It would be obvious to even a casual observer that the three little girls were sisters. All had the same milky white skin with just a hint of freckles across the bridges of their noses. All had lustrous brunette hair, thick with curls. Mary's was long, almost to her waist, Ann's was cut to frame her elfin face, just touching her collar. Martha's was slightly longer, a mass of uncontrollable curls that bounced around her when she ran. Each of the girls had similar eyes; emerald green pools which, in certain lights, flashed with hints of gold. Theresa, their mother, was an indication of how the lovely little girls would grow up. She had exactly the same colouring and a slim, curvaceous figure that turned heads.

As Theresa and her girls sat in silence, the door to the church opened and Father Boniface hurried down the aisle, his black face shining, cassock stained with sweat.

"Mrs. O'Connell, I'm afraid things look bad. Very bad..."

"Have you seen Colonel Azinta's men?"

"No. But Mutum Biu is deserted. Somehow word has been passed to the villagers and they have run for the bush. We are alone now."

"Oh God! What are we going to do? Where are Declan and his men?"

"We can only pray that the patrol has heard the same things as the villagers, and are rushing back here..."

"But will they be in time?"

Declan O'Connell was a Captain in the Rangers, Azania's elite anti terrorist force. He, three other white farmers, and fifteen black troopers, had left Mutum Biu two days before on a routine patrol. There had been no APLA activity in the area for months and the word was that the local commander, Colonel Azinta, had taken his men south towards Pantan. The word was wrong... That afternoon one of the villagers had run shouting into the marketplace. He had seen Azinta's men the day before and they were heading towards Mutum Biu. Since then, singly and in small groups, the inhabitants of the village had made a dash for the safety of the bush.

"Mummy? I'm hungry..."

"All right Ann. I'll see what I have left in my bag." Theresa reached for the canvas hold-all that she'd hurriedly stuffed with provisions. At that moment the door crashed open and in strode a massive black man, his combat fatigues dirty and stained, his face split by an evil grin. Jane, seeing the soldier, screamed, and her two sisters joined in. Theresa, only just stopping herself from screaming, hugged her children to her trembling body, knowing that the end was near, praying that it would be swift. Father Boniface, his hands held up in supplication, moved down the aisle.

"Please... This is a house of God. Please don't arrgh!"

The butt of the AK-47 stove in the priest's skull and he fell to the ground, blood flowing across the bare concrete floor as he slowly died.

Sergeant Oboye licked his lips, feeling his massive cock stiffening. As he slowly walked down the aisle he wondered to himself at the stupidity of Christians. They always hid in the church and they were always found. The white woman cowered away from him as he loomed above her.

"Nooo please! We've done nothing!"

'Done nothing?' Oboye's thoughts screamed at him. 'The white filth stole our country. Imprisoned the men and lured the women to their God. Done NOTHING!'

Oboye slammed a clenched fist across the side of Theresa's head and she slumped to the side, her smallest child slipping from her arms. Oboye reached down and picked up the little girl by the ankle, her loose blouse falling down over her body, covering her face. With a grunt he pulled his arm back to swing her head against the wall.

"Noooo!" screamed Teresa.

"Sergeant Oboye!"

Oboye stopped, the little girl hanging from his massive paw, still alive and struggling. Slowly he turned around to face his commanding officer.

"Put the girl down Oboye. These whites will make good hostages. We can't waste them."

Reluctantly, Oboye put Martha down on the floor and the 3 year old scrambled to her mother, crying. Theresa wrapped her arms around the little girl and hung on to her.....(cont)