Zorans Rape squad - english version

[Blue]

This is the attempt for translating a story I wrote in German and simultaneously published here in the forum.
The translation was done using Google Translate. Since my English skills are somewhat limited, I cannot rule out the possibility of translation errors or linguistically incorrect expressions. Please forgive me for these errors.:

The author of this story has read and accepted the rules for posting stories. They guarantee that the following story depicts none of the themes listed in the Forbidden Content section of the rules.

The following story is a work of fiction meant for entertainment purposes only. It depicts nonconsensual sexual acts between adults. It is in no way meant to be understood as an endorsement of nonconsensual sex in real life. Any similarities of the characters in the story to real people are purely coincidental.
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Index:

• Chapter 1 - April 4, 1992, somewhere on the border between Serbia and the Republika Srpska
  • Chapter 2 - Farmhands and -maids
    • Chapter 3 - Breakfast - not at Tiffany's
      • Chapter 4 - The Warehouse – First Escalation
        • Chapter 5- Rock, paper, scissors
          • Chapter 6 - Desecration and Retreat
            • Chapter 7 - On the farm
              • Chapter 8 -Revenge for the dead comrades-
                • 
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                  Zorans rape squad - english version:
                  Blue
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                  Preliminary note: During the Bosnian War between 1992 and 1995, according to official estimates, at least 20,000 women, most of them Muslim Bosnians, were raped and often subsequently killed. Other sources even estimate up to 50,000 victims.
                  
                  These figures show that rape in war still plays a role today. The reasons and motives for this are various. The following story attempts to explain some of them.
                  
                  The story itself is written primarily from the perspective of the perpetrators and contains little or no description of the victims' feelings. And in some places, it will become very violent. But the few publicly known factual accounts from some victims go far beyond that.
                  
                  Everyone should be aware that this story, despite its proximity to a real event in world history, is pure fiction. However, similarities to living or dead persons cannot be ruled out.
                  
                  And: the author does not condone any violence against women in reality, regardless of whether it is physical or psychological. Even though he wrote and published this story, he does not identify in any way with the acts described in it.
                  
                  
                  Zorans rape squad
                  
                  Chapter 1 - April 4, 1992, somewhere on the border between Serbia and the Republika Srpska
                  
                  Zoran put the radio down. He had been speaking for more than half an hour with Željko Ražnatović, better known as Arkan, the leader of the paramilitary Serbian Volunteer Guard (also called "the Tigers").
                  
                  It was supposed to start tonight. After repeated minor skirmishes between the Serbian militias and the Bosnian troops in recent weeks, the major assault on Srebrenica was now about to begin. The Serbian attackers intended to besiege and capture the Bosnian city. At the same time, other Serbian troops and, in particular, several paramilitary units throughout Bosnia, but especially in the border area between Serbia and Bosnia, were to begin expelling the Bosnian population from the country.
                  
                  At the end of March 1992, the Bosnian government proclaimed the Serb-dominated Republika Srpska. And the very next day, the first expulsions of people of non-Serb origin took place. Fighting between Bosnian Serb fighters and the Yugoslav People's Army on the one hand, and the Bosnian Croat militia on the other, intensified.
                  
                  Arkan and his Tigers played a special role in the conflict. They had begun expelling the Bosnian population from the territories claimed by the Serbs right at the beginning of the fighting. And they acted with particular brutality. The Tigers did not shy away from robbery and murder, and numerous rapes of Bosnian women were their fault from the very beginning.
                  
                  Zoran was the commander of a 30-man Tiger subunit. His squad had been camped for the past few days in the immediate vicinity of a farm on the Serbian side of the border. The farmer belonged to the Serb ethnic group and supported the efforts to expel the Bosnians wherever possible.
                  
                  The squad had parked several vehicles in the nearby forest. In addition to their commander's car, a nearly new all-wheel-drive Mercedes G-model, the vehicles also included a kitchen and a medical vehicle. A jeep equipped with a machine gun and a light armored personnel carrier rounded out the fleet.
                  
                  Zoran called Milan, his second-in-command.
                  
                  "Tonight we'll finally get going. Gather the men, and then I'll explain our orders to you."
                  
                  Milan set out to assemble the troops. After a few minutes, everyone had gathered inside the fort, which consisted of the troops' vehicles.
                  
                  Zoran stepped in front of his troops. In a loud voice, he explained to his men the orders he had received from Arkan.
                  
                  "It will begin tonight. While the official Serbian troops will attack and surround Srebrenica, several paramilitary units will simultaneously ensure that all Bosnian residents are expelled from their homes, first here in the new Republika Srpska. Arkan's troops will be tasked with clearing the border area. We have been assigned a section approximately 30 kilometers long. In this section, our task is to expel all Bosnians. How we do that is entirely up to us. And most importantly: what we find belongs to us!"
                  
                  Zoran's men respond with loud cheers. They had spent most of the last few days, which they had spent doing nothing here, cleaning and maintaining their weapons. They had played cards, drunk alcohol, and imagined how they would expel the Bosnians from their homes. And now it was finally about to begin!
                  
                  There were no villages in the area they had been assigned, just a few isolated farms, mostly farmed by Bosnians. Among the instructions Zoran had received, he had also been told which of these farms were inhabited by Serbs. These, of course, were to be exempted from the cleanup.
                  
                  "We'll leave promptly at midnight. Our first target is about 5 km east of us. We don't need to sneak up on them. On the contrary, the residents should hear us coming. Our only task is to banish the farmers. If we find anything valuable, it's ours, and we'll divide it fairly among ourselves. The farm itself, and especially the livestock, will remain undisturbed; they will be taken over and taken into the possession of our allied farmers. Any more questions?"
                  
                  No one answered.
                  
                  Zoran turned to Milan. "Make sure we're ready to march by midnight. From now on, there will be no more alcohol for the men. I want us to be fully operational when it starts. Even if it's just a few small farmers we're supposed to drive away. But maybe that will prepare us for bigger tasks."
                  
                  Zoran turned around and disappeared into his tent to prepare for the march. He didn't have much luggage to carry, and his men would take care of taking down his tent.
                  
                  At exactly midnight, the troops were indeed ready for action. The men had lined up the vehicles in a small column. The jeep with the machine gun drove in front. Then came the crew car, carrying 10 of the guerrillas. After that came the commander's vehicle. And then two light vehicles, each with four men. At the very rear of the column were the kitchen and ambulances.
                  
                  Zoran gave the order to move with a hand signal. The engines were started, and then the convoy set off.
                  
                  The journey to the nearest farm took only about 30 minutes. The convoy arrived just outside the building, traveling along bumpy forest and field paths. It was a relatively small farm. Grain and corn had been sown in the surrounding fields. From a stable, the faint mooing of cows could be heard, presumably awakened by the engine noise.
                  There was no sign of the residents. The yard windows were dark, and nothing moved anywhere.
                  
                  Zoran gave a few orders. Immediately, powerful headlights, mounted on the front of the vehicles, were switched on. With their headlights on full blast, the vehicles drove toward the farm and formed up in a semicircle.
                  
                  Milan, who had been sitting in the machine gun car, divided the men. While some of them, armed with rifles, patrolled the courtyard, a handful of them, carrying submachine guns, rushed toward the courtyard's entrance door. They effortlessly kicked it open and shone powerful flashlights inside.
                  
                  "Clean!" shouted the two men who had gone ahead and illuminated the hallway of the house. The rest of the squad immediately followed, spreading out among the ground floor rooms.
                  
