Dan, Gino, and Foster couldn't take it anymore.
For weeks. No wanking material. No women, no release, just dirt, sweat, and energy pills keeping them upright. They had officially reached their breaking point.
So in the dead of night, the three idiots decided to take their chances with the women's barracks.
Rus, being the only sane one left, wanted no part of this.
But they bribed him. A pack of caffeinated energy pills—the mint-flavored ones he liked. And a rare MRE with chicken flavor.
So, like a true brother-in-arms, he agreed to be their watch.
The thing about this strange era?
There was only a little gender gap in combat.
Some women had superhuman strength like they did. They could fight, they could kill, they could crush skulls with their bare hands if they wanted to.
Even without that, guns made everyone equal.
And a lot of them?
They enlisted not out of patriotism, but because the alternative was worse.
Some had dignity. Some just wanted to survive.
And some just wanted a good fuck too while earning citizenship.
Which led them to the worst and best of them all.
Sgt. Berta.
The semen demon of Damasa.
Tall. Muscular. Tanned like a warrior goddess.
She had tits, abs, and an ass that looked sculpted by the gods themselves.
But she was dangerous.
Not just because she could bench-press most of us. Not just because she was as dominant as any man in the field.
But because she had a harem who praised her like she was truly a goddess.
Men. Women. Anyone who caught her eye.
They called her the Finger Goddess of Damasa.
Because she had made both sexes scream her name.
By the time they got to the barracks, the women inside had already noticed.
Dan, Gino, and Foster stuck out like sore thumbs.
It was obvious why they were here.
Berta leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, eyes amused at the sight of fresh faces.
"Well, well," she mused as they approached. "What do we have here?"
Her gaze shifted to Rus as he stayed behind.
"What about you, handsome?"
Rus shrugged. "I'm the watch."
Berta clicked her tongue. "Poor you. Don't worry—I'll make sure you get some too."
Dan cut in before he could respond. "Nah, forget him. He's a fucking pussy. Don't want it."
Berta smirked. "Oh? A shy one? Virgin?"
Rus could've argued. Could've told her he had zero interest in sticking his dick into the most-used hole in camp.
But instead, he just said yes.
Easier than explaining.
Rus heard some of these women could regenerate their hymens, after all. Natural healing and all of that. But they also knew how to stop it when it got annoying.
A weird fact he heard from Foster.
Didn't make it less disgusting.
Berta shrugged. "Well, your loss."
Then she grabbed Dan by the collar, pulled him inside, and left the other girls except for the quiet one to entertain Foster and Gino while she fucks the shit out of Dan.
Which left Rus standing at the doorway, watching the scorched wasteland beyond the base's prefab and barbed walls.
One of the women grinned at him.
"Lemme guess," she teased. "You got a thing for pure girls? Don't want 'bitches' like us?"
Rus rolled his eyes. "I'm just not in the mood. And honestly? I don't know who the fuck you all are."
Another girl, Corporal Stacy, raised an eyebrow.
"Maybe because you're not scared?"
Rus thought about it.
Then nodded. "Yeah. You might be right."
Stacy wasn't interested in him.
She was a carpet muncher. Even proud of it.
But that didn't stop her from giving Rus shit.
"You're missing out," she said, lighting a cigarette. "Berta's a Goddess, man."
Rus shrugged. "I really don't care."
Stacy eyed him like she was studying a rare animal.
"At first, I thought you were just gay."
"Nope."
"Or maybe you just don't like bitches."
"Also nope."
"Then what is it?"
Rus sighed. "I just don't wanna stick my dick in a place that half the base has already been in. Is that too weird?"
She smirked. "Shame, but reasonable. Though I heard that we don't get the kind of disease like normal humans do. Think it's a myth?"
"Dunno," Rus pulled a pack of smoke and handed her some. "I really don't want to find out."
Despite all the shit-talking, they got along.
And then it happened.
The worst sound he'd ever heard in his life.
Dan, Gino, and Foster.
Moaning like teenage boys meeting their sexual match for the first time.
Loud. Groaning. Shameful.
Rus could hear slaps of skin against skin, Berta's deep, satisfied chuckle, and someone begging for mercy.
Rus wanted to cringe hearing it.
Stacy?
She was laughing her ass off.
"Damn," she wheezed. "Your boys are getting wrecked."
