+Notable Author: [Amnoartist] Resistance: 1950

[Amnoartist]

Resistance: 1950 (1)
Written & edited by Amnoartist
Chapter 1: Captive
 
What if the Nazis lost the war? I ask myself that more often than you think. Sometimes it’s the lullaby that sends me to sleep at night – whenever I’m lucky enough to get any, that is. More often than not, the screams of pain and anguish from those we’ve managed to save out in the streets, or from other resistance cells, keep me up at night. It’s even worse when it comes from kids. What did they do to deserve it? Being born into a world of war must be hellish, but—
 
I looked down at her pristine leather boots; gleamed with polish and no sign of dirt on them, neither the heel nor toe. Whoever she was, this woman was of high ranking both in the military and society, as if she came from nobility. That didn’t matter much – all Nazis are the same to me. Much like how non-German peoples weren’t important to her - or any Nazi, for that matter.
 
--There wasn’t much I could do. Was there? Sure, I could fight on and put even the smallest dent in their iron-forged regime, but then they’d come back and hit harder, forcing us to run and dig even deeper underground just to survive.
 
I should’ve listened to Carver. I Wouldn’t have been in this situation otherwise. I certainly wouldn’t have gotten the black eye, either. Thanks for that, by the way. Of course, being all hot-headed and desperate to take the fight back to them forced me not to listen. And now here I am, in the presence of a child-killing high-ranking official, who just happened to be roughly the same age as me, give or take a few.
 
I pulled my eyes higher, looking at the creaseless trousers this fucker wore with pride. If it weren’t for these cuffs, I wouldn’t hesitate to shove a knife down the bitch’s throat. It was the least she deserved. Instead I was forced to keep on watching in silence, as she slowly moved to her desk, behind which there was a detailed map of the local town and presumably a plan on how to sniff out the other rebel cells. I knew it was a plan of some sort because some of the circled areas on the map were the cells’ locations - old ones at that. It was a shame For once, I was happy that I couldn’t read or speak German.
 
“Grace Pullman.” This bitch defined my expectations in a sense I didn’t expect from her. Her voice was a little too surreal for my liking. Like, despite her evidently clear superiority in regards to, well, everything, there was still a girlish, silky, quality to her. Not to mention her appearance was almost in direct defiance of the Fuhrer’s vision of the Aryan race. She was more strawberry blonde than pure blonde, but still had those clear blue eyes.
 
She offered me a cigarette. The nerve. I wanted to refuse, but didn’t have much of a choice when two Wehrmacht conscripts had MP40s aimed at my skull, point-blank. So with a reluctant nod I accepted, leaning forward so this smug bitch could give me a light. I was close enough to butt her in the face, but again – the two MP’s made me think twice. Despite the evil that I knew oozed from this Fascist, it was impossible not to smell the aromatic perfume from her neck. Distracting. Enraging—
 
Looking higher still, I examined the rest of her uniform. Standard German military colours with the iron cross pinned on her left lapel, alongside the Swastika – naturally. I noticed her shoulders were thick and broad, as was her neck. I heard rumours that after the war ended, the Nazis began developing a program that enhanced the strength of their superiors, or anyone with weight to their name. So it wasn’t enough for them that they won the war and became the ruling peoples, they wanted to be more than mere people.
 
When finally laid back on the leather chair as pristine as her boots, Hilde calculatedly examined me from torso to head. I didn’t have to ask why she smiled – I already knew. But then, it wasn’t like I was going to get away with asking, was it?
 
“You have very strong Aryan features, ja? Blonde hair and blue eyes. You vill make a lot of men happy.”
 
I remained silent. The strong and silent type I guess you could say I am. But I was mostly quiet this time round because my black eye was still nipping. I had a few choice words otherwise.
 
I eyeballed the name badge pinned to her left lapel: Kommandant Hilde Eisner. Should I have been surprised by her pure-German name? No. Was I? Honestly, I didn’t care. It was bad enough I was next to her and she still drew breath.
 
The Kommandant I knew didn’t take my silence lightly. But she played coy – that was the way people like her did things. They acted reserved and kind in an effort to confuse you. Most of the time it worked. She took a puff from her cigarette. Being nineteen - the same age as I – she only confused me when her puff was drawn because her uncanny youth made her look even younger. But I knew her draw was calculated, deliberate; it gave her time to mull over her next words, which she certainly didn’t skimp on.
 
“So where will it be? Freiheit?”
 
Even though it translates back to ‘Freedom,’ camp Freiheit is anything but. It’s a hellhole in the British countryside. That said, all camps are hellholes. Ever since Auschwitz became heavily overpopulated in forty-four, the Nazis devised plans to create super-camps, the first of which to open outside of German borders was Freiheit. The less I tell you about places like that, the better. You think Auschwitz is bad? Well—I imagine they’d find me incredibly useful for something like slave labour, right? Although, maybe they’d find me better suited for something else.
 
“Or maybe ve’ll put you someplace different. Herr Scholl I believe would be much interested in a woman like you. Very strong.” Hilde removed her jacket to reveal her arms. They were impressive, big, I’ll say that much. No doubt Hilde’s size was a result of the experimentations. Her status permitted that much. “He likes strong girls,” she added.
 
The two Stormtroopers at my sides laughed with the Kommandant. Nazi humour is far different from ours, it seems. I knew exactly what she meant, and given the fact she was strong herself, that stood to reason that this ‘Herr Scholl’ liked Hilde too. I knew I wasn’t wrong; she seemed to drift off for a moment after mentioning him.
 
“Do I get much of a choice?” I said that rhetorically. I already knew I didn’t have a choice, but something had to be done in protest. In contrast with Hilde, I couldn’t exactly snap out of these cuffs and gun my way out. At any rate, she was mostly impressed with the fact I just spoke, given I’d been silent ever since my capture yesterday. The Kommandant smiled at me. Or, maybe she smiled in my direction, but not at me. I couldn’t tell, nor did I care.
 
“Although he does have a – how you say? – tendency to experiment on those he finds intriguing.” Hilde looked at me with a frown. I wasn’t sure if it was genuine or mocking, but it was certainly disheartening. It was bad enough I was captured – my own damn fault, no less – but now I had to bear with the worry in not knowing where I was headed. “One black eye is enough, ja? Vouldn’t vant you to grow another arm too, vould ve?”
 
The Stormtroopers laughed again. Louder this time. To say I was being ticked off would be an understatement. I scuffed my boot off the floor nervously as a nearby typist adjusted her typewriter, all while Hilde mulled over what to do with me. She knew as well as I that I would be far more useful alive than dead, and that that usefulness would be better employed elsewhere – away from Freiheit, away from Herr Scholl. Her perfectly manicured nails rattled off the desk as she bit her lip in thought.
 
“Vat to do…” she pondered.
 
“You could always release me” I suggested, pulling the cuffs up for emphasis. There was no such luck, though. Instead, the Kommandant responded with a chilling glare. Now, I’ve seen all kinds of people give me cautionary looks before – Carver; my dog – but this one was different. This one made me backtrack on my words and fall silent again. It was amazing, in some twisted fashion, how someone this young could instil fear like that in me so soon, as if she had practice.
 
Then a smile broke out from her. “Oh, you are a funny one. Always cracking jokes vith your friends?
 
They laughed again.
 
