Mixed wrestling, 170 pictures 1920x1080 (FullHD), no nudity, no blood.

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The British equivalent of Guantanamo Bay (see gallery 621) was predictably different from the original. Whereas the American was purpose-built, Glenlivet was a medieval castle in the Scottish Highlands. It was argued that its aura of history would unsettle the prisoners, and its climate would demoralise them. (It was also much cheaper than building a new camp.)

This British tradition of conducting present wars in the circumstances of past ones irritated the Americans. It irritated them still more when it was pointed out that the epic evacuation of 338,000 men from Dunkirk was masterminded from the medieval Dover Castle. Allies love to argue!

But the purpose of Glenlivet was the same as Guantanamo Bay: it was to accommodate suspected and real terrorist prisoners, and to train soldiers. In particular, female soldiers. The British did, reluctantly, follow the American policy of using female guards to reinforce Western values of equality on men with a very different mentality. People who expected women to be covered from head to foot, and never to express any opinions, had to take orders from them. They had to watch while private male soldiers were instructed by senior female ones.

Then came the ultimate trial – they had to fight the female soldiers, using unarmed combat, one by one. This had several purposes. Occasionally the indignity of the idea was too much for an inmate, and they would disclose information that Intelligence wanted, rather than be subjected to the ignominy. But then the stigma of cowardice, especially in the face of a woman, was too much, and they would end up fighting anyway. 

Secondly, a prisoner was selected to watch the fight with the female guards, who subjected him to a commentary, with the further aim of disconcerting him. The viewing took place in a room with a large screen, with the fight relayed from cameras around the cage where it took place. Thirdly, it provided the women with valuable training. There were armed guards around in case the fight went "the wrong way".

About half a dozen women were assembled in the room, with a sergeant, Tracy Atkins, stationed at the window, waiting for the soldiers and prisoner to appear and enter the cage. With them was one hapless male, whom they chose to call Stephan. The soldiers and Stephan were all in their early twenties, while the sergeant was 30. Stephan, they realised, was a little different from the other prisoners. He was in awe of the women from the start, whereas usually the prisoners showed disgust and contempt, and had to be forced to change their attitude. 

"You sit here, Stephan, next to me," said one soldier, Babs ("Boobs") Ford. She was shorter than the other soldiers, at 5 feet 2 inches, and had larger breasts than most of them, which she knew were her best, and most obvious, asset. "We’re going to watch a nice fight. One of our girls is going to beat the hell out of one of your boys."

"No," he loyally protested. "Our freedom fighters are trained in the wilds of Afghanistan and Pakistan, by the fiercest warriors in the world!"

"Whereas we’re trained here at the North Pole, where it’s too cold even for the ghosts to come out," complained one girl, Lydia Johns.

"Stop moaning," reprimanded the sergeant. "Victoria and Albert used to come here for jolly days out when they were at Balmoral, and you start bleating when we get the first frost. For that matter, I understand it can be a bit nippy on the Afghan-Pakistan border. Isn’t that right, Stephan?"

"Yes, Sergeant," he confirmed.

"Here they are," stated one girl, looking at the screen.

Sergeant Atkins turned the sound system on. "Corporal Dorking and Private Sanders, you will join us in the observation room. Private Wheeler, you will fight the prisoner."

"Tear him apart Julie," murmured "Boobs".

"Look at her, the shameless flirt!" one soldier, Rachel Bowes, cried. "Patting her hair and pointing her bum at him! Mind you, it does look good in these leotards and tights we have. Do you like our uniform, Stephan?"

"’Uniform’?"

"Certainly. It’s the best thing about this job. It gives you freedom and mobility when you’re fighting, the tights help against this cold, and you look great. Hold up, they’re starting."

They all sat up, staring expectantly at the screen, as Julie and the prisoner (nicknamed Dud by the girls, on account of a bomb he planted failing to go off) circled each other, fists raised. 

"Sergeant, I implore you, stop this! It’s wrong, men and women should not fight," wailed Stephan. "As for clothing, it’s unseemly. He is wearing less than underpants!"

Tracy regarded him, head slightly on one side. "You’re the first one we’ve had up here who hasn’t been baying for the girl’s blood. But relax and watch, because it’s going to happen anyway. You’d better get used to the underwear too, because you’ll be wearing it."

