Trench Charge---best story about dead soldiers

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Trench Charge (part 1)
by Take No Prizners

We had dug ourselves in nice and deep. When the attack came, our trench would offer shelter to the living. When the battle was over and we had filled it in again with the bodies of our enemy, the trench would offer sanctuary to the dead.

Our snipers were ready in the trees and on a nearby hill. The machine gunner with the requisite bright yellow helmet was joking with us, taking bets on how many Bundeswehr he could kill in a single swoop of his weapon. The German special forces were to come at us Army Rangers from their position in the east. Their objective in this chapter of the Wargames was simple: kill the guy in the yellow helmet. We had the job of keeping our targeted gunner alive and killing as many Bundesboys as we could. We had the trench and the snipers, they had sheer numbers and whatever soldiers' luck might come their way. The Germans knew that without defensive cover and in the wide open terrain that lay between their position and our trench, a lot of them would bite the dirt that day, but all it would take was one German to get close enough to finish off our gunner with the yellow hardhat. The rules of engagement are clear: if the offensive force gets the machine gunner, the game is over--they win. We were determined not to let that happen.

This was our first death maneuver in the trench. We knew the German elite forces who would charge us had already gone through a similar exercise against a force of Australian SAS men the day before, so they were battle tough. The Germans had been on the defensive against the Aussies and had done a magnificent job protecting their yellow helmet. Word was they had completely wiped out the crack SAS force that charged them. We had heard that the German sergeants even tattooed themselves after the battle: "100% SIEGREICH." Under the circumstances this was an important advantage that the German troops enjoyed: Wargames rules specify that the number of troops an army can deploy be equal to the number of men that force killed in its previous engagement. Since they wiped out all the Aussies, they were coming at us with at least 300 men, minus whatever losses they had sustained in the previous combat. Besides their numbers, the Bundeswehr enjoyed the confidence that comes from previous experience and a clear-cut victory. Now though, it was time for the Germans to be on the offense and get the hell shot out of them by US Army wargamers. We Rangers were just the team to take them down a notch, too.

Our dicks were hard with confidence and with bloodlust. We didn't talk much about the Wargames schedule for the following day, though it was on all our minds. Those of us who survived the German onslaught were scheduled for a trench offensive the following day against a battle-tested contingency of tough Canadian blue berets. At this very moment the Canadians were digging their trench in another field and painting their machine gunner's helmet yellow. But we would cross that bridge when we came to it.

"Any man who lets an enemy soldier get past him into the trench, has me and my best friend to answer to," said our lieutenant, the ranking officer on the American side. On the other side of the field, whipping up his troops' morale, a German lieutenant was likely giving his men a similar hard-assed warning. The American lieutenant held up his Colt sidearm, the "best friend" he had alluded to. His message was clear. His own ass would be dead meat if the Germans broke through the line, got into the trench, and killed the yellow helmeted Ranger gunner. There was no doubt in the minds of any of us that the lieutenant would personally snuff any man who let him down during the battle.

 

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Trench Charge (part 2)

My dick was hard in my camo trousers, and I know my best fuckbuddy Ryan, standing next to me, was hard as a rock too. We aimed our rifles over the edge of the trench, scanning the distance for movement, our trigger fingers itchy. Neither of our dicks had been soft for the past 24 hours. Both Ryan and I had slept with our M-16s in our bunks last night, caressing the weapons, letting the cold oiled steel arouse us to the point of fucking and killing.

"Those Bundesboys are tough fuckers, huh?" asked my buddy Ryan.

"No tougher than we are," I shrugged in response. "They'll cry pretty good if you shoot 'em in the gut."

"I like to get a man in the chest, myself," said Ryan. "Easier target, and the only thing that might save him is if his rifle's in the way of the shot."

"I drill 'em in the skull," I said. "It's cool to go back later after it's over and check out the guys I whacked. Sometimes the whole back of their fuckin' skull is blown off. I like to see how close I got to getting them right between the eyes. I hear that's how most of the Australian guys got it--German sharpshooters got them right between the eyes."

"They've got some pretty good shots then, huh?" asked Ryan, trying to conceal a bit of mounting anxiety.

