by Lou Cameron
On this sweltering, voodoo-crazed island, the British Empire is breathing its last, subject to the forays of a marauding army of runaways and doped-up derelicts who have unleashed a reign of terror, death and destruction upon a local population hysterically possessed by zombies.
The British need a man to take charge, shoot straight and spit in the enemy’s eye. Captain Gringo’s that man – tough, brutal, a no-nonsense survivor who makes war for profit and love for free across two continents and a thousand heartbreaks. Captain Gringo – no man can stop him, and no woman can refuse him!
Chapter One
The machine gun stuttered hysterically at the jungle wall across the clearing as a long ragged line of eerie figures left the cover of the tree line. The sun hung low above the treetops to the west. The sky was a big, inverted bowl of blood. Everything was bathed in a hellfire-red light. But it wasn’t the lighting that had the plantation guards so frightened. It was the ominous silent calm of the attacking skirmish line. They didn’t shout; they didn’t run; they didn’t wave their machetes. They just kept coming as the machine gun hosed them down with hot lead.
One of the guards stared stupidly as he clicked his empty revolver at the oncoming line. Then he gasped, “¡Nombre de Dios! Vamanos, muchachos.” and, suiting action to his words, ran like hell.
The machine-gun crew was made of sterner stuff. El Patron had assured them the marvelous new weapon would stop anything that walked this earth, and in God’s truth, it fired awesomely. But there was something wrong. Something that hadn’t been included in the book of instructions that came with the new machine gun. The ragged line from the jungle, for some strange reason, kept coming!
They didn’t charge. They weren’t even walking fast. The red-lit figures almost strolled across the ploughed red soil, holding their machetes as if they were sleepy peones moving into the fields to start another weary day, cutting cane. But there was no cane to cut. The only and too obvious targets of those ruby-gleaming blades were the frightened men around the machine gun, and the machine gun wasn’t stopping the advance enough to matter!
Oh, some of the oddly detached attackers were going down. The gunner grunted in satisfaction as he saw one man stagger and fall. But then, to his horror, the man got up again, picked up his fallen machete, and kept coming!
The belt man sobbed, “It’s no use! I told you ordinary bullets can’t stop a zombie” But the gunner groaned, “Shut up, and feed this gun! There is no such thing as a zombie, damn your eyes!”
But in truth, he was frightened to the point of wetting his own pants as he swung the muzzle back and forth at what was now almost point-blank range. If the attackers were not zombies, they certainly looked and acted like zombies. Like the gunner and his comrades, the attackers were that West Indian mélange of Hispanic-Indian-African that results in a curiously raceless breed of tawny dark men dressed in white cotton and straw.
The people coming at him were neither larger nor smaller than the ones he was used to fighting. They didn’t look particularly fierce. Their faces, as they came nearer in the ruby light, were devoid of any expression at all. They looked half-asleep, or, Madre de Dios—dead!
“To your left!” the belt man sobbed, and the gunner swung his muzzle to cover a large, more Negroid man bearing down on them with upraised machete. The gunner fired into him point-blank and stitched a row of dark-red blossoms across the black man’s chest.
He staggered back a few paces, shook his head as if he was a bull with a fly between its horns, and then kept coming!
“¡Jesus, por favor!” gasped the gunner, firing again, and this time the big Negro went down and stayed there. But the belt man shouted, “Run!” and the gunner glanced to his right to see a large, heavy woman, bleeding from the mouth, almost on top of him with her own machete high and gleaming like the hinges of hell in the sunset.
It was the last thing the gunner ever saw. His belt man made it almost thirty paces before another machete, thrown end over end, caught him between the shoulder blades.
Most of the guard detail got away. They didn’t stop running until they’d put a good three kilometers between themselves and the plantation they’d been ordered to guard. By then the sun was down, but the sky still glowed red to the west. The attackers were methodically burning yet another plantation of the Pantropic Sugar Trust. It would make it the third in as many weeks. This latest attack was obviously not going to be the last. And sugar prices were up, damn it. Pantropic had not invested in new guards and the latest technology only to go out of business during a sugar boom.
