the heavy loads of gold quite easily.
Finally, the task was complete. Just in time, too, Angela mused, surely there would be helicopters on the way to find out what was happening with the base. "Let's get the hell out of here," she said, climbing into the cab.
China nodded and climbed in beside her. Scalp Hunter reached over and pulled the officer to her side. "We'll ride in the back," she said with a gleam in her eye. "Time to kill a white man!"
"Wait! I helped you! You can't kill me now!" He babbled.
Scalp Hunter smiled down at him from her imposing high. "Can and will," she said sadistically. "Will take time over it, too. Bad death for you. Very bad death."
"But why!" He demanded, tears trickling down his cheeks as he shook with fear.
Scalp Hunter shrugged. "You white man. White men filth... all will die. ALL."
She dragged him into the back of the truck, still protesting.
China and Angela looked at one another, smiling. Angela felt a deep sexual thrill in her loins; nothing aroused her like killing whitey. She gazed into China's eyes, then leaned in slowly. China's lips met hers, and the two moaned softly into the kiss. Their lips parted, and their tongues caressed one another delicately.
"Hmm, baby," Angela murmured as she broke the kiss. "When we get where we're going, there's gonna be a whole lot of sex going on."
China smiled, savouring the anticipation. "I can't wait," she said.
The truck's engine rumbled into life. They drove through the camp, passing dozens of dead bodies. Angela's hand slipped into China's, holding it softly as she gunned the engine and smashed through the main gate. The truck rumbled off into the night, leaving the camp dead behind it.
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