I swear Nazi humour is different from ours, but it wasn’t like I could opt to teach them a lesson. Well, not the one they’d hope for at least. Pretty sure there was a hint of sarcasm in her tone anyway. Besides, my big mouth got my mud-smeared face and torso pushed onto the desk so Hilde could get closer to me, face-to-face. Things would’ve been a helluva lot different if our roles were switched. A vapor of nicotine from her cigarette engulfed my lungs and face before she spoke again in a more hushed tone.
 
“You’re a joke. Your whole country’s a joke.” I could smell her breath; all that nicotine made me sicker inside than from having to converse with this prejudiced bitch in the first place. What I would give to wipe the smug grin from her face… “Flags of zee Fatherland reign across it - a symbol of strength and distinction. But you and your rebels spit on it.”
 
I looked up at her with a condescending smile. Spit on the flag? That’s cute. A huge understatement, though. “Pfft. I’ve done worse to it in drunken stupors, believe me.”
 
The Kommandant pulled back to her chair with that same smile as earlier – you know, the one I wanted to punch off? She put her gleaming leather boots up on the table to emphasise her dominating position. It was at this point I really hoped she wouldn’t ask me to lick them – things were embarrassing enough already.
 
She looked at the oil painting of Hitler for a moment.
 
“Ah, there’s an idea!” The Kommandant called out, a finger raised skyward. I knew things for me were a little uncertain, but that concern only flared when the woman said those words with such happiness she could’ve been compared to a girl just gifted with a puppy. She leaned in again, face-to-face with me, blue eyes staring into blue eyes. She really had to stop that. “How vould you like to be a – how you say? – helping hand in zee Fuhrer’s house?”
 
As if one high-ranking Nazi wasn’t enough…
 
///
 
When outside, fear crawled so far up my ass I nearly screamed. It was bad enough the tears were not only real, but blinding too. The Kommandant was ahead of me a bit, her six-foot-six stature ever frightening; to her flanks were rows of SS troopers. They looked dead inside; stiff and with not even a flicker of emotion. Behind me were the same Wehrmacht from earlier, urgently prodding my back as they guided me to the fancy car that Nazi officials use.
 
Before and during the war, the Kehlsteinhaus, or Eagle’s Nest in the Bavarian Alps, was one of Hitler’s many retreats. Now it was where he lived. Sure, being the not-so undisputed ruler of the world meant he could live just about anywhere at this point, but there was something scenic about the location. I wasn’t so sure what it was, but there was no doubting I would eventually find out.
 
Hilde opened the car door and with a calculated smile, gestured for me to climb in. Still cuffed, I couldn’t openly resist, and given there were around forty SS in the compound – minus the smug, rippling Kommandant – knew not a lot of common sense would come from doing otherwise. So, I reluctantly complied, the Kommandant following close behind, so close and figuratively up my ass she’d better have asked me out to dinner first!
 
When finally sat in the car, she crossed a leg with her signature smug grin, clocking my weeping face before speaking. Her words weren’t all that encouraging, I’ll admit.
 
“Don’t worry. So long as you do as asked, zee Fuhrer vill be much pleased with you.” The car’s gears kicked in with a jerk, forcing me forward slightly and to gawk at the Kommandant’s thighs as I pulled back up. “Maybe if you’re lucky, zee Fraulein Braun might be willing to befriend you.”
 
Friends with a Nazi? Highly fucking unlikely. But then I thought: what if the Nazis lost the war?
 
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Author’s Note: This is going to be one of those “push the envelope” series I talked about in my last poll. As the story progresses, it might seem like I’m glorifying Fascism/Nazism, but it’s just a tool to maintain the plot. There’s a high possibility that I’ll also give the series a different name, considering in hindsight it won’t actually be about a resistance’s fight against the Nazi regime (the title I have currently is just a placeholder - suggestions are welcomed) I might mention its progress behind-the-scenes, however. And before I forget: yes, the manically moustached guy will be in the story, as a supporting character, no less, alongside Eva Braun. Both of them will be different from how they're typically perceived, obviously. And if you have to wonder how, you haven’t paid attention to anything I just wrote ;P With that all said, let me know your thoughts on this opening chapter.

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Great and original beginning. Thank you

Thanks for the praise mermoz ^^

Sounds like someone's been reading Phillip Dick's "Der Mann in der hochburg" ...

You get this idea from The Man in the High Castle?

The Man in the High Castle? Funny you should say that, I cabln see the similarities, but have never read the book or watched the series, so everything so far has been purely coincidence.
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Next part should be up next week, guys. Hang tight

Dang it Amno, now i want to know how the rest of Hilde's body looks like. Why do need to tease like that, haha.
Anyway, great start and it will be very intersting too see if Grace gets experimented on and what the resukts would be.

[Amnoartist]

Resistance: 1950
Written & edited by Amnoartist
Chapter 2: Taking A Ride

Note: This chapter contain elements from the outset that some viewers may find sensitive. Viewer discretion is advised.

There’s something graceful about seeing a flag beat gently in the wind, isn’t there? it's like an angel spreading its wings ready to fly. Well, I can tell you there’s nothing particularly graceful or angelic about a Swastika being draped over Big Ben. I could see it even from a distance, near Waterloo, one of the many massacres sites throughout London. Funny enough, afterwards, that’s where I first met Carver, my fiance. He was one of the few survivors. Lucky guy, I tell you. I’m just happy my younger sister Abby wasn’t involved. God, I hope she’s doing alright considering the circumstances.

Hilde stood behind me with a hand over my shoulder, confident as ever, bicep bulging under the fabric of her uniform. It was just the two of us. I’ll tell you, I was close to tucking tail and running from the bitch, but— where would I go? As if one, hulking Fascist wasn’t enough, even if I managed to escape her, there were countlessly other Nazis prowling the streets; SS, Gestapo, Wehrmacht— I had to face it: I wasn’t going anywhere. At least, not where I wanted to.

“Your life is apout to change.” The Oberstgruppenfuhrer’s statement couldn’t have been any more accurate. Yes, my life was, indeed, about to change, but not in the way I hoped. I’m still reeling from the fact I’m shackled, after all, the steel rubbing cuttingly against my wrists. Right now, I just wished they’d gotten slashed about the irons and be done with it, but that isn’t what Carver would’ve wanted— It certainly isn’t what Abby needs.

I could still smell the perfume from the edge of Hilde’s neck, her thick blonde locks blowing in the wind; it never did seem to lose its potency, quite like how she would never lose her devotion to the Fuhrer. The scent was strong and, I’ll admit, sweet as much as it was distracting.

“Yeah, yeah,” I responded cynically, pulling hopelessly at the cuffs as rain started to roll in. Typical. And I thought my day was bad enough already. Hilde slapped me hard on the cheek with the back of hr hand anyway, looking at me with disdain. It looked like she was ready to kill someone— but I knew she couldn’t touch me.

Coal: that’s what my nose picked up next. It’s strange how similar to burnt wood it smells. I’ve been in some fires throughout my time in the Resistance, so the smell is almost something I’ve come to be acquainted with. It only seemed to become stronger with time, and that was when I realized—

The column of grey smoke was at first thin, distant like Big Ben, but over time it thickened and became more pungently scented. Then the faint rattling of the tracks signaled the impending arrival of our train the smoke billowed from. I knew if I didn’t set foot on it when it halted, Hilde could’ve been aggravated enough to put a bullet in my head.

“Don't effen zink apout running.” I might’ve been wrong, but I’m pretty sure the Oberstgruppenfuhrer put the barrel of a P08 Luger to my back to stress her point. Even though otherwise would’ve been preferred, somehow I knew Hilde wouldn’t have wasted a bullet for me. “But bleaze; make my day, ja?”

