A DOG OF WAR

When we arrived at the camp, the Toadie broke free from the crowd and hurried over, shouting his humorous greeting.

        Wez ignored him and steered the bike through the crowd. He guided us straight to where the Humungus sat with two Mohawkers and four Smegma Crazies.

        The muscular leader turned his head in our direction. God, this man made me nervous. Thanks to his iron mask, one could not judge any reactions on his face, nor barely make out his eyes. Why did he wear the mask?

        Wez brought the bike to a halt and he got off the seat, heading straight to the Humungus.
I remained on the motorcycle, heeding Wez’s order he earlier gave me.

        Two women broke free from a group and edged closer to the bike. I ignored their stares and focused my attention on Wez. So the women walked passed the big Kawasaki, looking in my direction. I didn’t spare them a glance.

        “Are you mute?” the red-haired woman asked.
 

        I said nothing.
 

        “Away,” Wez growled, waving his arm in a shooing manner.
 

        The women obeyed and headed in another direction, quickly swallowed up by the throngs of marauders.
 

        Patiently, I sat, watching Wez confer with the leader. Then he strode away and headed back to the bike.
 

        “Come,” he gestured. “We eat.”
 

        I got off the motorcycle and followed him. It was late afternoon by now and soon the sun would disappear behind the desert hills.
 

        We headed to the center of the camp. Wez pointed to where the supplies were kept and then took a seat on a rock. I realized he wanted me to get his meal. I noticed the women in the camp were also retrieving food and I flushed since I was the only male performing this task for someone. The men without mates saw to their own needs by grabbing cans of food.
 

        I glanced at the women, realizing now why they wanted to speak to me. Had they’d been the spoils of war? Were their homes pillaged? Is this how they came to be a part of the Dogs of War the Humungus led?
 

        Now I grew confused. What possessed Wez to capture me? Why not a woman?

        I headed back over to where he sat and handed him the can of food.
 

        Wez glanced at me. “Where’s yours?”
 

        So again I made the trip to the supply car and sifted through the scavenged food. Dammit, more dog food. I reached for a can and made a beeline back to Wez.
 

        Without hesitating, I dug into the food since it had been a long day. After raiding, fucking and fighting, I was beat. Wez sensed my listlessness and after we finished our meal, he motioned for me to rise.
 

        Evening was now drawing near and the camp was lighted with bonfires. Wez grabbed a torch from another marauder and I followed him to our tent.
 

        He opened the flap and I stepped inside.
 

        “Get undressed,” he ordered me.
 

        My pulse quickened with anticipation since I longed to experience that wondrous, lusty feeling again.

        Once my clothes were removed, he motioned for me to remove his.
 

        I lifted off his huge shoulder padding and set the steel object on the ground. Then I removed his boots and undid the buckle to his chaps. While I finished removing the rest of his garments, he spoke.
 

        “Each morning and night, you get my meal. Once the sun sets, you come here and wait for me to fuck you. When I arrive, you remove my armor.”
 

        “Yes,” I replied, setting his waistband to the side.
 

        “You do not talk with the women,” he continued on.
 

        I nodded my head.
 

        “And you are forbidden to leave camp. The only time you leave is with me,” he harshly stated.  Then he frowned. “Remember, you are mine.”

        I set the rest of his clothing aside and took a seat beside him, nodding my head.
 

        He reached forward, touching my chin with the tips of his fingers. “You will not think of the people who raised you. No more sadness. I do not want to see that look in your eyes again.”
 

        Now I stared at him in disbelief. I couldn’t even think? “Why?”
 

        His eyes narrowed. “You think to question me, Golden Youth?”
 

        I cleared my throat. “Not questioning, just asking why.”
 

        “You think too much,” he coolly replied. “Always so quiet. If so quiet, you must be thinking. I don’t believe you just sit and not think.”
 

        I stared at my hands.
 

        “Look at me,” he ordered.
 

        I gazed at him.
 

        “I am your master now. I am your protector. Your body and mind is mine. And I not want you thinking of sad memories. This is your life now. You have no choice but to accept. I will never let you go.”

        “Why me?” I softly muttered, gazing at him under my lashes. “There’s many pretty women here . . . Many pretty women you must see on raids.”

        Now he gave a hissy laugh. He reached forward and fingered my hair. “Locks like the sun. Face as smooth as my satin wrap. Why have a pretty woman when I can have a beautiful golden youth?
 