And so a phone rang before midnight and Sir Basil Hakim listened with a pained expression as his caller described him as a cheating scoundrel, an Armenian rug salesman, and a stupid dwarf. Then, the salutations out of the way, Sir Basil sighed and said, “I am a British subject of Turkish ancestry, and I fail to see how your rude remarks about my size has anything to do with the products I sold you. Are you suggesting those machine guns you ordered from us don’t work?”
The small dapper arms merchant yawned and held the earphone away from his gray head while a steady stream of curses crackled over the wire. He lay nude, propped on pillows in his fourposter, and the blonde, with her head between his raised knees, offered a most enjoyable diversion. But business came before pleasure and he ordered her to stop sucking as the tirade over the phone ran down for lack of breath if not inspiration.
Hakim gingerly placed the earphone against his head and said, “If you are through swearing, I have a few suggestions to make. Since the guns fire, they are obviously not being fired right. I have a very good ordinance man on my payroll. I think we’d better have him take a look at the situation and find out what’s wrong before we curse each other any further. I’ll get back to you after I make a few calls.”
He hung up and asked the blonde, “Would you be good enough to go over to that desk and fetch my address book, my dear? I’m sure I have Captain Gringo’s last known whereabouts—under T for Trouble.”
The call girl slid off the satin sheets and went over to the oak desk as Hakim gazed admiringly after her. Like many small men, Hakim liked his bedmates big, but as a man of taste he chose nothing but the best, and she rather resembled a goddess carved from pink marble. The blonde found the book and brought it to him, sitting beside him as she handed it over with a puzzled frown. As Hakim leafed through it, she asked, “Isn’t Captain Gringo that big American soldier of fortune? The one you had so much trouble with in Panama that time?”
Hakim chuckled fondly and replied, “Yes, he really spoiled a deal we had. I’ve never met a young man so good at starting and stopping revolutions all by himself.”
The blonde stroked her master’s genitals, saw he really had his mind on other matters, and said, “Forgive me if I seem curious, but didn’t you have a murder contract out on Captain Gringo a while ago?”
Hakim said, “Ah, here it is. He’s in Costa Rica. I did try to have him killed a few months ago. But he got my assassins. I told you he was good.”
Hakim picked up the phone and asked the operator to patch him through to Costa Rica. He knew it would take a few minutes, so he began to stroke the blonde’s thigh. But now her curiosity was up, and she said, “I know business is business, but this is ridiculous, Basil! Have you forgotten Captain Gringo has promised to shoot you on sight?”
Basil Hakim chuckled and said, “Crush me like a beetle, I believe, were the words he used. He’s a rather bitter young man. More to the point, he’s the best machine gunner in Latin America. That’s why I intend to hire him to clean up this mess.”
“Do you really think he’ll work for you, dear?”
“Hell, he’s a soldier of fortune. A soldier of fortune will fight for the devil, if the price is right. A
nd as you above all people should know, I pay top dollar for services rendered.”
Hakim’s contact agent in Costa Rica was a statuesque brunette who called herself Lilo Holzendorf. The first name on her passport had been given her by a family who preferred to think she was dead. Her original last name had started with a ‘Von,’ but Lilo had preferred a life of adventure to the stuffy morality of the East Prussian aristocracy. She still looked like a lady, dressed and on her feet. She was looking forward to getting to know the American they’d told her so much about from a horizontal state of dishabille. Unlike many spies, Lilo enjoyed sexual intrigue. That was why she worked for Sir Basil Hakim. He’d bought her from Krupp, along with a formula for laminated steel armor plate and an improved patent regarding recoil cylinders. Hakim only dealt in deadly weapons.
Neither Captain Gringo nor his little old sidekick, Gaston Verrier, were to be found at the address Sir Basil had given her. So Lilo was a bit fatigued and not a little worried that afternoon as she made her way to the luxurious quarters of another female spy. Like Lilo, the other spy was one of the many Germans living in Costa Rica’s large European colony. Unlike Lilo, she worked for British Intelligence, so the matter was a bit delicate. But Sir Basil had assured Lilo he’d been busy on that wonderful new invention, the telephone.