"Yeah, but they eat bullets and die like any other soldier," I said. "Just mow the fuckers down."

Our buddy Morris, the company jokester, interrupted our conversation by whistling for our attention. He had unsheathed his knife and was jerking it upward over his crotch area, making a grunting noise, contorting his face in pain, mimicking radical castration. "Fresh German sausage!" Morris whispered. "I can hardly wait!"

We grinned and told Morris to shut the fuck up. But it was true, we all looked forward to claiming some dickmeat. In earlier maneuvers they had the surviving troops go through the battlefield and pull the dogtags off the corpses when it was time for the bodycount. Then some of the participating forces sent their men in without dogtags, just to foul up the statistics. The deflated numbers gave the team an unfair advantage in the next battle by allowing it to deploy more men than it deserved to have on the field. So the administrators of the Wargames abandoned the dogtag idea, and we were all trained to cut an ear off the dead guys so the casualty figures could be added up that way. But a problem came up with that method too. When the Wargames command counted the bodies and the number of ears, they found out that there were more ears than KIAs. Some of the guys were getting a little over-eager and were cutting both ears off of the corpses, inflating the figures. So now we take the men's dicks after we kill them, or their dicks and balls both if it's convenient. It's a little more difficult to get to, because we have to cut through their BDUs, but there's no way to double count if you're adding up cut-off dicks. We trained with our combat knives, learning not only the best CQC techniques, but also how to slash the uniforms of the battefield dead when the firefight was over and it was time for "mop up." We'd gotten the technique down pretty well: slash, grab, and slice. Every German sausage we could bring back from the field meant one more guy on our team the next time we fought.

 

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Trench Charge (part 3)

The sound of sniper fire from the hill signaled the beginning of the latest round in the Wargames. The Germans had begun the near suicidal advance required of them in this terrain. Already young Bundeswehr troops were dropping from the deadly fire of well-positioned Ranger snipers on high ground along the perimeter of their assault. Our tree snipers opened fire as well, taking out a few more of the enemy. Anti-sniper units fell out from the German ranks and scattered around the suspected locations of US sharpshooters while the main force of Germans continued its rapid advance. The Bundeswehr spotters painstakingly isolated the trees holding the Ranger riflemen, then assigned one of their own sharpshooters to shoot each sniper from a ground position. The Germans successfully spotted two Ranger snipers after the Ranger marksmen had gunned down five or six advancing German troops from their perches. Both American snipers took a slug in the head and fell crashing through the foliage to die on the ground. The Germans moved in on the fresh kill, using their bayonets to slash the BDUs of the dead Rangers. They were starting the cock count early. The American snipers lost their dicks to German steel.

It wasn't long before the Germans drew close enough that we could see them charging us at a run. We held fire as instructed by our lieutenant, allowing them to advance into surer firing range. They were muscular, well-built studs, tall and broad-shouldered. I could see that they ran with their rifles held in front of their chests, the muzzles angled toward their left shoulders. They had fixed their bayonets and looked mean as hell. If any of the Germans made it into the trench, there were sure to be several gutted Army Rangers in the dirt before we could finish them off. I glanced over at the machine gunner, whose required yellow helmet made him a sitting duck, which was exactly what the inventors of the Wargame intended. Our machine gunner was holding fire as well, glaring steadily forward, ready to mow down the fighting men who were out to kill him.

The lieutenant gave the signal to open fire, a deep-throated war cry, and banged the gunner's yellow helmet with a hard slap of his left hand. The machine gunner began spitting his deadly steel toward the Germans, and we all opened up with everything we had, peppering the opposing force with rapidly fired M-16s. The results, as we expected, were devastating. The front of the Germans' BDU jackets turned splotchy red before our eyes as their chests were punctured with multiple gunshot wounds. They screamed briefly from the pain of hot steel streaking through their chests, then stopped in their tracks. The force of their momentum often meant that they would plummet to their knees, stand upright in a kneeling position for another moment, often taking still more ordinance into their doomed bodies. Then they would fall backward in the dirt, their mutilated chests turned skyward. Even at a great distance the machine gun could slam them with such force that the Germans were propelled backward, often falling as a bullet-ridden corpse onto their asses. Some of them bucked and lurched after they hit the ground, grabbing their chests and lifting their crotches upward in eerily sexual death throes. Their crotches were tentpoled with the stiff, cum-spurting cocks of men meeting their fates on the field of valor and death. A lot of them were lucky enough to die quickly, but it was also possible for the writhing to last quite a while, sometimes even outlasting the battle. If they were still alive when it was over, we would be putting them out of their misery during the mop up by slitting their throats, gigging them with bayonets, or shooting them in the head.