        “Quiet, yea, you are. But is a soft quiet. Is part of your beauty. Your courage is in here,” he said, pointing at my heart. “You not need strength since you use this,” he continued on, touching my head.
 

        “Why did you kill my family?” I asked.
 

        Oh God, I never should have brought up that question. His body wound with tension and I could see the veins standing out on his forehead.
 

        “Enough talk,” he barked. “I fuck you now.”
 

        So I let him have his way with me and again, I was an eager participant, letting him coax my body to life. When we finished, he grabbed the fur-skinned hide and drew the blanket over us. I rested my head on his chest and he encircled his arm around my shoulder while drawing his free arm over me, resting his hand on my bicep.
 

        I didn’t expect him to give me any true answers. Only time would answer the probing, burning questions spinning in my mind.
 

        How did he end up as a Dog of War? When did he meet the Humungus? What kind of life did he lead before encountering this marauding group? Or did he form this unit with the Humungus? At one point he’d been an adolescent just like me. Now he seemed to be in his late twenties. What had his life been like before the Great War? Just how on earth did he wind up a sadistic killer who took pleasure in watching people die by his hand or on his command?
 

        “I said no thinking, Golden Youth,” he muttered.
 

        “I wasn’t thinking,” I lied.
 

        “You are tense. I know you think,” he said. “Go to sleep.”
 

        So I did.

*****

        I soon learned pillaging was their only goal in life. Each day was the same. Wez would lead a raid with members from the Mohawkers, Smegma Crazies and Gayboy Berserkers accompanying us. While Wez would join his comrades in killing, I would sit on the bike and watch the torturous events unfold. And once the raid was finished, we would drive off on the big Kawasaki and celebrate in the manner we did on my first pillage.

        When we led another raid, about six months after Wez captured me, I realized then I was slowly being stripped of the last of my humanity, my assimilation almost complete.
 

        We had moved the camp by then since we had pretty much looted every possible place. Just like animals, we staked out new territory deeper in the wasteland to hunt and find more prey.
 

        By now, I think I marked my sixteenth birthday. I wasn’t sure, but the time of year was familiar to me.

        Anyway, I rode shotgun and Wez led the way on the big Kawasaki. Instead of ambushing the farm, we stopped just before a hill. On Wez’s command, everyone steered their vehicles to the rocks that would give us cover.
 

        I remained on the bike while Wez motioned for the marauders to follow him. They drew out their binoculars and deftly eyed the compound. A huge barb-wire fence was erected to keep out trespassers. Farm animals were penned in and three vehicles were parked next to the house. To the right of the home a well had been erected so it was apparent the settlers dug deep enough for water. A storm shelter was situated off to the side of the house, most likely to hide the women and children if they were raided, or it could have held weapons.
 

        The compound was a gold mine in the marauders’ eyes. I could almost smell their hunger and feel their excitement.
 

        All afternoon we observed this place. I knew Wez wanted an idea of how many men guarded this establishment and what kind of weaponry were used to defend the compound.
 

        Finally, around late afternoon, we left as silently as we arrived. As we road back to camp, Wez drove at top speed, pushing the engine of the bike to the limit. I knew he wanted to meet with the Humungus as quickly as possible, ready to tell his leader of the great news.
 

        When the camp came into site, Wez gunned the engine and the big bike became airborne as we left the highway and landed in the sand. He didn’t slow the motorcycle. Barreling at top speed, he road through the camp until he reached the Humungus’s vehicle.
 

        Wez quickly got off the bike and strode over to the leader. The Gayboy Berserkers and Mohawkers who accompanied us also hurried forward.
 

        They began speaking at once, all gesturing, telling the Humungus of the gold we struck.
 

        “At least twenty men,” Wez announced.
 

        By now evening arrived and the bonfires were lighted. I continued to sit patiently on the bike for about another half-hour while Wez and his cronies continued to speak with the Humungus.
 

        Finally, Wez remembered I sat on the motorcycle. He turned to me, gesturing that I could get off and eat. So I got off the bike and headed to the center of the camp to retrieve some food.
 

        I grabbed a can of dog meat and took a seat on the ground, opening the top as I dipped my fingers into the wet, processed gunk. Once I finished, I tossed the can in the bonfire. Drawing up my legs, I wrapped my arms around my thighs and rested my head.
 

