Relics of the Pacific

Bridget rapped her knuckles twice on Simon's office door, her body still electrified. She had put her pants back on, but left her shirt open and untied. A man patted her ass as he walked passed her to return to his duties. The women who moved behind her were laughing and in good spirits despite of, or perhaps due to, the wild hour they had just endured.

"It's open." Simon said. She swung the door open to see a fairly typical office for this type of factory. Boxes of records were stacked on steel shelving behind a functional but plain roll top desk that was piled high with incident reports, invoices, and the general clutter one would typically expect. The only feature that really stood out was the pen holder, which was a piece of trench art fashioned from a .50 caliber machine gun shell brazed at an angle on an artillery shell base that was carved with crosses and the words "Tokyo '47" on it.

Once the Chinese Civil War settled into a stalemate and eventual cease-fire between the territories held by Red Beijing and Allied-aligned Hong Kong, the Pacific Fleet focused on blockading and containing the Japanese Navy with relentless bombardment to trap them into a frenetic three-way battle that still shakes the Sea of Japan today. The Japs still hold a number of islands, but at the second battle of Pearl Harbor in '46 they suffered a major defeat, losing all but one of their carriers and effectively ending their ambitions to strike the U.S. mainland.

The subsequent invasion of Tokyo was one of the most grueling, costly battles of the War claiming nearly 500,000 casualties before ultimately being abandoned as more troops were needed on the Western Front; but did ultimately allow the People's Free Republic of Korea to drive out the Japanese invaders with Allied assistance. Simon never talked about what he saw in the Pacific, other than to say that if Stadti women think they have it bad, they should take a look at the fates of the "comfort women" in the Japanese Empire.

"Hey, Birdie. What can I do for you?" Simon asked, stubbing a cigarette out in a glass, overflowing ashtray. He was a stout, middle-aged man with a nervous tick that caused his eye to twitch when he stared at something too long. Bridget knew that he was a Japanese POW for a while, and knew better than to ask about that particular experience. The only reminders of that time were the broken katana-style officer's sword he'd used to escape and the artillery shell penholder that was made from a shell that blasted the camp to splinters. She'd met him shortly after she had arrived here on Johnny's recommendation. He was a master of finding unclaimed scrap that he sold to mechanics under the table.

"Hi, Simon." she said, gingerly sitting down in the threadbare chair. She steadied herself as she tied her shirt back together. "I need a two foot by 4 foot piece of half-inch M2 tool steel." His eyes went wide as he whistled.

"You don't make it easy, do ya?" he said, fishing another cigarette out of his pocket. She did the same, lighting hers off the offered match he struck. He took a long drag, and settled back into his seat. "I can swing that for the right price. What are ya offerin?" She smiled as she fished the ration card from her pocket. It was the preferred currency of the underground economy. He nodded, sliding the card across the desk and pocketing it. "That'll do. You want me to drop it off at the shop?" She winced, realizing that she'd have to work on this in her down time.

"No, at my place if its all the same." she said as she took a long, relaxing drag on her cigarette.

"Beefing up the home security, eh? Can't say I blame ya." She smiled, thankful she didn't have to make up an excuse.

"Working on a project for a friend." she said. He nodded, leaving it at that. She saw a photograph in a simple wooden frame of his family. Simon was a bit of an oddball as he believed his wedding vows were ironclad, P.R.A. or not, and refrained from using women other than his wife; though Bridget didn't know that. She looked lovely in the picture with a big, floppy hat covering her curly hair; and was flanked by her son on the left and daughter on the right. Bridget recognized her as the woman she was pressed up against and had just kissed. She blushed a bit, but kept her observation to herself.

"Thanks, Simon. I owe you one." she said, standing to leave. The door crept open as she turned around to reveal the cum-covered, nude body of his wife. She smiled warmly at Bridget as they walked passed each other.

"Any time, doll." he said, though his attention was now on his spouse. He smiled as she walked over to him seductively. "Tell me how your lunch went, sweetie." he said, rubbing his crotch. Bridget paused at the door, biting her lip as the woman pulled on her long, dark nipples.

"Well, the shovel crew was behavin' like they normally do..." she said, a hand snaking down her body to rub her soiled sex. "...but I just couldn't stop thinkin' about how much I just wanted to be with my fuzzy-wuzzy bear..." Bridget closed the door as the woman went to her knees, his cock hard and waiting for her mouth. She quickly made her way to the elevator and back to the foundry floor. She'd gotten what she came for. She hopped on her bike and pulled back to the gate.

"Find 'im?" the gate man said with a wry grin as he saw her now sweaty, cum-soaked skin. She grinned sarcastically at him as he hit the button to let her out. She revved the bike and gunned it, leaving a trail of dust and exhaust to engulf the gate house. She pulled away, watching him **** and cough in the rear-view mirror.

....................................

Meanwhile, Bobby-Ray Howard was sighing contently as his superior officer Henrietta Jackson slowly, sensually licked his penis from base to tip while the radio static hissed from his headset. He looked down at the flawless, ebony-skinned Brass officer kiss and suck his pulsing cock, much to her disapproval. Still, she had a duty to keep the signal boys happy and took her job seriously; and today that meant boosting morale. She normally wore a fairly modest latex minidress and black heels, but today she opted for a tight pinskirt with a loose blouse to show off her impressively large breasts; which were now mushed against his thighs.

"Station one-six, do you copy?" a voice squelched from his headphones. He nearly jumped, driving his cock deep into her throat and causing her to cough. She immediately stopped sucking him as he swiveled in his chair, fumbling to put the headphones on and depressing the button on the microphone.

"Yeah, yeah, this is one-six. What's the situation?" he said, holding up a finger to Henrietta. She crossed her arms and looked at the wall clock. She had a dozen other men to "inspire" before her afternoon briefing. His finger slowly lowered in shock before he grabbed a pen and paper, furiously transcribing what he was hearing. "No shit? I'll pass it along. Over and out." he said, dropping the pen and turning to his superior. He sighed, and awkwardly shoved his penis back into his trousers.

"What's going on?" She said, standing to her full height. He looked up at her, a worried expression on his face.

"That was Sat Com. They've intercepted a transmission meant for the Stadti high command. It's coming from Diesel City. They transmitted the locations of some important steel factories in Ireland. ." he said, his face grim. Henrietta immediately realized the implications of this. She looked out the window to the gray and yellow sky. They were preparing an invasion, and any information they could get that would make that easier was like gold to them.

"Get me the Colonel." she said, buttoning up her blouse. Morale be damned. At best, whoever leaked this info didn't know what they were doing. At worst, it was treason.