                  When they found no one there either, Milan pointed his weapon upwards. Three men immediately rushed upstairs with their submachine guns at the ready. And it wasn't long before they dragged an elderly, terrified couple down the stairs. The woman wore only a nearly floor-length gray nightgown, while the man wore striped blue pajamas.
                  
                  Meanwhile, Zoran had also entered the house.
                  
                  "Are these all you found?" His men nodded. Apparently, the elderly couple were the only residents of this farmstead.
                  
                  In Serbian, Zoran explained to the two of them why they were there. That they were to ensure that all Bosnian residents left the area. Alive or dead, that was entirely up to them.
                  Zoran knew they understood him. Here in the border region, all the residents grew up multilingual, so they certainly had no problem understanding him.
                  
                  The couple standing in front of the soldiers turned pale and began to tremble. They asked what they had done wrong. They had lived here for decades and had never had an argument or trouble with their neighbors.
                  
                  "You're Bosnians, that alone is enough. You have a choice: either you get out of here, just as you are. Or my men will beat you!"
                  
                  Zoran had spoken in low words. But they left no doubt that he meant it.
                  
                  The woman whispered something to her husband. He seemed to summon up all his courage as he asked, "May we at least take the bare essentials with us?"
                  
                  Milan, who had also come into the house, laughed. "Didn't you hear what our leader said? You get out of here immediately, or..." His threat remained unspoken, but the slight movement of his weapon suggested what lay behind his words.
                  
                  Trembling, the couple took each other's hands. With shuffling legs, they left the farm that had been their home for decades. In the middle of the night, they headed south, where there were settlements predominantly inhabited by Bosnians. Perhaps they could find refuge there. But what would actually await them there, neither of them could have guessed.
                  
                  Zoran watched the two until they disappeared into the darkness of the adjacent forest. Then he nodded to his soldiers. "Okay, look around and see if you can find anything valuable. Who knows, maybe those two old men have hidden some money or jewelry somewhere. But no destruction, you know the orders!"
                  
                  Immediately, his men poured out and searched every single room. They turned everything upside down, even looked in the basement and the stables. But apart from a handful of worthless jewelry and some money in small bills and coins, there was nothing to be gained here. There was truly no loot to be had here.
                  
                  After Zoran reported the situation over the radio, the group set off for their next destination. The estate, also about 5 kilometers away, was apparently considerably larger than this miserable hut. And, in addition to the owners, a handful of farmhands and maids were supposedly staying there.
                  
                  End of chapter 1
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[Nickamano]

A good start to the story. Feels very real with an oppressive mood of things to come gathering on the horizon. Which I'm sure is what you were going for.

The English translation is good and fine. I don't remember spotting anything that pinched my proud English sensibilities (lol).

Even though stories based on or inspired by real events, especially occurrences in living memory, are additionally ... erm, I can't think of the right word... I'm looking forward to more.

[Blue]

[size=150Chapter 2: Farmhands and - maids[/size]

About a kilometer from the estate, Milan, who was leading the way in the machine gun, ordered the convoy to stop.

"Dismount!" he commanded in a low voice. The men in the vehicles obeyed and formed a semicircle around him and Zoran.

Zoran took command again: "From here, we will continue on foot. As our scouts from the neighboring farms have reported, in addition to the married couple who live on the estate, there are approximately six farmhands and three maids on the farm who look after the livestock, cultivate the fields, cook, do laundry, and do all the other work that needs to be done on a farm.
There is a separate building for them, located in an annex next to the main house itself. The kitchen and dining room are on the ground floor. The farmhands also sleep in a large hall there. The maids are housed in the attic.
We will sneak up on the farm in two groups. I myself will lead the attack on the main house with four men and try to capture the landowners.
With the exception of the cooking and medical crew, the rest of you, under Milan's leadership, will storm the outbuilding with the farmhands and maids and take them into our control. But be careful: We don't know if there are any weapons in the houses. To be on the safe side, we should assume there are. This means you must keep your own weapons ready at all times. If you encounter armed men, order them to drop their weapons. At the slightest hesitation or resistance, shoot. This is an order! I don't want any injuries or even deaths on our side just because you waited too long. Understood?"

All the men nodded.

Zoran turned to the cooking and medical corps. "You follow us at a distance of about 200 meters and observe the area. If you notice anything suspicious, raise the alarm immediately. And otherwise, keep the medical equipment ready. I hope we won't need it, but who knows..."

"Move!" Milan's voice rang out. At the head of his large group, he slowly headed toward the farm. His flashlight was dimmed so much that he could just barely see the narrow path at his feet.
His men followed him at a short distance. Zoran kept some distance from this group before setting off with his four chosen, closest followers. And last but not least, the rest of the team followed, who were to provide rear cover.

About 200 meters from the farm, Milan gave the signal to stop. Dusk had now set in, and in the semidarkness, shadowy figures could be seen waiting along the path for further orders.
With a silent gesture, Zoran signaled Milan to advance to the annex where the farmhands and maids were housed. He quietly explained to his own men that they would first sneak up on the main building. Only once Milan's men had begun the attack they would force open the front door and storm into the house. Two men were to comb the ground floor, while the other two would storm the stairs to the attic with Zoran. According to the scouts, this was where the bedroom of the couple who ran the farm was located. They were a couple in their 40s who had no children. And at this time of night, it was safe to assume they were in their bedroom.

Meanwhile, Milan's troops had advanced to within 30 meters of the outbuilding. The men cautiously looked around, securing the area, almost blending into the surroundings in their dark camouflage uniforms.
Milan was just about to give the hand signal to advance further when something unexpected happened: The main door of the outbuilding opened, and a farmhand, wearing only linen trousers, attempted to step out. Apparently, he wanted to relieve himself in the nearby latrine.

For a moment, both sides paused in astonishment. They considered how to handle the situation. But before Milan could shout another order, the farmhand shouted loudly, "Alarm! Raid! Srbi su tu. Uzmi oružje!" (translated: Alarm! Raid! The Serbs are here. Take up arms!) and slammed the door behind him.

Immediately, Milan's militiamen stormed the building, attempting to break down the heavy wooden entrance door. But the Bosnian had apparently managed to bolt the door from the inside, so it took some time before the first soldiers could enter the house. Meanwhile, frantic shouting could be heard there. Lights came on, doors were slammed. And the first lamps in the attic also came on.
In any case, the element of surprise was gone.

The majority of the Bosnians had apparently still been sleeping in the common dormitory and had been completely surprised by the alarm calls. A handful of Milan's soldiers quickly entered the room, dragging the Bosnian servants from their bunks and forcing them against the dormitory walls at gunpoint.

More men searched and found the stairs to the attic. They rushed up there, where they found three bedrooms for the maids. They had initially been sound asleep and were completely confused by the noise and shouting that suddenly reigned.

Only the servant who had unexpectedly opened the door earlier had managed to escape into an adjoining room and barricade himself in. There he had also found a loaded shotgun, which he immediately seized. Now he stood in the corner of the room, aiming the shotgun at the door.

“Ako pokušate da provalite ovde, upucaću svakog od vas“ (“If you try to break in here, I'll shoot every one of you.”)

Milan's men hesitated. They didn't know what the man was armed with. In any case, they assumed the farmhand would immediately shoot if they tried to open the door.
Milan consulted with a few of his men. The walls of the outbuilding were solid brick, so simply blasting them with their submachine guns would probably do little good.
One of the men left the building and circled it, looking for a way to enter the adjoining room from the outside. As he did so, he spotted a window with a wooden frame that seemed to belong to that very room.