It was clear the Bundeswehr was well trained and confident. The Germans ran in steady waves of determined, camo-clad men, like a wall of uniformed muscle acting in complete concert with one another, undaunted by the initial slaughter we were inflicting on them. At regular intervals an advance line of Germans would drop to one knee and aim their rifles at us, but even with their lower profiles, the stationary targets were easier for us to hit. We slaughtered the riflemen like flies, preventing them from inflicting more than a few casualties on us. I got five of them myself, drilling a round from my M-16 into three handsome close-cropped blond heads and pumping ordinance into the sturdy camouflaged chests of two other men. The head of one of the Bundesboys blew apart like a melon when my shot went through his skull. As the attack progressed, they got close enough for me to hear them grunt deeply when I shot them, and that made my cock harder. Unfortunately the Germans took out some of our guys too before we mowed them down. One of the men they managed to get was my buddy Ryan, who took an enemy slug squarely in the face as he stood next to me in the trench. I guess it was just Ry's time to go. My buddy's blood and brains splattered all over me as I killed the kneeling German who had fired the successful shot. The German was propelled backward and died flat on his back, his arms spread, his cock spurting death jizz into his pants. It was a damned shame about Ryan. He was a good buddy and the best cocksucker I ever knew. It was clear our side was going to win, though, even if it was without Ryan. So at least the enemy wouldn't get to him before it was over. At least he'd get bagged with his cock still between his legs.

 

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Trench Charge (part 4)

As part of its gamble, the Bundeswehr appeared to be sacrificing its younger men, putting them up front to be killed in the initial onslaught. More seasoned fighters, who might have a better chance in close-quarter combat, should they penetrate the trench, came up in the ranks farther back. They called out a fierce war cry, but it was hardly audible due to the incessant barrage of gunfire coming from our side.

A hopeless but obligatory flanking maneuver by the Germans proved unsuccessful, as our lateral outposts detected their movement in the brush and killed all of them before they could get behind our trench. Man after man went down in the tall grass, a spray of bullets tearing his broad back open or catching him in the chest or belly. Unfortunately the men in the flanking advance managed to kill a couple of Americans before they were all wiped out. That's how my buddy Morris got it. He was part of the lateral outpost and found himself surrounded by four Bundeswehr troops. They peppered him good before he could even get a round off, and that poor bastard Morris got both his dick and his nutsac sliced off of him by the Germans. It was as if he had been pantomiming his own fate when he was clowning around back in the trench. The Bundesboys who carved Morris soon met their own fates, though, as they were surrounded by Rangers and went down in a hail of M-16 fire, screaming in agony. Morris' loss was avenged fourfold. With their flanking attempt foiled, all the Germans could do was charge us in a full frontal assault and sacrifice huge numbers of men as they tried to bowl us over and penetrate the trench. Of course, if they could get our machine gunner, it would be worth the sacrifice.

"This will thin their ranks," I yelled, as I continued to pump round after round of ammunition into strong and youthful specimens of German manhood. Thinning ranks was, after all, one of the purposes of the Wargames, which were an effective way of reducing the numbers of men in uniform, accomplishing reduced staffing levels without waiting for attrition, and giving the survivors an incomparable training experience.