        But Wez never came. He remained with the Humungus and the other marauders, still going over some kind of battle plan.
 

        So I just watched the revelry of the others. Yet, the longer I waited, the more annoyed I became. Maybe I even felt a bit lonely? Was Wez’s excitement so great he didn’t care to eat and then accompany me to the tent so we could have sex and then sleep?
 

        As the night wore on, I began to grow tired. I was thankful when a Mohawker offered me a blanket. He was the man who did my tattoos. So I leaned up against a log and drew the covering over my chilled body.

        The man took a seat beside me.  “Why not go to sleep?” he asked.
 

        “Can’t,” I softly replied.
 

        The man nodded his head in understanding, realizing I still had to serve Wez his dinner. He then turned and gazed at me.

        I curiously looked back at him. It was the first time someone tried to engage me in conversation. Usually, everyone just left me alone. The only time I joined a circle of marauders was when Wez felt like socializing.
 

        “You’re no longer fearful,” he pointed out.
 

        I did not reply.
 

        “You have nothing to fear. Your master is second-in-command. You are part of the Humungus’s guard.”

        I knew what he meant. Because of Wez, I was considered one of the elite, belonging to the tight circle of our leader’s most trusted. I was higher up on the food chain then men more powerful and stronger than me.

        “Is good you keep quiet,” the man pointed out. “Is not good to speak so much. You lose respect and people not fear you.” Then he gave a snort as he looked to the Toadie.
 

        “You know what his name mean?” he asked.
 

        I shook my head.
 

        “A toady is someone who is obedient and serves others to win their favor.”
 

        Now my eyes widened. Did he just describe me?
 

        The man gave a low laugh. “Do not look that way. You not kiss ass to stay alive. And you not have to fight. You have your beauty and is a very powerful weapon. More powerful than brains or brawn.”
 

        Now I cast him a questioning look.
 

        He gave another laugh. “Do not underestimate yourself, Golden Youth. And don’t think beauty is weaker than strength.
 

        “A wasteland we live in. It try kill all life. But life still grows. Why?”
 

        I stared at him, baffled and shook my head.
 

        “We scavenge for gasoline, food and water to stay alive. Why do we stay alive?”
 

        “I don’t know,” I replied.
 

        “Think,” he muttered. Then he gave an exasperated sigh. “Respect is prized. Gasoline is prized. And in this land, we still live. Life has not stopped. What keeps life going?”
 

        “I dunno. Cause people have children?” I asked.
 

        He smiled then, nodding his head. “Sex,” he simply said. “Men still desire sex above anything. And you possess what all men want.
 

        “Beauty, it make a man fight hard. He want to please his mate. He fights for gasoline, food and water. Why? So he can share with his lover.
 

        “Yea, he can keep all to himself. But what good is it if he not have a beautiful mate to share with? If a man is alone, it all mean nothing. Is just a walking death of survival.”
 

        I knitted my brows then, letting his words sink in. Was he telling me I was more powerful than Wez? Did he just insinuate I wasn’t the servant after all? Yes, I was weaker and an obedient mate, but yet, did I possess more power than my master? No, this couldn’t be true.
 

        “Look,” he said.
 

        I glanced up and realized Wez stared in our direction.
 

        “He is always aware of your presence,” the man pointed out. “And now, he not happy that you speak to someone other than him. He want you to hang onto his every word, not mine.
 

        “He will come over so I must leave.”
 

        Sure enough, Wez walked from the Humungus’s vehicle, boring down on me as his eyes flashed with anger. The man moved away and joined another group of marauders.
 

        “What did he want?” Wez snarled as he took a seat on the log.
 

        “Nothing,” I replied. “He just wanted to know if I ate.”
 

        He turned so fast, I jumped. He cradled his fingers under my chin. “Do not lie to me, Golden Youth. He not just ask if you ate. He talk long time with you.”
 

        “He wanted nothing,” I insisted. Then I quickly changed the subject. “Are you hungry, Master? What would you like me to serve you?”
 

        Wez gave a grunt and with the way his eyes lit up, I knew he liked the name I gave him. And he seemed a bit smug, glad I wanted to rise and serve him his meal, which in his mind, he thought he deserved.
 

        After my lesson with the Mohawker, I realized now why I did my best just a moment ago to appease Wez. After all, his badgering ceased once I turned the conversation in my favor by stroking his massive ego. I finally understood the power of manipulation.
 