The soldier crept back to Milan and reported. Milan immediately knew how they would proceed. Two soldiers were to position themselves to the left and right of the window and attempt to break it with strong, short logs lying around in the yard. A third would then throw a hand grenade through the window. As soon as it exploded, they would attempt to break open the wooden interior door and, with a machine gun salvo, rid the room of any remaining living persons.

Meanwhile, the soldiers who had advanced to the attic had dragged the terrified maids from their straw mattresses. One of them was a somewhat older woman who likely commanded the manor's staff, as her room was larger and better equipped than those of the other two women.
She was also the one who seriously tried to resist when the soldiers grabbed her hands and tried to drag her out of the room. She yelled and screamed loudly, spat at the attackers, and flailed her fists. Until a courageous blow from one of the militiamen hit her right in the face. She immediately collapsed silently.
When the two other maids, who were much younger, saw this, they also gave up their resistance.
As the soldiers wanted to take the trio downstairs to the others, they were shouted at to stay upstairs until the single servant who had successfully barricaded himself had been smoked out or shot.

At that moment, Milan gave the signal to attack. Panes shattered, and the window shattered under the blows from the soldiers outside. One of the soldiers threw a hand grenade through the shattered window, which exploded after a few seconds. And then all hell broke loose: after the soldiers had forced open the interior door of the building, they blasted everything that had been in the room with their submachine guns.

When the smoke cleared and Milan entered the room, he could see the completely dismembered body of the resistance fighter in a corner. So this problem was solved, too, without any harm to his own troops.

But how had Zoran and his loyal followers fared in the meantime?
One of his men had previously been a locksmith, and he had no trouble opening the entrance to the main house without using force. Immediately, all the men crept into the hallway of the building, spread out among the ground-floor rooms, and searched them. No one was there.
Just as Zoran was about to give the hand signal to search the attic and capture the residents who were probably living there, a commotion broke out outside the outbuilding.
Zoran's men quickly jumped up the wooden stairs. They tore open the attic doors. They found no one there until they suddenly arrived at the end of the hallway in front of an ornate door.

It was Zoran himself who kicked the door open. There was electricity everywhere in the main building, and Zoran quickly found the light switch. Bright light from a chandelier suddenly flooded the room, which was in fact the landowners' bedroom.

In the middle of the room stood a large wooden bed, and the couple sat up, rubbing their eyes in surprise. And suddenly realized where all the noise was coming from. They had clearly been ambushed by Serbian troops or guerrillas. There had already been minor skirmishes between Serbs and Bosnians along the border in recent days. But the two hadn't expected that a war could actually break out, especially since the EU and the UN had just granted international recognition to the newly formed community of states that had separated from the former Yugoslavia.

Zoran looked at the couple still lying in the large wooden bed. The man was about 50 years old, had gray hair, and his bushy beard was already dyed gray. He wore linen trousers that could be fastened at the top with a drawstring. Nothing else.
The woman, on the other hand, was much younger. Zoran guessed her to be in her early to mid-thirties, certainly not older. She wore a lace-trimmed silk nightgown, from which her bare arms peeked out.
The fabric of the nightgown was so delicate and translucent that the men present could easily admire the landowner's wife's shapely breasts. And also the brown nipples that slowly erected beneath the fabric.

"Get up!" Zoran signaled to the two of them that they should get out of bed. The woman clung to her husband as he hesitantly got out of bed.

"What do you want here? We're peaceful peasants. We haven't done anything to anyone. Besides, there's no war between Serbia and Bosnia!" he tried to defuse the situation.

"You're wrong! Since midnight, there has officially been a war between the two countries. Our troops are marching toward Srebrenica and will take it over. We Serbs will drive you Bosnian scum out of this country, and you will be among the first we make an example of. No Bosnian will be safe from us anymore!"

Fearfully, the woman hid behind her husband, who turned pale.

Zoran sent one of his men to investigate what had caused the noise at the neighboring building. When he returned and reported that the situation was under control, he gave the order to round up all the prisoners in the dining room of the adjacent building, to tie them up, and to ensure that no one could escape.

While his orders were being carried out, his command vehicle was also brought into the courtyard. Zoran went to his radio to report back to Arkan. There, he was the first to learn that the rapid advance of the Serbian troops into Srebrenica had succeeded and that the soldiers had begun to encircle the city. Troop groups were also victorious in other parts of the country. Meanwhile, the guerrillas, in particular, had been very successful in driving Bosnians out of the border areas. With or without violence...
Arkan told Zoran that the government had begun setting up prison camps. Separate for men and women. While captured men were to be taken to camps located in barracks, women were generally housed in halls of larger sports facilities.

As Arkan further reported, it happened again and again that Bosnian men in particular did not always reach their destination, but were simply shot and left lying there or thrown into nearby rivers. This saved the time-consuming transport. And ultimately, the motto prevailed that only a dead Bosnian was a good Bosnian.
Even with the women, it wasn't always guaranteed that they would actually reach their destination. After the government issued the slogan that whatever the soldiers found during the cleanup operations would generally belong to them, some groups took this very literally and applied it to the female prisoners as well.
Zoran asked how he should deal with his prisoners.
"Why did you take prisoners at all?" Arkan replied amusedly. You could tell that he wouldn't have minded if none of the residents and workers here at the farm had survived the attack.
"But since that's the case, I'll send you a wagon to transport the men to the nearest prison camp. Until then, you'll stay on the farm, which will serve as your base for the next few days. You'll receive further orders there. In the meantime, you'll continue to clear the area of Serbs as planned.
And yes, you can keep the women for now. They can do your laundry and cook for you. And maybe they'll be useful for something else, too..." With a laugh, Arkan ended the call.

The idea of setting up his camp here on this estate for a few days and operating from here appealed to Zoran. The buildings were well-preserved and dry, and there was apparently enough food here. All in all, a pleasant situation.
What bothered him a little was that Arkan hadn't told him when the prisoners would be picked up. So he would have to assign some of his men to guard them until then. This would further weaken his already small force for pending operations.
And as for the women: yes, the idea of them cooking and doing laundry for the troops was also fine. But even for that, he would have to leave at least two more men here to supervise the women and prevent them from running away. Perhaps the two cooks could take over; Zoran didn't want to do without the medics.

But what worried him most was that Arkan had once again emphasized, with a smug undertone, that whatever the fighters found during their operations would belong to them. Some of Zoran's men, who had overheard the conversation, had laughed at these words and started making rude jokes.

[Blue]

Kapitel 3 - Breakfast (not at Tiffany's))

And the jokes didn't stop there. A handful of Zoran's men circled the three maids, who stood fearfully in the middle of the room. "Hey, you sweeties, how about a little striptease for us? We're curious to see if you Bosnian women have such hot tits and asses like our women!"

Some of them tried to rip off the women's linen robes they wore as nightgowns. One of them, a red-haired, busty beauty, was particularly taken with them.
"Hey, Zora, why so shy? We don't bite. We just want to have some fun with you!" And the redhead was immediately pushed around among the men, who tried to grab her breasts. And also between her legs.

"Stop it now! This can wait until evening. We still have a lot to do today. But first, we should make sure we get a proper breakfast. And while we're at it, I'll explain what's going to happen today. But first, make sure the Bosnians can't do anything stupid until they're picked up. Put cable ties on their hands and feet and throw them into the potato cellar I saw outside. But make sure there's no escape route there!"

Some of his men took strong cable ties from the vehicles and used them to tie the Bosnian servants' hands and feet together. Then they ruthlessly dragged them out into the courtyard and threw them down the stairs into the potato cellar, where they landed unceremoniously.

"Dragan, you stay there and keep watch. If they try to escape, just shoot them down!"