The numbers of German dead were now so great that successive waves of soldiers had to leap over the piles of shot-up bodies as they continued to charge toward our position. The Ranger machine gunner who was the target of the assault had a great time pelting the Germans as they leapt upward to clear the piles of corpses. He cut several men in two while they were in midair, splattering guts everywhere and sending them sprawling in pieces onto the bloodied earth. One of the Germans took such an intense stream of machine gun fire that his legs separated from his trunk and twitched on the ground as if trying to dance or at least get up and walk. A pile of bloody guts that had slipped out of his body cavity lay nearby. I saw several enemy soldiers lose their heads as the withering machine gun fire caught them in the neck and acted like a headsman's sword. Their bodies continued running for a few more paces before stumbling and falling headless to the ground, chest down, a gusher of scarlet arterial blood emanating from the stumps of their thick, muscular necks. The air was thick with the smoke of hundreds of weapons discharges. I felt something moist in my trousers and looked down briefly toward my crotch, wondering if perhaps I had been wounded. I realized then that in the excitement of battle I had unthinkingly shot a load of cum. Even so, my dick did not lose any of its hardness. I knew a lot of the Germans lying dead out on the battlefield had died shooting final cockshots. Sperm from the men on both sides boiled up in our loins as we went about the manly task of fighting, killing, and dying.

They kept coming, defying our constant expectation that their ranks would be depleted. Slowly the kill line advanced as more and more of the stubborn Bundeswehr men managed to get closer to our trench before they were cut down. I began to wonder if our ammo would hold out. Often as many as ten Germans would get hit in the chest or face and fall to the ground simultaneously, writhing briefly in the dirt before giving up their lives. They began to fall so close to our trench that we could make out their facial features, despite the camouflage paint they had applied to themselves. One handsome German fighter fell dead near my position, his blue eyes staring at me as they froze in death, blood running out of his mouth. I began to call out targets to the guy beside me, a young corporal named MacIntyre. "I'll take the one on the left!" Mac would yell, or I would cry out "Right one's mine!" I put round after round into the skull of an attacking German soldier. I watched the close-cropped heads of several men blow apart after they took close range head shots, and I reveled in the sight of other soldiers' boots flying up in the air as they flew backward with a chest full of American steel. They landed on their asses, their boots flopping down shortly afterward, their legs spread, the toes of their army boots rotating outward and pointing skyward in the soldier's final repose. Several times my dick throbbed in my pants when I saw a fountain of blood shoot up out of a man's mutilated head. Often they would continue running for several paces even after getting head shot, trailing blood in a plume behind them before collapsing dead on the ground. The pelvis of one such man was moving up and down in a humping motion as he spurted his last ejaculation while lying face down on the battlefield. It was as if he were fucking the earth.

 

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Trench Charge (part 5)

My new partner Mac tried to get his targets in the heart. If he got a German in the chest, I would often fire a second round, placing a bullet into the head of the man before he went down, in order to finish him off more decisively. Mac missed a couple of guys, though, and before I knew it two of the fuckers had leapt into the trench, very close to the machine gunner with the yellow helmet. The trench proved to be too narrow and crowded for their rifles and bayonets to be of much use. They probably knew there was no way in hell they were going to emerge from the trench alive anyway, so both Germans abandoned their rifles and whipped out long, wicked-looking combat knives. Before we could stop them, each of the enemy invaders claimed the life of one of my comrades who were running interference for the machine gunner. I saw one Ranger take German steel through his kidney while the German expertly clamped his left arm around the American's forehead, then rapidly finished off the Ranger with a second knife stroke -- a deep slash to his throat. The other Ranger who bought it drew his blade and engaged the German knife fighter, but he was outskilled and took the German's blade in his gut, right up to the hilt, then again in the side of his throat.

