Slaves of the Swastika (16 page)

With a salacious chuckle, the private pushed the lever forward. Kathy Flichtsen arched from the chair, and her head lunged forward even though her braids were still gripped tightly. Her eyes bulged in their sockets, her mouth gaped until they could almost see her palate, and a hideous gurgling shriek tore from her. In the room there rose the smell of burning flesh... and the adorable dark coral bud of her nipple became black and swollen.

The Gestapo chief moved the live wire away from the clamp. The current was still humming, so that all he had to do to repeat the dose was to touch that wire to the clamp which still pinched the unfortunate young woman's nipple so viciously. “Now you'd better talk and talk fast, because the next clamp I put on you is going to be right where Professor Nordheim puts his prick,
verstehe?
We know all about the printing press your father had. And I'll bet he's still got it. Is that true?”

“I—I—I don't know what you're talking about —oh please no—oh my God—take it away— UUUUEEEOWWWARPvRHHH!!!!!”

Once again the live wire touched the clamp fixed into Kathy's nipple, and once again her naked body fought her bonds, straining and jerking, the muscles of her calves and thighs and shoulders and arms standing out against the sweating skin. Once again there was the hideous stench of burning human flesh, and the already swollen and blackened nipple, seemed to double in its exaggerated size. Foam appeared on her mouth, and her eyes were mad with suffering.

He lowered the five wire at last. “Well? Tell you what, I'm going to use both at once. Hand me that clamp nearest you, Manfred. I'm going to put it on that little
kootezle
of hers.”

“Oh no! I'll tell! I'll tell you everything! Only put that horrid thing away! I'm going to die, it hurts me so! I'll talk, yes, yes, there is a printing press in my father's house... and it's used... and it's used?”

“Don't tell him, don't tell the swine,” Trudy Heinzleman shrieked from her triangle.

“Don't listen to her, Kathy,” the
Oberst
snarled. “It's all very well to be noble and brave, but if I send this voltage through your cunt and your nipple again, and at the same time, I don't think the Professor will want to fuck you anymore. I think it will all be burned out of you. Pass me that clamp, men—”

“Oh no, wait, wait, please, oh dear God, not again—no more—yes, they print the newspaper on it—I'll tell you, only let me go, let me go!”

Kathy Flichtsen bowed her head and burst into hysterical sobs. With a satisfied grin, the fat Gestapo chief rose. The lever was shoved back, the clamp was removed from the tortured, blackened, swollen nipple. “That's a good girl,” he purred. “We'll come back to you a little later. You're a very juicy piece of cunt, and I would have hated to have spoiled that soft pink little hole of yours with electricity. Now perhaps Trudy and Eva can supply us with a few more details.”

* * *

Professor Kurt Nordheim got into his car and drove to the gray building which housed Gestapo headquarters in Berlin. His heart was pounding, and he felt as if he were going to faint. But he forced himself to carry out this mission, because otherwise there would be nothing. If they killed Helga, all the heart would be taken out of him. And besides he had to do what he could to save the other girls, even selfish, lustful Kathy.

He parked the car at the curb, walked calmly up the steps, answered the salutes which the soldiers guarding the steps at the sight of his captain's uniform, and walked on into the hallway. He went up to the desk of the lieutenant of admissions, thrust his hand into his lapel pocket and produced the document bearing the forged signature of Heinrich Himmler.

“Yes,
Herr Hauptmann!
The young lieutenant stammered, rising and saluting again. “What am I to do for you?”

“At once, it is the order of a Deputy Minister that the prisoners Helga Nordheim and the students who have been arrested in connection with this woman be delivered into my custody at once. I am to take them to
Herr
Himmler's office in the Reich Stag at once!”

“Zu befehl, Herr Hauptmann!”
the young lieutenant nodded. “I'll take you downstairs. That's where they are.
Oberst
Mueller is questioning them now, I believe.”

Professor Kurt Nordheim kept an arrogant sneer on his face and walked with the stiffness of a true Nazi officer. He prayed for strength to carry out this imposter's role. If it failed, he'd die, but that didn't mean anything; the worst would be that they'd kill Helga. This was the only outside chance of saving her, but he had to take it or he wouldn't think himself much of a man. There were times when even an intellectual had to use violence against evil, which thrived on violence and perhaps could be destroyed only by its own weapons.

The young lieutenant paused before the door of the interrogation cell in which Helga Nordheim lay bound and naked on her torture table. “It's in here,
Herr Hauptmann.
Either that or the one to the left. Do you need me?”

“Not at all,
Lieutenant.
My car is at the curb in front of the stairway. You will see that it is cleared for an immediate departure to the office of the Deputy Minister!”

“This moment,
Herr Hauptman,”
the young lieutenant snapped a salute then hurried back up the stairs.

Drawing a deep breath, Professor Kurt Nordheim opened the door of the interrogation cell and uttered a choking groan. His wife lay there, her head turned to one side, and only the slight movement of her naked breasts showed that she was still alive. He strode to the table, cut her bonds and lifted her down. Her head lolled against his shoulder as he whispered hoarsely, “Helga, it's I, Kurt! Hurry,
Liebchen,
there isn't much time! Oh those filthy swine!”

