Slaves of the Swastika (4 page)

“You know, Helga,” he said conversationally as he paused now, the toothpick still clutched in his three fingers, “you're a damnably attractive bitch. I can't see for the life of me how that professor could have passed you over in favor of that young student of his—what was her name? Oh yes, Kathy. Myself, I've always preferred ripe fruit to green. Now if you and I were alone together, my dear Helga, I could make certain advances to you. They would be most discreet, but very flattering, I can assure. But you see, your obstinacy forces me to be very ungentlemanly. Do you think I enjoy having these buck privates fingering your most intimate flesh this way? Feasting their eyes on your naked body stretched out on this table as if you were just another sow for the butcher's knife? Of course I don't. Now, why don't you be sensible and tell me the truth? Let's just pretend, you and I, that we're playing a little game. Let's pretend, for instance, that your man has had one of those hot flashes that I'm told married men sometimes get after a dozen or so years of matrimony, and he gets the hots for a cute little bitch in his class. Maybe she crosses her legs and shows him her panties and he'd like to know what's inside them,
nein?
Well then, you know how a man is, my dear Helga. I don't have to tell you, since you've been married and getting it regularly. Then all of a sudden you don't get it regularly any more, and your man starts reading his newspaper and staring out the window and wishing he were in bed with his little Kathy. Maybe she does a few things for him that you never thought of doing. You know, that's possible. Maybe she uses her mouth. Do you know what I mean? I wouldn't want for the world to offend you, not a woman of your delicate susceptibilities, my dear Helga.”

He was grinning as he spoke, his voice a soft, insinuating evil, and Helga Nordheim groaned and shuddered violently as the overtones of that speech crept into her conscious brain. But as he had suspected, the very audacity and vulgarity of his words began to prompt dubious misgivings and terrified reactions in the captive.
Yes, yes, it was true... maybe a little of it, anyway. Kurt had been distracted lately, and one that little slut Kathy had actually dared to come up to their place and ask for him. There was something about a meeting for special study, she'd said. Oh God, why couldn't she remember everything now? She couldn't stand pain, she didn't want to be hurt, and the whipping had hurt her so dreadfully already. And now those horrible brutes were opening her—opening her
6-6-
bottom and the pain was unbearable by now.

“You see, you're beginning to think about it,” he congratulated her. Now he began to prod her left calf with the two toothpicks, even more lightly than he had done with the other toothpick. “And you see, also, if he would desert you for that little immature bitch, he's not a man you ought to give your life to defend, my dear Helga. It really isn't worth it. There are so many other appreciative men in the Third Reich who could do justice to that lovely body of yours. Myself, for instance. Under happier circumstances, if I were simply Friedrich Mueller and you just Helga, we could have a little dish of
sauerbraten
and a stein of beer in some
bierstube
down on Linzer
Strassze
right now. And then you'd invite me over to your place, and you'd swoon in my arms, and I'd be kissing and caressing you—not doing what I'm doing now. It really pains me to hurt such fine white skin, my dear Helga.”

This time he jabbed her left knee-hollow vigorously, and the naked woman started up from her bench with a cry of pain, the muscles of her bottom making frantic efforts to clench, despite the lewd and unyielding grip of those degrading fingers which forced her to show that spot of animal functions which was most detestable in her voluptuous body.

“Still stubborn,
hein?”
he now pursued after a pause. “Well, don't say I didn't warn you. A little later, even when you do tell the truth, I may not be so merciful. You're wasting a great deal of time, you know. But it's my duty, you understand. No hard feelings, my dear Helga.”

He nodded, his lips curved in a rictus of enjoyment. Privates Murtens and Strobel fairly dug their fingernails into the shuddering bottomglobes of the sobbing victim, tugging them apart to their maximum, till it seemed the tissue of the perineum would rip apart at any moment. And then
Herr Oberst
Mueller leaned forward, closed his right hand over that plump, twitching asshole, and dug the sharp points of the two toothpicks into one of the lips with all his might.

“EEEYYAAAAARRRRRHHHHREEEEEWWWOUOU!!!!!
NICHT MEHR!
I can't bear it. OH GOD, THE PAIN, THE PAIN! HAVE MERCY ON ME,
HERR OBERST!!
NOT THERE, I CAN'T TELL YOU ANYTHING MORE—I SWEAR IT ON THE BIBLE ITSELF —OH, YOU JUST HAVE TO BELIEVE ME,
HERR ORBEST!”

