47 - Four Hundred Dead Nazis

"There's a sequel," Latoya said, as she took a swig. She traded the flask back to her brother, in exchange for a candle. "A nasty one. I call it...

FOUR HUNDRED DEAD NAZIS

The Klan never got much traction in Dagon's Hollow. It was the robes as much as anything. The first few fools who tried to start a klavern got laughed out of town. Even the local bigots—and there were always bigots—couldn't help but laugh. The robe-sellers got back on the train and left for more fertile ground.

Neo-Nazis, now—that was a bigger problem.

"Heil Hitler, motherfuckers!" the young blonde woman screamed from the Dagon's Hollow jail. Her combat boot slammed into the steel bars that had held cowboys and bank robbers, bootleggers and town drunks for generations. Her hair was tied back in pigtails, and she wore a mix of old German military uniforms and what passes for fashion in the 1960s.

"Greta Steinberg," the deputy said, from the safety of his office. "Third-generation daughter of German immigrants. Parents say it's a rebellious phrase, but she got caught spray-painting a swastika onto the Young Men's Jewish Association last week. Let her out with a warning. This morning, she attacked one of the Jewish girls on campus. Tried to carve a swastika into her arm. Ten stitches."

James Lochlear, older, greying, but still fit enough to fit into his service uniform, nodded.

"Sounds like trouble. So what's this got to do with me?" he said. He played with the ring on the third finger of his left hand.

"You fought the Nazis. Ain't no other veterans from World War II here. Thought maybe you could talk some sense into her," the deputy said.

"Talk," James said, and he met the deputy's eyes. It hadn't been the first time the deputy had asked him to "talk" to a suspect.

"She's tied into the American Nazi Party," he said. "They're planning some kind of rally against the Black and Japanese folks hereabouts."

James nodded. "I'll need to use the hole."

The Dagon Hollow jail was three stories high; it had been built for interior hangings: the condemned would have the rope tied to the roof-beam, and then trap doors in the floors would fall away, giving a three-story drop. Below the ground floor was a stone-walled cellar, older than the rest of the building. The cellar was built above a natural cavern. Maybe it was part of the same cave network as the real Hollow. Or maybe it wasn't. What it was was cool, dark, dry, and deep. The blonde would-be-Nazi was handcuffed and frogmarched down stairs, where she saw the heavy iron door in the floor opened, the dressed stone giving way to natural rock.

"What the fuck!" she screamed. "Fucking pigs!"

She kicked. James and the deputy fed her into the hole head-first. Then James went in, closed the door behind him.

There was no light. Greta panted in the dark, fighting down panic, rage. She tried to stand, and her head hit the ceiling. Landed hard on her ass.

"I was there when we liberated Dachau," James Lochlear said, his quiet voice huge in the dark, close space.

"Untermenschen!" Greta screamed. "Vermin! I'm glad they're dead!"

She spat in the general direction of his voice. He waited for the echoes of her voice to fade.

"One of the women gave me something. She had worked in one of the field brothels. Said I was a carrier. Didn't know what she meant at the time. Been carrying this one for a long time. Thought maybe it would die with me."

"What the fuck are you—" Greta started.

His right hand clasped onto her face. Her world exploded in light.

She looked out through strange eyes at a large room, like a high school gymnasium. Skeletal iron girders, painted gray, bright lights. Lying on a mattress. The manacles and heavy chains on wrist and ankle allowed little movement. A man in an Oberführer uniform whipped away the sheet. Greta stared down at her naked body, thin from months of little food. A number had been tattooed into her arm. A Star-of-David burned onto her left breast.

"No," she said in half-remembered German. "No no no, you don't understand, I'm one of you, I'm one of you! I—"

The Nazi did not answer her. Didn't even look at her.

"Last night, three Jews escaped from the field brothel. As punishment, this Jew will entertain the entire battalion. Four hundred men. I expect you all to do your duty. Heil Hitler!"

"HEIL HITLER!" the shout came back from four hundred Aryan throats.

For the first few, Greta tried to scream. To beg. Her throat became raw as one man after another penetrated her. She saw, and experienced, the Nazis she had idolized at first hand. Every prick that pushed past her lips, uncaring of her pleas. Every sweating man that spent himself into her pussy, her labia slowly tore from the constant friction of dick after dick. Pelvic muscles screaming from the continuous impact.

