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Winning Hearts and Minds - Helmand, Part Three
by JamesE82

Near Balbul Karez, Afghanistan…

“I’m lookin’ for some harebrained broad called Janet,” a female voice bellowed from outside. Then there was yet another burst of ridiculously loud gunfire and more men screaming. “Janet Raison, ya there?”

I’m here, the woman in the cell thought. Her heart had been pounding before, but now it thudded in her chest from adrenaline that was born of hope instead of pain. Tears came again, though they were tears of relief instead of shame and fear. I’m here…

For a moment the rapid-fire gunshots eased up, and Janet opened her mouth to call for help. Then what to her mind was cannon fire seemed to shake the world, and she only croaked in shock. Was that a gun? she asked herself. What kind of person could fire something so big?

“Listen,” the voice from outside called. “I’m the Crimson Conservative, and I don’t--hey, what do ya think you’re doing?” There was an explosion, then an amused chuckle. “That was a waste of a perfectly good grenade, Abu,” the woman said, followed by another colossal gunshot, which was in turn followed by a man shrieking for Allah, again and again.

Her? Janet thought. It’s that monster? No, she can’t be here…

“Like I was sayin’ before I was so rudely interrupted, I’m the Crimson Conservative, here lookin’ for the stupid bitch that went ‘n got herself kidnapped by a buncha savages she thought she was gonna come here’n play hopscotch with. Hey, Janet! Can ya hear me, or did these practitioners of the Religion of Peace cut your ears off?”

Janet snapped out of the shock caused by suddenly realizing she was in close proximity to one of the people she hated and feared most in the entire world, and found her voice. “I’m h-here!” she half-whimpered, half-wailed. “Please! I’m in heeere!”

“’Kay, thanks,” she heard the supersoldier call. “The folks I had a chat with weren’t too precise in their directions, even after I’d crushed their kneecaps…”

More shooting, more men screaming. Then the sounds of death were in the building, coming closer to her prison. Soon she heard footsteps louder than any normal human could make, and the thick wooden door to her cell crashed to the floor, split to pieces by a single blow.

The nine-foot redhead ducked her way under the doorframe and looked the nearly naked captive up and down. “Not bad,” Connie said, then laughed and shook her head. “I ain’t checkin’ out your tits or nothing; what I mean is, you look like you’re doin’ better than you deserve.”

“Get me out of here,” Janet said in a cracking voice. A part of her hated herself for showing weakness in front of that so-called superheroine, who was practically the mascot for all she despised and wanted to see wiped away from America. But by far she wanted to be released and taken to safety more than anything else, and the prospect of her freedom made the woman burst into sobbing. “Please, get me out…”

“Had enough hajji hospitality, huh?” Connie said with a shrug. “Can’t say I blame ya. I mean, I sure as hell can blame you for puttin’ yourself into this situation, but-”

Suddenly the towering woman turned at the waist, leveled the gigantic revolver in her right hand at the doorway, and blew the Arab man rushing in to pieces. As his remains and AK-47 hit the ground, the redhead turned back to Janet.

“Where was I?” she asked. “Never mind; maybe you’ve learned your lesson, maybe ya ain’t. All I care about right now is getting you outta here.”

The bound woman opened her mouth to say thank you, but found herself blubbering an incoherent torrent of pure gratitude. Home, she thought. I’m going home… going home!

“Well,” Connie said, “I care about that, and also this here gizmo.” The giantess retrieved something from a pants pocket with the hand not holding the revolver, and showed it to the bound woman.

“M-My iPad?” Janet asked.

“That’s what ya call ‘em!” Connie said. “Republicat’s on hers enough that I oughta know by now, but I’ve never gotten the hang of the gadgets myself. Yeah, I guess it’s really two things I’m interested in: Gettin’ you home, and gettin’ into this little computer.” The Amazon took a step forward, and as Janet was raised a few feet off the ground by the torture device she was locked into, the Crimson Conservative was able to look her directly in the eye. “And lemme tell ya, those two things’re related to one another.”

“You want my iPad?” the captive asked. “Why?”

“I want what’s in it,” Connie told her. “You’re a muckety-muck in your bleedin‘-heart, terrorist-supportin’ club, and I wanna know what you know. Access codes, lists of donors, politicians ya got in your pocket, the professors and college deans you‘re backing, the Washington lobbyists who’re doin’ your bidding off the books… yeah, I want all that pretty bad.”

There was a moment of stunned silence in the room, during which all that could be heard were the moans of the wounded outside and the crackling of a few fires that had been started during the carnage.

“No,” Janet whispered, shaking her head in horror. If that monster learned the truth about some of the people she worked with--Hezbollah, the Muslim Brotherhood, members of the Saudi royal family, news executives, aides to the president himself--then a mortal wound would be dealt to Concerned Global Citizens.

