(One-shot Collection) Isabella enacts a national women draft for the military

The military camp sat at the edge of Montesoro’s northern jungle, a stark contrast to the opulence of the presidential palace. Isabella’s convoy had been driving for hours along winding, treacherous roads, the hum of the vehicle’s engine the only sound that broke the silence. The air was thick with humidity, and the distant roars of jungle wildlife created a natural, unsettling soundtrack to the journey.

As the convoy neared the base, Isabella could see the camp rise out of the underbrush—an intimidating complex of concrete barracks, heavy artillery, and military vehicles, all surrounded by tall, iron fencing. The ever-present scent of sweat, gunpowder, and oil seemed to hang in the air, a reminder of the rough, unforgiving nature of the army that General Serrano commanded.

The vehicle came to a halt in front of a large, open-air command center. Several soldiers saluted as Isabella stepped out, her gaze immediately drawn to the hulking figure of General Serrano standing near the entrance. His uniform, though worn from the elements, was immaculate, his posture rigid and confident. His eyes, sharp and calculating, scanned her approach, and as she drew closer, he greeted her with a nod that conveyed both respect and expectation.

“Presidente Reyes,” Serrano said, his voice low and gravelly. “It’s an honor to have you here.”

Isabella nodded politely, her face betraying nothing. She had been dreading this visit—dreading the moment when Serrano would make his demands clear. But there was no avoiding it. The country was slipping into chaos, and without Serrano’s full cooperation, her rule would be nothing more than an illusion.

“I trust the camp is secure?” she asked, maintaining her composure.

Serrano’s lips curled into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. “As secure as any military camp can be in these times. But there’s always room for improvement.” He paused for a moment, his gaze sharp. “But that is not why I requested your presence. I wish to make a request: we need more resources.”

Isabella’s pulse quickened, but she kept her face neutral. “More resources?” she repeated, her tone calm. “The country’s finances are stretched thin as it is. I have been working to stabilize the economy—”

Serrano shook his head. “It is not financial resources we need. We are a fighting ****, and we need women to keep us in top form. The men here need to be able to focus on the task at hand, and nothing can do that better than a good fucking before going into the jungles and facing ****. It is a simple, natural urge, and one that we must fulfill if we are to function at peak capacity. Surely you understand the importance of maintaining morale in such dire circumstances."

The tension between the two was palpable. Isabella swallowed hard, trying to maintain her composure. Her mind raced, her heart pounding in her chest. This was not what she had been expecting.

Serrano continued, his voice measured. "We have been using captives for the past few weeks, and we have found that this method is effective, but there is a limited supply. The guerillas found out what we were doing to their women, and moved them to more secure locations, deeper in their strongholds. So I have a proposal for you. Instead of just taking captive women, I want you to hold a draft on the women of this country and assign them to the military. This will provide a steady stream of women, and ensure that the men are taken care of. I am sure you agree that it is in the best interests of the country, and the most elegant solution. National Service is required, after all, not just from men, but also women."

"I'm sorry, General Serrano, but you must be joking," Isabella scoffed. "Drafting men is one thing, but this...this is simply too much. You are asking me to turn a blind eye to ****, to betray my gender. I cannot allow that."

Serrano's gaze hardened, and he leaned in close, his voice low and threatening. "I am not asking you to turn a blind eye, I'm asking you to organize it. Before the men here lose all semblance of control and turn on the cities. There are over a million women in Montesoro. If every man here takes one, there's still plenty leftover for the weaklings who stay in their home, comfortable and secure from our sacrifice. Think about it, Isabella. A few women for the greater good."

Isabella was stunned, her heart pounding in her chest as her mind raced to process his words. Her body stiffened, and she felt her cheeks flush with anger, but she could not deny the truth in his words. The army morale was on the brink of collapse, and if the men could not release their pent-up frustrations, then they would take it out on the people.

"I will see what I can do," she finally replied, her voice strained. "But this is a difficult situation, and I cannot guarantee anything."

Serrano's face remained stony, but she thought she could detect a flicker of satisfaction in his eyes.

"Very well, Presidente," he said, his voice low and commanding. "I will be expecting good news."

Isabella nodded and turned away, her mind reeling from the conversation.

A week later, Isabella found herself addressing the country, her heart heavy as she announced the new national draft.

"Due to the increased need for military personnel, we have decided to institute a draft, effective immediately," she announced. "All women between the ages of 18 and 35 will be required to register for the draft and can then be called upon to serve. This is a chance for the women of Montesoro to play a crucial role in protecting our nation, and we encourage all eligible women to take advantage of this opportunity."

She could feel the shock and dismay ripple through the crowd, and her own heart sank.

"The army needs women," she continued. "We must serve the men who serve us. That is the price we pay for our safety, and the only way forward. I have given the matter a great deal of thought, and in solidarity I will put my name into the lottery as well. The first round will be carried out today, and soldiers will be sent to collect if your name is picked."

And so the draft was carried out, with each woman's name drawn randomly from a large glass bowl. True to her word, Isabella put the slip with her name into it, though she made it clear to the draft committee what exactly would happen to their families should hers be picked.

The afternoon went by in a flash, the names of the unlucky women announced and broadcasted to every home. And as evening fell, the soldiers went to collect the first batch.