Battleground by Keith Douglass Read Free Book Online Page B

Kenya the sum of one hundred billion dollars in gold, food, merchandise, jet fighter aircraft, naval ships, and in credits around the world that Kenya can draw upon, for the release of these two hundred and one individuals.
    “There will be no attack or threat of attack on Kenya soilby U.S. forces. Any such attack will result in the execution of one hostage for every hour of any such attack.
    “The United States has forty-eight hours to start delivering the gold, the merchandise, the ships, and planes as demanded. If this schedule is not met, one hostage will be executed and the video beamed to the world on television every hour until delivery starts.
    “There is no alternative. I know of the wealth and squandered goods and riches in the United States. The people of Kenya are starving for such goods and food. It will be delivered on schedule or the dire measures will be carried out.
    “This is General Umar Maleceia, Premier, President, and Commanding General of the great nation of Kenya, ending his proclamation.”
    General Umar Maleceia toured the ambassador’s private quarters and bounced on the bed. He chuckled.
    “I will sleep here tonight,” he told his aide, a major who had taken advanced lessons in kowtowing.
    “Yes, General,” the major said, recognizing the new rank the colonel had granted himself.
    Maleceia smiled at the man. “You’ll go far, Major. What was your name again?”
    “Ralston, General. An English name my parents liked when I was born.”
    “Too bad. Yes. Now, the kitchen. Send for the chef. Bring him from the basement. Tonight I will feast on roast duck or maybe a roast turkey dinner with all the trimmings like we had twice a year in Texas. Yes, a roast turkey dinner.”
    Five minutes later, the cook, a smiling little Italian man from the Bronx, explained the problem.
    “General, sir. We have no turkey, no duck. I can prepare a feast for you from some chicken breasts, stuffing, mashed potatoes, giblet gravy, cranberries, peas and carrots, with fluffy dinner rolls and strawberry jam.”
    General Maleceia frowned. “I can’t make a turkey appear. All right, the chicken dinner. You have an hour. Now get to it.”
    Back in the ambassador’s suite, he broke open the lockedliquor cabinet, selected a fine scotch, and poured himself a shot. That was so good he had two more. He didn’t offer any to the major.
    “Oh, yes. Now, Major, we visit the hostages below.”
    In the basement room, the general looked over the people. Some were still crying. He selected a young blonde girl he guessed was a secretary, and a slightly older redhead who looked to have some fire. Both were young and slender.
    “You two, go with the major.”
    The women pulled back. The First Secretary, Frank Underhill, now in charge of the embassy, started forward.
    “At ease, all of you,” said the general. “I’m not going to shoot these hostages. There’s some secretarial work I need to take care of. Both you women can read and write, I assume?”
    They nodded.
    “Very well, go with the major.”
    Upstairs in the ambassador’s suite, the general closed the door, dismissed the major, and pushed the women into the bedroom.
    “Now, ladies, I want both of you to undress without a lot of tears or anger. As they used to say in Texas, you might as well relax and enjoy it. One way or another you’re going to get fucked. Clear?”
    “You have no right.…” the redhead began. His look of anger and rage cut her off.
    The blonde girl began crying softly.
    “No,” Maleceia thundered. The roar stopped her weeping. Slowly both disrobed. They turned their backs as they took off their underwear.
    “Turn around,” the general demanded. They did, and he smiled. “Nice, extremely nice. I like big tits. You’ll enjoy tonight. I’ve never disappointed a woman in my entire life.” He watched them both, men moved first toward the blond woman.
    “You have a name?” he asked.
    “Sally,” she said so softly he could barely