This was going to be harder than I thought. Not just the trip, but everything that would happen from here onward.

When the train stopped, the first thing that happened was the slaves were carted out from the rearmost carriage, shackled and bound in worse ways than I was, prodded like cattle by SS troops. They were being guided, I think, into the large building just across the street from the station. The moans of anguish from them— My God. I actually shed a tear, while Hilde, conversely, predictably, looked on sadistically.

“Zub-human filth.”

I offered the Oberstgruppenfuhrer a cold glare, something I don’t often do to anyone. Yet, I could see from her smirk that she found a sick sense of enjoyment from my expressed hatred. The things I would do to this chick if I weren’t bound—

"You people are fucking monsters."

“Koing to blay hero?” I could tell she wanted me to do something - something to ‘make her day.’ But I, now, wasn’t going to give her the fucking satisfaction. She wanted me on that train? Well, I’ve been on trains before, and I doubted a Nazi one’s going to be different. Tauntingly, she offered me the gun, knowingly already I wouldn't take the risk.

After the slaves were urged off, the passengers were next to disembark, most of whom came from somewhere up North, presumably Scotland, and were mainly German despite that. From then, there was the sudden burst of hustle and bustle; eager touristy families returning home; children from the Hitler Youth packed into groups for trips, soldiers on leave from combat—

Someone in the distance suddenly caught my eye: a black male slave, presumably native African, dressed in what seemed to be a chef’s uniform. He was understandably nervous around the Wehrmacht trooper evidently sizing him down with narrow eyes, MP40 slung lazily at his side. I don’t know a lick of Kraut, but definitely know I heard ‘nigger’ in there. I watched the slave being forcibly shoved into the train’s nearmost carriage before, I too, was forced into the front one by Hilde.

“Sit there.” She sharply pointed to a large booth in the middle, positioned behind the large guarded door that led into the next carriage. Judging by the interior design of our carriage, it seemed we were in first class. For what, I didn’t know. I mean, I knew I was headed off to meet the Fuhrer, but to every Nazi on the train I was nothing but sub-human. “I’ll pe pack momentarily,” she added briskly.

I complied with the Oberstgruppenfuhrer’s demands, seating myself in the booth while she headed off into the next carriage, saying something in German to the guards at the door as she passed - not before they predictably clicked their heels together and saluted, swastika armbands on display. So it became clear to me that even if I wanted to make a last-minute attempt to escape, I couldn’t; the guards watched me like vultures watched their prey, index fingers anxiously twitching over their firearms' triggers. Any wrong move and God knows what would happen. That, and it kind of forced me to play along with Hilde’s intentions for now.

And before the fact even had time to register in my brain, the train departed.

///

Hours passed; day had turned into the early darkness of night. Or maybe it was the early light of day. It was hard to tell how long I’d slept. I was just lucky enough to have done that at all. But Hilde’s expression when I opened my eyes was far from something that gave me peace of mind, in any case. She was evidently bogged down with paperwork about Resistance cells back home; back where Carver and Abby were. Strangely, the rattling of the train tracks and soft static from the on-board radio relaxed me.

“You're avake ja?” Hilde put her pen aside slowly, carefully. It seemed almost strategic. With that hand she gestured towards the window, beckoning me to look out it, ordering me like I was a dog. Reluctantly, I complied. It was then I realized where we were. Like with the experiments, I’d heard stories about the Nazis creating an underground line that stretched from London to the Netherlands. From there, it was a straight shot to Berlin. We were just coming out of the underground line, entering the Dutch border. Somehow, I could just tell the Oberstgruppenfuhrer could see my face. “Vat do you zink?”

What did I think? I was speechless. It seemed German ingenuity was given less credit than it was due. That didn’t make me any more supportive of what they were doing to the world, though. They always claimed to want to make it a better place, but destroying historical sites and erecting new, purely Germanic ones wasn’t the way to go about that.

A short outburst of static came from the radio before, I think, a news report came on. I was stuck in the dark again, given the language was German, but I could tell from Hilde’s expression that it wasn’t all that pleasing. For me at least. She caught my confusion from the corner of her sea blue eye and offered a sadistic smirk.

“Zee rezisdance is - how you zay? - in full retreat.”

Abby: she was the first person I thought of, not Carver. He could handle himself, but Abby— she still had a lot to learn. She was too much of a child still, and acting like one, these days, can-- will get you killed. As anxious as I was, there was still a deep well of hatred brewing within me. I could feel it; it was like something physically churning inside my gut. Or maybe it was just the nerves…

My vexation froze, though, when a sudden outburst of merriment came from the next carriage. With a curious head I turned to see what all the commotion was about, Hilde briskly pulling out her Luger and pointing it at me in case I tried to make a run for it. That idea did cross my mind, but I wasn’t going to get far in a moving locomotive packed with trigger-happy Nazis.

And then, that’s when I saw her emerge from a small crowd of people in the other carriage and make her way into ours. She had her face plastered on so many posters back home, I knew who it was without a doubt: Reichsminister Rosabel Mendl. She’s apparently a celebrity amongst her people, but I’m not all that sure how. Politicians are rarely good people, Nazis or not.

Hilde stood upright and saluted Rosabel, much to my aggravation, who in turn repeated it just as fervently. She was dressed in typically Germanic aristocratic attire - a fur scarf, for instance -  presenting herself in a contemporary style despite her evidently advanced age of seventy-three. She apparently had both political and personal associations with the Fuhrer, but how much of it was to be believed I barely cared about.

The two women exchanged a short conversation in German behind my back, offering belittling laughs throughout. Hilde playfully poked the older woman’s right arm for some reason, while she responded verbally in German. Numbers, I think.

Nevertheless, she took a seat next to Hilde, making me the third wheel in the present situation. Silently she removed her fur scarf and coat, draping it over the back of the booth. It was then I noticed she was buff like Hilde. That, plus she must've been at least six feet. Although, she was wearing heels. The blonde Oberstgruppenfuhrer was, at a complete guess, as big as a bodybuilder, while the Reichsminister was somewhere around that.

The politician looked at me with a condescending smirk before leaning to Hilde. They whispered to one another before Hilde turned her Luger to me, turning the safety off.

“Vy zo guiet und glum?” Rosabel leaned towards me so as to assert her position in the situation, palms pressed hard into the table, which she didn’t really have to do considering I wasn’t going to have much of a chance with otherwise. Not that either of them cared.

“I just didn’t expect you to be so…beefy.” I panicked for two reasons. One: It was the first thing I’d said in hours, and two: I wasn’t sure it was the right thing to say. Surely I could’ve picked something better? Something a little less…life-threatening? At any rate, I’m still here, aren’t I?

Hilde struck me across the cheek with the barrel of her gun, blinding and giving me tinnitus for a moment; long enough for the muffled laughs of Rosabel to eventually subside.

“Vat prings you here, Reichsminister?” It was evident Hilde held an air of curiosity in her query, her eyes narrowing in an attempt to size the woman up.

“I’m redurning home to Berlin after a meeding in Heerlen.” Rosabel gestured for the passing waiter to pour wine into the empty glass she offhandedly waved in her grip. It was then I realized the waiter was the same black man I saw at the station earlier, only now he had a fresh bruise across his cheek and a deep cut at his lip. He stayed there, shaking. “Rezistance cells are merging zere, creading a larger force.”

If only the two women could see how happy I felt knowing that. There was hope still, somewhere. In spite of that, Rosabel looked at Hilde with disdain, giving her a look cold as ice.