Begging gave way to bargaining. Then to fighting. Blood smeared her manacles as she strained to wriggle her hands from the manacles. She strained, heedless of the parade of soldiers, each of whom took their turn. Some of them spat in her face. Called her a whore, a slut. One man slapped her face, and was reprimanded. Instead, he slapped her small breast, a sharp, hard blow that raised a cry of approval from those still in line.

The tears started with the twentieth ****. He was a fresh-faced farmboy, with clear blue eyes and short-cropped blond hair. The kind of man she'd imagined marrying, to carry a new generation of white babies into being. His cock stabbed so deep she cried out in pain, and a transformation came over his face. With surprising energy and vigor, he did it again and again, bottoming out his big dick, slamming into her cervix until Greta tried to curl into a ball to protect herself.

When he was done, he wiped his dick on her thigh and the next moved between her legs.

Even if each Nazi only took five minutes to blow their load, servicing four hundred without break would have taken 33 hours. Nor did they let her miss a moment of it. When she passed out, water was thrown over her, or smelling salts were applied. Sometimes, he thought, other prisoners were filed in to watch for an hour as the men took her turn. Her pussy grew raw, then inflamed. Swollen an angry red. Bits of skin were fucked off by sheer friction, revealing red tissue that bled and scabbed. Wounds that would reopen time and again.

No food. No sleep. Hour after hour of constant penetration. A cup of water, every few hours. Just to make sure she wouldn't die. Not while there were still men left to service.

The terrible reality of it all was as crushing as the utter physical punishment. The psychological awareness that her life was measured in fucks, the mattress she lay on stained with spunk and sweat. When she pissed herself, they hosed her down, a break of barely sixty seconds before another hard Aryan cock stabbed deep inside of her.

There was no escape from it. No bargaining with it. Greta's past life seemed like something else, a fable told to a young woman in the distant past. These sensations were too sharp, too real.

Sometime around the three-hundredth cock, something broke inside of Greta. She wasn't sure what it was, but she felt the tear, the sharp pain. The cock came out, and half-pulled part of her pussy with it, extending outside of her labia. Her vaginal canal hung outside her pussy, dripping the finest sperm of the Third Reich, and then the next cock pushed it back inside. For the first time in hours, Greta screamed.

A man stepped forward. A man in a lab coat. He gave an order. The manacles were unlocked. Four soldiers grabbed Greta's arms and legs and lifted her off the mattress. For a moment, she allowed herself to hope.

Then they flipped her over. The manacles closed in again. Something dribbled down her ass.

"No no no no, please God, no no NO!"

The first Nazi cock pushed into Greta's virgin ass. The scream echoed through the gymnasium. The Nazis laughed.

A wooden rod was **** between her teeth. Too late, she realized why.

So she didn't bite off her own tongue.

The last hundred men took their time. Her ass broke. Blood on their cocks. All Greta could see were the prisoners brought in to witness her defilement, the destruction of her body. Frail men and women in striped outfits, yellow stars stitched prominently. There was sympathy in some of those eyes. Some of the women wept for her. Guards held guns leveled at them. There were no heroes here. No one to save her. Yet something touched her, in that small recognition of her humanity. These people, at least, saw her as something more than a subhuman meat hole.

At last, it ended. The manacles opened again. A rifle butt hit her ribs, but Greta couldn't move. Hands grabbed her, lifted, carried. Out of the gymnasium. Dripping Nazi cum out of both holes.

Toward the grave.

She landed on the body of other naked women, their flesh cold. The ones that had escaped. Shovelfuls of dark earth rained down on her. Greta couldn't even scream. They never took the wooden rod out of her mouth.

James Lochlear removed his hand, and the darkness hit Greta like a physical blow. She still sat on the floor, shivering, pants wet where she'd pissed herself. Tears ran down her face.

"Dug herself out. Got caught again. Was deemed unfit for the brothel. She didn't live very long, after we liberated the camp. Venereal disease. She was riddled with it. Immune system weakened from hunger. Hung on long enough to give me that memory."

The dark was suddenly full of presences. Greta tried to shrink into herself. It was like she could still feel them. All four hundred of them.

"Make them go away," she said, her voice small. "Please."

"Can't," James said. "You have to carry that memory now. Those ghosts. Face what that symbol really means."

His hand found a swastika patch and ripped it off.

"Now. Let's talk about the American Nazi Party," he said.

"There was no rally. No burning crosses, no lynching. Greta Steinberg was ordered to community service. Burned all of her Nazi memorabilia. Once, and only once, a woman still involved in the movement tried to bring her back into it."

Latoya's teeth flashed. "A handshake. And the Neo-Nazi bitch screamed."

She pursed her lips and blew out the candle.