Rus took a long drag from his cigarette.
"I know."
"This is great."
"For you, maybe."
She grinned. "You really should've joined in."
Rus exhaled the smoke, staring into the distance.
"No thanks."
He had enough nightmares already.
***
By the time Dan, Gino, and Foster were done, they looked like they had seen God.
There was a clarity in their eyes, like they had just transcended mortal existence.
For a brief second, Rus wondered if I had missed out.
Then he took one step inside the barracks.
And the smell hit him.
He gagged. No amount of fortitude, training, or battlefield experience could prepare a man for the stench of sweat, fluids, and post-orgy regret.
Rus stepped back, taking in the mess they left behind, and felt the immediate urge to vomit.
Rus thought he did not miss out.
Not one bit.
Sgt. Berta stretched, looking entirely satisfied with herself, as if she had just completed a workout.
Which, to be fair, she kinda had.
She lazily wrapped a toned, tanned arm around Stacy, pinching her nipple through her sports bra like it was a reflex.
Stacy barely reacted, sipping from her canteen like this was normal.
Berta truly was one hell of a woman.
The kind that felt no shame.
The kind that stood proudly half-naked, claiming her body was "goddess-like" and thus, a crime to keep covered and not have a taste.
She looked at Rus again, smirking. "You really don't want any?"
Rus sighed. "Someone has to lead these idiots back to camp."
She chuckled. "Fair enough."
But then Stacy grinned.
"Oh, but Berta," she said, mocking sympathy in her voice. "He didn't even get hard."
Rus blinked. Before he could react, Berta grabbed him by the crotch, kneaded like she was testing bread dough, then frowned.
Her expression turned from curiosity to pity.
"You have ED?"
Rus stared deadpan. "No."
He wasn't impotent. He just… he couldn't get it up here.
Not for Berta. Not for anyone in this barracks. She looked at him like he had just insulted her entire lineage.
"That's offensive," she huffed. "You're telling me that seeing me, standing here, half-naked in my panties with my tits out, does nothing for you?"
Rus opened my mouth to respond—
Then came the worst possible interruption.
"BERTA!"
A sharp military bark cut through the night.
Captain Muriel.
Walking right into the scene of the crime.
Her sharp eyes scanned the room, immediately locking onto Berta's exposed state.
Berta, ever the shameless one, made no effort to cover up.
Captain Muriel's vein twitched.
"For the love of all that is holy — PUT YOUR DAMN CLOTHES ON WOMAN."
Berta groaned. "Jeez, Cap. Such a prude."
Muriel ignored her, shifting her gaze to the real degenerates in the room.
Dan, Gino, and Foster.
Still half-dressed. Still sweating. Still looking like post-nut zombies.
Muriel's expression darkened.
She crossed her arms. "Did you idiots fornicate with Sgt. Berta?"
Stacy, always eager to stir the pot, smirked.
"They did," she said. "But not him." She gestured to me.
Muriel's gaze softened, a little
"You have at least a brain, soldier," she muttered. "But not enough to tolerate this foolishness!"
Then she turned back to Berta.
And that's when the threats began.
Muriel marched up to Berta, radiating pure authority.
"If I catch you turning this camp into your personal brothel again," she warned, "I swear to God, I will get you a fucking chastity belt myself and throw away the key."
Berta, completely unfazed, saluted lazily.
"Roger that, Cap."
Muriel exhaled, rubbing her temples. "Get out of my fucking sight, bitch."
Berta grinned and waved them off. "Alright, boys. You heard the lady. Fun time's over. Fuck off."
Muriel didn't need to tell them twice.
Rus grabbed Dan, Gino, and Foster by the collars and started dragging them out.
They were limp.
Exhausted.
Foster, barely able to walk straight, let out a shaky breath.
"…Now I understand," he muttered.
"Understand what?" Rus grunted.
"Why they call her the Finger Goddess."
Rus rolled his eyes.
Dan, still buzzing from post-coital bliss, patted his shoulder.
"You really missed out, man."
Gino groaned. "I think… my hips are breaking."
"Damn," Foster wheezed. "If a succubus is real, then she's probably one."
Rus dragged them back before they could create a sermon of their experience and make more noise.
***
The moment Rus dragged them back to their place, the other men were already waiting.
And they praised the three idiots like war heroes who had gone through hell.