Then he instructed the men from the kitchen crew, along with the maids, to prepare a hearty breakfast. After all, the day was still long, and breakfast here would certainly taste better than the troop rations they were carrying.

Zoran ordered his two bodyguards, Luka and Filip, to bring the owners of the estate back to the bedroom in the main house and keep them under close watch. He considered them his personal prey. "But keep your hands off them. If they harm even a hair on their head, I'll personally skin you!" The two laughed. "Don't worry, boss, we'll guard them like the apple of our eye. But promise to bring us something nice when you return this evening!" With an obscene gesture, the two grabbed the man and the pretty woman and led them back to the main house.

Zoran, along with Milan and some of their men, inspected the estate. Yes, the buildings would be well-suited for shelter over the next few days. From here, they could conduct their operations without having to stray too far from their new base. There was also enough space to safely store any additional prisoners. And their own men could set up camp in the outbuilding and in one of the barns belonging to the farm. They could also park their vehicles there so they wouldn't attract attention.

Back at the outbuilding, breakfast had just been ready. The cook and the three maids served bread, baked bacon, and freshly boiled eggs. The coffee was as black as night and strong. Exactly to the men's taste.

Zoran and Milan sat down at a table a little way off and watched the men. They teased the maids while the food was served. Lewd remarks filled the room, and raucous laughter filled the air whenever one of them tried to lift one of the maids' skirts while she was putting the food on the table. Emil, a somewhat chubby and simple-minded soldier, had his sights set on the older maid.

"He moja dragana (my darling), where are you going in such a hurry? You can't wait to get into bed with me!" He slapped the maid on her ample bottom. She turned around angrily and threatened to scratch Emil's eyes out.

The others at the table laughed loudly. But they knew, as much as they would have liked to get to know the maids better, Zoran wouldn't tolerate it. At least not at this point. He had made that unmistakably clear. But who knows, maybe in the evening, when they were served their daily ration of rakija...

Meanwhile, Zoran and Milan were planning their next mission, which they would undertake after breakfast. Their orders were to take over a nearby cargo hub from the Serbs. It was primarily stocked with foodstuffs that the Serbian troops would urgently need in the coming days and weeks. They might also find some weapons and ammunition there. Both would be useful, too.

However, they would have to expect resistance there, and since Zoran would be leaving some of his men behind, he was worried about losses in his own ranks. But Milan just laughed: "Zoran, my friend, we are at war. And if we really die, it will be for a just cause."

After breakfast, Milan briefed the soldiers on their next steps, while Zoran went back to the main house. He wanted to make sure his men were obeying his orders. After all, he had other plans for his two prisoners.

Luka and Filip had brought the two back to the bedroom and also attached cable ties to their hands. They themselves were lounging on an overstuffed sofa there.
When Zoran entered the room, both dutifully jumped up and saluted their commander.

"So? How are our guests behaving?" Luka laughed. "He was a little bitchy at first and kept complaining. Until I shut him up!"
Zoran noticed the squire's swollen cheek.

"Good. But make sure nothing more happens to them. I still need them both!"

Then he turned to the squire's wife, who was sitting on the bed with a tear-stained face and looking at him with frightened eyes.
"What's your name, madam?" Zoran asked with a smug tone in his voice.
"Besima," the woman answered quietly.
"Besima? The one who always smiles? Well, right now it doesn't look like you're always smiling!" Zoran reached under the woman's chin with his right hand and lifted it so he could look into her brown eyes. She immediately lowered her eyes in shame. "Don't be so shy, my pretty one! You don't need to hide. I'm not going to hurt you. On the contrary, I want the two of us to have dinner together tonight when we get back and spend some nice time together." Zoran gently stroked her rosy cheeks. "And you're invited too, of course!" Zoran turned to the lord of the manor.

Her husband jumped up angrily: "Leave my wife alone, you beast. Otherwise..." He stretched out his bound hands to attack Zoran, but was immediately pulled back by the two bodyguards.

"Oh, someone's being rebellious! Teach him a lesson, but in a way that allows him to still be here tonight."
Zoran's henchmen didn't need to be told twice. They repeatedly hit the lord of the manor with the butts of their rifles until he was bleeding from multiple lacerations on his face and writhing on the ground. "Tell the medic to take care of him; he needs to be back on his feet by this evening. And have the kitchen chef and his new assistants prepare a delicious dinner for the three of us. We'll eat downstairs in the manor's dining room tonight."

"And you, my beautiful one, will dress up for me tonight." Zoran reached for the woman's lace-trimmed silk nightgown. "This one is quite nice, but we won't need it until after dinner!" A certain anticipation built within him, and he felt his trousers bulge in the front. But he refrained from taking it a step further. Duty came before pleasure!

With these words, he turned and left the bedroom.

[Blue]

Kapitel 4 - the warehouse - first escalation

After breakfast, Milan took command again. He reassembled the vehicle group before setting off. Their destination was the warehouse, which they would reach in about 30 minutes on well-paved roads.

By now, it was early morning, and dark clouds hung in the sky. Ominous harbingers of their mission? Milan wasn't deterred; he was far too experienced and hardened to worry about such things. But before setting off, he warned his men to be especially vigilant this time. By now, word had surely spread among the Bosnians that war was now finally breaking out between Serbia and the Bosnian republics. That Sarajevo was surrounded by the Serbs, and that Serbian looters and paramilitary units were also making this border area unsafe.

In the distance, the cargo transfer station could be seen on the horizon. Milan, who, as always, was driving at the head of the small convoy in the MG jeep, stopped about a kilometer from the warehouse and grabbed his binoculars.

There it was, today's main objective. He could see the warehouse clearly. In front of it, two tractors, each pulling two trailers, were being loaded with sacks of potatoes and other goods. Everything looked peaceful—too peaceful, as Zoran also thought, who had also taken out a pair of binoculars and was examining the warehouse and the surrounding area.
It took him a while to realize what had been bothering him. The workers loading the tractor trailers were moving far too slowly. And their gaze repeatedly wandered toward the edge of a nearby forest. Not really a real forest, more like undergrowth. But large and dense enough that foreign soldiers could be hiding there for an ambush.

Zoran pointed out the bushes to Milan. They both examined them with their binoculars. And almost at the same time, they noticed a suspicious glint in the bushes.
Milan focused his lenses on that spot. Something occasionally reflected the sparse sunlight there, whenever the sun dared to briefly peek out from behind the dark clouds. At first, Milan couldn't see any more. But when a strong gust of wind blew into the bushes, he could make out for a moment that there was at least one camouflaged military vehicle behind it. So the Serbs had indeed taken the camp under their protection in anticipation of a possible attack.

Zoran beckoned Bogdan, his most experienced scout, over and pointed to the bushes. "Someone's hiding in there. Find out who it is and how heavily armed they are. But don't get caught!"

Bogdan nodded curtly, exchanged his rifle for a small submachine gun, and disappeared behind his own vehicles.

About 45 minutes later, he reappeared with his squad, completely unexpectedly. No one had noticed him returning to the vehicles.
Bogdan reported to his commanders. Two well-camouflaged military jeeps were parked behind the bushes. During his reconnaissance, he had spotted five soldiers sitting rather carelessly in the bushes, chatting. Two other soldiers, apparently female, were standing guard.

Zoran and Milan consulted with their subordinates. If they wanted to take over the warehouse, they would first have to eliminate the soldiers in the bushes. And even then, they couldn't be sure that there weren't other troops in the warehouse that could pose a threat.

Zoran divided his men. Fifteen of them, led by Milan, would sneak up on the Bosnians hiding in the bushes from behind and try to incapacitate them as quickly as possible. They were to proceed as efficiently as possible. They didn't need to show any consideration. The Bosnians lurking there in hiding would certainly show no consideration for possible Serbian opponents either. The hatred between the once allied population groups of the former Yugoslavia was already too great at this point.