The other girl was blonde and expecting her. She ushered Lilo into a rather exotic bedroom, tossed aside the kimono she’d worn to the door, and sprawled naked across her fourposter to say, “Ich heis Hilda Rodenau. Und dich?”
Lilo perched primly on a hassock near the bed, and answered, “We’d best speak English. After all, our employers are British, nicht wahr?”
Hilda shrugged and said, “I noticed the Von in your accent, Toots. I’m a peasant girl and proud of it. But I’ll pretend we’re both nice little English girls if that’s the way you want to play. What’s the story? I understand the Jew you work for is looking for Captain Gringo. He must be crazy.”
Lilo sniffed and said, “Sir Basil is a Turk, I believe. I know he belongs to the same club as His Highness, the Prince of Wales.”
“Yeah, yeah, the prince has stock in Hakim’s Woodbine Arms Limited, too, and since Hakim owns a slice of Krupp, we’re all one big happy family.”
“Exactly. I understand you know where Captain Gringo can be found these days. Or should I say nights?”
Hilda ran a wistful hand over her nude pubis as she sighed, “Ach, those were the good old days. We broke up when he found out I worked for the Crown.”
“But you can locate him for me?”
“I have some people out looking for him. He’s still in town. But we’d better talk about just how you’ll approach him, Fraulein Von. Hakim must have told you he’s a rather unusual man.”
Lilo shrugged and said, “I read his dossier. He strikes me as the usual soldier of fortune, perhaps a bit better looking, and better able to hold his drinks. But I’ve never met a man I couldn’t twist around my finger.”
To Lilo’s disgust, the blousy Hilda actually seemed to be masturbating now, as she sighed and said, “I used to say that, before I went to bed with him. Gott, if only he hadn’t caught me lying to him. Would you take some advice from a girl who’s been there?”
“I really don’t think I need advice on how to handle a man, Hilda.”
“You’re wrong. Getting Dick into bed is no problem. He likes girls. If you want to spend two nights with him, forget what Hakim will have told you. If I can get you to him, don’t play games. Tell him right away who you are and what you want.”
“That’s not the way it’s usually done.”
“I know. They make us play chess when the game is usually checkers. Dick is a very bitter man. He gets angry when people try to play tricks on him.”
“That’s the second time you’ve called him Dick. In my dossier his name seems to be Richard Walker. Do you know how he came to be called Captain Gringo?”
Hilda said, “Sure. Why don’t you take off your clothes? It’s hot in here. I’m hot, too, just thinking about that big American. Why don’t we have some fun while I fill you in on his story?”
“Was zum Teuffel, are you a lesbian, Hilda?”
Hilda shrugged and said, “No, I’m bisexual and jealous. You’re a good-looking girl and I know what fun you’ll have once I get you to Captain Gringo. Unless you let me in on it, I might not want to play.”
Lilo got grandly to her feet, ready to read the other German girl the Riot Act. The stupid slut had orders.
As if she’d read Lilo’s mind, Hilda said, “Look, I said-I have some people out looking. There’s no saying when or they’ll find the American. I mean, I can only do my best, and, meanwhile, I see no reason for us to both be frustrated.”
As the brunette hesitated, knowing Hilda had a valid excuse to just send her on her way, the buxom peasant girl rolled over, opened a box on her bedstand, and took out an amazing device of pink India rubber. She leaned back with a roguish grin, opened her ample thighs, and inserted one end of the lifelike double dildo, saying, “Come on, I’ll be the boy.”
Lilo stared slack-jawed at the nude Hilda, who looked as if she’d somehow sprouted a monstrous male shaft. Intrigued despite herself, Lilo said, “That’s the most perverse suggestion I’ve ever heard! Even if I was interested in such a thing, it’s too damned big.”
“I thought you wanted to meet Dick Walker.”
“I do, but surely you’re not suggesting he’s hung like that?”
Hilda sighed and said, “I had this made from memory. Why do you think I’m so upset about losing him?”
