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Message-ID: <36922asstr$1024672204@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: PleaseCain@aol.com
Subject: {ASSM} [rom fest] Amerikka: A Fully Automatic Love Story by PleaseCain (MF rom)
Date: Fri, 21 Jun 2002 11:10:04 -0400
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Copyright 2002 pleasecain@aol.com

AMERIKKA: A FULLY AUTOMATIC LOVE STORY
by pleasecain@aol.com

A trio of gunships thunders above the compound in tight formation, their 
blazing searchlamps sweeping the land below.  They hug the length of the 
arroyo and bank out of sight.

Freeman Butler glares from his post, squeezing the cold barrel of his 
freedom-enforcer, knuckles white with rage as the infernal roar dissipates in 
thin desert night.

The Invader's force-strength and ordnance surrounding the Free compound are 
superior to their own.  The Defenders bide their time, exploit openings, and 
remain true to Christ's example, to Galileo's and John Brown's, or any of the 
martyrs.  Faith, diligence, patience.  Channel the anger.  Turn it to 
something better.

A walkie-talkie crackles in the faraway blackness.  They are out there, at 
the perimeter.  Hundreds of them, thousands, millions.

"Status report, Freeman."

"Lord!"  Butler jumps at the voice.  Freeman O'Hara's.

"At ease, soldier," she says.  "Sorry to scare ya."

Butler exhales.  "Enemy activity's been unusually intense . . ."

"You anticipate imminent action?" she shoots back.

"Indeterminant," he says.  "Has Alpha and Delta sentries reported increased 
supply movement?"

"Negative," she says.  "Although they too note extranominal enemy activity.  
You?"

"I've not observed anything overt, but gut feeling," he pauses, "I think 
they're coming."

"When?"

"Don't know," he says, peering through the window.  "Twenty-four.  
Forty-eight."

"We ready for 'em?"  She nods, their eyes locked in resolution.

"Bring it on."

"You're relieved, soldier," O'Hara says.  "Debrief and grab some shut-eye."

"Thank you, sir," he acknowledges, and turns for the door.

"Cover!" O'Hara barks, and suddenly the room was a jumble.

He is looking up at the ceiling, her huffing body pinning his.  Her revolver 
is drawn.  He feels lightheaded, the room growing darker.

"Incoming," she whispers, pointing to the wall opposite the window.  A red 
laserdot flits there ominously, silently--a cold, malicious alien.  "You've 
been sighted.  Shh . . ."

O'Hara crouches to stalk the insidious spy, but it disappears.

"You'll catch your breath in a minute."  Her hard countenance has melted to 
motherly concern while she assesses him.  Her olive-drab cap lies across the 
room, so she brushes her dirty-blond hair behind her ear.  He has seen O'Hara 
smile only once before, nailing a rabbit at seventy-five yards.  He reaches 
for her face, but catches himself, his hand in mid-air between them.  Her 
breath washes over his fingers.

She closes her eyes and brushes her cheek on his hand.

"Butler, I'm scared."

Her suddenly smallish voice prompts him to stroke her face and the nape of 
her neck.  They hold one another, quaking.  

When her tears touch his neck, he can control himself no longer.  He pulls 
her around, lying on top of her.  Her barrettes lie on the floor.  Her pale 
eyes flash.  She's a woman, he thinks, a soft, sexual woman.  He peppers her 
round face with kisses.

O'Hara's hand probes beneath his jacket and teeshirt, exploring the muscled 
back, and then into his pants, pinching his buns.  She has to push him away . 
. .

He wrinkles his brow as he looks at her, catching his breath, wiping the 
corner of his mouth.

She pulls him by his shirt.  "Love to me, Butler."  Her free hand unfastens 
her pants.  The other still grasps the pistol.   "Quickly."

Butler kneels and tugs down his cammies, watching O'Hara squirm hers lower.  
His lovegun springs free.

"Hurry," she says, and he's upon her.  Her hand guides him in.

"Push, yes!  Oh!"  Nails dig, bootheels spur him deeper.

She welcomes him tight and warm.  It has been so long since he has felt that 
sweet friction of a woman.

"Come on, come on, come on," she drums in his ear.

A sharp rap at his head.  

Another makes his eyes twinkle with dots.  

She dashes the pistol handle on his head a third time.  He grinds his teeth 
and drives into her, each thrust pushing her body along the floor.  The tip 
of his Colt plays through her silky hair.

"That's it, yes, that's it," she coaches, digging the pistol-butt between his 
shoulder blades.

"Oh, god, ah!"  His sperm explodes into her vagina, strings of love threading 
into her womb.

Staccato pulses of light illuminate the small room.  As Butler's ears ring, 
he instantly knows that one of their weapons has discharged.  Over the racket 
and confusion, he discerns gunfire and spotlights outside, heavy 
mechanization and the blaring of sirens.

He jerks in answer to the alert, but O'Hara clutches his body.

Over the cacophony of mobilization, she holds him close and speaks in his 
ear: "I have conceived--there is life inside me.  He will survive this 
holocaust.  His name shall be called Freedom."

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Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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