The Ranger spewed blood like a stuck pig, coating the ground and both sides of the trench as he sank to his knees and collapsed. He shrieked vile curses at the man who had gotten him, holding his hopelessly wounded neck with one hand, his gut wound with the other hand, then sank to his knees and collapsed. A clot of camo-clad US Rangers was on top of the two German knifemen in no time. The lieutenant himself put a .45 caliber slug through the forehead of one of the invaders, and the doomed soldier took six or eight knives in his back and sides before he hit the ground. His comrade fared no better. Trying to cut his way through to the machine gunner and score a victory for the Bundeswehr, the tall, lean German fighter was tackled by a burly Ranger, who grabbed his knife arm and blocked him from carrying out further slashes. The two of them went down onto the bottom of the trench and rolled a couple of times in a pitched fight before we de-animated the German. His tackler pinned him on his belly and forced his head back to expose his throat, which we promptly cut from ear to ear. His face plopped into the dirt, and he was still making gurgling sounds and thrashing his legs when I drew my sidearm and squeezed a round off into the back of the German soldier's close-cropped head. Our machine gunner, still safe and still shooting the charging enemy forces, turned briefly to me and the lieutenant and said "Thanks for saving my butt, guys!"

Then, as suddenly as it had started, the maneuver was over. An orange flare fired by one of the snipers on the perimeter was the pre-arranged signal to indicate that the German advance had been expended. The lieutenant stepped on the upturned ass of the dead German who had made it inside our perimeter. He cautiously lifted himself up and climbed from the trench with his sergeant and a corporal and sauntered toward the enemy dead. "Forward!" yelled the lieutenant satisfied that there was no remaining wave of enemy warriors to charge them. "Fix bayonets! Gig these men!" Only the dead counted toward our overall score. Repelling the charge ensured our victory, but a high body count made it sweeter and would help us in the next battle. Besides the practical benefit of allowing us more men next time out, a high cock count becomes part of an outfit's reputation and hopefully intimidates the opposition. We set about sticking our bayonets into the bodies of German soldiers that lay about the field, finishing them off if they were alive, otherwise making sure they were dead. Some of the men were moaning in pain when I sank my bayonet into their guts, chest, or back. Others appeared to be dead but uttered a sharp grunt after my blade entered them, betraying that they were not dead at all. To be on the safe side, I stuck my bloody blade into every casualty I came upon. One young Bundesboy lying on his belly with gut wound waited for a Ranger to approach and bayonet him, then suddenly the German rolled over to expose a pistol he had concealed underneath him. He fired directly at the Ranger's face, killing him instantly. Before the possum could aim his pistol at any of the rest of us, six Rangers had descended upon him. I kicked the pistol out of the young soldier's hand, then placed my boot firmly on his right hand, pinning it to the ground. Mac did the same with the fucker's left hand. The German craned his head back and forth between us, squinting and grimacing from the pain in his guts and the anguish of his defeat.

He had managed to kill one more Ranger before dying, but the look in his eyes made it clear that he knew his cock now belonged to the US Army. "Scheisse!" he yelled, just before he took four bayonets in the chest, all at the same time. A couple of bayonets became lodged between the soldier's ribs and were extracted only with difficulty. The Rangers pressed down on the German's chest with their boots and yanked their blades out of the muscular young soldier's rib cage. Then, just for the hell of it, they rammed him through a second time to avenge their dead buddy, who lay on his back with his face blown off. After we were through gigging him we slit the fucker's trousers open and cut his dick off.

Meanwhile the lieutenant, his sergeant, and a corporal were stepping over the shot-up German corpses and making their way across the bloody field to a point at which one of the rear-position Army snipers met them. They shook hands, congratulating each other for their rout of the Bundeswehr. The Ranger snipers had descended from their perches and were force-marching a small contingency of prisoners ahead of them. The Germans' hands were clasped behind their necks in the traditional posture of POWs. One of the prisoners was their lieutenant.

 

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Trench Charge (part 6)

"The Bundeswehr lieutenant wishes to concede the maneuver," a Ranger sniper informed his C.O., hardly able to contain his enthusiasm over the Americans' clear victory.

"Surrender accepted," responded the American lieutenant. Then to his sergeant and the corporal, "Execute the surviving enlisted men. Send the lieutenant back to his lines."

We knew that once he got back to his side, the unfortunate German lieutenant would be executed by his own superior officers. A quickly assembled firing squad was the common penalty for losing a round in the Wargames. The lieutenant, however, a tall, good-looking, battle-seasoned man in his late 30s, requested of his captors that he be allowed to die there with his men. The American lieutenant consented and ordered Mac to fetch a length of rope.