As soon as Milan's squad began the attack, Zoran and his remaining men would rush toward the warehouse in their vehicles, shooting at anything that offered resistance. They hoped to get the situation under control without major losses.

While Milan slowly crept up on the Serbs lurking in the bushes, Zoran's men nervously smoked one cigarette after another. Milan had selected the most experienced soldiers for his mission, and the men who had stayed with Zoran were young guerrillas who, apart from the two raids this morning, had no combat experience. They would only gain that now during the assault on the warehouse.

It took a long time until Milan had approached the bushes from behind far enough for him to get an overview of the situation.
Yes, five Bosnian soldiers were sitting there in the middle of the bushes, playing dice and chatting carelessly, while two more soldiers, hidden at the edge, kept an eye on the road leading to the warehouse. And apparently they hadn't yet spotted Zoran's vehicle squad, which had retreated behind a small hillock.
But what Milan noticed was that the two were indeed women, because long hair peeped out from under their helmets, one very dark, the other light blonde.

Danilo, Milan's oldest friend in the group, had crept up to him. He pointed at the two guards and made a questioning gesture, as if he wanted to slit their throats with a knife. But Milan shook his head. If these were indeed two women, he wanted them alive. The other men, however, who were gambling and chatting, were completely indifferent to him.

Milan signaled to Danilo with hand gestures that the two guards were apparently women. He indicated full breasts, grinned, and grabbed his crotch with a lascivious look. Danilo understood, pointed to the butt of his rifle, and indicated to Milan that this would incapacitate the two guards. They could simply throw two or three hand grenades at the men in the bushes; that should be enough.

Milan nodded to his men. Then he silently counted with his fingers: "Three, two, one!" and threw the first grenade into the bushes, where it exploded loudly after a few seconds. Two more bangs followed, while Danilo and another soldier simultaneously incapacitated the two guards with well-aimed rifle bursts.

When Zoran heard the explosion, he signaled his men to advance. The engines roared loudly as the vehicles raced at high speed toward the camp and the tractors waiting in front of it. Once there, half of the militiamen immediately jumped from their vehicles and ran toward the distraught civilians standing by the tractors. Just as they had practiced for weeks back in their camps, they forced them to throw themselves on the ground and put their hands behind their heads.

The other half cautiously entered the warehouse to secure it as well, while Zoran observed the situation from his jeep.

"Bang!" Suddenly, a shot rang out, and one of the soldiers, who had just been forcing a tractor driver to the ground, fell to the ground. Blood spurted from his shattered skull.

"Bang!" Another bang, and another militiamen fell to the ground. This time, bright red blood spurted from his neck in rapid bursts. Apparently, the shot had hit his carotid artery.

Zoran quickly assessed the situation. "Snapper! (Sniper!). All men take cover!" he shouted to his men as he jumped out of his vehicle and tried to hide underneath it.

More shots rang out from the ambush, but this time they didn't seem to be fatal, even though there were occasional screams.

Zoran desperately tried to see where the shots were coming from from under his car. He certainly hadn't expected this. A Bosnian sniper was well hidden somewhere, firing on any Serb who moved.

"Bang!" Another shot, and another painful scream rang out.

Zoran cursed himself for leaving his two bodyguards with the couple on the estate. They would certainly be much more useful here than there. But who knows if the two of them would still be alive.

"Bang!" came another bang, and shrapnels sprayed from a nearby corner of the warehouse, behind which one of his soldiers had apparently taken cover.

This time, Zoran could see where the shot had come from. About 200 meters to the left of the location where the Bosnian soldiers had been lying in ambush was a hunter's hide. From there, the sniper had an excellent overview of the situation, even though his position was certainly at least 1,000 meters from the warehouse. So he must have been a really good marksman to mow down his soldiers so accurately from there.

"Zoran, what's going on with you guys! Report in!" Milan's voice rang out over the radio. Zoran had completely forgotten he still had it hanging around his neck.

"Sniper! 200 meters at nine o'clock from you. Sitting in a raised perch. Unreachable from here. You have to come to our aid! And hurry, or there won't be anyone left of these rookie soldiers!"

After a while, Milan's reply came over the radio. "I see him. We'll take care of him!"

Then there was radio silence again. But the sniper continued to fire at every enemy movement he could detect. Zoran and his soldiers were trapped. The sniper could open fire on them at any time, while they waited helplessly for Milan to hopefully take out the shooter.

And Milan? He had called Bogdan, his scout, over and explained the situation to him. Bogdan had immediately understood what was going on. He had hung two hand grenades on his belt, grabbed his submachine gun again, and was now sneaking up to the tree stand from behind.

There, the sniper was still firing in the direction of the warehouse. He must have heard the explosions that had wiped out his comrades lurking in the bushes. But that didn't seem to bother him. His sole attention was on the warehouse and the soldiers hidden there.

Bogdan managed to approach the shooter almost effortlessly, taking care not to accidentally step on a dry branch and thereby potentially attract the sniper's attention.
Then he was finally within range of the tree stand. He picked up the two hand grenades. He defused one and threw it under the tree stand. Then the second one right after it. And as the wooden tower collapsed, Bogdan charged forward, holding the submachine gun at the ready, ready to use it immediately if anything happened there.

There wasn't much left of the sniper's position. The two hand grenades had almost completely destroyed it. But Bogdan saw the sniper's boot sticking out from among the rubble. With his submachine gun at the ready, he approached the spot. He kicked the boot several times with his foot. But nothing moved.

"He's been hit!" thought Bogdan as he began to clear the rubble. Little by little, a rather slender figure emerged. Dead or just unconscious, that was the question. Aside from a laceration to the head, the person didn't appear to have suffered any external injuries. But that didn't mean the explosions might have caused internal injuries.
Bogdan raised his submachine gun and aimed at the sniper lying in front of him. He wanted to put another bullet in his head, just to be sure. He pulled the trigger. And hesitated, because something was holding him back.

Bogdan examined the person again closely. She was actually quite petite for a man, wearing a spotted camouflage uniform and a helmet that covered most of her head. Her facial features were smeared with camouflage paint, so Bogdan couldn't quite make out who it was.

Bogdan leaned forward, untied the helmet's chin strap, blood trickling down it to her neck. He carefully pulled the helmet off the shooter's head. Even though this was a relentless opponent, Bogdan wanted to treat him with respect.

And then he saw it: the shooter was a woman! Dark hair flowed luxuriantly from beneath the helmet. No man had hair that long and well-groomed...
Bogdan took the shooter's hand, trying to feel her pulse. And sure enough, very faintly and slowly, he could sense the blows more than actually feel them. And when he put his ear to his opponent's mouth, he heard soft breathing.

Bogdan didn't know how badly his counterpart was injured. The head injury certainly didn't seem particularly serious, even if it was bleeding heavily. But that was normal with head injuries.

"Bogdan, please report!" Milan's voice sounded over his radio.

"This is SpiderOne, everything's fine, the threat has been eliminated. I'll be back for you. And you'll be surprised by what I bring!" Bogdan grinned. Yes, the surprise would certainly be great. To his and his comrades' complete surprise, they had taken three female prisoners here. This could turn out to be a great day for them.

Bogdan took a bandage pack from one of his pockets and wrapped it around the soldier's head to stop the bleeding. Then he effortlessly lifted her light body, slung it over his shoulder, and leisurely walked back to his comrades.