Slowly her eyelids fluttered, and then she recognized him, and was about to cry out when he put his hand over her mouth and shook his head. “No, no, darling! Quickly, try to put on your dress if nothing else, and your shoes. Hurry, I'll help you.”

With his left arm around her waist, the naked flaxen-haired matron stumbled towards her discarded clothes, and Professor Kurt Nordheim quickly picked up the dress and drew it over her head, and squatted down and tenderly eased her bare feet into her pumps. Then he led her to the door, opened it, saw that there was no one down the corridor, and whispered, “Stay there, I'm going to get the others. Say a prayer for me. Darling—if things go wrong, I—I'll save one of these bullets for you so they won't torture anymore!”

She leaned against the wall, trembling fearfully in aftermath of this ordeal. Her lips moved in prayer as he tiptoed down the corridor to the next door. Slowly he turned the knob, the Luger in his right hand and entered.

The
Oberst,
the two privates and the Sergeant were enjoying their naked victims. They had not expected any interruptions, and so they had cast aside all difference of rank or purpose, indeed, of the interrogation. Sergeant Katzmire was kneeling on the floor, with the weeping and hysterical Kathy kneeling between him and Willi Murtens, whom she faced, sandwiched between the two men, she was being sodomized by the sergeant while Willi Murtens fucked her, the two men shouting encouragement to each other.

Near the triangle, Manfred Strobel lay atop of Trudy, vigorously fucking her, while her face twisted to one side she futilely pushed at his face with her slim hands. And beside this rutting couple, the fat
Oberst
was mounted over the half fainting Eva Jung.

“What the devil—
Hilfe
—” Sergeant Katzmire to the left of the door and facing it, was the first to see Professor Kurt Nordheim. He dragged his prick out of Kathy's tortured rectum, and staggered to his feet. The Professor aimed and shot him through the heart. At the sound of the explosion, the
Oberst
uttered a cry and twisted his head round to stare with incredulity at the unexpected intruder. Then with a vile oath, he dragged himself up from Eva's prone sprawled body, his prick still stiff and bobbing, as he plunged his right hand towards the holster strapped to his belt. He did not reach it. A second time the Luger roared and jumped in the Professor's hand and the fat Gestapo chief uttered a gurgling cry and pitched forward onto the stone floor.

Very calmly Professor Kurt Nordheim shot Manfred Strobel through the back of the head and then despatched Willi Murtens who was running towards him.

“Be quick, girls,” he cried. “Get your dresses on and come with me. I've got a car outside, and an order signed by Himmler himself which ought to pass us through these filthy beasts!”

The three naked young women burst into tears, but it was Trudy who perhaps had suffered most because of the murder of her fiance, who urged them not to waste time in lamentations or exclamations of thanksgiving because they weren't saved yet. She put on her dress and thrust her feet into her pumps, and then aided the sobbing golden-haired Eva to cloth her nakedness. Kathy, feverish with the pain of her scorched nipple, fumbled with the corduroy trousers, and Professor Kurt Nordheim hurried to aid her.

They came out into the hall where Helga waited, and then Professor Nordheim whispered, “Now then I'll have my gun drawn, and the four of you march ahead of me by twos. Look downcast, and it won't hurt to cry a little, and I'll see if the bluff doesn't work.”

Up the stairs they went, and out past the young Lieutenant who saluted again. “Your car's waiting,
Hen Hauptmann.
I'll telephone the deputy Minister's office that you're on the way with the prisoners,” he exclaimed.

“Excellent,
Lieutenant!
I'll commend you personally to the Deputy Minister himself,” Professor Nordheim said coldly.

Down the stone steps and to the car was like an eternity. He wanted to run, but he knew he didn't dare. Several noncommissioned officers hurried up the steps, saluted him, glancing curiously at the four women. He barked out, “Come on you bitches, scum like you don't keep the Deputy Minister waiting! You'll get the
Peitche
good and hard if you make him wait a minute, you filthy
Dirnen!”

They were in the car, and he got under the wheel. He started up the engine, and thank God it responded at once.

As he pulled away from the curb, the corporal came running out. Someone had heard the shots and wondered what was going on. And then they'd investigated and found the four dead men in the interrogation chambers.

A private on the steps lowered his rifle, knelt down, took careful aim at the back of the car which was gathering speed in the murky twilight. He fired a shot, and Kathy Flichtsen uttered a sobbing little cry and then slumped forward between Eva and Trudy.

Then the car disappeared down the next street, and the slaves of the swastika, those frail creatures whose beauty had inflamed the brutal lust of the sadistic master of the Gestapo had at last found freedom....

We cannot know what happened to them all, except, of course that Kathy died from the bullet in her back. We know only that within a few more months Hitler's mad empire crumbled and he himself died of a self-inflicted bullet in a bunker under the streets of Berlin.

But history does append this final note. Two years after the submission of Hitler to the Allies, in a peaceful little village in Bavaria, a new weekly newspaper of commentary upon the new Germany sprang into being. And it was named
Till Eulenspiegel.

THE END