        I rose off the ground and headed to the center of the camp, smiling secretly to myself. As I bent over to retrieve a can of food, I realized the Mohawker could be right after all.
 

*****
 

        Before the sun rose, Wez shook me. My lids flickered and I opened my eyes. I could make out the faded camp fires that burned low, only giving off a smidgen of light. All was quiet except for muffled voices.
 

        “Come,” he said. “Is time to leave.”
 

        I reached for my clothes and hurriedly dressed. Then I assisted Wez into his armor. He motioned at the paint kit and I retrieved the small compact. He tilted his head back, waiting for me to ready him. So I dipped my fingers into the white paint and ran the color in a horizontal line across his face in two streaks. Then I marked his arms.
 

        He rose off the fur covering and motioned me to follow him.
 

        We vacated the tent and headed to the big Kawasaki. Already, ten Gayboy Berserkers waited, along with ten Mohawkers and ten Smegma Crazies.
 

        I realized this was going to be our most dangerous raid. Why else would thirty men set out? Now I grew fearful.
 

        Wez got on the bike and I slid on behind him. Rebel handed me my bat. I didn’t carry this weapon since my first raid. Oh God, why did they feel I needed this protection?
 

        But driving straight into danger didn’t seem to bother Wez. He started the bike, motioning with his arm for everyone to follow him as he led the way to the highway.
 

        We shot off at top speed. All I could hear was the roar of the gunning engines. Rebel and another Mohawker rode up front with us.
 

        “Don’t think,” Wez shouted over the roar of the bike.
 

        I nodded my head. Fear was our ally after all. Always, our opponents failed since they feared us and tried to protect their loves ones. One had to ride into battle with the intent of showing no mercy, to never hesitate, be without emotion or feeling, and devious enough to toss all scruples aside since the only objective was to walk away the victor.
 

        “I said don’t think,” Wez growled.
 

        I gasped then, realizing why he was upset. He didn’t like the fact I was scared since that meant I did not have faith in his ability to protect me. He needed my reassurance so his mind would be set at ease. I could cost us this battle if he was not intently focused only on the raid.
 

        “Yes, Master,” I called out over the noise of the engine. “I know you will lead us to victory. Nobody is stronger or more powerful than you.” I lifted my hand off the seat of the bike and gave his hip a quick caress.
 

        Wez nodded his head, pleased I obeyed and worshiped him in the manner he demanded from me.
 

        So I tried to concentrate on the scenery as we barreled down the highway. But morning had yet to break. Our attack would be at dawn, the best time for an ambush.
 

        After a good forty-five minutes passed, we finally came upon the rocks we hid behind yesterday. This time we didn’t cut the engines and get off. Wez looked to the Landau and a former MFP Cruiser modified for battle. The men inside the vehicles nodded their heads.
 

        They began the descent down the hill at stop speed, leading the way to knock down the fencing so the rest of us could get inside the compound.
 

        “Do not get off the bike,” Wez warned me under his breath.
 

        I gave his thigh a squeeze so he knew I had every intention of obeying his order.
 

        Don’t think. Push away any thoughts. The master is tense. He needs your reassurance and faith in him. Without your approval, he will not lead this battle like the powerful warrior that he is.
 

        The Landau and the Cruiser easily knocked down the fence and with Wez, Rebel and another Mohawker in the lead, we raced down the hill.
 

        Two men stood on guard. Already, they had alerted the occupants inside the house with the blast of an air horn.

        Wez gave a war cry when he gunned the engine at stop speed and we entered the compound.
 

        The cellar doors opened and at least fifteen men charged out, armed with projectile weaponry along with hand-to-hand combat artillery. They were already dressed for battle. I realized then who actually occupied the storm shelter. Each night these men slept in the dank cellar, ready to do battle when the guards blasted the horn.
 

        The crossfire was intense. From both sides, arrows flew through the air.
 

        The defenders had rolled out old gasoline barrels and they used the big cans to ward off our fire.
 

        Wez and Rebel raised their right arms in the air, circling with their fists, motioning to our men we had to regroup.
 

        The vehicles seemed to know what to do. They rolled by us one by one, forming a barrier we could hide behind. Now it was going to be a standoff.
 

        Wez steered the bike behind the Landau. He motioned for me to get off. I flipped my leg over the seat and dropped behind the big Kawasaki.
 