As Helga shrieked out her desperate plea, her body arched and jerked in the grip of fitful convulsions. Both Strobel and Murtens were surprised at the furious agility of her behind, for in spite of their strongest grip of those luscious rotundities, she very nearly managed to clench the cheeks together again.

“No?” Again his voice was pleasant, almost confidential. “What a pity! I'm going to have to hurt you a little now, not too much, but then, don't forget you're bringing this on yourself. I have an obligation to my
Fuhrer,
and if you're stupid enough to try to hamper me in serving him, then you're just going to have to take the consequences, I'm very much afraid, my dear Helga.”

He threw the toothpicks away and reached for the bone darning-needle. He flourished it about in the air, licking his lips and winking at his two “boys,” who chuckled and winked back. Helga Nordheim dug her nails into her sweaty palms, arching her body, stiffening all her muscles, whimpering pathetically.

The bone needle dipped down towards the coral fissure of her tender asshole. The sharp point prodded the other lip now, then gave it two or three quick little prods, and then suddenly slipped between the lips to enter the rectum itself.

Helga Nordheim's head flung back, her mouth gaping in a raucous shriek: “OUUUUUUUUUU!!! EEEEEE ARRRRHHHH!!! TAKE IT OUT, TAKE IT OUT OF ME. I'LL TRY TO TELL YOU, OH MY GOD THE PAIN, TAKE IT OUT—OH PLEASE TAKE IT OUT—I'LL TELL YOU!!!”

At the same time that poor Helga Nordheim was undergoing the depraved and viciously scientific tortures of the Gestapo, her husband and the young student Kathy Flichtsen were meeting in the basement of a ramshackle house in the poorer section of Berlin, near the
Platz
Rittersted.

There were two young men present also, and their two girl friends, and all of these five young people were students in Professor Kurt Nordheim's class.

It was a kind of council of war, for what Helga Nordheim did not know was that her husband was actually the editor of the forbidden underground newspaper,
Till Eulenspiegel.
And it was to be poor Helga Nordheim's misfortune that her husband inadvertently left the latest issue of that illicit publication where she had found it... and it was this piece of evidence which the Gestapo chiefly relied upon in subjecting this gently bred and beautiful young matron to the fiendish and demeaning tortures which we have just witnessed and which, we may add, had only just begun....

Professor Kurt Nordheim was thirty-six years old, about five feet eleven inches in height, with curly brown hair, and a Vandyke beard. He had pleasant blue eyes, his cheeks were rather angular and his eyes seemed to be hollowed because of the pronounced prominence of his very shaggy brows and the planes of his cheekbones. He had a Roman nose with rather sensuous nostrils, and his mouth was firm and yet a trifle fleshy, betraying a somewhat hedonistic temperament.

He had been married to Helga for exactly nine years and eight months, and she had been a virgin indeed when he had married her. He had always led an academic life, but the brutal war and Hitler's manipulation of the German people had inflamed his sense of rectitude. He had an older cousin who fought in the French Resistance, and a letter had been smuggled in from the German border to reach him explaining what the Maquis was doing to counteract the brutalities and terrorism practiced by the Nazis. Professor Kurt Nordheim did not want to involve his beautiful and somewhat ingenuous wife. It had been his sorrow that she had never been able to give him a child, but what he did not know, or Helga either, for that matter, was that she was sterile. Still, that was no great matter at the time, for in the midst of this all-out war which Hitler was waging virtually against the world, there was really no place for babies and young children. And the older children were being taken into the Hitler
Jugend
and corrupted to testify even against their own parents and to denounce even their friends and schoolchums to the Gestapo.

So, a year ago, when he had taken his class to Dresden on a lecture tour, he had been contacted by a member of the Maquis, a German-born young man whose sympathies were with the French and the Allies. This man had suggested that he as a leading professor with wide influence over the impressionable teenagers and future citizens of Germany, could wield great influence for good. The agent had suggested the publication and dissemination of a satirical leaflet or paper. Out of this suggestion, Professor Kurt Nordheim had created
Till Eulenspiegel.

But the Professor had gone one step further in his passionate desire to end the war and save the German People before Hitler could plunge them all into a cataclysm of defeat and total disaster, a greater economic disaster than had followed the end of World War 1. He had asked this member of the Maquis to arrange a kind of code for him whereby if he found out important news which would be of value to the Maquis and the Allies, he could print it as a feature story in this publication, in a kind of code that would be understood only by the top military leaders.