It was an odd and old-fashioned custom in the Army--hanging the captured commanding officer--but military traditions die hard. The handsome German lieutenant watched quietly, no expression on his face, as a Ranger sergeant quickly fashioned an expert noose on one end of the rope, then tossed it over a tree branch. I tied the man's hands behind him.

"Pech," was all the German said as the noose passed down over his eyes. The sergeant who was doing the hanging had the nickname "Knots," for obvious reasons. Knots snugged the noose against the prisoner's thick throat and pulled the knot back behind his left ear. We decided to let him live long enough to see his Bundesboys off. The six German enlisted men who had been rounded up still alive ranged in age from a tender but masculine 19-year-old to a brutally handsome fucker about 29 who scowled at us with a fuck-you attitude. I noticed his dick was hard and bulging in his cammies. I guessed correctly that this man was one of the crack anti-sniper shooters who had bagged our tree-boys early in the conflict. The German marksmen were excellent: it was clear that if the battle had been waged solely on sharpshooting ability, the Rangers might not have fared so well. This one wore a marksman's patch on his BDU jacket, and I knew that his knife had cut American cockmeat.

We ordered the doomed men into a line, then made them get down onto their knees. We prodded them between the shoulder blades with our bayonets and told them to unbutton their flies and pull their dicks out. The good-looking sharpshooter in his late 20s grimaced as he pulled a huge purple-headed boner out of his uniform. He was fiercely stiff, and he had to fold his uncooperative shaft in order to get the meat out of his trousers. Once it was extracted, his impressive ramrod stood at full mast, throbbing in time with his steadily beating heart. In lieu of tying their hands, the lieutenant grinned and told the Germans to grab their dicks with both hands. "Make 'em grab their throttles," was the way he put it to us. I went down the line of humiliated soldiers, pulling their dogtags out of their shirts and placing them into each guy's mouth while he held his own cock in his hand. Mac, under Knots' supervision, was given the honor of executing the six prisoners. The young corporal hadn't seen much action prior to today's battle, so the killing would be a good break-in for him. He followed me down the line of men. After I stuffed their tags into their mouths the corporal stood back, straightened his firing arm, and shot the prisoners one by one through the back of the neck at close range. They plopped forward, face in the dirt, each man biting down on his dogtag and looking over with an anxious expression on his face to see the buddy next to him get shot before it was his turn. They died with one hand under their corpse, clutching their dicks in death. With a pained expression on his face, the noosed German lieutenant watched his boys die in humiliation, reluctantly accepting the wages of a lost Wargames battle.

The yellow helmeted machine gunner arrived on the scene just as we were about to shoot the last German through the neck "Fuck!" he grinned, walking down the line of corpses, stepping on the dead men's asses like stepping stones. "Total wipe-out!" It was hard to say if he was jubilant over the Ranger victory or over his own survival as the Germans' target. "Hey save this last guy for fucking!" he suggested. "I want to rock and roll." The gunner thrust his pelvis back and forth, grinning lasciviously, a hard dick causing his crotch to bulge.

"Good idea," we all chimed in. The final German in the line-up, the 19-year-old, was spared for the time being. We told him to pull his uniform down over his firm, round ass and bend over. He reluctantly did so, aware that we were about to visit the ultimate humiliation on him. A couple of us piled two dead German soldiers on top of each other and forced the survivor down onto the dead men. We draped his belly over the bodies so his ass was sticking up in the air. It was very tight and very fuckable.

 

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Trench Charge (part 7)

"You want to do the honors?" asked our lieutenant, holding up the untied end of the German officer's death rope and offering it to the surviving Ranger gunner, the yellow-helmeted target the Bundeswehr had been unable to hit.

"Yes sir!" said our gunner, taking the rope and pulling it taut.

"Give him a hand!" the lieutenant ordered me. I jumped to the gunner's side, grabbing a section of the strong thick rope and preparing to hoist. The German looked straight ahead in soldierly equanimity. His death would be slower than that of the soldiers we had shot.