“It is your chob to crusch zem.” She pointed at me with a finger sharp as a blade, evidently repulsed by my mere presence alone. Clearly she didn’t like the fact I sat with her. If only she knew where I was headed. “Like zis veakling zub-human, for examble.”

I gave her a glare just as cold as hers.

But then—

The woman burst out laughing, chest meat urging forth to strain against her shirt, pecs grinding like two hands rubbing nervously together, her shoulders jutting forward with each chuckle. Like I said, Nazi humour is different from ours, so I wasn’t all that sure what the hell she laughed at.

“Don’t vorry, Miss Pullman; I know vy you’re here. I trust you like make an excellent slaffe” Stressing her position even further, she rubbed her foot up against my leg whilst reaching for the black man’s arse to slap it. He jerked forward, almost spilling the bottle of wine resting on the tray. “Und bleaze forgiffe my anger. My huspand hasn’t peen berforming in ped, of late. All zoze bent-up emozions, ya?”

“Huh-uh.” I was lost. I had no idea what the Reichsminister was referring to. And yet, Hilde looked at her with an expression that seemed to hint at her possessing some sort of inside knowledge.

“You’re schtill not vith-child?” Naturally, it took a moment for my brain to register the question put forth to the politician. How could a woman as old as her possibly hope to have a child? But then, Nazi science evidently has jumped leaps and bounds ahead of everyone else’s, hasn't it?. I just had to look at Hilde for proof. “Maype Herr Scholl’s exberiments can help vith zat?”

Wait…so the Reichsminister’s muscularity wasn’t already the result of the experiments? This was all so confusing for me. Who could go through with them and not? Who had and hadn’t? My confusion must’ve spoken for myself somehow, as she responded:

“I vas Miss Deutschland Podybuilding chambion for four schtraight years.” Stressing her point, she pulled her arm up into a flex, watching the sharp peak rise from under the tightness of her shirt, evidently shifting this and that way in an attempt to keep its basic shape. Had it gotten any higher, her peak would’ve—

Shriip!

—burst straight through it.

“Imbrezzive, ja?”

I nodded. Slowly - very slowly. The fact Hilde still had the Luger pointed at my chest kind of swayed my opinion.

“Zixdeen inches.” Oh, so she was smaller than I thought. I guess the outfit she had just made her look wider. From the corner of my eye I could see the woman had gripped the black man’s arse again, only tighter and not letting go this time. “I like a man’s Pratwurst to pe chust as long und zick, but…zis nigger vill do for now.”

My brain kind of shut down after that. I didn’t understand the motive behind the Reichsminister’s want to fug the waiter, but I wasn’t going to go around asking question either. Especially when leaned in with the gun. It must've been something to do with the 'bent-up emozions.' All I could do was look at the guy pitifully as he was helplessly cupped into Rosabel’s gaping arms and carried into the toilet. It looked like he wanted to, but didn't do anything in protest.Probably because he knew if he did, a bullet from Hilde's Luger would eventually cut though his back like a knife through butter.

Eventually, rhythmical thumps, and grunts of both pleasure and fear from the cubicle.

Hilde grabbed two glasses from the tray, poured us some wine to share and then gestured to my glass with her signature sadistic grin.

“You look like you need zat.”

Oh, I definitely needed it.

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Author's Note: Jeez, I didn't know this chapter would turn out to be so long. I mean, I knew I had an outline of events, but shit-- Like I've said several times already, this is going to be a "push the envelope" kind of series. That is to say, it's going to have things some people might find sensitive. That said, let me know your thoughts on this.
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Whoa! That was tense!  No love lost there, the battle will hopefully happen soon. 

The content is intriguing and well done so far, but I do think the accents have gotten a mite thick.  I can see what you're going for, and while it comes across with decent verisimilitude it's a pain to parse.

[Amnoartist]

Resistance: 1950
Written & edited by Amnoartist
Chapter 3: Goddess' Gambit

"schtand up schtraight!"

The Eagle's Nest: never thought I'd actually see it. That was to say, I couldn't believe I willed myself to stay alive long enough to do so, like, I hadn't even tried to kill myself beforehand. You know what they say: curiosity killed the cat. What exactly did the place look like after the war? I rhetorically asked myself that question often enough that I eventually took it seriously and actually wanted to know.

Nazi architecture sure is different from ours, I'll say that much. I was too entranced by it to take proper heed of Hilde's command. Apparently, I was slouching, so she took it upon herself to hit me across the back with her cane. I suppose I should've been lucky it wasn't anything other than that, like those huge, rippling trunky arms of hers. A faint throbbing vein showed under the sleeves of her pristine uniform and there was an even thicker one across both thighs. They looked close to bursting. One wrong move and they just might.

"Alright, alright, Jesus." I fixed my posture with reluctance, angry at myself in knowing I'd once again just complied with one of the people I intended to bring down. Violently. To either side of me were two other individuals, no doubt plucked from their destroyed homes and families to be, what I expected at least, slaves to the Nazis. To my left was the same black man I saw on the train only a few hours ago, his head low and deep in thought. Most likely dark thoughts. I can only imagine what he went through with Reichsminister Mendl. To my right was a young female probably the same age as Abby, a brown haired European. It seemed I was the only one of us with their head held high. The Nazis weren't going to get the better of me.

Hilde positioned herself in front of me and gave a condescending smirk. The bitch. She think's she's so superior just because I'm shackled. Put me in a room with her and I swear I'd put up a decent fight. I might not win it but at least I'd give her a challenge. Her abnormally beautiful blonde hair caught my attention, swept over her swollen traps that, much like the veins on her thighs and arms, were close to bursting through her uniform. Although, I wouldn't be all that surprised if she wanted that to happen. Her eyes met mine for a moment before she sized me up. Yes, I know I'm smaller. She didn't have to casually point it out like I was unaware. I'd spent the last day with her to know that.

"Are you ready?"

My heart jumped and ass cheeks clenched. Ready for what exactly? It didn't help that Hilde spoke in a tone not so dissimilar to some form of excitement like she was giddy as a schoolgirl. Not the best kind of comparison but that's beside the point. My silence spoke for me. I knew I should've said something, but what? Regardless, Hilde adjusted the lapels of my jacket. It was at that moment I realised the stark difference between me and the other new arrivals at my side: they were dressed in concentration camp uniforms while I still wore the same clothes as when I got caught back in Britain.

Hilde offered a cold stare at me, realising her question had been left unanswered. She pulled at my jacket so as to tighten it more around my neck like a noose. That certainly got my attention, not to mention the slight squirming bicep meat that showed itself afterwards. It was as if something small lived inside her arm and agitatedly moved, shifting the skin and powerfully built tendons underneath. "I zaid, are you ready?"

"Oh definitely" I chokingly replied, even though I was more sarcastic than honest. It was good enough an answer for Hilde to release her grip on me. Then that smile came again. It meant nothing to me. No matter how cute it looked or how much it applied emphasis to her dimples or flaring lats, it was still a Nazi's smile.

The unknown black man didn't share the same opinion as me though. Shifting his gaunt weight forward, he prematurely ejaculated to the sight of Hilde's right bicep ever so casually pushing itself even further against her uniform's sleeves, practically screaming for space and release from their clothed prison. I could tell he was ashamed of himself for having done what he did; I could tell he tried his best to hold it in. He didn't look weak-willed to me. It was an accident.

Surprisingly Hilde chuckled. I half expected her to beat the guy to death for releasing, but maybe that's what she wanted out of him. Not me though.

The small girl next to me whimpered, her knees knocking against one another in utter fright. She had a little stain of her own: piss. I felt so, so sorry for her. She reminded me so much of Abby. God, where was she? I hoped she was okay.

"Vell, you tvo definitely failed zee test. You could learn a zing or tvo from Grace here." Hilde focused on me. I clearly hadn't failed this 'test' of hers. Then it dawned on me: it was designed to see who lasted the longest before the unfortunate winner would meet...her.

My eyes moving upward to the ceiling, it wasn't long before I heard the clanging of steel and loud bestial moans of effort. I just might have been a little worried then. I knew Hilde was big but she was probably nothing compared to Eva Braun. Or was it Eva Hitler now? Frankly, I didn't really care about whichever it was. All I cared about was getting out.

"Vell, Grace, it's time for you to receiffe your revard."

///

The smell of sweat from beyond seemed to grow stronger the closer I got to the large door at the end of the hallway. Or should I say, the harder I got pushed to there? Hilde couldn't stop herself from chuckling at my apparently hilarious predicament, listening to my shackled feet stumbling forward and aggravated grunts become more evident. The door was made of metal and wider than even the hulking blonde leading me on. It must've stood at least six feet tall, with an unnatural shine layered over its frame.  Frome behind that door were the same feminine grunts and metallic clanks I initially heard downstairs, only now they were far more pronounced.

With a sharp yank at the rear of my collar, Hilde pulled me back and I stopped just a few yards from the door. She brushed past me and gave a cold condescending glance before taking hold of the door handle.

"Vait for me, ja?" Hilde offered a smirk, knowing that deep down she knew I had the thought of making a break for it when she closed that door behind her, but-- I looked behind me to see not, not even two, but four Wehrmacht troopers at the far end of the hallway. So even though I did have the idea of trying to escape, it wouldn't be a successful one.

Hilde closed the door behind her, leaving me alone with the four Wehrmacht conscripts who I'm pretty sure offered patronizing chuckles. They looked about my age; early twenties, with a lot of living ahead of them, provided they survive the war.

The clangs and groans came to a sudden stop, replaced with what sounded like a heartfelt dialogue between Hilde and who I presumed was Eva Braun. Strange, though, how up until now I hadn't seen or heard talk of Hitler himself. He must've been away conducting plans to counter our collective resistance effort across the globe. Knowing that, he likely wouldn't want to waste his time with a schwein like me.

My train of thought came to an end, however, when the door Hilde passed through groaned open seemingly on its own, slowly but surely revealing more of the vast room beyond it. I took that as my cue to cross the threshold, as much as I felt fear clutch at my gut and tell me to just tuck tail and run. I wasn't going to do that - not now at least. I thought to myself, I got this far, might as well push on.

And I did.

Blinking, I found myself in the middle of the room; a pristine home gym, complete with dumbbells, sparring mats and a punching bag in the far corner. Although, it was the groaning to my left that really got my attention.

I wasn't all that sure what to focus on the most: the sweaty, vein-flaked arms bulging to their extremities from the dumbbells or the fact the weights themselves were cartoonishly large and being lifted to goad the muscles even bigger. No, it was neither of those things actually, rather the wife of the Nazi party's leader stood before me with her near mountainous back turned. Eva must've been at least three times wider than Hilde, who stood behind me with her back straightened and hands tucked behind it.

I blinked, trying to hide my anxiety. Yes, I won't deny it now; I was firmly scared of the situation I found myself to be in, even though, right now, everyone in the Resistance would no doubt be willing to sell their soul to get this close to Eva. But they wouldn't only find themselves just as startled as I was. They would be rooted to the floor, unsure how to react. Glancing down at the woman's hamstrings, it was made clear to me that even the muscles she wasn't working at the time still found a way to bulge and ripple. The rear of her legs quivered like the strings of a harp being pulled as she stood, the gentlest of moans escaping from her lungs as her biceps swelled.

"Imbreziffe, nein?" Eva's voice defied her looks; strong and muscular yet spoke with a supple tone. It took me by surprise I'll admit, but it wasn't enough for me to drop my guard. For all I knew, she could have used her softly-spoken words to her advantage before doing horrible things to people - including myself. She turned to face me and offered a gentle smile probably hidden under a layer of narcissism, still manipulating the weight in her hand like it weighed nothing.

My silence spoke for everyone. It was stern and defiant - the way my father always acted against his own enemies and killers. I wasn't stupid: I was brought to Eva for a reason and it certainly wasn't for introductions. She sized me up with her every breath, every exhale forcing her gargantuan chest to ripple and bound with she-flesh sized beyond compare. She brought a hand to my chin and pulled it up for my eyes to meet hers, blue meeting blue, although hers were strangely more vibrant than mine.

"I've seen bigger." Of course, what I said was an outright lie. I just wasn't going to give this bitch the benefit of the doubt or something to hear that would feed her ego. I aimed to make things as difficult for her as I could, even if that meant death for me.

Still curling the weight, Eva smirked once more before offering a knowing glance at Hilde, and before I could react in turn, I found myself being thrust to the floor on both knees, the Oberstgruppenfuhrer gripping my shoulder tight with the one hand. I tried to break free but nothing--if anything, I only embarrassed myself further and gave the two women quite a show.

"Fearlessness von't get you far in zee new vorld, Grace." Eva stared right down at me, still stood straight so her ever-powerful form looked even more threatening from above, one hand casually on her hip to allow the ballooned bicep to mash into her rigid oblique, while the other arm still bulged under duress from the dumbbell. "You're ought to tell your friends in zee Rezistance zat."

I snarled, the very thought of my friends being threatened by this egocentric bitch enough cause for me to spit on her face. But Eva didn't react the way I had hoped. Neither was that to say she didn't react at all. Her thighs were pumped and bloated with blood from the workout she ceased for our 'conversation,' perhaps even oversized by Nazi standards let alone human. But I didn't know just how strong they were until I found my neck sandwiched between them like a finger in a vice. The pain was unbearable but I endeavoured to make look as though I hadn't broken.

"Vere are your little Rezisdance friends, I vonter?" Eva enjoyed watching me wiggle helplessly like a worm, enjoyed showing me her strength. I dreaded to think she wasn't using even half of it. Regardless, the titanical woman performed her feat in such a way that it suggested she had some prior experience with it. The veins of her thighs rising to the surface of her skin, she applied yet more pressure to my neck as Hilde started laughing at my misfortune. "Hiting avay in holes like zee little rats zey are?"

So this is what it was all about: me being interrogated to reveal the location of the Resistance cell I was part of. Fat chance of me being that submissive. I didn't quite fancy the idea of being a traitor when the world was fucked up enough already. I would rather die than betray the Resistance and somehow Eva knew that. But she wasn't willing to free me just yet. But my refusal was damning; Eva groaned as she forced more quad meat to not only press against my neck but to come to life and grow again, willing her legs even thicker!

"It's zimble, Grace; zupmit und reffeal your friends' locazion, und you vill ko free." The veins in Eva's thighs seemed to snake up to her crotch now and those that came from there spread upwards to her waistline and pushed on further even afterwards. I wasn't sure what I saw was even human. "Don't do it, und ve'll do zis effery day undil you do."