Maybe she could bluff. Maybe she could give the monster a few passwords, let her snoop around in the little computer for a while. After all, the truly important files were both hidden and encrypted within the iPad, and the most sensitive data she had access to wasn’t even stored on it at all.

Her line of thought was cut off by the wide smirk on the redhead’s face, as if her exposed teeth had chomped through it like a Great White through a flimsy fishing pole.

“I see those wheels turnin’ in that pretty head of yours,” Connie said. “I may not know much ‘bout electronics, but I do know a person or two who’s schooled me enough to recognize when I’m being played with when it comes to ‘em. Little miss, one way or another, you’re spilling your guts ‘n giving me what I want. That, or I’ll turn right around ‘n go home. I’ll leave this country without you ‘n tell your whimpering little whelp of a friend that I couldn’t find ya, and trust me, all the tears that’ll be shed over you will belong to him, not me.”

Janet could have screamed. Terror, disgust, abhorrence, frustration; she felt all of these things, and simply could have screamed until her throat bled. Then the supersoldier hooked a finger beneath the waistband of her panties and tugged, making them uncomfortably snug against her womanhood.

“These won’t stay on for long,” the Amazon said. “And if I know the men who’ve got a hold of ya, once they’re off, they’re never goin’ back on.”

Janet Raison shuddered at the thought, and knew the giantess had her trapped, just as surely as she was trapped in the horizontal rack her body was bound to.

“A-Alright,” she said, almost gagging.

“Probably the most reasonable decision you’ve ever made,” the Crimson Conservative said as she placed a hand on the lever that would give slack to Janet‘s restraints. “Angel Falls, here we come.”

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Edit: Thanks to some comments below, I now realize that as this story was told from Janet’s point of view, I failed to get across the fact that Connie would never have left Janet behind, no matter how she reacted to Connie’s demands.

Part one:

Part two:

Anyone who’s surprised to see that Connie wasn’t rescuing a leader of a multinational liberal organization out of the kindness of her heart, please raise your hand… that’s what I thought.

While this segment took place in Afghanistan, it was in the world that contains the city of .

The artwork accompanying my story was done by a very talented fellow who, as this is an older piece of his work, would like to remain uncredited due to the fact that he has improved since the time when it was created. Well, you know who you are, and thanks again for giving me permission to use your stuff.

The Crimson Conservative is my creation, © 2009.

Comments welcome, even if--wait, what’s that? Certainly, ma’am; take the final word.

Don’t let her go just yet, Connie. *Takes hot poker out of the fire*

Description
Winning Hearts and Minds - Helmand, Part Three
by JamesE82

Near Balbul Karez, Afghanistan…

“I’m lookin’ for some harebrained broad called Janet,” a female voice bellowed from outside. Then there was yet another burst of ridiculously loud gunfire and more men screaming. “Janet Raison, ya there?”

I’m here, the woman in the cell thought. Her heart had been pounding before, but now it thudded in her chest from adrenaline that was born of hope instead of pain. Tears came again, though they were tears of relief instead of shame and fear. I’m here…

For a moment the rapid-fire gunshots eased up, and Janet opened her mouth to call for help. Then what to her mind was cannon fire seemed to shake the world, and she only croaked in shock. Was that a gun? she asked herself. What kind of person could fire something so big?

“Listen,” the voice from outside called. “I’m the Crimson Conservative, and I don’t--hey, what do ya think you’re doing?” There was an explosion, then an amused chuckle. “That was a waste of a perfectly good grenade, Abu,” the woman said, followed by another colossal gunshot, which was in turn followed by a man shrieking for Allah, again and again.

Her? Janet thought. It’s that monster? No, she can’t be here…

“Like I was sayin’ before I was so rudely interrupted, I’m the Crimson Conservative, here lookin’ for the stupid bitch that went ‘n got herself kidnapped by a buncha savages she thought she was gonna come here’n play hopscotch with. Hey, Janet! Can ya hear me, or did these practitioners of the Religion of Peace cut your ears off?”

Janet snapped out of the shock caused by suddenly realizing she was in close proximity to one of the people she hated and feared most in the entire world, and found her voice. “I’m h-here!” she half-whimpered, half-wailed. “Please! I’m in heeere!”

“’Kay, thanks,” she heard the supersoldier call. “The folks I had a chat with weren’t too precise in their directions, even after I’d crushed their kneecaps…”

More shooting, more men screaming. Then the sounds of death were in the building, coming closer to her prison. Soon she heard footsteps louder than any normal human could make, and the thick wooden door to her cell crashed to the floor, split to pieces by a single blow.

The nine-foot redhead ducked her way under the doorframe and looked the nearly naked captive up and down. “Not bad,” Connie said, then laughed and shook her head. “I ain’t checkin’ out your tits or nothing; what I mean is, you look like you’re doin’ better than you deserve.”

