Message-ID: <7779eli$9801251941@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: Spoonbender Subject: The Legend 5 Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Reply-To: "Theodore Spoonbender"@spoonbender.demon.co.uk Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <34ca403e.4557430@post.demon.co.uk> Legend V ******************************************************************** (c) 1997 Spoonbender. A short story of an adult nature. Not to be read by minors. If you don't like this sort of stuff or you are underage then don't read. Contains more innuendo than sex. Can be freely distributed as long as it is not changed, including this heading. If it is to archived on a fee paying archive then please email me first for permission. Please email me with comments, constructive criticism, fantasies you want put into words etc. Don't flame me if you don't like the content or you don't like my style as I'm still learning the craft. ********************************************************************* The three soldiers called for another bottle of Vodka. "Stolynycha, not the diesel fuel you usually serve." Shouted Dmitri goodnaturedly to the plump, scowling, waitress. "Only the best for our heroes." She sneered. "Come the revolution." Olev said under his breath. This brought a howl of delighted laughter from his comrades. For hadn't they, the gallant troops of the Tula Regiment, not thwarted the plans of the crazy coup leaders and saved the elected President Yeltsin. Thereby preventing the new revolution from ever happening. "He stayed in this very hotel." Said Micael. "We know, we know. You've told us a dozen times already." Laughed Dmitri, rolling his eyes theatrically. "But he did! Boris Yeltsin, President of Russia, stayed here. In an ordinary room too!". Protested Micael. "Ok my friend. Ah the Vodka." Dmitri poured a generous slug for each of his friends then raised his glass. "To Boris." He shouted. "To Boris." They echoed, downing the Vodka in one, followed by the pink fruit juice of indeterminate origin. The food may be lousy here, but at least the Vodka was good. Outside the windows of the 'nightclub' the twin tannoys of the Railway Station and Bus Depot blared competing fiercely, in the hot Russian night, with the roar of the military lorries. The Policemen sitting in the foyer glanced in their direction, as they slammed their glasses onto the table, then went back to their talking. "Hey old man." Dmitri shouted at the weatherbeaten figure who sat clutching his glass like it may suddenly fly up if he relaxed his vigilance for a second. "Drink a toast with us, for now we will have democracy." "And a Car." "And a refrigerator." Muttered his comrades hopefully. The old man looked across at them and said, scornfully. "And what have you brave soldiers done? Captured Berlin?" Suddenly he cackled manically, his single, snaggled tooth like a rotting signpost in the ploughed, brown, field of his face. "Haven't you heard?" Smiled Dmitri, it would take a lot to make him angry tonight. "We have stood by the President, we have saved the White House. Now we shall all be free. It is a glorious day. And all because of the glorious Tula Regiment us!" The old man shrugged. "Was it a glorious battle? Did you lay down your lives for Rodina? Did many of your comrades die?" "No, but we would have died." Exclaimed Micael hotly. "Easy." Said Dmitri laying his hand gently on his comrade's arm. He had noticed the order of Lenin on the breast of the Old man's Jacket. "Maybe we didn't die but we upheld the honour of our City. Now when people speak of Tula they will speak it with pride." Tula, a dirty little Industrial City of some four million souls, with only two restaurants and home to the Black Kremlin, needed all the help it could get. "They used to speak it with pride before." Mused the Old Man. "But not because of its menfolk." He lifted his lip in a grimace at the happy, self satisfied, soldiers lounging before him. "What do you mean Old Man?" The Old Man drew himself up in his rumpled jacket and they caught a glimpse of the man he had been before, in the prime of his youth, as his eyes twinkled in rememberance. "It was not the Men of Tula of which people spoke in pride about, it was the women." The Soldiers looked at each other in blank incomprehension. "The Women?" Queried Dmitiri. "It was before your time. In the great Patriotic war." "So? What about the women?" Dmitri insisted. "You have not heard the legend?" They shook their heads. "How quickly they forget." He muttered. Then, slyly, he raised his empty glass. "Talking is such thirsty work, comrades." Quickly they filled his glass, which he quickly downed, distaining the offer of the fruit juice, then held it out for a refill before continuing. "In the great Patriotic War, we held the German Army here. We stood and fought and turned back their Sixth Army. The Army that conquered France in just a few short days. It was here. We saved Moscow." "So?" Shrugged Dmitri. For it was common knowledge that the Germans had been halted here in their headlong advance towards Moscow. "Don't you see? It was the women." "The Women? How?" "It was a secret then. On the express orders of Comrade Stalin himself. Their tale could not be told at that time because of what they were doing and what they had done. Then, when we pushed the devils back, the glorious victory was lost under the weight of all the other victories our army forged." "What tale? And what has this to do with the Women?" Dmitri asked, extending the bottle towards the Old Man. "Don't you see?" He glared balefully. "It was the women that held them, shamed the men into turning and fighting." "Women Soldiers? Fighting?" The Old Man cackled. "Not Soldiers. Pilots. Women Pilots." "They beat off the attack from