Carver and Abby: I wanted to see them again. But Eva's idea of 'free' was most likely different from mine. There would no doubt be strings attached to the sense of freedom she would potentially give to me. Everyone here who wasn't a Nazi was a slave to those who were. I had no intention of being one but my sense of retaliation against the Nazi war machine dwindled the stronger Eva's thighs got around my neck. I wasn't going to go out without a fight like my father did. Simply put: to fight I had to submit.

Carver and Abby: I wanted to see them again. But Eva's idea of 'free' was most likely different from mine. She would no doubt have strings attached to the sense of freedom potentially given to me. Everyone here who wasn't a Nazi was a slave to those who were. I had no intention of being one but my sense of retaliation against the Nazi war machine dwindled the stronger Eva's thighs got round my neck. I wasn't going to go out without a fight like my father did. Simply put: to fight I had to submit.

"Waterloo. London." That was all I could manage, my breath leaving me before my dwindling consciousness led to darkness. No, I wasn't dead, but may as well have been.

Eva released her grip on me, allowing my comparatively twiggy form to flop to the floor, next to Hilde who knelt down to check my pulse. It was strange how she was relieved to find me still breathing.

Eva couldn't resist. She pressed the flat of her naked foot to my cheek before rubbing a hand over her thighs, so much blood now pumped to them that they appeared red raw. They were probably the most pumped they'd been in a long time. She found Grace to be particularly interesting.

"I trust you haffe zee necezary breparazions made?"

Hilde gave a confirming nod with a knowing smile. She had three Panzer divisions on standby, accompanied by a Luftwaffe contingent for support. Not to mention the three Valkyrie units she'd hand-picked to lead them. It'd been quite some time since Hilde was on the field, but last time she hadn't gone through the transformations. This wasn't going to be a battle. That would imply both sides had an equal chance of winning. If anything, this was going to be a massacre - a massacre Carver and Abby would be part of.

Eva pressed a hand to Hilde's cheek and a quivering breath escaped from the Oberstrgruppenfuhrer's lips. She hadn't been touched like that before - so caringly - at least, not by Eva. Eva herself didn't like to be touched. Hilde might've been her protege, but that didn't give the young woman any right to act in the same manner as the even larger woman before her.

Hilde was caught off-guard even further when Eva's lips pressed against hers in a genuine passionate kiss. It was as if Eva had held that passion inside of her for a long time like it had been encased in a bottle and stashed away until stumbled upon by chance at a far later time. Something sparked between the two blondes. Hilde wanted to move in for another kiss but professionalism took hold of her. Besides, maybe the kiss was just one of good luck. A kiss like that? No, it was definitely some sense of desire that fueled it.

Eva pulled back, a hand over the nape of Hilde's bullish neck. "Do me proud" she whispered, offering a smile.

"Ja" Hilde responded softly.

Hilde clicked her heels and saluted wordlessly before stiffly marching away from the goddess who was Eva, who returned to her workout even as I laid unconscious behind her in the middle of the room.

########

I decided to merge the events of two chapters into one, which explains why this chapter is so long. Like with A Court of Dragons' Chapter 3, I enjoyed writing this. I wanted to delve into Grace's hard-as-nails mentality a bit further, even after she's finally gotten to meet Eva Braun (Hitler)

Before debating whether or not to go with the idea for future parts, I researched if Nazis were okay with the concept of Lesbianism. Turns out they were biased: i.e. they despised gay men but were perfectly okay with lesbians. So, my question is: should Eva and Hilde's relationship be explored further or just be left at what it is: a goddess grooming her protege?

The next chapter should be interesting: a change of perspective (either in Carver's, Hilde's or Abby's) as the German army moves in to take out what remains of the Resistance in London, following Grace's submission. Expect action in that continuation.

[Amnoartist]

Resistance: 1950
Written & edited by Amnoartist
Chapter 4: A Useful Slave

It’s been weeks since my first fateful meeting with Eva, since I blacked out between her thighs—since Hilde was sent on a mission to bring the remains of the Resistance to heel. There have been rumours swirling around that the Resistance is no more—that Carver and Abby are no longer with us. I try my best not to think about it during the day, literally slaving away, doing this and that for my Nazi overlords. But at night, things are much different. I may have made friends with Badu and Jana but I doubt they’ll be able to fix the crack in my heart, knowing that maybe—just maybe—there’s truth to those rumours.

In the weeks that I’ve been labouring away, my usefulness has proved to catch the eye of the on-camp staff, mostly because all the heavy lifting that’s been forced onto my back—sometimes quite literally—has helped sculpt my physique in ways I never thought would be possible for a woman. Well, a woman who isn’t a Nazi anyway. I’m by no means on par with Eva or Hilde, but given time— The catcalls from the soldiers are more distracting than one might think, but honestly, I’d prefer them over constantly worrying about Carver and Abby.

My larger self came at a cost, however. Being bigger means I can do and carry more, which benefits the camp to a great degree. But I also have to eat more to maintain my energy. I suppose I should be thankful the Nazis are actually willing to feed me at all, let alone as much as I need, but the other slaves need it far more. It doesn’t help that my transformation has actually led to the deaths of many prisoners. I’m not happy about that. So long as their deaths haven’t been for nought. I am of the mind that the stronger I become, the easier it’ll be to get out of this hellhole, and I’ll take every last prisoner with me.

During my rest period, I was kicked harshly in the leg by one of the soldiers, rousing my attention. He knew I was every bit strong enough to at least take him on and win, but looking around, those MG nests would cut me down like butter—I was muscular to a degree, not bulletproof.

“Yeah Hans, What is it?” I didn’t know if his name was really Hans or not, I just wanted to piss him off. Call it payback. Anyway, I rose to my feet and sized ‘Hans’ up from head to toe. I could tell he knew a mistake was made in kicking me, but I didn’t know he was—kinda—just following orders.

“Zee kommandant vants to zee you.”

Oh lovely. Whatever did I do to piss him off—again? Without so much as a protesting grunt, I followed through the camp anyway, listening rather intently to the other prisoners heave and carry the stone in my, stead—an unfortunate compromise compared with listening to the soldier’s ramblings about—well, whatever oozed from his mouth. I didn’t care.

What I did care about was the prisoner being savagely beaten for simply dropping what could only be described as a pebble. I barred my teeth, seething and shaking with rage. Coupled with the worry for Abby and Carver on my shoulders, I was near enough close to bursting, but knew better not to draw attention to myself. All I could do was listen to the screams and heavy blows being landed repeatedly.

I passed the 20-foot statue of Eva that I rather shamefully helped build. Sculpted out of the purest marble, she stood in the center of the camp in a pose meant to inspire, but only instilled raw fear. Well, I suppose she inspired the Wehrmacht, but it was a different story for the prisoners. She was like a god to her men—to her people—-and the pose only solidified their assumption—hands on her hips looking out over the mountains. This was just the one statue of presumably hundreds dotted across the globe. There were rumours of a 100-foot statue in the literal middle of Berlin, but—

“Ve’re here.”

We were. For some reason, I thought Hans was just using the good ol’ ‘The kommandant wants to see you’ hook of a line to get me to come with, only to guide me to the side of a hut and blow my brains out when my back was turned. But I was lucky—for the time being at least. “Woah Hans. You were actually telling the truth? And here I thought you were gonna propose.”

The kommandant’s hut was as Nazi as ‘Nazi’ gets: a swastika banner on either side of the door, above which was the Reichsadler, or ‘Imperial Eagle.’ Inside, I could tell you right here and now, was just as bad—individual busts of Hitler and Eva, another—although smaller—swastika banner—never-ending fascism basically.

Hans pushed me forward, urging me to lead the way into the hut. I could only guess at this point what was in store for me.

Herr Berrin Spiegel: not the nicest of chaps. But then, neither is he the most violent—he firmly believes what he’s doing for his country is the good thing, and who can fault him for that? What he can be pulled up for is not knowing it’s the worst thing a man can do—willingly permitting mass murder on account of the ‘greater good.’ I didn’t exactly keep a straight face when he first said that. That said, I barely keep a straight face at all around him.

“Grace. Nice of you to choin us.” He had prepared for my arrival—It wasn’t often he had a glass of wine at his side, nor offer me one. It’d been so long since I last tasted rose, but— I returned his kind gesture by averting my gaze. I found he’d be slightly offended by that, but that was rather the intention. Of course, everything has a consequence of some degree—

I heard the low growl coming from my left. Assuming it to be a German Shepard, I looked down in preparation for the beast to lunge and have at me. But then I saw the polished boots glisten in the early morning light, which, suffice to say, took me by surprise. Throwing my head up, I was met with a gaze of undying rage—It was one of the Valkyries, a name we in the camps had given the transformed women. This one was particularly different though. A loose-haired brunette with a milky eye—which no doubt was the result of the scar curving down the right side of her face. I’d say that’s a marked improvement. Even from behind the Kommandant her shadow loomed over me, almost like some kind of omen. Strange though, how she didn’t say anything.

“Relax Ulka. Sche’s chust a little veary is all.” Berrin persisted with his gesture, indicating gently with his hand for me to take the wine glass. I’m sure he’d forgive me if I just didn’t give a shit about his sincerity. A lot of people I knew in the camp died over much less—or nothing for that matter. “Sche knovs if I vanded her dead sche vouldn’t pe here.”

I’d hate to admit it, but he had a point. How harmless could a dram of wine really be? Taking a seat at the opposite end of the Kommandant’s desk, I hastily downed the wine, hinting at him to get to the point because we both knew I was here for a reason. I couldn’t shake the persistent stares from Ulka though—she was sizing me up from head to toe as if taking inventory of how much a problem I’d be if I continued to grow. But hey—It wasn’t my decision to start lifting heavy shit to build a statue.

“Your dog always this weird?”

Berrin chuckled. At least he had a sense of humour about him. But that isn’t all required to make a man good, or at least likable. “Nein, nein. Ulka is mute. Her tongue vas remoffed py men vo rabed her a year ako. Afder her transformazion, she kot payback.”

I might’ve been wrong, but from the corner of my eye, I’m pretty sure I saw the faintest of smiles form on the hulkish girl’s face; cute dimples despite the scar. She must’ve been no older than sixteen. The one thing I definitely wasn’t wrong about was the tinge of sorrow I felt for this Ulka. Raped at fifteen, then her tongue removed so she couldn’t report the crime, and blind in one eye—no wonder she looked so pissed off; no wonder she—

“Okay, what’s this about Berrin?”

“Ve felt it vas time to revard you for peing zuch a kood—”

“—Slave?”

Berrin chuckled again. I could tell he ‘enjoyed’ me to some degree. Probably because I was so forward and willing to speak my mind—even if there was a gun pointed at my back. Between not knowing whether Carver or Abby was still alive and me being a slave, I didn’t have anything to fucking lose. And while I was ‘flattered’ by me being rewarded, I knew what he had in mind would otherwise be a basic need in life.

“—indiffidual.” The Kommandant didn’t look all that pleasant now. So chuckles and smiles were very limited in a man like him, it would seem. Either that, or he just got bored of my snappy attitude—like I got bored of him. “You vill pe cleaned up und haffing dinner.”

Well that certainly got my attention. So many questions suddenly swirled around inside my head, my responses coming in panicked tones. “With who? Who’s the ‘we’?”

///

“Hitler?” Jana seemed to just freeze on the spot. She’d heard the rumours about our ‘merciful Fuhrer’—that he had undergone an experiment similar to that of the women, only his was something a little more advanced; that he’d reached something a little over eight foot with an excess of six hundred pounds of raw muscle. Hopefully, it’s just that—a rumour and no more. I can’t bear to sit with the ‘stached fucker in general, let alone when he’s egotistical enough to undergo the experiment as well.

Believe me, I was stressed out thinking about the impending meeting, trying to understand why I was part of it. I hadn’t mentioned the worst of it, which made me feel all the guiltier. Parading around the camp with a modest rock casually tucked under the pit of my arm often made Jana giggle, but the news I’d just broken to her seeped into her mind, quietening her uncharacteristically. Over the weeks, I smuggled some of my specially delivered food to her hut so it could be shared amongst her friends. It just didn’t seem to work—either the food isn’t to her liking or she’s deliberately starving herself—either way, a girl that small and young shouldn’t look so gaunt and deathly.

“Not just him.” I had to stop thinking about her. It was bad enough Jana sometimes reminded me of Abby. I dropped the rock into the growing pile I’d formed from all the lifting. Whatever they were being used for I didn’t know, but I knew I didn’t care. So long as they kept giving me heavy shit to lift— I sighed, my arms aching and swollen from all the blood being pumped to them. “There’ll apparently be some guests too, so I imagine I’ll have to be doubly good, or else.”

“Or else what?” Even with her oddly chirpy tone, I could tell Jana worried about me. I heard even her faintest of breaths when I abruptly turned away. I spared her the details. A girl that young doesn’t need to know about one’s flesh being stripped from their arms as punishment. No—a girl that young shoudn’t even be here. I must’ve bit my lip in some form of rage, wiping blood from my chin.

“Never mind sweetie.”

[Amnoartist]

I was beginning to think you had stopped working on this story and am glad you haven’t as it is very interesting. I like the alternative history and am a fan of evil strong women.

I admit I found a lack of interest in the series for a time, but it was oddly renewed last week ^_^

Glad it did 'cause this story has a very interesting setting and plot.

I hope you keep being interested with this story.

[Amnoartist]

Resistance: 1950
Written & edited by Amnoartist
Chapter 5: Do-or-die (Abby)

Of all people, why did Grace pick me to lead? I’m not sure what she sees in me; I’m nothing like her. The mere thought of her is crushing my soul and I’m sure she feels the same way, wherever she is. It’s like we're connected. Before she went missing, we didn't exactly part on the best of terms—

But here we are. The Resistance - or what remains of it anyway - is solely relying on me, for whatever it's worth. I stared at the battle plan for what felt like an hour, trying to make sense of all the different symbols and markings, trying to look like I knew what to do, but didn't.

I knew one thing for sure: the Wehrmacht had us surrounded on the surface so we had to go underground, and have been for the better half of a month now. They outnumber us ten to one and are literally outside our base waiting for us to either come out fighting or surrender. Whoever’s leading them knew where we were, which meant someone ratted us out, making it difficult for me to trust anyone in the room.

The scratch marks on the map indicated derelict positions that previously belonged to us. As you can imagine, there were quite a lot of them. But I wasn't going to let that bring us down; I had Grace to live up to, had two hundred men and women behind my back, waiting for orders. I couldn't let them, or Grace down.

The map again. The Wehrmacht had us locked in a pincer movement: the ninth Panzer division came from the left flank, while the fourth Infantry strangled us from the right. We were going nowhere. To most this felt like, in all senses, a do-or-die situation.

