Hogan's Heroes 2: Col. Hogan Was A Patriot free porn video

Hogan's Heroes Created by: Bernard Fein and Albert S. Ruddy Produced by: Ed Feldman, For Bing Crosby Productions Hogan's Heroes 2: Col. Hogan Was a Patriot By Ron Dow75 January, 1945, LuftStalag 13: Col. Hogan as the only ambulatory man, brought containers of cool water to each of the men. He helped them clean their dirty and feverish faces and hands. When he got to Kinchloe, he put the man's arm around his own shoulder, and helped him to his bed. Starting to get delirious, the corporal told Hogan, "I have family in New Orleans. It's part of the their tradition to dress up as Indians during Mardi Gras. The Indian welcomed escaped slaves into their tribe." Hogan sat him down on the bunk, "'The enemy of my enemy'." Kinchloe almost had the strength to chuckle. He looked up, trying to keep his focus, "It wasn't the white man who massacred them as much as it was the white man's diseases. The Indians were the result of millennia of being basically vegetarians." Hogan urged his man to lay down and rest, "...While, we of the Old World are more carnivore. It's the classic Law of Nature story." Kinchloe laid his head down, "...Sort of makes you question if God says one thing, but...." The thought went unfinished. === After an hour that seemed like hours, Hogan sat down on one of the table's chairs, He, then, found he couldn't get up. He, too, found that he was getting delirious, "Put all of the weapons ever made by man, and together they don't come near the number killed by disease in wartime." He wanted to sleep, but fought it, "It's not right- Something's wrong! Diseases take weeks to incubate! They don't strike everybody at the same time, with the same intensity. It has to be-" The door to the hut opened. In came men in civilian pants and winter jackets, with surgical gloves and masks on. The leader of the Nazi collaborators was, of all things, a brown man with brown eyes and moderately long, very curly brown hair. He's the one who did most of the speaking, and in fluent German, "As my listening dish indicated, he is the last man conscious. We can begin to monitor them clinically, now." Colonel Robert Hogan forced himself with his last strength to rise, "What have you done to us!?! Is this the Secret Weapon?" Then, by his eyes above the mask, he could see that the brown man smiled as he said, "This is the beginning of the New World Order." === Robert Hogan drifted in and out of fitful consciousness. He had been laid in the bed in the only other room in the barrack, his "Officer's Quarters". Though he was burning with fever, he was covered with a wool blanket because he also had the chills. He floated in an ocean of pressure that pressed on him. His half-numb body was also pin- cushioned with shooting pains. He was alone a number of those times, separated from his men. He did remember(?) seeing the brown man sitting at his writing table. When Hogan made to talk to the man (his voice was too tight to), he turned in the simple wooden chair, and looked at the Colonel. With his mask pulled down, Hogan saw that man wasn't really a black man. He wasn't oriental, either. If Hogan was pressed to categorize him, he would say he was combination Afro-Indian; whether it was American or Asian, he didn't have the desire to decide. The man smiled for him, "I apologize for having to subject you and your men to this debilitation, but the Nationalists wouldn't let me use their facilities unless I could demonstrate that my little virus could first be used as a weapon." Hogan rose off his pillow at the "confirmation" that it was a disease. Only to feel dizzy, and had to lie back down on it. Herr Doktor "Braun" got up, still smiling at him, "You should be proud. You lasted longer than anybody else, yet tested. You have a remarkably high level of testosterone." Hogan managed to squeak, "Testosterone?" The man's grin broadened, "Don't worry. You won't be bothered by it again." === One time when he woke up, Hochstetter was staring down at him. Hogan had the feeling he had waited for this moment for nearly an hour...if not for years. "I want to remember you like the man you once were. You were a worthy adversary." Colonel Hogan wished with all his remaining heart that he could give the 'honorary' SS nasty, formerly of the Gestapo, a snappy retort. But all he could do was stare up at him, trying to say with the intensity of his eyes what he could not say with his atrophying vocal cords. He said with that crooked, fake grin of his, "You will be happy to know you are not the only Co-lo-nel here that is being... 'pro-moted'." === In his heat and chill, the weakened Robert Hogan felt his body softening... become more pliant... and his bones shift. The tight knot in his chest migrated to his belly. He'd feel like he was loosing flesh and bone, which was followed by an intense burning. The only mercy was that he could not remain conscious during that time. On a few of occasions when he could think lucidly enough to imagine he was awake, he found civilians listening through stethoscopes; testing his reflexes; taking his blood, and pressure; giving him a sponge bath... feeling him up?? He wasn't thinking right. If it weren't for the war, Robert would be thinking mainly of one thing. That must be why he thought, in the fevered state he was in, he saw them where they did not belong. "Very nice," Herr 'Doktor' "Braun" said, letting go. "As it should be. Their size is going to be proportional to the amount of testosterone that the subject started with. As I suspected, you had a remarkably high level." He then reached for and retrieved the thermometer that he had placed in Hogan's mouth. When he looked at its measure, he tutted, "Nearly 103... Oh, well, you will not need as many brain cells as before." He then took a hypodermic from his little black bag.... === ...And then Robert Hogan woke up with most of the fever, chill, disconnect, pressure, numbness and pains gone. He did feel hot and cold, and a pressures on his chest. There was definitely a disconnect between what he remembered his body to have been, and what it was like now. He wished for numbness. He thought he was as fully conscious as one just recovering from a severe sickness could be. Yet, he was having a delusion more realistic than he'd ever had before... not even that time he had to hide for weeks in enemy territory, not knowing who he could trust. But why would he want to imagine them under a blouse? He used his newly regained control of his weak body to raise himself, barely, onto his elbows. He felt before he saw those large masses move as he moved-Tugging at his shoulders with "arms" that went over and around. And hard bumps rubbed against white cotton. Still in denial, he pulled (again, every little movement reverberated in those masses of flesh) the newly changed blanket off. He was wearing a below-the-knees skirt! A tight one, too. It did not shock him as much as it should have, considering the condition he now suspected his body was now really and truly in. The door to his "Officer's Quarters" opened. A truly repugnant voice said, "Aah! I see you're awake, my de-ar." Hochstetter!! Robert Hogan felt that his vocal cords were not going to get any tighter, but he was not ready to test that idea out. The sound of his breathing, though, told them that the idea was right. Major Hochstetter closed the door behind him, "I had to order them to put clothes on you and the other P-O-Ws." He approached the bed. "The scientists thought they could devote several pages of their report describing your adjustment to being 'Prizes of War', and learning how to put on your new 'uni-forms'. As delightful as that may be, I find it a distraction that could go on so long the point of this project could be lost. (I do have a limit on how much paperwork I care to work on at any one time.) Just think of it as SS efficiency." Despite the horror, or, rather because of it, the Colonel came close to saying, =Spoilsport.= The Major said as he went to fetch the writing desk's chair, "But you find out as a 'police officer' there are always different versions of the same story. And as a Gestapo agent, different 'rewrites'." [*See Footnote] As the Colonel attempted to get comfortable sitting with his new hips (not to mention those weights off his chest), Hochstetter brought the chair within conversation distance, turning it and sitting down, "You, having once been an intelligent man, have by now probably figured out nature and purpose of Project Labenkrieg." The woman nodded tersely, maintaining eye contact. The man who knew all about torture relished the chance to practice this variation, "You have heard of our special 'hide-a-ways'? They are Aryan, 'resorts', let's say. The purest of Aryan manhood, mostly soldiers, are encouraged to 'rest and recreate' with the purest of Aryan womanhood. The result is not only 'health through sex', but the further purification of Aryan race... nine, months, later." She could no long maintain her steady gaze. The Major got his satisfaction. Savoring it for only a moment, he continued, "Records and genealogies of the spawn are being carefully kept. But it is, and will be a slow process. In the meantime, we have a world to conquer. Millions of irreplaceable German men have been lost. Their seeds gone forever." He leaned forward, "Quite an ingenious idea, nein? Turning your enemies into the factories that will replace what they destroyed." His tone became one of harsh revenge, "At, least, a dozen, times, over." His gaze left the woman's eyes and face, and to her body, "Of course, strictly speaking, you are not pure Aryan. Your genealogies will not allow such a classification. But the Nazi Society was always envisioned to be one of a hierarchy by purity of race. Not unlike, by the way, our Non-non- Aryan allies, the Japanese. A fine model, there." He stood up, "I am assured that the chromosomes the virus that has delivered to the cells of your body are from the purest of Aryans." He thought of an evil joke as he looked down on her, "I believe you had been... 'planning' to mix your 'cells' with Helga's, Klink's secretary before Hilda?" The woman gave another very gratifying reaction as she thought of Helga... and just how incredibly voluptuous she herself must now look. With the full remembrance of Helga, the new woman's body posture even started to be more like hers. But not even Helga had a bust like hers. The man approached the woman who was acting more like a woman, now. "The POWs will be given to German soldiers as rewards. For their valorous deeds for the Fatherland, they will have the opportunity to purify their seeds further. Those who are not German may even gain honorary Aryan status through them." He reached out, "It's too bad the rapid change does not extend to non-living cells, as well." The woman withdrew her head. But did nothing more to keep him from touching her head. "But nails and hair will grow," he said, running his hand briefly through the still short dark and greased hair. He dropped his hand as he dropped his gaze, "But a woman can be bald on the head, and still be a blonde where it counts, nein?" The woman, being the man that he had been, knew exactly what he meant. It brought her mind down on that which he had always hunted for. Now, she had one all the time. But there was no "him" to enjoy it. And if he hadn't been content with keeping to just one, what would it be like now that there was only one in her life? Hochstetter told her, "You realize what a re-pu-tation blonde frauleins have? Think of the incentive the POWs will be for cooperating with the Reich..." His tone became pure Gestapo, "Or the fear of becoming like them!" He bent lower (the woman thought he was about to do more than just touch her hair), "But you, you are not like the others. Your worth is measured in the trouble you've caused before your, *Smirk* conversion to the cause. You shall be a special prize... for a special person." He straightened up, and strode away, his hands behind his back. "I am not that person. Duty is my mistress." The woman thought of the most objectionable of all the people in her immediate area (beyond that the phrase "worse than death" came to mind). "Burkhalter?" She sounded more female than she feared. The master interrogator cried, "Ahh! You do still know how to talk." He turned back around, "No, My Lovely, not Burkhalter. The General is much to enamored of another former Colonel, at the moment." The thought leaped out of her terribly sexy voice before she could force it back, "Klink!?!!" Hochstetter made a show as if he was considering it, "I believe the General prefers to call her 'Mitzie'." He looked at the woman now, "A much more appropriate name, now, than 'Wilhelm'. ...And as far as family names are concerned, as any chattel, a woman has no real right to one." The woman watched as the SS man returned. He reached out, this time to tilt her chin up, "I wonder what they will call you? If it were I, I would call you Colonel Hogan, when I wish to particularly enjoy you." He let the chin fall. "The other times, I would call you, 'Trixie'." He walked away from her again. "That is what I shall recommend to be your name. It will remind them of the trouble you've been-and the trouble you still can be! Unless..." The woman caught a glimpse of a truly evil thought. The Major turned sharply. "Come! I will show you your fate -and the fate of all who oppose the New, Order!" === Major Hochstetter opened the door for the woman, and escorted her out by a grip on her upper arm that was so vice-like it overrode most of her awareness of her free and bobbing, jiggling chests. The barrack area was crowded with SS soldiers, those with the sub-machine guns; scientist, those with the clipboards; and women, those with-It was no joke, now, to the former lady-killer. Most of his people were still recovering in their bunks, or were there because there was no room any place else. They were all wearing the same plain white German peasant blouses with the scoop and tied neckline and black, tight over-knee-black skirts. Among the few that were standing was a young beauty on the tall side for a woman (about 5'7", 37D, 25, 36 an expert eye judged) who had only one feature that conflicted with her Aryan beauty; she had moderately long kinky black hair. =Look what's become of me. I'm thinking about her face and hair, when I should be looking further down. In particular...= The kinky woman had one left side of her tight skirt raise all the way up to her hips, flashing one of the greatest pair of gams there was to be seen in this side of the Rhine. The woman tugging on the top of a silk stocking with one hand while stretching a white garter belt's strap down asked, "How do you hook these things up, Newkirk?" A woman whose size (5'5", 35C, 24, 35) made her look all the younger, "I don't know. I'm used to taking them off, not putting them on." (Trixie noticed, most of the woman, including herself, had short hair that was brushed over to reveal most of their foreheads (most of them high).) The white woman almost forced a smile, "Ditto." The smallest (5', 32B, 23, 32) woman with the same over- the-top hair as Newkirk's swore something in French then said, "They have elastic!" And she demonstrated by pulling her own strap down to meet the final stocking she had to put on. She, too, had great legs, of the petit sort. "See this fastener? You snap it down, trapping the materiale between." Kinchloe said, "Thanks LeBeau." And started to see if she could imitate the little Frenchwoman. Newkirk refused to even try. "LeBeau, not to be too curious, but how is that you knew that?" Pushing the skirt down over her stocking clad legs and smoothing it out, she told him, "I'm French. Who do you think invented fashion and romance?" Then, apparently trying to revert back to type, she added, elbowing Newkirk, "A woman will love again if you dress her." Newkirk said, "I'll have to remember never to let anybody else dress me." Then, reverting to her type, "Look what they dressed me in, now! It's winter and we haven't even got any Bloody underwear on! I don't know how they expect us to stay warm!" She heard somebody say, "Body heat!" Newkirk looked for the burke, "Who's the Bloody, awful joker!?!" "I am!" said a 5'6" 40DD, 25, 36 brunette stepping out of the crowd. Major Hochstetter was beside her. Newkirk gasped, standing up straight, "Bloody Hell. I thought Kinchloe was a bird and a half!" There were similar sentiments from the other women (the scientists were pleased, and the guards openly ogled over their surgical masks). LeBeau exclaimed, "Mere Sacre...." Kinchloe said, "If I wasn't a woman, Colonel...." The most gorgeous of them all said, "Not 'Colonel', Trixie. Colonel Robert Hogan is a casualty of war. I recommend the men he served with be considered killed in action as well. Full military honors and compensations to their families can then follow." All the women felt a horse's kick to their bellies. But, reluctantly deferring to the brilliant mind that had won them so many unconventional victories, they all assented in their own way. (=That was the Colonel in there? The only thing that seemed to even remotely looked like him was her hair.=, =I hope his mind hasn't been made as female as his body!=) Accepted as still their commander, the woman nodded to acknowledge her responsibility for them. She then turned to the man who'd no longer saw the need to have a physical hold on her. Trixie told him, "Trixie's Troops, all assembled." She did not salute. The Major looked at her suspiciously, "This is all too easy." Trixie explained, "As I was telling you, I'm a coward. What am I going to do, overpower the guards? Any guard? I'm a weak and frail woman, now. I'm smaller than most men. - Height is so important in a man, wouldn't you say?" The short Major recognized this as an aspersion, and, perversely, was relieved to hear some fight left in his victim. Trixie then got a look found most commonly on men; smiling, she said, "Besides, Major, now we get to have all the sex we could only dream of." Then he gave a 'man-to-man' nudge, "Isn't that the best thing that women have going for them?" More than one of his people turned green at the thought; others became rosy. The Major was not fooled, "Your