the air?" This seemed to increase the merriment of the Old Man. "No they didn't have any aircraft. They used a more basic weapon." "What?" Dmitri queried in interest. "Their bodies." "Their bodies?" Micael broke in. "Tell us Old Man." "Yes. You see Comrade Stalin himself had ordered that Women should join the glorious struggle for the Motherland. But not as common Soldiers, but as Pilots. Sturmavich Pilots. So they were training the first of these all female regiments just south of here when the German Army over-ran the front line. No-one warned these women that the Fascists had broken through so the first they knew of the attack was when the shells, from the heavy armour, started pounding their barracks. The fight was short, but bloody, with the Women fighting as hard as the Men. But the odds were too great." He paused for breath and took the opportunity to gulp another slug of Vodka before continuing. The soldiers gaped at him in silence. "Finally all there were left were twenty three Women under the command of a young Captain. Ludmilla Stenovitch. Maybe you have heard the name." They shook their heads and he glared at them. "We're sorry. Please go on with your tale Old Man." "My name is Josef. Like the man of steel himself. If I were thirty years younger I would teach you not to call me Old Man." He said, puffing his scrawny chest with pride. "Sorry Josef." Smiled Dmitri. "That's better. Now where was I? Ah yes. The women were holed up in one of the caverns, in which they were to have housed the aircraft, as the fascists closed in. They were low on ammunition and they could see the Germans were bringing up their 88mm guns to finish them off. So they had a meeting. The Captain, she was a pretty little thing by the way, but with a backbone of sprung steel and the balls of an elephant. She wanted to surrender, to spare them from the massacre. The NKVD politico was completely against it saying that they should fight on and die with the name of Stalin on their lips. The other girls were understandably nervous. On the one hand they would almost certainly die, which was not a pleasant prospect to the girls, many of whom were still in their teens. On the other they had heard how the Germans treated their Prisoners of War." He paused and pulled out a crumpled packet of Cigarettes. He offered them around and they all accepted one as they waited for him to continue. He waited, knowing he had them in the palm of his hand. Finally one of them cracked. "So what did they do?" "Patience, young man. I was about to tell you. Is that bottle dead?" Dmitri ordered another bottle and after taking a healthy swig the Old Man continued. "The Captain won in the end, she explained her plan to the girls and they all surrended." "Ah." The soldiers said collectively. "But that is not the end. Because when the officer was marched in front of the Colonel in charge of the Panzer spearhead she made him an offer. She had never wanted to be a soldier but was a simple peasant girl who simply wanted to go back to her farm. So too were the others. In return for certain, er, favours could the Officer see his way to letting them all go? The nature of the offer was made plain when she peeled off her tunic top to expose her glorious, ripe breasts. The legend says that the German Officer then asked her to confirm that in return for the promise of freedom she, and the rest of her girls, were willing to have unforced sexual intercourse with his men? She said yes." "What happened?" Olev couldn't contain himself. "I was coming to that. What the pretty little officer didn't know was that there was a complete regiment of hardened troops out there in the gathering gloom. Over five hundred men, who hadn't had sex since they left their barracks, weeks earlier. She found out soon enough. " He cackled again, then started coughing. It was some minutes before he could continue his tale. "Three whole days and nights her, and her gallant girls, toiled on their backs. Whittling down the lust of the men. The Spearhead dissolved into a Party. The Colonel rationalised it by telling himself that he had to wait for his supplies to catch up anyway and the break was good for the men's morale. And didn't they deserve some of the fruits of victory too? And in those three days our local NKVD officers regrouped our forces and on the last night we attacked. The Germans just fell back reeling as we smashed their armour and poured over them in waves. The rear echelon troops pulled back in disarray and we slaughtered them to a man. It was a glorious victory and the turning point of the war." He leaned back in his chair satisfied with the impact his story had had on them. "What happened to the Women? Did they all die?" The Old Man laughed. "No my friend you underestimate the strength of our women. They survived and went on to fight at Kursk. Ah! I'm sorry my friends I must leave you as my wife is calling me." A small, dark, rumpled woman, hardly worthy of a second glance, beckoned him from the doorway. He stood up and, as he did so, Dmitri grabbed the sleeve of his jacket. "I must know. What happened to the Captain." "I married her." The old man said with a grin. Arm in arm, the old couple shuffled into the gathering gloom. Just ordinary little people going about their ordinary lives. ******************************************************************** FOOTNOTE: I'm looking for a lady who enjoys my type of writing and who is prepared to collaborate with me on future stories. You will naturally share the credit, such as it is. If you are her and you want to help weave your own fantasy. Then please email me at thoedore@spoonbender.demon.co.uk Theodore Spoonbender. -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us | | Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ |