Battle of the Rhine

Michael couldn't recall too many details of that night, maybe his brain refused to remember.He did one of the worst things he ever did in his life, so bad he's going to go to hell for it.But then he couldn't care less about hell: he'd been a soldier, he'd picked up a gun, he'd killed two or three people... maybe two or three, maybe more, but it wouldn't be less than that.He was already doomed to hell.

"Tim's dead." Michael's ears rumbled. "You know that, Tim? He's dead."

Quincy knelt on a pile of pine needles, her hands bound tightly behind her back.I don't know who came up with the idea to tie up the captives on Victory Day.With so many captives gathered together, fear of suicide, fear of riot, you're always in constant fear.Tim's right, Michael thought, he's right, just shoot one at a time so you don't have to worry...don't worry...don't...

"Tim's dead!" he yelled, and Ruger pressed Quincy's forehead.The young second lieutenant showed a trace of fear and confusion, but soon recovered, with a calm and numb expression: "I didn't kill it."

"I fucking know you didn't kill it," Michael said, "everyone knows Tim wasn't killed by you Germans!"

It should be the last quarter moon that day, and after a long time, Michael asked someone to help check.It stands to reason that the narrow moon can't provide much light, but Michael remembered Quincy's eyes...the blue irises, like the eyes of the ceramic doll in Mary's collection, cold and emotionless.

"...sorrows and sorrows," Quincy said, in English, "I'm sorry."

What do you mean by that?Michael grabbed Ruger, the muzzle trembling slightly.Yeah, why could he see Quincy's eyes?Because tens of meters away is the brightly lit camp, the motors are roaring, and the crawlers are running over heavily... There are extremely excited American soldiers everywhere, and they may be spotted at any time.

"You're sorry?" Michael murmured angrily. "You lied, you German liar—"

Tim often beat the captives, and Quincy was undoubtedly the one who beat the most.Tim hated his "Nazis with head held high".He snatched Quincy's trousers and beat his legs with a whip and stick. "Are you happy?" Michael moved Ruger's muzzle. "He's dead—he always disliked you and hit you. He's dead, and now you're happy..."

Completely baseless accusation, being drunk is not an excuse at all.Tim's death had nothing to do with Quincy, Michael knew that even in his drunken state.But he couldn't help himself.At that time, he was trembling all over, holding a gun, his eyes could not be wider.There seemed to be a shark chasing him behind him... He remembered that when he was eight years old, he was running in the field, and suddenly his back felt cold, and when he turned his head, he saw a snake raised its head, hissing and spitting.

"I don't know what to do," Michael said to himself, "what the hell—why?"

Quincy closed his eyes, probably thinking he was going to be shot, trying to maintain the dignity of the Prussian soldier.Will he disdain it?This Yankee usually gives him small favors, chocolate, coffee, socks...but he is used as a scapegoat when things happen.Michael couldn't help himself, and he really considered whether to shoot Quincy.Undoubtedly, there are only a few fates for prisoners of war, dead, alive, and living worse than death——

In the end, instead of pulling the trigger, he threw Ruger aside.He tied Quincy back up: hands tied to a small tree, and he lay there on his stomach.Michael knows many ways of tying, he binds the cattle on the farm and takes them out to slaughter.In the army, he learned how to bind the enemy, the left hand and the left foot were bound together, and the right hand and the right foot were tied together to ensure that they could not break free.He stood behind Quincy with his hips akimbo, panting, and remembered what his neighbor, Mrs. Madeleine, said before he joined the army: "You will never learn well in the army." Her husband was forced to join the army to fight in the war. , and from a kind gentleman to a perpetual drunken lunatic.

"Me too," Michael said, "I'm fucking—"

Quincy didn't struggle, and turned his back to the executioner, which was regarded as the executioner's dying mercy for the condemned prisoner.He never mentioned how he felt that night, but undoubtedly his faith was shaken by Michael's behavior until it collapsed-Michael didn't shoot him, but roughly ripped off his pants.Then, in this strange kneeling position, Michael put his arm around him behind him, reaching under the hem of his shirt.

"My God," Michael murmured, "My God..."

Human skin is warm and dry, and the body is elastic.The skin of the corpse was cold and damp, and soon stiffened and swollen.Mike held this body in his arms, a captive body... a man's body.The heat emanating from his body temporarily soothed his anger, panic and fear.And there was the smell of bad soap, his favorite smell... He was hard almost instantly, rubbing Quincy's ass and chest impatiently, scratching and pinching and pinching all over the body pull.Quincy remained motionless for the first few minutes, as if petrified.Then, at some point, he struggled like clockwork, shaking his legs and waist violently.This gave Michael supreme pleasure.Yes, pleasure.Tim's death faded from Michael's mind, leaving only a shimmering white mist.He enjoyed the dying struggle of his prey, the panicked gasps.Michael grabbed Quincy by the waist. The young German was very thin, with a sunken belly. "That's it," he jabbed his bloodshot cock in the middle of Quincy's ass, rubbing it violently, "That's it..."

Quincy froze for a few seconds, and then he struggled more violently, cursing something.Michael covered his mouth, feeling those two rows of teeth sliding back and forth on his palm. "That's it," Michael said, "yes, that's it."

After an unknown amount of time, Michael had an orgasm.He hugged Quincy contentedly, the limp guy still poking between the two asses.He pushed the tip of his nose to part the hair at the back of Quincy's head, sniffing greedily at the smell of bad soap. "Great," he hummed, patting Quincy's sweaty butt.The soul floating in mid-air due to Tim's death returned to his body, and when Michael lifted his pants, he clearly felt the return of reason.

He started to regret it.