In the meantime, they had taken care of the Bosnians in the bushes. In fact, two of them had survived the hand grenades that had been thrown at them. But they were so badly injured that Milan personally finished them off with two shots to the head.
The two female guards, who had been incapacitated by rifle blows, still lay unconscious on the ground, their hands now bound. Milan would later decide with Zoran what to do with them.

When Bogdan returned to his comrades, he carelessly threw his victim to the ground a short distance from the two Bosnian women and gave him another kick. "Tough, that little one!" he grinned approvingly at Milan.

Meanwhile, Zoran and his remaining men had taken control of the warehouse. Four of his men were dead, five others, some seriously injured. The sniper had evidently lived up to his reputation as a skilled sniper.

Zoran called the ambulance that had been waiting behind the front line and ordered the medics to tend to the injured. Then he got in his car and drove over to Milan's to assess the situation.

He was amazed when Milan told him about the two female guards. And when Bogdan then proudly pointed out the still unconscious, petite, dark-haired woman and explained to him that this was the dangerous sniper, his appreciation grew even more.

Yes, he knew that the Russians, in particular, liked to rely on female snipers. They had always served well in all previous world wars and also in the Afghanistan conflict. But the fact that there were also female snipers among the Bosnian troops was new to him. Arkan would surely be surprised by this information as well.
Despite the unexpected deaths, his remaining men were quite buoyant. This had been their first real combat mission in this war, and they each tried to emphasize their own contribution to the success.

Zoran noticed out of the corner of his eye how the two guards, still completely dazed, were coming to. His men seemed to notice this too, as they began to form a semicircle around the two.

" Ви курве (You whores!)" one of them cursed the women and spat at their feet.

More insults followed, and the circle tightened and tightened. Only Bogdan remained standing next to Milan with the female sniper, watching her closely.

Zoran hesitated. Should he intervene and ensure that the two women were returned to their new camp unmolested? There he could still decide what to do with them.
On the other hand, he could also understand his men. They had always been told that everything they found would belong to them. And back in the camps, comrades who had already served in various skirmishes had often boasted about what they had done to female prisoners. How they had mocked, tortured, and often repeatedly raped them. How they had squirted their Serbian semen into the wombs of Bosnian women.
And hadn't Arkan also indicated that Zoran would have free rein regarding female prisoners?

Finally, he came to a decision. Yes, his men, at least those who were still alive, had done a good job today, a job that deserved to be rewarded. And at least partly here at the scene. But he also wanted to ensure that there were no arguments among his men.

"Stop!" he shouted to his soldiers in his loud, commanding voice. They turned to him in surprise. Surely their commander didn't usually speak to them so loudly?
"Men, you've done a good job today. You deserve to be rewarded for it. At least partly here and now.
I know what's going through your minds, and I can see that you'd love to pounce on these two right now!" He nodded toward the two prisoners sitting fearfully on the ground. They obviously sensed what was in store for them.

"But there has to be order. I don't want any wild scrambles over who goes first. As befits a good unit, we'll respect the hierarchy here as well. First, the sergeants, then the noncommissioned officers. Then the privates. And each of you only once, just to be clear. Make sure the women don't get too hurt. Then you can continue to have fun with them this evening when we get back to camp. Do you understand?"

Some soldiers murmured in discontent, but the majority loudly agreed with this suggestion.

Zoran nodded to Milan. But he just shook his head and pointed to the still unconscious female sniper. Bogdan also denied it. Apparently, the two agreed that this was their prey. And Zoran had reserved the estate owner's wife for himself anyway.

"Darko and Ivo, you two keep order. Divide the men equally between the two women. And make sure we can take them home alive!"

With these words, Zoran turned to Milan and sat down with them in the tall grass.

[Phantom6]

I always enjoy rape stories with real context, and sense of reality. I look forward to reading more. Well done.

[lint]

Ohhhh I am looking forward to the next part! The translation is honestly fine, don’t worry too much

[Blue]

The next two parts in German are finished. I just need to translate them into English (or have them translated). Then they'll follow here.
I'll be happy if the translation works out so that the story can be read reasonably well.

[Blue]

Kapitel 5 Rock, paper, scissors

Darko and Ivo, the highest-ranking soldiers in the unit after Milan and Bogdan, looked at each other. They liked the solution Zoran had proposed. This way, the two would be the first to have sex with the two female Bosnian guards without a major scuffle beforehand.

The two female prisoners had overheard what Zoran had said to them. They had also noticed how the other Serbs had gathered around them, how they were getting closer and closer. They had noticed their lascivious glances and also heard the lewd remarks from which they could deduce what was in store for them.
Yes, it was war, and they had repeatedly heard or read stories about what was threatened and done to women in war. But they hadn't expected that they would now face a similar fate to that of numerous women before them.

Actually, it had been a standard operation. The small group they belonged to was only supposed to ensure that farmers from the surrounding area could trade their goods undisturbed in the warehouse. None of them had expected that Serbian soldiers would show up. The men had therefore joked as they carelessly hid in the small grove. And, with suggestive laughter, they assigned the women to guard duty—just in case, of course—and passed the time with alcohol and card games. Only Jelena, the little sniper, had been seriously worried and had taken up a well-hidden post with her sniper rifle in a raised hide, from where she could observe the area well.

When the Serbs then attacked from behind, completely unexpectedly, everything happened very quickly. Hand grenades killed the soldiers who had just been laughing, and the two female guards were knocked down with rifle butts. Only Jelena, who had reacted immediately, managed to take out some of the Serbs from her hiding place before she, too, was caught. Now she still lay unconscious on the warehouse floor, while the other two women clung tightly to each other, still hoping that nothing would happen to them.
But that hope was quickly dashed.

Darko and Ivo couldn't agree on which of them should get which of the women. One of the prisoners was a pretty 25-year-old brunette, while the other woman was dark-haired and probably in her mid- to late 30s. Nevertheless, she, too, had beautiful features.

The men couldn't make out the contours of the women under the combat fatigues their prisoners were wearing. Not yet – but at the moment, the two men were simply concerned with who would get which woman. Darko, in particular, had his eye on the young brunette.

Finally, they agreed to play a dice game over the two women. The game of "Rock, Paper, Scissors" was also known in Serbia, and whoever won the game three times first would have the free choice.

The first two rounds went to Darko, a very experienced sergeant in his 40s. He was known as a womanizer, and everyone in the group knew his stories, in which he boasted about how many "women" he'd had in his life—whether they'd slept with him voluntarily or not.

Ivo, on the other hand, had just turned 25 when he was assigned to Zoran's group. He, too, had combat experience, although he'd only taken male prisoners so far. This situation was therefore completely new to him, and he wasn't entirely comfortable with the role Zoran had assigned to the two of them. He would have preferred to back down and refrain from assaulting either of the women, especially since he was quite shy and rather inexperienced with women anyway. But he also knew exactly what the men standing around in a circle, cheering on the two opponents, expected of him.

Ivo thought about it. He'd participated rather lackadaisically in the first two rounds of the game because he didn't really care which of the two women he'd get. He had decided to play his role without letting it be noticed that he actually had no desire to rape one of the women. But when he looked into Darko's eyes again, he saw something in them that made him shudder. If Darko actually won the next round and was awarded the young brunette as his prize, he would take her with brutal force, without any consideration for his victim. And Ivo wanted to avoid that.

Darko's tactics in the game were quite simple to see through. And so it was easy for Ivo to win the next two rounds. And with that, the score was suddenly 2-2.
Tension was building. Darko had several friends, mostly younger ones, among the soldiers who had already seen him as a sure winner. And they knew exactly what kind of spectacle Darko would put on for them once he got his hands on the brunette. And that they would also get to enjoy it afterward—should Darko even leave anything of her behind. But Zoran had warned the men against being too brutal.