“The Fourteenth Army led by General Slim is still encircled by the twenty-fifth Panzer up in Wembley.” I made it a point to identify the position on the map; the one literally surrounded by Nazi markers. Slim was down to about fifty volunteers, less than ten percent of his original count. The situation was especially disheartening considering his army was meant to make up the majority of our reinforcements. “The Sixteenth Army—”

I threw the marker across the room, caring not if it hit anyone. The Sixteenth Army? Well, there wasn't one. Not anymore. At this point, combat on the surface was a foolish game. Prime Minister Churchill was right to have us move underground when he did, but some people felt we were retreating into a life of living like rats.

“Face it, gentlemen. We’re fucked.”Carver’s words couldn't have been more honest. I hated myself for failing to live up to Grace’s expectations. Whatever the fuck she saw in me didn't actually exist. I guess she had to believe in something in the last few months of our constant struggle. The only constant I see now is Fascism. “For what it was worth, though, you did well, Abby.”

Compliments: as appreciative of them as I was, what good would they do now? Honestly? With every breath, the situation just seemed to worsen. The next relayed message was proof of that: one of the soldiers came up to my side with a distinct panicked breath not like any other, not a normal panic. Despite the horror that came from his lips, I maintained a sense of calm. Slim had surrendered willingly, but that wasn't the worst of it.

“The pincer’s pulling back.” I could sense the men’s relief but felt their bewilderment set in like it was my own. The retreating pincer was good news but I had yet more to break. I wasn't ready to see their glimmer of hope die as soon as it came. I wanted to not tell them but what good would it do? They'd find out anyway - then die knowing I lied to them. “But a Valkyrie division is coming from the East.”

Valkyries. They were the women enhanced by Doktor Scholl’s experiments. They are nothing like the Wehrmacht; more brutal and exacting in their actions, rely on sheer strength more than tactics. Simply put, they get shit done. In a sense, it’s almost impossible not to admire them for that, just as it is almost impossible to kill even one, let alone a whole division. Almost. They're enhanced, not invincible.

Carver looked at me, expecting to be given an order. Frankly, I was of the mind to surrender more than fight. We couldn't retreat. It was either give in or fight. Too much of Grace rubbed off on me though.

“We still have that MG42, right?” If memory served me correctly, there was still roughly three hundred rounds of fifty calibre rounds we could put to use. “If that's well-hidden on the upper tier to the south, we could hold them off long enough and clip their wings.”

To clip their wings. I’ve always liked that phrase despite not knowing its meaning until recently - to restrict one’s freedom. In this case, the Valkyries from covering the majority of the playing field. If this was to be our final stand, I wasn’t going to make it easy for them.

Carver and the men looked at me with bewilderment, though I couldn't understand why. You know, though, don't you?

I led.

///

Can I be honest with you? I’ve never actually been in combat before. Sure, I’ve held a gun before and fired it, but a hanging bag of flour is immeasurably different from a Valkyrie. My nerves were shot but didn't show it; heart beating like a drum, trying to keep myself focused, I counted the scratches across the length of the MP40 I stole off a Nazi weeks earlier. It wouldn’t have been so easy to do if he was sober. But then, I wouldn't be here. That constant, burning thought returned.

What does Grace see in me?

We were all in position, crouched behind a waist-high concrete wall just…waiting. I made a quick ammo check - four magazines with thirty rounds each, two grenades and an American Smith & Wesson revolver with only the one round in case I wanted to end things my way. You know what I mean. Carver was next to me, up covering the left flank. I wanted him to be closer for my sake—for Grace’s sake.

And then happened. It was sudden but I can't say I was surprised. One minute we had a clear, smooth wall, the next a fist burst through it. One could easily mistake it for a tank shell ploughing through the brickwork. The column of dust that followed was thick, giving us a hard time trying to pick out any potential targets from within it, meaning the Valkyries had an advantage, temporary or not.

Then the voice. Of course, it had to be her. Logically, all the points pointed to her; the unforgiving yet masterful tactics, the feigned sympathy used to draw others out…she was a cold-hearted bitch for it, but I guess that’s what Hitler liked about her.

It was Oberstgruppenfuhrer Hilde Eisner.

“Apy Bullman. You are cortially inffided to zee fuhrer's dinner barty zis Zuntay.” As one might expect, I was surprised by her statement. It wasn't the life-threatening declaration I hoped for. Frankly, I laughed it off, taking it as a sick final joke from the reigning bitch of London before being gunned down—or worse.

But her next words shook me to the core.

“You vouldn’t vant to dizaboint Grace, now vould you.”

The dust cleared, revealing a contingent of Valkyries standing confidently in a single file row of ten, all blonde, led by Hilde. Ten Valkyries, each of which arguably had the physical strength of twenty or so men and their eye-burning Nazi attire, under which you could clearly see veins thick as sausages bulging and erratically moving as if they had minds and wills of their own. Hilde’s uniform wasn't bearing so well as the others’, with obvious tears down the outer thigh and each bicep, revealing the woman’s arms in all their godly glory—

I wasn't buying what she said though. Why would Grace be with Hitler? She had to have been captured by Hilde the night we last spoke. But Carver— there was something in his eye that made him feel inclined to believe the bitch’s lies.

“You do look like her, you know.” Hilde maintained her commanding stance even as she looked around the pitiful remains of our resistance cell. There was no denying it - she could wipe us all out single-handedly. Then she looked deep into my eyes, which could just as easily have doubled for my soul. “Zuch peaudiful plue eyes. Like mine.”

It was clear she wanted me, but I wasn’t going to make that easy for her. As much as I wanted to see her again, there was no guarantee what Hilde even said about Grace was true. But then, why would I be important otherwise? I still had a trick up my sleeve.

“Ich gehe mit dir, du lasst diese leute gehen.” When Grace left, I made it a point to learn German. We were all bound to anyway. Didn’t make any sense not to have a head-start. Besides, I clearly made an impression on Hilde, judging by the smirk that formed across her lips.

“Ah, sprichst du Deutsch?”

Carver pulled me back, clearly unimpressed by the way things were going. Only he and a few others knew I spoke fluent German, so those who didn't, as one might expect, weren't happy with the words flying out my mouth. They might as well double for pig Latin but I didn't care.

“The fuck are you doing?”

“They only want me. My surrender for your safety.” I knew what I was getting myself into and there was no guarantee Hilde would even keep her word, but—I had to try. We were painfully outnumbered, all things considered.

Dropping my gun to the ground, I came between both sides of this brewing battlefield and fell to my knees in surrender, hoping Hilde would keep her word. “Gut?”

Hilde looked at me with an air of contemplation, as if she was genuinely reconsidering our deal, but she caved, nodding at one of her comrades to cuff me. I didn't show it but I was happy - I managed to avoid bloodshed. A surrender, at times, is better than defeat.

Hilde crouched next to me, making this a rare moment between us where we felt almost equal. I could tell she thought I was stupidly sympathetic enough to surrender. That was the difference between us: I was selfless while she cared only for herself.

“I admire your zelflessness. I really do.” By the fact Hilde had grabbed me by the neck, forcefully squeezing the life out of my lungs, I knew a mistake had been made: me. She pulled my face in closer so our eyes met. Equally blue. “Zelflessness is veakness.”

Then I heard them, but couldn't do anything for Hilde holding me so tight her arms violently throbbed with power, tears streaming from my eyes. The screams of anguish and terror and sporadic gunfire  from what remained of the Resistance were met with the ungodly laughs from the Valkyries. I was consequently thrown to the ground by Hilde so one last parting statement would come from her.

“As is gullipility.”

Darkness came over me just after Hilde lowered her boot to my face.