The Gestapo had not yet discovered this code within a code; for them, it had been enough that the forbidden newspaper contained scabrous articles about the mismanagement of the war, about some of Hitler's corrupt generals and Hitler's maniacal behavior. A high price had been placed on the unknown editor's head, but thus far he had not been captured.
Oberst
Friedrich Mueller had been assigned to the Berlin headquarters of the Gestapo to ferret out all those who were connected with this illegal and treasonable publication.

The Gestapo officer who had been torturing the Professor's beautiful wife Helga had made some lascivious speculations to the unfortunate woman as to her husband's being unfaithful to her with the student Kathy Flichtsen. In one sense, he had been partly right: Kurt Nordheim was having a mild affair with the pretty nineteen-year-old brownette. But the Professor was conducting this seemingly squalid little
amour
out of necessity so that, indeed, one might whimsically say that his infidelity to his own wife was pardonable because of its patriotic motive.

The reason was very simply this: Kathy Flichtsen's elderly father owned an old-fashioned but still workable printing press, which he had forgotten he ever had. It was located in the basement of the old two-story house on Blumen
Strassze.
Kathy had found it some months ago and managed to stay after class on that particular afternoon to tell the Professor about her discovery. And he had seen a heaven-sent opportunity for publishing
Till Eulenspiegel
on a genuine press, rather than mimeographing it to a much smaller audience. Moreover, the code which the military experts had sent him via a reliable Maquis messenger could be handled by the ingenious technique of cartoons. The liaison officer in charge of military coding for the Allied war effort had devised a most imaginative system, creating characters who should have names that would stand for certain geographic fronts on which Hitler might be operating. And the captions would indicate what was taking place on these fronts.

But Kathy Flichtsen was also romantic and she had just lost her fiance in the war. He had been a youth of twenty, a high-school sweetheart, who was not especially sympathetic to the Nazi viewpoint but had been conscripted and had died in France from a sniper's bullet in the brain. Kathy lived with her aging and almost senile father, her mother having died five years previously. She was lonely and passionate, and she had almost lost her virginity to her fiance. And so she had stipulated to the virile and mature Professor that in return for her letting him use her father's printing press, he must become her lover and satisfy her pent-up desires.

The Professor had been in a quandry. He loved Helga very deeply, and he didn't want to hurt her, nor would he involve her. Anyone who knew of
Till Eulenspiegel
might easily confess under torture and implicate others. If his wife knew absolutely nothing, only an absolute brute interrogating her would persist in harming her to learn something she did not know, he had reasoned. So he had never taken Helga into his confidence, and he had been gone many times without explanation, which had started to puzzle her and now in the terrible subterranean interrogation room, and at the suggestion of
Oberst
Mueller, began to haunt her with the thought that perhaps indeed he was having an affair with this young girl and preferring Kathy to her.

The other two couples in this room were Max Dornburg, a bearded student of twenty-two, whose poor vision and fluttering heart had kept him out of the Army, and his sweetheart Trudy Heinzelman: and Erich Luvrow, twenty-three, and his girl friend Eva Jung. Trudy was twenty, tall and slim, with closely cropped black hair styled very much like a boy's, small orange-like titties, a very supple waist, coltishly long legs with slender thighs and highset calves and a very solid, compact pair of buttocks, and soft pink skin, and gray-green eyes and a snub nose. Eva, on the other hand, was twenty, buxom and golden-haired, the true prototype of the Aryan beauty who was held in high esteem by the scientific assistants to the
Fuhrer
in proposing their infamous “love camp.” Here, many girls of good families, who had pure Aryan blood and lineage to recommend them, were taken for scientific breeding with Nazi soldiers and airmen, the purpose being to produce a super race. It was not looked upon as whoring, but as a noble and patriotic endeavor, and it went under Dr. Goebbels' phrase of “Strength through Joy.”

Professor Kurt Nordheim looked around at the little group and said gravely, “We are all of us in great danger. My good neighbor, the baker Klausmann, who is loyal to the Allied cause because he is an old man and has no living relatives, and therefore does not fear death, managed to get a message through to me that those Gestapo pigs have taken my wife into custody.”

“Herr Gott!”
Kathy Flichtsen gasped, biting her Lips. “How terrible for you, dear Kurt! But it is worse than that, because she may denounce you and then they will look for all of us.”