The tension before the final and decisive round rose, and the men's murmuring grew louder and louder. And Darko, too, beat his chest confidently, kicked the brunette, and loudly proclaimed that he would be the first to get a Bosnian "bride" in this campaign.

Ivo looked Darko deep in the eyes once more. Recognized the malicious, triumphant grin in them. And suddenly changed his own tactics.
Darko had won the first two rounds by blunting Ivo's scissors with his "rock" each time. But Ivo could also see in Darko's eyes that he probably wouldn't rely on the tried-and-tested tactic this time. Paper or scissors, that was the question.
Ivo thought for a moment. No, Darko wasn't a paper person. In his eyes, paper was certainly not a real weapon, while scissors could very well be used as a dangerous weapon. So Ivo decided to take a full risk and choose the rock himself this time.

"Rock, paper, scissors!!!"

Everyone held their breath. And indeed: Darko had chosen scissors this time. The scissors that were blunted by Ivo's rock.

Annoyed, Darko let out a roar of rage, and his comrades were also disappointed that they had obviously been deprived of their fun. On the other side, three older soldiers patted Ivo's shoulder in recognition. Yes, they had been on Ivo's side because they too had recognized what the brunette would face if Darko won.
But Darko's anger quickly vanished, and he could hardly wait to claim his prize.

"Get her to her feet, let's see what kind of little dove awaits us here!" he demanded of his followers. They didn't need to be told twice; they grabbed the older of the two prisoners and dragged her to her feet. Even though she desperately tried to cling to her comrade and fight back against the men's grip, she had no chance against the superior numbers.

Two men stood behind her and grabbed her arms with a firm grip, rendering her unable to resist. Then Darko stepped in front of the prisoner, unbuckled the chin strap of the steel helmet she was still wearing, and threw it aside.

Thick, long, black hair appeared. Despite her age, the woman was still a true Balkan beauty, and Darko could hardly wait to see more of her.

With his right hand, he grasped her chin, lifted it, and looked deep into her equally dark eyes. "Skini se, dušo!" ("Take off your clothes, sweetie!").
But the woman thus addressed was not intimidated: "jebi se u koleno!" ("Screw yourself!") and spat right in Darko's face.

For a moment, Darko froze in complete surprise. He hadn't expected that! But he quickly regained his composure. He had actually wanted to follow Zoran's instructions and give the prisoner the chance to surrender to him voluntarily. But if she treated him like that?

Slap! Darko gave the woman standing before him a resounding slap. Slap, another one, this time on the other cheek.

"Kurvo, zažalićeš zbog ovoga!" ("Whore, you'll regret this!")

"Tear her uniform jacket off!" he ordered his comrades standing beside him, who obeyed with cheers.

Underneath her thick woolen uniform jacket, the prisoner wore a brown blouse made of coarse linen. But not for much longer. Darko reached for the knife tucked into his belt and used the blade to cut off one button after another of the blouse before putting the knife away, grabbing the collar of the blouse with both hands, and brutally tearing it from the soldier's torso.
Beneath it, a gray cotton undershirt appeared. This, too, offered no real resistance to Darko's strong hands, so that the dark-haired woman now stood before Darko with her upper body bare.

He whistled admiringly through his teeth. He hadn't expected that. Despite her age, the woman, who was still being held by the arms in front of him, had firm, full breasts with dark nipples and large areolas.
Darko grabbed both breasts with his rough hands and sloshed them back and forth. "Look at those tits, aren't they hot? Now I know why our Muslim "friends" are always so keen for their women to go out on the streets heavily covered!"

His comrades joined in his laughter as Darko took the dark nipples between his lips, sucked hard on them, and twisted them between his fingertips until tears streamed from his victim's eyes.

Then he briefly let go of her breasts, but only to unfasten the belt of her uniform trousers. The sight that had met his eyes had been enough to make his cock hard, and now he could hardly wait to see what the rest of them would look like.

"Take those fucking trousers off her!" he demanded of his friends.

While two of his comrades still held the woman by the arms, two more grabbed the woman's legs and lifted them so that the other men could take off her trousers. But suddenly, the soldier's fighting spirit awoke, and she kicked her legs as hard as she could, so that a veritable struggle began to free her from her uniform trousers. But here, too, her fighting spirit eventually waned, and finally the men succeeded in tearing her trousers off and carelessly throwing them to the ground.

Except for the coarse wool stockings she still wore on her feet and a pair of typical soldier's underpants, also gray, the dark-haired woman was now wearing nothing on her body. A body that looked well-toned and on which not an ounce of fat was visible.

Darko reached between the woman's legs with one hand and pulled the coarse cotton underpants to the side, revealing a tuft of dark pubic hair. When the men saw this, they began to hoot and shout. Yes, Bosnian women, the majority of whom were Muslim, were supposed to be well-haired in the pubic area, at least according to what they had heard so far. This was now confirmed.

With a powerful tug, Darko ripped the underwear off the woman's body, which, like the undershirt before, offered no resistance. He reached unashamedly between her legs and pushed first one, then two fingers into her cleft.

"Looks like our darling isn't quite ready for us yet. She's still completely dry, but we can change that quickly!"

With these words, Darko unbuckled the belt and zipper of his own dungarees, letting them fall to the floor over his knees. He wasn't wearing any underwear, so his men immediately saw a huge, magnificent cock with a bulging, red head.

Darko's lust and greed could no longer be contained. He wanted only one thing: to fuck this dark-haired Bosnian woman, to ram his cock as deep as possible into her unbelieving cunt, to implant his Serbian seed into her. So that she might contribute to the multiplication of the Serbian population with the one and only seed!

"Lift her legs so I can finally fuck her!" he instructed his comrades. They grabbed the soldier by her thighs and ankles, lifted them, and adjusted them to fit Darko. He stepped between her thighs. He felt her slit once more, which was still completely dry. He spat into one hand and, against the woman's resistance, pushed it into her pussy. He also rubbed his hard cock with his own saliva. He placed the tip at his victim's bushy entrance. He grinned mockingly at her face, which stared back at him, fearful and full of tears. He delayed the moment a little longer. He dug one hand into one of the woman's breasts while, with the other, he pressed the tip of his cock against the rosy opening that was completely exposed to him.
And then Darko thrust!

Two loud screams rang out

[Blue]

chapter 6 - desecretaion and retreat


While Darko and his men had begun to forcibly undress the dark-haired Bosnian woman, Zoran had ordered two of his men to round up the Bosnian farmers and warehouse workers, who had been surprised by the Serbs while loading their tractors, in a small storage room and guard them there. He would decide what to do with the men later. Then he went into another adjoining room, where Milan and Bogdan were sitting next to the still unconscious sniper.

"Still no sign of life from her?" he asked Milan, pointing to the soldier lying on the ground.

Milan shook his head. "Her pulse is beating and she's breathing regularly. But when we pulled the steel helmet off her head, a huge lump appeared. She probably suffered a serious concussion when she fell from her hunting seat. It's a shame, really, because we had hoped to have a little fun with her before we left!"
And Bogdan added, visibly disappointed: "Fucking an unconscious woman is no fun. I want to look into her eyes when I fuck her. And I want to hear her scream!"

Zoran nodded understandingly. "Tie her up and take her to the machine gun car. We'll take her to our camp. If she regains consciousness there, you can still have fun with her. She won't run away from us!" Zoran laughed as Milan and Bogdan tied the sniper's hands behind her back and then roughly dragged her to their vehicle, where they threw the prisoner into the back seat of the jeep.