Dan, Gino, and Foster got claps on the back, cheers, and laughter.
Meanwhile Rus got called a "pussy" for not wanting to stick his dick into the base's onahole.
"Should've joined in, Wilson!" one of them laughed. "What kind of man turns down Berta?"
"Fuck off," Rus muttered, shoving past them.
He ignored half their comments, dumped his gear, and went to bed.
Because unlike them?
He actually wanted to sleep.
Then–
He woke up to a commotion.
Loud voices, boots stomping, the kind of buzz that meant something happened.
When he stepped outside, he saw why.
A convoy of meat wagons rolled in, filled with wounded troopers.
Arrows stuck out of body armor and chainmail, jagged and primitive but deadly.
And despite the fact that they had been attacked, they were grinning like lunatics.
One of them, still bleeding from his shoulder, lifted his arm and whooped.
"Fought an Orc warband, boys!"
His squad cheered, the energy contagious.
Rus wasn't sure if it was battle high or if they were just fucking insane.
Probably both.
Then came this dollar-bin barbarian.
A big, burly trooper with a wild grin and blood still on his face.
And around his waist?
An Orc's severed head, tied to his belt like a damn trophy.
"Check this shit out!" he laughed, patting the decapitated thing like a pet.
A few guys whooped in approval.
"Goddamn medieval-ass motherfucker," Gino muttered beside me.
Dan snorted. "Bet he's the type to drink from skulls."
But before the barbarian could show off any further, the MPs stormed in.
They ripped the trophy from him, dragging him away from the crowd.
"The fuck you doing?!" he snapped. "That's my goddamn kill!"
One of the MPs shot him a flat look. "No trophies. No souvenirs. You want a memento? Get a tattoo. SOP is to turn them into ash. We're not risking a plague for you fucking idiots to keep your trophies."
Then they tossed the head into a fire, letting it burn.
The guy cursed their ancestors, muttering about tradition and lost warrior rites.
Rus doubted he even knew what the fuck he was talking about.
But the real news came right after.
The attack wasn't random.
It wasn't a stray group of wandering Orcs.
It was a scouting army of an armed warband.
And more were coming.
The Battalion Commander gathered everyone, voice grim and sharp.
"They spotted the Orc warband."
Which wasn't unusual.
What was unusual was that these weren't just raiders.
They were organized.
Not just a roaming band of savages, these fuckers had supply wagons, actual formations, and were armored up like they were ready for a real battle.
That meant one thing.
This wasn't just an attack.
It was a goddamn invasion force.
The old way of dealing with Orcs according to a bunch of retards?
Meet them head-on. Engage in brutal hand-to-hand combat. Pray you don't catch an arrow covered in literal shit.
But, thankfully, as a modern force, HQ and Command weren't morons.
"This isn't some medieval battlefield," he growled. "We're not lining up, with bayonets out, like dumbasses to see who's got the bigger dick."
No.
They had modern firepower.
So they were going to use it.
The plan?
Set up artillery and mortars from a vantage point.
Shell them into oblivion.
Drown the survivors in mustard gas.
Because if they were going to fight savages, they were going to do it with common sense.
Their squad wasn't assigned to the bombardment teams.
Instead they were tasked with carrying gas canisters into the warband's direction.
Not exactly glamorous work.
But effective as hell.
The wind was on their side, so all they had to do was plant the canisters, pop them open, and let the poison do the rest.
Foster was not thrilled.
"This shit is illegal," he muttered, adjusting his gas mask.
Dan chuckled. "Yeah? So are Orcs existing at all."
Gino snorted. "Welcome to United humanity's foreign policy. If it ain't human, war crimes are a-okay."
Rus didn't argue.
He just grabbed a canister and got to work.
The shelling started first.
Mortars whistled through the air, exploding in a constant, rhythmic cadence.
The Orcs tried to counter.
They had bows, axes, spears, and war drums.
But none of that mattered.
Because by the time they even got close, their artillery had ripped them apart.
And then they gassed the survivors.
By Day Four of engagement, it was over.
Their camp was nothing but burning wreckage.
Their bodies were nothing but scattered corpses.
Their warband?
Gone.
Not a single one left standing.
Because at the end of the day they weren't playing by their rules.
They were playing by humanity's.
And all humanity cared about was winning.