Julie and Dud warily regarded each other, each inviting the other to make the first move. Dud lost patience first, and swung a right punch at her, which she parried with her right. Then she responded.

"Crack! He’ll have felt that," Rachel gloated. "That’s a great palm strike! She’s hit his mouth and nose in one go. Look how he’s recoiled! Can we see it again?"

Just as in top level sports, they were able to view the scene again, in slow motion if they wanted, which they did.

"Look at the concentration in her face!" Lydia commented. "That’s lovely fighting – nothing wild, just calculated, precise counter-attack."

Julie followed up with a left uppercut to the apex of the ribcage and stomach. Dud grunted and doubled forward. She had him retreating already.

"Oh … beautiful! What a superb right cross!" Lydia continued. Another one like that, and she’ll have him on his back. Again please.

So they saw it again, first of all in real time, and there was an obvious groan from Stephan when Julie’s punch struck home.

"Hey Stephan, doesn’t her arse look great?" "Boobs" asked, adding to his discomfort. I’ll swear it quivered a little at the moment of impact. Again please, in slo-mo. Look Stephan, there goes her fist towards his face, nearer, nearer, and then – wobble!"

The girls laughed and agreed. Stephan just looked grave and shook his head. "She is magnificent!" he concluded, admiringly.

"Have you ever been punched in the face by a woman, Stephan?" Rachel asked archly. 

He didn’t answer, but kept gazing at the still on the screen, until the "Play" button was pressed, whereupon he gaped. An elegant, stockinged foot slapped into Dud’s groin. Julie’s lovely blonde hair seemed to dance, catching the light as her glamorous, tapering right leg caused such damage. Dud staggered; Julie brought her right foot down, held his head in both hands, and hammered her left knee into his face.

Now she was forcing him down, her right hand on his face, and her glossy red painted nails savagely attacking his eyes. She had Dud on his knees, his eyes watering. She grabbed both his arms and jumped, locking her legs round his back, at the same time forcing his arms backwards in an improvised double arm bar.

A general cry of alarm went up in the observation room as Dud forced Julie off him, and onto her knees. She faced him side-on, with no time to stand, while he hovered and kept her guessing. He was a powerful man, and if he scored a hit or a hold, it could be devastating. The armed guards steadied their weapons. Dud menaced her, twice looking as if he was going to swoop, before aborting the move. He was clever, the girls grudgingly conceded.

Dud swooped on his prey, but his prey fought back. He attempted to seize her, by clutching her in his right hand to force her into a hold; but Julie caught his arm in her left hand, and punched him on the jaw with the other. 

It was the perfect riposte. Dud had seemed so sure of himself that her fightback flummoxed him. Julie drove home her advantage in the form of her left knee into his groin.

"Ah, the good old knee in the balls," approved Rachel. "I’d have done it much sooner. What do you say, Stephan?"

"She’s a devil-woman!"

"Yeah, she’s got him now," Rachel continued. She was right. Julie secured Dud’s right arm, and pushed his body down so that it was horizontal, but he was still standing. It was a modified abstretch, and had the same effect, stretching the nerves and tendons in the arm, back and chest. Downwards she forced him, still painfully trapping his arm, and he was helpless. His head was slumped in pain and defeat, and he appeared to want just to collapse on the floor. But she still had him by that arm, even though his head was on the ground. 

Julie placed her foot on his face to cement her victory. Momentarily and daringly (bearing in mind it has caused riots), she knelt on his neck, before celebrating her triumph.

"Are you all right, Stephan?" "Boobs" asked, feeling his forehead. "He’s blazing! What’s the matter?"

"She… she, she is so strong! She defeated a man!" 

"When I have my fight, I want it to be against Stephan," declared "Boobs".

"I saw him first," countered Lydia.

"Oh," pouted "Boobs", looking into Stephan’s face. "Wouldn’t you like to fight me? We could have such a nice, intimate one, just the two of us …"

"Private Ford!"

"Sergeant?"

"Stop fluttering your eye lashes and jutting your tits out at him."

"Yes Sergeant."

"They’re having another round," cried Lydia. "Look at him, he’s determined on revenge! Prancing about like that, what a wanker!"