And Ivo?

He and three of his friends had taken the pretty brunette to another corner of the large storage room. From there, they could watch what was happening around Darko and hear the men's cheers as they ripped their victim's clothes off and prepared her for Darko.

Ivo was torn by what was happening. On the one hand, he had repeatedly imagined in his mind what would happen if they actually took Bosnian women into their power. Yes, his daydreams had certainly included rape fantasies. And now, he and his friends had even hit the jackpot by winning the bet he had won, getting the prettier of the two Bosnian guards as the main prize. Nothing and no one could stop him from doing what Darko did and being the first to pounce on her.
But then there were also pangs of conscience. Yes, he wanted sex with this woman, wanted to fuck her, preferably here and now. But not in the way Dragon was showing them. And his friends had similar thoughts. They were all family men, with wives and daughters. Yes, they were at war with Bosnia, and the great leader Arkan had promised them that any spoils of war they would take would be theirs. And that included any female prisoners. Yet these men weren't among those who showed no consideration for their victims. Who didn't care what happened to them. And so they had consulted among themselves and decided that they didn't want to take their prisoner right there and then. Yes, they wanted to see her naked; they had even groped her breasts and buttocks through her uniform, laughed, expressed their curiosity about what she would look like without it. And expressed their anticipation of fucking her, again and again, in every hole and in every possible way. But not here and now, but only when they were back at the camp.

Darko hadn't noticed any of this. He and his men had stripped the older of the two women of all her clothing. By force, since she wouldn't undress voluntarily. Which suited Darko, since he preferred to tear women's clothes off rather than just watch them undress – whether voluntarily or under duress.

And now his comrades had this woman ready for him. They had pulled her up by her arms and legs and grabbed them, spreading them as far apart as possible so that Darko could stand comfortably between her thighs while he lowered his pants and placed his monster cock against his victim's dark, hairy pussy. He looked into her eyes. He grinned maliciously. And then he thrust brutally.

Two screams rang out simultaneously. A piercing scream of pain from the Bosnian woman as Darko's cock tried to penetrate the slit moistened only with saliva. A scream that echoed through the warehouse and made Ivo and his comrades flinch.
And a loud, mocking cry of victory came from Darko. Yes, this was his moment! Even though he had unfortunately lost the rock-paper-scissors match against Ivo. He now did all the more to make up for this humiliation.

His first thrust only penetrated the Bosnian woman's dry hole a little. Darko's monster was too big, the woman's pussy too tight. But Darko didn't mind; quite the opposite. He liked to forcefully open his victims, drilling himself into them, deeper and deeper, until the tip of his cock hit the womb of the women he fucked.

Any other man would probably have hurt himself and torn his foreskin trying to fuck such a dry and tight pussy. Not Darko. He had fucked hundreds of women in the past: young women, old women, whores, mothers, their adult daughters. And it had never mattered to him whether the women gave themselves to him voluntarily or not. If they weren't willing, he simply used force, which had never been a problem given his height and weight. Over time, his cock had developed a kind of callus, so that even tight pussies could pose no problem. And so Darko thrust a second, a third, and a fourth time. Then he felt something inside the Bosnian woman give way. And with each thrust, his cock penetrated her deeper and deeper, while his victim's screams grew louder and more piercing.

In, out, in, out. Faster and faster, Darko penetrated the yielding cavern. He grabbed the Bosnian woman by her hips and pulled her toward him so he could thrust even deeper.
But Darko hadn't had a woman in several days. And this situation aroused him far too much to hold back for long. A few more short, hard thrusts, and then he shot his load deep into the woman's womb. He stayed there until every last drop of his semen had flowed out of him. Only then did he withdraw slowly and with pleasure, spitting in his victim's face. He savored the tears streaming down her cheeks.

Then he bent down and picked up the Bosnian woman's cotton underwear from the floor. He wiped the blood and semen from his cock before pulling up his uniform trousers and stuffing the underwear into one of his pockets. The first trophy of this war. And hopefully not the last, as he hoped
.
"She's yours! Show her what Serbian men do to their enemies' wives. But no one touches her asshole! That's mine, and I want to deal with that in more detail later!"
Darko turned around, fastened his belt, and left the warehouse to smoke a cigarette.

And his comrades? They didn't hesitate. They'd had to wait too long for their turn. They threw the dark-haired woman onto the bare, cold concrete floor. They pounced on her like animals. They tore her legs apart, stuck their cocks into her pussy, which had been stretched and moistened by Darko. They forced her to open her mouth so they could position their cocks there too. They made her swallow the Serbian semen, jerked off onto her breasts, mocked her, and slapped her in the face, while the woman's screams grew quieter and quieter, until finally only a stifled moan emerged from her mouth, from the corner of which more and more semen leaked.

"Zoran, a radio call from Arkan!"
Mirko, the troop radio operator, who had been waiting by the vehicles in front of the warehouse, ran up, out of breath, and held out the portable radio to Zoran.

"This is Zoran, what's up, Arkan?"
"Get out of the warehouse as quickly as possible. Our scouts just reported that some Bosnian armored vehicles are heading your way. Take what you can use and then destroy the warehouse. Leave nothing for the enemy!!
"What about the farmers and warehouse workers we captured?" Zoran asked.
"Don't bother with them, they're just unnecessary ballast. We'll have plenty of prisoners of war to take and use as forced labor. Now get out of here!"

Zoran handed the radio back to Mirko and turned to Darko, who had joined them with a cigarette in his mouth and had overheard the radio transmissions.
"You heard what Arkan said. Bring your men to their senses and load everything they can use onto our wagons and the farmers' tractors. Bring down the warehouse with a few explosives. And then get out of here!"
"What about the women? Are they coming too?"
"Do what you want with them. In any case, the female sniper belongs to Milan and Bogdan; she's already stowed away in the machine gun truck."

Zoran turned around and went to Milan and Bogdan to inform them of the news. They didn't hesitate for long. Milan got behind the wheel of the jeep, while Bogdan made himself comfortable in the back seat next to the still unconscious female sniper. Zoran sat next to Milan in the passenger seat, and then the jeep sped off in a massive cloud of dust toward the Serb camp.

At the same time, Darko rushed back into the warehouse and pulled the soldiers, who were still raping the dark-haired woman, away from her.

"The Bosnians are coming! Put everything valuable in the vehicles, grab the tractors, and then get out of here as quickly as possible. Take the women with you, too; we can take care of them more thoroughly later. I'll take care of the rest!"

Ivo had also heard Darko's words. He pointed to the young Bosnian woman and nodded to one of his friends: "Get her in the ambulance, we'll take her to the camp! And you two help load the vehicles!"

While the soldiers obeyed the orders, Darko grabbed his submachine gun and went into the storage room where the farmers and camp workers were lying on the floor under guard.
With a nod, he signaled to the soldiers who had kept the men in his custody the entire time that they should leave the room and help their comrades load the vehicles. Then he turned to the prisoners.

"Time to say goodbye!" With these words, he aimed at the men lying on the ground, pulling the trigger of his submachine gun several times until none of the prisoners moved. He then retrieved some sticks of dynamite and fuses from one of the personnel carriers and attached them to the load-bearing walls of the warehouse.

"March!" he shouted to the soldiers busy loading the vehicles and tractors. And once they had climbed into their vehicles, he bent down and lit the long fuses he had previously connected to the dynamite sticks. Then he too got into one of the vehicles, and the column left the area that had seemed so peaceful just a few hours earlier.
And as the column drove towards the camp in a cloud of dust, several loud explosions rang out, leaving the warehouse in ruins.