I finished Advanced Training six months after I had entered the Guards, and would spend the next six months with real live Guardsmen completing my training while on the job. I applied for my Permit Card, which would give me access to bordellos when I turned nineteen in six months. I was hoping for a posting to South Florida, or even Jefferson, where my card could be used immediately but instead I was posted to Montana. It would be another six months of abstinence for me.

I had a little time to kill before leaving so I went to visit my cousin Neil. Neil lived in Jefferson but had raped a girl in Texas and as a result had been sentenced to castration, but the procedure was delayed until he turned eighteen. He’d be spending the next two and a half years in a prison school. I wasn’t disappointed when he refused to see me; I didn’t really like him anyway and he deserved to have his nuts cut off. He escaped six months later and was eventually apprehended in Michigan and castrated by a bounty hunter, but that’s another story.

Montana. Big Sky Country. Beautiful green forests and free running streams teeming with trout. Vast herds of sheep and cattle roaming free in deep grass. Maybe in the summer, but I got to the Bitterroot valley right after Christmas and there was snow on the ground and it was colder than a witch’s tit.

Montana is the Northernmost and most isolated state in the Confederacy, and also where most of the action is for the Guards. Most of Idaho’s water originates in Western Montana, and Idaho asserts that the true boundary between the Union and the Confederacy should be moved eastward to the Continental Divide, which would cost Montana and the Confederacy most of the state’s timber and mineral wealth. Idaho Militia troops are massed on their border waiting for a weakness in our defenses, so we must match their numbers on our side of the fence. There have been a small number of exploratory incursions but no major invasion, and since the inclusion of The Superweapon into our arsenal it is doubtful that there will ever be one, but we still must guard the border.

Our post was in the little town of Hamilton, near the South end of the Bitterroot Valley. There were about a hundred Guardsmen assigned to the post, and about a third of us occupied the post while a third operated out of two temporary bases while the other third went out into the mountains on week-long recons. The post had permanent buildings and a good mess hall and you could go into town on the weekends and evenings you didn’t pull duty. We would spend a week there and then rotate to one of the temporary bases, where we lived in tents and utilized a field kitchen and did local motorized patrols. The next week we would be tramping through the snow, an armed and dangerous gang of teenagers looking for someone to kill, freezing our asses off in the little tents and sleeping bags and eating concentrated foods. Then it was back to Hamilton for a week garrison duty and thawing out.

A few guys completed their tours and were replaced by new guys every week, so we constantly had new blood integrating into our units. Half of the troops were Montana Guard and the rest from various other Confederate states and a rivalry quickly developed between the natives, who were used to the cold weather, and the rest of the Guardsmen, who were mostly from the South. They referred to us as pussies afraid of the cold, which we were, and we called them sheep fuckers, which they probably were. We were all on the same side so there was never any open conflict but there was still a definite division in the ranks and we occasionally pulled some shit on each other.

“I hear you Southern boys have field whores in your militia. You go for that kind of stuff, huh?” Connor digged at me. He was a native Montana boy and his dad had a big ranch somewhere.

“Better than rooting around in sheep shit. Hey, I got to help make a field whore after Basic. Want me to show you how?” I responded.

“So tell me, how does a guy’s ass feel, anyway?”

“Like they say up here, not baaaaad. What’s a sheep like?”

“I do not fuck sheep!” Connor said indignantly. I knew right there he was lying: Had he used the contraction ‘I don’t’ I might have believed him, but only a guy who’s lying will say ‘I do not”.

The snow was gradually replaced by the mud in March, and then it was suddenly May and springtime. There was still snow in the high country, but everywhere else it was green and verdant. It was hard to believe that we had been freezing our balls off just six months ago. We all loved it, but especially me: I would turn nineteen early in July, which would not only signify the end of my year’s service, but also the official start of my fucking career. The Sergeant and the older guys had me all pumped up on the joys waiting in the bordellos and I could hardly wait.

May practically flew by and it was soon the last week in June and we were off on what would be my last week’s deployment in the boonies. After that we would be back at Hamilton for a week, then I would turn nineteen and go on a three-day whorehouse binge followed by my separation from active service. Sweet.