"Do it," said the Ranger lieutenant. We did it. We stopped pulling the rope when his boots were a foot off the ground, then tied it off and watched him kick. His crotch turned dark as he spent a last wad of manseed, then after his dick was through shooting, he emptied his bladder down one of his pantslegs and into his boot. It was a long hard death for the fucker. He struggled hard, at one point even lifting both his knees up even with his chest. He only stopped fighting after about ten minutes, and by the time he was dead his neck had stretched several inches. In the meantime we pulled our dicks out and stroked ourselves nearly to climax. Nothing gets me harder than the fruits of victory against a worthy enemy.

The German lieutenant was a career man who had spent half his life living and training among fighting men. Whether he was consciously aware of it or not, dying in uniform at the end of a rope with a hard cock in his pants was the fate he chose when he first joined the Bundeswehr as a teenager.

Our lieutenant was hard too as he watched his German counterpart swing and twist in his rope, his handsome head canted to one side. The Ranger lieutenant had his knife unsheathed, ready to cut the man down once he was dead, but first he would use it to rip open his uniform and cut his dick off. We watched in quiet admiration of the dead enemy as the strongly muscular body lurched a final time, then went limp, a string of spit from his mouth drooling down onto his chest. Our lieutenant moved quickly, cutting the fabric of the Bundeswehr uniform, retrieving the dead man's thick sexmeat. He pulled the dead man's balls out as well, then sawed through the base of the scrotum and all the way up through the cockshaft, taking all the man's genitals off in one piece. His sperm-rich cockspew, clinging to his uniform and still oozing from his meat, filled our nostrils with the odor of sheer manhood. "He won't be fucking any more," was my buddy Mac's wry comment.

We were hard as rocks and needed badly to fuck. Thanks to our gunner's foresight, we had a live German ass to rape, and we set about filling the young soldier's tender fuckchute with Grade A American cock. Each of us shot into the young stud, making him howl as we pried his pelvis apart with our raging hard fuckrods, each of us lubing the tube with our spunk for the next man in line to get his rocks off. Our heavy, hairy balls slapped against the young German's fair ass as we used him. We shoved him so hard with our thrusts that the pile of corpses he was resting upon toppled over twice during the orgy and had to be re-stacked. When it was time for Knots to fuck the prisoner, he passed, commenting that he would wait until the rest of us were finished. "I prefer 'em dead," he explained darkly.

"Plenty of fresh kill around," I remarked. There were German corpses everywhere, many of them prime pieces of fuckmeat. One of the dead soldiers lying close to us was bare-chested, the machine gun fire having blasted him out of his uniform. His hairy chest and hard slabs of pec meat were riddled with M-16 rounds. It looked as if the slugs had forced his dogtag inside his rib cage as he tooks his bullets. "That one there's tough enough to have a virgin ass," I remarked, admiring the appearance and physique of the freshly-killed German warrior.

"Yeah, but I kind of want to be in the guy when you pop him," Knots admitted.

"Kinky bastard," I responded. We all grinned. Knots's admission made us all even harder.

 

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Trench Charge (part 8)

After the last fuck, the gunner grabbed the German's oval dogtag off his chest and made him take the perforated Bundeswehr disk into his mouth. Then he drew his sidearm and pressed it against the young German's high-n-tight blond head. "Go ahead, Knots," he said, egging the sergeant on toward the victory fuck that was rightfully his.

Knots rubbed his dick to maximum hardness, leaned over, and raped the German's sore ass, plunging his entire member into the guy on the very first thrust. The gunner kept his sidearm on the prisoner and watched Knots drive into him like a piston. He pumped several times, feeling the warm ooze in the kid's ass lube his hard shaft. Knots got himself close to coming then looked at his gunner. "Shoot him," the sergeant ordered. We jumped slightly as the gunner's Colt discharged, sending a slug into the handsome young prisoner's brain. I was surprised to hear him grunt ever so slightly before his body went limp, draped over the pile of his dead comrades. Knots thrust in and out madly, fucking the now dead soldier with tremendous vigor. "Aw fuck!" he cried out, spending himself inside the young ass. "Thanks man. That was one helluva lay!" After Knots had finally extracted his greedy cock from the dead German's ass, we turned the young soldier over to inspect him and found that he had blown a deathwad while he was being fucked or maybe when he was being shot. His hard young dick was still erect, and his jism had spewed onto the camouflage of the dead comrade over whose body he had been forced to lie.