“Get me out of here,” Janet said in a cracking voice. A part of her hated herself for showing weakness in front of that so-called superheroine, who was practically the mascot for all she despised and wanted to see wiped away from America. But by far she wanted to be released and taken to safety more than anything else, and the prospect of her freedom made the woman burst into sobbing. “Please, get me out…”

“Had enough hajji hospitality, huh?” Connie said with a shrug. “Can’t say I blame ya. I mean, I sure as hell can blame you for puttin’ yourself into this situation, but-”

Suddenly the towering woman turned at the waist, leveled the gigantic revolver in her right hand at the doorway, and blew the Arab man rushing in to pieces. As his remains and AK-47 hit the ground, the redhead turned back to Janet.

“Where was I?” she asked. “Never mind; maybe you’ve learned your lesson, maybe ya ain’t. All I care about right now is getting you outta here.”

The bound woman opened her mouth to say thank you, but found herself blubbering an incoherent torrent of pure gratitude. Home, she thought. I’m going home… going home!

“Well,” Connie said, “I care about that, and also this here gizmo.” The giantess retrieved something from a pants pocket with the hand not holding the revolver, and showed it to the bound woman.

“M-My iPad?” Janet asked.

“That’s what ya call ‘em!” Connie said. “Republicat’s on hers enough that I oughta know by now, but I’ve never gotten the hang of the gadgets myself. Yeah, I guess it’s really two things I’m interested in: Gettin’ you home, and gettin’ into this little computer.” The Amazon took a step forward, and as Janet was raised a few feet off the ground by the torture device she was locked into, the Crimson Conservative was able to look her directly in the eye. “And lemme tell ya, those two things’re related to one another.”

“You want my iPad?” the captive asked. “Why?”

“I want what’s in it,” Connie told her. “You’re a muckety-muck in your bleedin‘-heart, terrorist-supportin’ club, and I wanna know what you know. Access codes, lists of donors, politicians ya got in your pocket, the professors and college deans you‘re backing, the Washington lobbyists who’re doin’ your bidding off the books… yeah, I want all that pretty bad.”

There was a moment of stunned silence in the room, during which all that could be heard were the moans of the wounded outside and the crackling of a few fires that had been started during the carnage.

“No,” Janet whispered, shaking her head in horror. If that monster learned the truth about some of the people she worked with--Hezbollah, the Muslim Brotherhood, members of the Saudi royal family, news executives, aides to the president himself--then a mortal wound would be dealt to Concerned Global Citizens.

Maybe she could bluff. Maybe she could give the monster a few passwords, let her snoop around in the little computer for a while. After all, the truly important files were both hidden and encrypted within the iPad, and the most sensitive data she had access to wasn’t even stored on it at all.

Her line of thought was cut off by the wide smirk on the redhead’s face, as if her exposed teeth had chomped through it like a Great White through a flimsy fishing pole.

“I see those wheels turnin’ in that pretty head of yours,” Connie said. “I may not know much ‘bout electronics, but I do know a person or two who’s schooled me enough to recognize when I’m being played with when it comes to ‘em. Little miss, one way or another, you’re spilling your guts ‘n giving me what I want. That, or I’ll turn right around ‘n go home. I’ll leave this country without you ‘n tell your whimpering little whelp of a friend that I couldn’t find ya, and trust me, all the tears that’ll be shed over you will belong to him, not me.”

Janet could have screamed. Terror, disgust, abhorrence, frustration; she felt all of these things, and simply could have screamed until her throat bled. Then the supersoldier hooked a finger beneath the waistband of her panties and tugged, making them uncomfortably snug against her womanhood.

“These won’t stay on for long,” the Amazon said. “And if I know the men who’ve got a hold of ya, once they’re off, they’re never goin’ back on.”

Janet Raison shuddered at the thought, and knew the giantess had her trapped, just as surely as she was trapped in the horizontal rack her body was bound to.

“A-Alright,” she said, almost gagging.

“Probably the most reasonable decision you’ve ever made,” the Crimson Conservative said as she placed a hand on the lever that would give slack to Janet‘s restraints. “Angel Falls, here we come.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Edit: Thanks to some comments below, I now realize that as this story was told from Janet’s point of view, I failed to get across the fact that Connie would never have left Janet behind, no matter how she reacted to Connie’s demands.

Part one:

Part two:

Anyone who’s surprised to see that Connie wasn’t rescuing a leader of a multinational liberal organization out of the kindness of her heart, please raise your hand… that’s what I thought.

While this segment took place in Afghanistan, it was in the world that contains the city of .

The artwork accompanying my story was done by a very talented fellow who, as this is an older piece of his work, would like to remain uncredited due to the fact that he has improved since the time when it was created. Well, you know who you are, and thanks again for giving me permission to use your stuff.

The Crimson Conservative is my creation, © 2009.

Comments welcome, even if--wait, what’s that? Certainly, ma’am; take the final word.

Don’t let her go just yet, Connie. *Takes hot poker out of the fire*