Defiled by the Soldier

“We’re low on food. Nobody gets additional rations.”

The sun hangs low on the horizon, sending tropical beams of light peeking through my tent’s entrance.

“Commander, you’re going to have a mutiny if you don’t do something about this. Give us more food.” A soldier stands before me, his green eyes harsh and focused.

“I’m sorry, Tyson. Everyone gets the same allotment—even me.”

His determined expression remains unchanged. He’s a new recruit, and his groomed black hair and stubbled chin emit an air of refinement. The sturdy pecs bulging beneath his tank top signal physical conditioning that began long before his military training. He’s healthy and full of energy—a stark contrast to my gray hair and tired eyes. A few months in this wartime hell will rough him up. He’ll grow weathered and fatigued, just like the rest of us.

“Alright, Commander Jim Weber. You’re the boss, I suppose.” His tone is disrespectful and sarcastic. “I’ll let the other guys know.”

He turns and exits, leaving me in relative silence. Far in the distance, the sound of explosions can be heard—something we’ve all grown used to. This war has raged for almost a year now, and it shows no signs of stopping. The economy back home has been stalling, and our allotment of supplies has grown more and more austere. It’s reaching a dangerous level—the soldiers are becoming dissatisfied with their meager food rations and minimal pay.

“When will this end?” I mutter to myself as I step toward a table in the center of my tent.

A wide map is spread across the surface. Red and blue lines are scrawled across the thick parchment, detailing plans for our next offensive strike. I’ve spent my life in the military, but this war has tested my limits. The enemy is aggressive, and the jungle terrain is rough and inhospitable. Our next attack is important—if we succeed, we’ll acquire farms with enough food to keep my men satisfied. If we lose, then we’ll have to retreat.

Palm trees sway in the evening breeze as I step outside. Their lush leaves cast ominous, spider-like shadows on the ground. There’s an aura of tension in the air tonight, and a group of soldiers loiters near the campfire, whispering while shaking their heads. Tyson sits among them, his eyes darting toward me while he speaks…is he talking about me?

“Hey.” I give a small wave as I approach.

The men immediately cease their conversations.

“Hello, Commander.” Tyson sits up at attention.

“I don’t know about you, but nights like this remind me of home,” I say, trying to break the tension. “I have a wife and a young son, you know. I’m just like you—eager to get out of this hellhole.”

There’s an awkward silence before Tyson speaks.

“Sir, we were discussing the salary situation,” he says.

“Salary situation?”

“If we can’t get more rations, then something needs to change. The government should increase our pay so that we have something to look forward to when we get home. Unlike you, most of us are single with few prospects when we return.”

I lean back and sigh. Such decisions are beyond my control. Any requests I make to my superiors will fall on deaf ears.

“I’m sorry, but that won’t get approved. There’s really nothing I can do about it.”

Tyson’s bushy brows furrow while a thin scowl forms on his lips.

“That’s bullshit.”

“Excuse me?” I raise an eyebrow. “Are you really talking to your commander like that?”

“Yeah, I am! I speak for everyone here when I say that we’re fed up. You’re asking us to put our lives on the line, and you don’t even have the decency to request food or a bit more cash. Fuck this!”

Several men seated nearby nod in agreement. It’s unusual for anyone here to speak out of turn. Insubordination isn’t tolerated in the military, and I need to make an example of Tyson. If I don’t, then my authority will be questioned. Failure to show strength could have major implications. The leadership structure here would break down.

“You’re out of line!” I stand and glare down at him. “You’re relieved of your duties for the week. You’ll be doing dishes and laundry. No leaving camp!”

“You think I’m a bitch?!” He rises and faces me.

There’s a moment of silence while we simply glare at each other. He’s a full head taller than me, and I have to tilt my face upward to look into his hateful eyes.

“Get back to your goddamn tent!” My voice is low and gravelly.

“Fucking pay me!” He moves forward, pressing his chest against mine and scowling.

In my entire career, I’ve never encountered someone like this. What kind of a new recruit would treat their superior this way? It’s bizarre. It’s ballsy.

As we stay frozen in this strange position, I become aware of something odd. There’s a briny scent in the air—the wind is carrying ocean fragrances toward us. There’s something else though…a dense, faint heaviness. It’s musty and wet. It smells like a dirty college locker room.

For a moment, I lose my train of thought.

My eyes dart up toward Tyson’s thick black hair. It’s damp and matted. This smell…it’s his sweat.

He leers down, pushing his chest up against mine so hard I can feel his heartbeat. I take in lungful after lungful of his dirty perspiration. He never stops looking into my eyes, but I keep glancing at his vibrant hair and masculine jawline.

Part of me feels a bit envious…he’s an undeniably handsome man.

Fuck…why am I thinking that?! He’s questioning me…I need to punish him.

“I…um…” I stumble over my words in an uncharacteristic display of indecisiveness.

“You’re going to fucking increase our wages!”

“I can’t…but I could maybe do something else for you.” The words drip from my lips, but I’m not fully sure what I mean.

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

My mind reels as I blurt out my reply.

“I could…share my savings with you.”