"Cut him," said the lieutenant. "Then get started on the others." We took the fuckboy's German sausage off him, and sliced his nuts off for good measure. The Bundeswehr would send in graves registrars in another couple of hours to catalog the dead, bag the corpses, and drag them off to our trench, which would be filled in as a mass grave. We had a few of our own guys to bag, including the snipers who bought it, the Ranger who got shot in the face by the possum, and of course my buddies Ryan and Morris, both of whom had fought their last Wargame.

Our knives were dull and our satchels full by the time we had finished sawing through all the hard German dicks. The cock count came to 227 dead Germans. The Rangers had lost fewer than 20 men, giving us a significant Wargames win and elevating us in the international rankings of special forces contingencies. While I was roaming the battlefield, helping with the "harvest," it was not uncommon to find Germans who had spurted dickwads during their last moments of life. Many of the cockshafts I claimed were impressive in their girth and length, often sticky with thick, sperm-laden soldier cum. It had been a good day in the life of a warrior. Tomorrow would be another. Even as we finished cutting the dick off the last dead German, the Canadian blue berets were sharpening their own knives, painting their machine gunner's helmet bright yellow, and positioning him in the trench they had dug in order to repel our assault, which was scheduled for the next day.

That night we would recall our victory on the battlefield by jerking our thick cocks. Mac and I would buddyfuck or suck each other for what could be the last time, silently acknowledging the likelihood that in another day's time our fuckmeat could be in some soldier's satchel, our strong bodies shot, slashed and dumped on top of one another in a mass grave.

After lights out our lieutenant stretched out on his bunk with a stiff cock and stared sleeplessly into the darkness. He absent-mindedly pulled his dogtags off his chest, tugging the metal chain so that it constricted tightly around his neck. Meanwhile, his Canadian counterpart had a length of rope in reserve, and plenty of expertise on how to tie a noose.

 

[runrungo]

Hope my firends who love dead soldiers will enjoy this article !!

And wish I can find more good articles about "playing with dead soldiers' bodies"...

Merry Christmas to all !!

 

[rickyd26]

Quality story...awesome! THANKS!!!

 

[Horny Marine]

Hot Hot Hot

This story gets me so hard. I especially love the part when the teen age German soldier gets shot in the head while being fucked...awesome!

 

[KiltedSoldier]

Great story of military combat and death in battle spraying manseed Is the author still on CDG Woukd be great if he could have us Scots Highlanders compete in Wargames.

 

[platinum]

Whew! Runrungo, what a hot and horny story! It made me cum in my pants! And yeah, I echo kilted's reply, would be great to see the highlanders feature in wargames such as you describe! (They'd win of course!)

 

[mxboots888]

Great writing style! Thanks. Soldier meat is the best

 

[Horny Marine]

My favorite part of this story is when they gang rape the teen aged German soldier, then shoot him in the head as the last guy is fucking him. Then then take his manhood, but not before he spews his man seed on the dead German they stacked him on as they finish him off. HOT!

 

[headsman]

Great story. I love the way the alpha male soldier was saved from the gun to use as a fuck toy. A hot male should always die with a hard cock. Even though the Americans raped him, it was still hot soldier to soldier sex. The German victim came on queue as his life was taken. Very hot!

Great story line and character building

 

[Horny Marine]

Yes, headsman, the young German soldier seemed to pay the price of being on the losing side of the battle like a man by spraying his final deathwad onto his dead comrade as he was being sent to the dark side of the afterworld. Bet that bullet felt pretty good after having his boy chute ripped up by all that victors' man meat. Too bad they took his German sausage off his dead body. But then again, he won't be having much use for it anymore, will he?

 

[KiltedSoldier]

Agree Marine - after battle we all need relief, that would be a good way to get it

 

[Raphz]

like this story

 

[Horny Marine]

Love this story, especially when the teen German soldier gets offed as he is being fucked.