Angela's War

SYNOPSIS
Angela Beresford, journalist and undercover spy for a black insurgent movement in a stubborn outpost of white colonialism, filches photos of an atrocity committed by her own side, and uses them to win a propaganda battle against the white government. But the photos ignite a bloody holocaust of treason, racial hatred and tribal revenge, and she is quickly embroiled in the carnage, rape, and torture that she provoked.
EXTRACT
Africans believed incredible things about snakes. They were
spirits of demons and malevolent ancestors, you died in agony in half
a minute if they bit you, they never died till sunset, they could
catch their own tails in their mouths and roll like a hoop fast enough
to run down a galloping horse. Anyone who handled snakes was a
dangerous wizard. The hiss of the cobra had changed everything. It was
suddenly a new game, with the two Africans confronting him, the wizard
white man.
"Get her clothes off, Jonas."
Cleopatra's eyes grew bigger. Still lying on her side, she
tried to wriggle away from Jonas, but he held her and quickly cut away
her tube top, her shorts and her panties, all white. Her breasts
flopped down on the rocks between the rails. She drew up her thighs to
try to cover herself.
Ainsley stepped back a few paces, unbuckled the ammo pouch
and lifted the lid enough for the cobra to squeeze out its head and
flicking tongue. He grabbed its neck. Jonas and Cleopatra flinched,
their four eyes shining together in the moonlight.
"Don't let her escape, Jonas."
"I got rope, sir. Maybe I tie her down and go away. Don't
like your snake."
"Tie her on her back," said Ainsley, "spread out, with her
head against a rail."
Keeping the unhappy girl between himself and Ainsley's
hissing snake, Jonas tugged at her hips and shoulders till her the
back of her neck was tight against the inside of one rail and her butt
against the other. He jerked her arms back and tied her forearms
together behind her head, forcing her head forward so her chin dug
into her chest, almost choking her. She tried to cry out, but she
could only whimper and gurgle. He spread her thighs, wrenching her hip
joints till he could bind her knees flat against the other rail,
forcing her to arch her body, raising her exposed crotch.
Ainsley's hatred ate at his insides, low in his belly.
Burning memories of his sister mingled with the traitorous female
nakedness lying across the tracks at his feet, writhing, glistening
with sweat in the moonlight. His head reeled. He stumbled toward the
girl, his penis painfully hard in his pants, holding the muscular
Egyptian cobra firmly by the neck and tail. Its muscular body thrashed
in anger. The naked girl heard him coming, but couldn't turn her head.
She opened her mouth to scream, but only managed a choked whimper.
Jonas was sitting on a rail, watching from thirty paces away.
Ainsley crouched between Cleopatra's legs, holding the
cobra's head above her belly button, making sure the beast was aware
of the girl. Its tongue flicked. Her eyes were wide. Her breasts
heaved. Holding her eye in the bright moonlight, he said, "Talk now,
Ange—" He shook his head to clear it. "Talk, mission bitch, or you die
like Cleopatra." His voice was thick.
"I know nothing."
Despite her great effort, he could barely hear her. Moonlight
glimmered on the contours of her body, on her sunken belly and the
trembling tips of her breasts. He was disgusted by her mat of coiled
pubic hair, her empty female groin, the thin curve of purple light on
the edge of a damp and puckered vaginal lip.
He held the snake gently, letting it calm down, then, almost
tenderly, he lay it down between her thighs with its back curved over
the track. Cleopatra kept her frightened eyes on the serpent, scarcely
breathing, motionless now except for her shuddering nipples. He could
only imagine the gruesomely demonic thoughts flashing through her mind
as her rational western education gave way to her horrific childhood
superstitions.
"Will you talk now?" he hissed. "It's your last chance."
She tried to spit at him, but could only manage to dribble
saliva onto her breastbone.
Ainsley felt the hatred again, the dizziness, the treachery
of his sister. "Have it your way, bitch."