The same was happening all along the enemy line, the mechanized companies disgorging their troops as they prepared for a coordinated assault.When the order came, designated teams charged into the trenches, leaping down into the maze of passageways as their companions continued to provide cover. Sarif switched some of the monitors to display views from their helmet cams, his eyes scanning the feeds.The walls of the trenches were lined with wooden panels, raised platforms allowing the occupants to see over the lip, sandbags helping to reinforce the structure. They had been set up in a zigzag pattern to break up the lines of sight, almost making them look like rows of teeth from afar. They wouldn’t have looked out of place on a First World War battlefield, if not for the total absence of any mud or water.There were already shattered bodies lying limp on the ground where the Marines dropped down, some of them stumbling over the dead, their dark blood soaking into the sand. The survivors. As he approached me, hiseyes freely scanned my body, seeming to X-ray my silkdress.“What seems to be the problem, ma’am?” He looked underthe hood of the car a few seconds, moved some wires,and started the car with no difficulty. “Loosedistributor. No problem.”“What do I owe you?” I asked, looking into my purse.“Well, how ’bout some head?” he asked. He was leeringat me, his upper lip lifted, his eyebrow arched. Hiseyes were sparkling with his animal lust and his handsslowly massaged the obscene bulge in his dirty, rippedjeans. We were on a side road and there was no chanceanyone would come along.He walked towards me, leering, his tongue licking hislips. His hands suddenly reached out, one grabbing myarm, the other roughly clutching my breast. He pulledme close and pressed his lips to mine, slobbering as hedid so. His rough, bearded face scratched my soft fleshand his sweaty odor burned my nostrils as his wiggly,slimy tongue.
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