The end of Wolf Creek road was the departure point for our patrol of the backcountry, and there was a small SUV at the trailhead. A twenty-something guy and his hot looking wife or whatever were just getting ready to set out for the high divide between Idaho and Montana. “Watch out for bears up there,” Sarge cautioned them, “and also Idaho Militiamen. They aren’t always friendly.”

“That’s okay,” the guy answered in a heavy accent. “Our country is neutral and we have no conflicts with either the Union or the Confederacy.”

“Tourists!” the sergeant muttered disdainfully as they walked away. “Anyway, I know this is your last trip Abbott, but stay sharp anyway, okay?”

“Right, Sergeant,” I answered, shouldering my pack. We had two new guys with us, so the Sergeant had his work cut out for him keeping them lined out on the correct way to run a recon patrol, so he was relying heavily on me and some of the other guys that had the most time in.

Three days later we were on a ridge across a canyon from the Idaho border. “We’ll break here for lunch,” the Sergeant said. “Abbott, you take west guard, Hanson you do east.” I dropped my pack and grabbed my rifle and binoculars and crept out to where I could look over the gorge below us, making sure to stay far enough down the slope to where I wouldn’t stand out on the skyline. I did a quick scan of my sector, then a more careful examination through the powerful glasses. A sudden flash of something white in a clearing across the gorge caught my eye, and I focused in on the bare white ass of one of the tourists. “Hey Sarge,” I called out softly, “maybe you should take a look at this.”

“What?” He said, joining me and raising his own binoculars.

“There. In that small clearing. See them?” She had her legs bent up over his back and he was poking the meat to her, much as in the video the foreign exchange student that lived with us had taken of himself fucking. “Is that the correct way?” I joked.

“Fuck!” was all he managed to say.

“Should I get the other guys?” I asked.

“No. The newbies already have their heads up their asses. This would completely destroy their concentration.” He said, keeping his glasses to his eyes. “Uh oh, trouble!”

The couple was suddenly rudely interrupted by the appearance of four blue clad soldiers of the Idaho Militia. It was obvious to me what they had in mind, even before they rudely grabbed the guy and tied him to a tree so he could witness her violation. “Can’t we do something, Sarge?” I asked.

“No. They’re across the border in Idaho. Bastards.” He was right, it was out of our jurisdiction, and all we could do anyway was shoot at them and the range was so great that we’d just as likely hit one of the civilians.

They each took a turn raping her as the guy struggled against the ropes that bound him to the tree, banging his head in rage and despair. It was over quickly and the militiamen stood their smoking and joking until one of them suddenly went to where the guy was tied. He reached between the hiker’s legs and I saw the guy increase his struggles and his mouth open in a scream I couldn’t hear, and then the sudden flash of a knife and then the militiaman tossing something into the brush. He stepped away and I could plainly see the red streak down the hiker’s naked leg as the blood flowed from the castration wound.

“Jesus!” The Sergeant shouldered his carbine and fired a quick volley across the gorge, causing the militiamen to scatter. “Call in Air Evac!” The Sergeant told the communications specialist. Give them the coordinates of that little clearing there,” he pointed down the ridgeline a hundred yards from where the hikers were. “It’s on the Montana side. The girl will have to get him that far by herself. It’d take us half a day to cross over there and we still can’t go into Idaho.”

We assumed positions of concealment and watched as the woman slowly collected herself and tended to her partner, and then a white civilian air ambulance helio arrived and landed right next to them. That was good thinking on someone’s part; a military evac chopper couldn’t have landed in Idaho.

The other guys hadn’t seen the whole show and weren’t as affected as the Sergeant and I, and they continued the usual sexual banter that evening as we ate and bedded down. “I’ll kill your buttfucking ass if you near me with your boner tonight, Dixon,” one of the Montana boys told a southerner.

“You wouldn’t know what to do with a hard on if you ever got one, Wallace,” came the reply. I didn’t join in. I had resolved to save myself for the Birthday Bordello Bash and not jack off for the next week and it had been hard, no pun intended, to manage. Now, all I had to do was remember the sight of the militiamen castrating the helpless hiker and my boner wilted like a wet noodle. My body’s reaction surprised me; the castration that I’d witnesses in training had left me horny as hell, this one made me go soft, and I was naturally worried that I wouldn’t be able to get it up on my birthday.

I needn’t have worried, though. The big day came and went, leaving me spermed out to a degree that I haven’t since matched.