Field Rations Always Suck, ending

“What’s the plan, sarge?” asked Corporal Collins quietly.

Sergeant Stevenson and Corporal Collins, along with the sergeant’s MOTF, were crouched behind a low wall, scoping out the building which intel claimed to be an insurgent weapons cache. The rest of the squad was farther down the wall, resting for a moment while the attack plan was formulated.

“Looks like we can approach from the south without being seen from either entrance, or the windows. We’ll need two fire teams. You take Hardy, Lowden and Martini through the west entrance, and I’ll lead the team at the north entrance. We’ll synchronize our breaches to be at exactly–” they both checked their watches, “1320. Expect heavy resistance, so standard breach procedure. We’ll use my MOTF and Martini’s.”

“Yes, sir, understood,” responded Collins.

Ration Grade C 0137 hugged her uncle, and they made their way back to the others.

After the squad had organized according to the plan, they carefully moved between the rough stone and cement buildings toward their target. To make it easier to keep quiet, both of the MOTFs had left their packs behind with the rear guard.

“This is it, Monica,” whispered Private Martini to his MOTF, who was walking directly behind him, holding his left shoulder handle so he knew where she was. “Do you remember how to perform a breach?”

She swallowed hard, but answered, “Yes, sir.”

“Good girl.” He handed her his combat knife, then they both stopped talking, since they were getting near the building.

At the west entrance, the fire team formed up around the door. Ration 3041 was pressed directly against the door, with Corporal Collins standing behind her, and Hardy and Martini against the wall to either side. When his watch ticked over to the correct time, Collins tapped the MOTF’s shoulder in warning, then kicked the door open. Ration 3041 stumbled inside, then raised her knife and yelled, charging at the first insurgent she saw.

There was a deafening thunder of gunshots from all sides, but 3041 didn’t stop, even when she felt burning holes tear through her in several places. However, just before she could reach the man in front of her, she felt a sharp blow to her right hip, and when she brought down that foot, the leg failed to take her weight, and she tumbled. Everything was suddenly quiet again a moment later, before she heard shouts of “Clear!” as Hardy and Martini entered the room.

She had rolled over onto her back when she fell, so as she looked up in a daze at the ceiling above, her eyes automatically followed the trajectory of a small object as it fell to the floor near her. As she looked back where it had come from, there was a woman just standing up, and she realized the significance of the circular ring and the straight metal pin attached to it.

“Grenade!” she called, but Hardy was already putting bullet holes in the female insurgent.

The round ball tumbled from the woman’s hand and bounced to a stop next to Ration 3041. Without even thinking, Ration Grade B 3041, formerly known as Monica Martini, heaved herself over on top of the grenade. It stayed, nestled between her thighs, pressing slightly into her cunt for several tense heartbeats before her groin erupted into a red mist.

The team was momentarily stunned by how close that had been, before the soldiers got back up from where they had dove for cover. Once they had checked the room again, they pushed forward, systematically clearing the building of hostiles until they met up with the other team.

After they had determined that they were secure, Martini and Hardy came back to check on 3041. Freddie rolled over his sister, who coughed, showing that she was still alive, while he collected his knife from where it had dropped.

“Well done, Moni,” he said softly, bending over her.

Hardy sighed, holding up the severed leg he’d found a few feet away. “Shit,” he muttered, looking at the meat in his hand, “we’re gonna be picking shrapnel out of our dinner, and our breakfast, aren’t we?”

Freddie looked over at him and shrugged. “It beats picking shrapnel out of ourselves.”

“You got that right, buddy.”

“Fuck this hurts,” whispered Ration 3041, then coughed up some blood. “Freddie,” she said, forgetting her training as she went into shock, “would you mind fucking me to death? I don’t think I’ll be much more use to you alive.”

Her brother looked skeptically at her lower body, then glanced upward. “Moni, I’m pretty sure that red smear on the ceiling is what’s left of your cunt.”

Ration 3041 tried to laugh, but it just turned into more coughing.

“No, not that,” she smiled weakly. “What was it that Gramps used to say about field rations?”

She opened her mouth wide, and looked at her master expectantly.

He chuckled, and started pulling his cock out of his pants. “Field rations always suck.”

She swirled her tongue around and along his cock, swiftly getting him hard enough to bury his manhood in her throat. Once he was deep enough to cut off her air, he was careful not to ever pull her head back far enough to let her breathe, keeping his strokes short as he shoved her face into his groin. The dying meatgirl moaned and swallowed repeatedly, milking him, while she massaged her tits, relishing her impending ending. When she stopped moaning, he shot off his load inside her, but kept his dick in her throat for a time.

When he was sure her heart had stopped, he stood up.

“Thanks, sis. I couldn’t have asked for a better field ration than you.”