"Our girl’s having none of it," applauded Rachel. "That’s right, hands on hips and let him do all his showing off."

Julie insisted on them being formal, so they bowed to each other. She further insisted that he bow to her feet, as she had just beaten him. Honour bound him to do so.

 

"She has unmanned him!" Stephan blurted out.

"Would you like to be unmanned by a woman?" Rachel teased.

Shh, they’re starting," stated the sergeant.

They began this round in a karate style. Each had their hands in the "chop" mode, and stood, legs apart.  Julie tested Dud with a high left kick, which was more exploratory than offensive. He replied similarly, though the intention seemed to attack, but she evaded it stylishly.

There was a little more intention with Julie’s next move, a right high kick. It struck Dud’s chin, but still wasn’t powerful enough to do much damage. Sergeant Atkins sensed the girls getting restless, which increased when Dud tried another high kick, which Julie again dodged.

"Oh, clever girl," observed a relieved Rachel. "She’s been playing with him!"

Indeed. Julie waited for Dud to bring his leg down, but before he could recover his poise, she shot backwards into him, seized his right arm, and elbowed him sharply in the lower stomach. In one move, his still tender arm was once again wrenched, and his stomach received more punishment.

The girls began cheering and shouting encouragement at the screen, as Julie inserted her left leg between his legs and took hold of his left arm with her right hand, and his neck with her left hand. Up and over he went!

"Lovely throw!" shouted one of the girls, as Julie now held him by both hands, and pushed her right foot into his face again. Forcing him onto his front, she held his head, twisting it dangerously.

For the second time he slumped down, and Julie stood up, this time formally acknowledging victory.

Corporal (Jane) Dorking and Private (Debbie) Sanders ran downstairs and towards the cage. They had all, including Sergeant Atkins, become so transfixed by the screen that they forgot about real time. But it didn’t matter. They found Julie calmly waiting for them, and Dud still unconscious. 

In the observation room they switched to real time, and they saw Debbie massaging Dud’s chest, and Jane holding a syringe. She injected Dud with a reviver, while Debbie worked away at his chest. Debbie then walked away from Dud, waiting for the reviver to take hold, and joined Julie. They were alerted by a shout from Jane, and they turned round to see her brandishing Dud’s briefs.

"No!" Stephan protested. "She’s removed his underpants!"

"What’s the matter?" asked Rachel. "Hasn’t a woman ever whipped your underpants off?"

"Never! Women don’t take any initiative in my culture."

"Well you’ve missed out then."

"You know," mused Lydia, glancing mischievously at Stephan, who was obviously shifting about in his seat, "I’m more of a plunger than a remover. I like to plunge my hand inside a man’s underpants, and have a good old grab!" 

"Shocking, shocking!" Stephan shouted, deeply troubled. 

"Boobs" moved her chair closer to his, looked at her hand thoughtfully, spreading the fingers out, then moved it under the long table they all sat at. Stephan jumped, and gaped once more, mouth wide open, as her hand began its work.

"No, no, you young girls get it all wrong," Sergeant Atkins joined in. "You and your whipping, plunging and grabbing. Where’s the tease? You can start off rough, by all means. You know, tear his shirt off, and that sort of thing. But once you’ve got his trousers off, you should start to hesitate. Have your fingers just inside the waistband of his underpants, and give him a troubled look. Say something like ‘I wonder whether I should be doing this.’ It has them yammering! They’ll promise you anything! Jim Douglas – Colonel Douglas to you – promoted me to sergeant, while my hand was half inside his underpants and his shirt buttons were scattered over the floor! Next I mean to get him down to his underpants again, kneel down, with my face an inch away from where it most matters, and repeat the trick. At this rate I’ll end up Chief of the General Staff!"

"Ah, too much, too much!" Stephan spluttered. "First that splendid fighting woman, then that woman taking his underpants off, and this bad talk, and – and- and her work next to me! May I be forgiven!"

"Lance Corporal Jackson."

"Sergeant?"

Detail two soldiers to escort this man to the showers, and to guard him when he’s there."

"Yes Sergeant."

She turned to the window and saw with approval that Dud had revived. She turned the speakers back on.

"Corporal Dorking, you will fight the prisoner next. Private Sanders and Wobble [laughter], return to us in the observation room."