He gave her a glance and hid his feelings. She was vain, lustful, a completely amoral creature, but she was necessary to his project, the project whose ideal was to drive Hitler out of power and to restore sanity to Germany before it was too late. He regretted having had to go to bed with her— though it was pleasant, undeniably so. Yet it had to be done. Now she was more concerned about her own skin than poor Helga's, and God alone knew what those Gestapo devils could do to a woman in one of those questioning rooms of theirs.

“I don't agree, Kathy,” he said levelly, “because I've always been careful never to let Helga know what I'm doing. Yes, I admit, they might be able to question her and perhaps even torture her, but they are experts at this sort of thing, you must remember. And they'll soon find out that she's absolutely innocent. In some ways, she has the mind of a child.”

Kathy came over and stood beside his chair, then put her arm around his neck, bent and kissed him on the mouth, whispering, “That's why you should divorce her and marry me,
Liebling!”

Kathy Flichtsen was brown-haired, and she wore her shimmering tresses in two long thick braids which fell nearly to her hips. She had an arrogant but exquisitely lovely oval-shaped face, with dark blue eyes, an uptilted little nose with widely flaring wings, and a small elfish ripe mouth. Her body was really voluptuous, and Professor Kurt Nordheim, though he may have regretted the necessity of taking this selfish and vainglorious girl to bed with him, physically had to tell himself that she was truly remarkable in her insatiability and her inventiveness.

Indeed, there had been nights after his return from a seance with Kathy that he had been so exhausted that he could not even get a hard-on for beautiful Helga who lay beside him, softly weeping because he did not seem to show her attention, did not love her anymore. And of course he hadn't dared to tell her the truth. It would be too dangerous. But now
Till Eulenspeigel
had already scored many successes, and some important German installations had been bombed out of existence, thanks to his own humble endeavors. So he could justify it one day when the war would be over and he could tell Helga the whole story.

“When are we going to put out the next issue?” Trudy wanted to know. She glanced back at her lover and proudly arched her titties, delighted to see the flickering glint in his eyes as a proof that he was still mad about her. She had a pretty good idea that her stuck-up friend Kathy really had the hots for that nice and dignified Professor Nordheim. Matter of fact, if ever she got a little bored with her boyfriend, she herself wouldn't mind a weekend or two with the Professor. He was a nice mature man and he talked beautifully in class, and she had no doubt that he knew how to talk in bed too. And do something else besides talk, judging from the look of him.

Professor Kurt Nordheim frowned thoughtfully. “We'll have to be very careful, Trudy. If the Gestapo searched my place, they're sure to have found whatever I may have left unguarded. I've always been very careful. Now reading the newspaper itself isn't entirely a crime, though the Gestapo may think so. It would be a far cry for them to prove that just because there happens to be a copy lying around my living room or bedroom, that I'd had anything to do with it. Actually, the Gestapo is after the people who are putting it out.”

“But, Professor Nordheim,” Eva interrupted, “if they have your wife, can't they make her tell and wouldn't she tell them almost anything to escape the torture they would give her? I—I'm awfully sorry to say such terrible things, but we all know what the Gestapo is capable of.”

“That's true. But as I've said before, the interrogators are particularly intelligent men in their field, and they can tell when someone's lying. Poor Helga doesn't know a thing, I give you my word on that,” the Professor declared. “But now to answer your question, Trudy. I'm expecting some very important news from over the border in about ten days. We're going to lie low until the immediate chase is over. Then we'll try to get a paper out in two weeks. In the meantime, all of you should keep your ears and eyes open and get me what news you can. Trudy, you work in that
bierstube
on Maximilian
Platz,
and there are lots of officers there all the time, aren't there?”

“That's true. Some of them from the Russian front. Some of them back from Paris, but most of them from the defense of their own homeland. There is a
Kolonel
Strasser who comes almost every night. I think he's got a crush on me.” Trudy laughed self-consciously, glanced at her lover and gave him a little wink. “I know he'd like to get me alone in bed, but I haven't given in yet.”

“And you better not either!” her boyfriend angrily declared.

Trudy leaned down to pat his cheek, then to give him a stinging kiss on the mouth. “No fear of that,
Liebling,”
she murmured. “Unless I have to do it to get vital information to help the Allies. That I would do for my country, because just like the Professor and all the rest of us, I can't see poor Germany being destroyed because of a madman.”