Lilo laughed and said, “Ach, Du hist wicked, Hilda!” And then they both laughed as she unpinned her hat and put it aside. It only took a moment for Lilo to undress, save for her stockings and high button shoes. Her heart was beating wildly as she gingerly got in bed with Hilda. She already regretted her impulse as the brawnier peasant girl took her in her arms, and as their breasts flattened together, Lilo murmured, “I don’t know. I’ve never done this sort of thing before.”
“I know,” soothed Hilda, “isn’t it fun to lose your virginity again?”
And then, as the bigger girl rolled atop her, Lilo decided she most definitely did not want to go through with it. The other woman’s female flesh felt wrong, and the long hair brushing her naked shoulders sent an odd thrill of disgust through her. Then she felt the big rubber device questing between her trembling thighs and thought, “Oh well, it’s in the line of duty.”
So Hilda screwed her. And it mixed up Lilo’s head. One part of her said the whole idea was more silly than perverse. Another part made her move her hips to meet the thrusts, and as she felt herself going with it, she kissed back and marveled, “Zer gut! But what are you getting out of it, Liebling?”
Hilda was sweating and panting with her own pleasure as she replied, “I’ve got the bigger shaft inside me. It teases delightfully. You’ll see when it’s your turn on top.”
Lilo started to say she’d do no such thing. But she was coming and even as she started to say she could never play the male part, she found herself wondering what it would feel like.
But the adventurous Lilo never got to find out. She was in the middle of a wild abandoned orgasm when a male voice said, “Oh, excusez-moi, Hilda. I did not know you were entertaining.”
Lilo, on the bottom with her legs around Hilda’s waist, turned beet-red as she opened her eyes to see a short, middle-aged man with Gallic features observing them clinically from the doorway. Hilda looked over her shoulder, laughed, and said, “Ach, Gaston. May I present Fraulein Lilo? I was hoping you’d bring Dick, when you heard we were looking for you.”
Gaston Verrier sat down and started taking off his boots as he shook his head and said, “I warned you my young associate was idealistic, Hilda. He is still most annoyed about those reports on us you sent to British Intelligence.”
Lilo saw, to her dismay, that the Frenchman seemed to be getting in bed with them. She said, “Enchanted, m’
sieu, but am I to understand you are not annoyed with Hilda here, for spying on you?”
Gaston laughed and said, “Mais non, people are always spying on us, but, as you just learned, Hilda is a tigress in bed, and a good lay is harder to find, in this part of the world, than a spy.”
As Gaston joined them, Hilda rolled off, withdrawing her strange toy to expose Lilo’s wide open lap to the little Frenchman’s gaze. She blushed again and started to cover herself with her hands, but Gaston gallantly slid into place atop her, and as she protested, “M’sieu!” he entered her with his smaller but much more live-feeling shaft. She gasped and said, “Lieber Gott! I seem to be getting raped!”
Gaston moved judiciously, and as he felt her internal muscles contract, he said, “I was only trying to make friends with you. Do you wish for me to stop?”
Lilo moaned and sighed, “It’s too late and you know it, you bastard.” So Gaston screwed her, too, as Hilda bounced beside them and kept chanting, “My turn, my turn, my turn.”
Gaston, of course, was too polite to stop until Lilo had climaxed with a confused sob. But when she opened her eyes to smile up at him the Frenchman was finishing with Hilda, dog-style. Lilo said, “This is disgusting. I wasn’t sent here for an orgy. I came to make a business deal, damn it!”
Gaston hissed, closed his eyes, and flattened Hilda face down across the mattress before he recovered himself and asked, dryly, “Forgive me, Madame. How much do you usually charge?”
“Are you insane? I’m not a whore, I’m a secret agent!”
“I am most relieved. I didn’t think to bring much money with me when I heard Hilda here, was looking for us again.”
Hilda wriggled her derriere under Gaston and said, “She works for Sir Basil Hakim, and apparently has a deal for you two boys. Could you move it some more, Gaston? You have me sort of .hanging right on the edge.”
Gaston began to move in and out of her with languid strokes as he turned to Lilo and asked, “What sort of a deal does Hakim have in mind, Madame?”