        I clutched my bat against my chest, watching Wez scoop up the rifle crossbow. The men continued to load and fire their crossbows. Again, they repeated the same procedure.
 

        Wez motioned to me and pointed at the bike. I grabbed his saddlebag and slithered over to him. I dropped the pack at his feet. He reached inside and grabbed an old soda bottle. He then looked to Rebel.
 

        Rebel seemed to know what to do. He rose off the ground and yanked up a bike. He tore off in the opposite direction while all of our men stood firing, forming a barricade so Rebel could get away.
 

        “Get the gas,” Wez barked at two Gayboy Berserkers.
 

        So in sync, all of our men stood and began firing their crossbows. The two Berserkers used that time to flip open the trunk and they grabbed two gas cans.
 

        By now our men were reloading their weapons. As the one Berserker tried to duck back behind the safety of the vehicle, the defenders released their arrows and he was struck in the chest and his throat. He fell over and crashed to the ground, his eyes open and staring, killed on impact.
 

        Just then Rebel came back at top speed. Everything that followed next happened in unison.
 

        The crossbows were reloaded and our men all stood and again fired. At the same time, Wez doused the bottle and the cloth inside with the gasoline from his flask. He struck the match and lit the end. In sync with Wez, a Berserker and a Smegma Crazy tossed the open gas cans at the defenders. Then Rebel released the bike and he was airborne as he crashed against a chase car while the motorcycle flew threw the air and landed in front of the defenders. Wez followed with the bottle.
 

        The explosion was intense. Men cried out. A defender was on fire and he rolled on the ground helplessly. Leftover gas in their barrels caught the flames and more explosions filled the air.
 

        The Berserkers, Mohawkers and Smegma Crazies rushed forward, firing their crossbows. Now that the standoff was finished, it would be hand-to-hand combat.
 

        Rebel crawled over to me and I knew his leg was broken. Yet, I could have hugged him for his courage. Without that bike’s engine to set off the explosion, we’d still be standing off.
 

        He motioned for me to hand him the crossbow and I did. We remained behind the protection of the Landau as screams, shouts and cries filled the air. The defenders were no match for the Dogs of War.

   
        Rebel looked over the Landau and he fired the crossbow. I knew he was put out since he could no longer participate but he’d get his kills in. The arrow struck a defender and the man fell to the ground, the shaft sticking out from his chest.
 

        Now the men began torching the house, which would bring the women and children outside. While the Mohawkers and Gayboy Berserkers continued to do battle, the Smegma Crazies began the scavenge. They headed to the cellar, knowing the precious juice was kept in the storm shelter. Others began slaughtering the animals that we’d cart back to the camp site to be skinned and gutted.
 

        “Is almost over,” Rebel shouted to me as he again fired his crossbow.
 

        He was right. The shouting and yelling slowly began to cease from the defenders and now screams and shrieks replaced the men’s hollering. The women were forced out of the house due to the fire and they were running aimlessly, some carrying children.
 

        “Help me up,” Rebel barked.
 

        I stood and assisted him so he could stand on his one leg.
 

        “Keep those four alive,” Wez hollered over the noise.
 

        I turned and watched two Mohawkers aim their crossbows on the remaining defenders. They handcuffed the men and led them to the Landau.
 

        “Golden Youth,” Wez shouted.
 

        I let go of Rebel and he leaned on the car. Quickly, I walked over to where my master stood.
 

        The defenders cursed us as they helplessly watched their women being raped by our men.
 

        I drew up beside Wez. He looked at me, cocking his brow. I gazed back at him. Then I realized he waited for my signal. He wanted me to order this man’s death.
 

        “For you,” Wez said as he gave a hissy laugh.
 

        I looked at the man who seemed to plead for his life by the way his eyes begged me to show him mercy. He wanted me to call off Wez.
 

        I looked to my master. The men he led surrounded us. To not give my approval would be an act of disloyalty. And yet, as I gazed at the defender, I realized this male only fought to protect those he loved. He was willing to lay down his life for the compound so his wife and children could have food in their bellies and a roof over their heads.
 

        “Golden Youth,” Wez hissed.
 

        I nodded my head, looking at the man’s heart.
 

        My master released the arrow. All I heard was a gurgling sound coming from the man as the life slipped from his body.
 

        Wez smiled at me. I held his stare. My last ounce of humanity had been wiped from my soul when I silently gave the order. I had now truly joined the devils who created hell on earth.
 

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