feelings on the matter are of no, importance. You have no choice but to learn to enjoy-Or die! That is the totalitarian way!" He got no argument from the women. He turned his attention back to 'Trixie', "Ask those you are most familiar with... those three that are standing, I believe... Ask them why they are so willing to put on, silk, stockings, and accept their roles in the New Order?" The tall white woman with the kinky hair spoke up, saving her leader the troubling task, "Look in Owens' bunk." There, a real blonde (5'4" 34C, 23, 35) was curled up, hugging her pillow, staring at whoever talked, a look of confusion and suppressed fear on her pretty face... as she sucked her thumb. Trixie could guess; she 'asked' Hochstetter, "Amnesia- inducing drugs? You've reduced Owens' mentally to two or three years old." The Major gave her one of his crooked smiles, "It will make re-education so much easier." Trixie said it for him, "Besides, a woman really doesn't need brains. That's not what a 'real' man is interested in, anyway." The Major's grin opened up on one side, "Remember that. Your... en-ter-tainment value can only excuse so much." === All of the women who were able (most of them, luckily) had been ordered to sit up, with the legs over the sides of their bunks. Trixie sat on a table chair across from the Major, watching as he observed her. Four of the civilians, all except Herr Doktor "Braun" and his clipboard, were fitting pink 6" high heel shoes onto newly slim feet. Trixie managed to hold on by humor, "What do they have, a foot fetish? Or are we Cinderellas?" The Major leaned across the table to ask, "Have you ever worn high heels?" Trixie said, "Me, personally, no? But a few of my men have -Somebody has to be Ginger Rogers at our dances." Major quirked a smile, "Then they ought to know how much trouble it is to dance in, let alone, escape. That, I believe, is the shoes' original purpose, to hobble woman." Trixie looked as Newkirk's and Kinchloe's straps over their insteps were cinched, then small padlocks were put through the next metal aglets from the buckles. She asked, "What? It's not enough to be culturally hobbled? They have to be 'manacled', too?" The Major eased back in his chair, "The concept must be reinforced until it sinks into them-becoming a part of them." Leaning back he said, "I dare say, that if the prisoners at Stalag 13 had been kept in chains, this sector would have been much quieter." Trixie knew how much fight Hochstetter expected, "But then what would challenge a man of the Superior Race?" The Major snapped his fingers, and pointed towards Trixie's feet. A scientist with too much dark hair atop his blond head to be considered strictly pure came over to them. The man in the mask had picked up a pair of high heels shoes that had been kept separate, but they were Aryan pink like all of the others'. The Major ordered, "Raise your foot." Trixie protested, "Don't I get a pair of silk stockings, first!?! If I'm going to be a woman, I want to go all the way. I notice you even forgot to give me a garter, let alone a garter belt!" Hochstetter told her, "It was to save time. I told you I do not like too many pages in my reports." Feeling like Cinderella (bad enough) being touched by a Frog Prince, Trixie accepted her 'promotion' to the pedestal. === All of the men in the surgical masks found it enormously amusing to see ten beautiful women learning to walk in high heels, on the rough plank floors, no less. They wobbled and teetered, and like novice skaters held onto what they could. An SS man would force first one woman, then another to take her hands off of the bunk frame or wall or table or footlocker, and laugh as their ankles twisted and they almost fell. Those that did not land against another woman, or the potbelly stove (briefly) were rescued only if they had put on their silk stockings. Those who hadn't encased their shapely legs got skinned knees and or splinters. Newkirk would have scabs. Anybody who hadn't been to the Eastend of London had ever heard such language from a woman. When Kinchloe and LeBeau fell against each other, and held on because neither one had found their balance, one guard asked the dark topped blonde scientist who should lead. The civilian answered, "The tallest, of course." LeBeau, in a fit of injured pride, forced Kinchloe to dance a few steps (her cheek buried within a large bosom). It did help them find their balances. Owens was allowed to watch, until she decided it was a game. Only "Braun" and the Major had left their masks down, and while they found the scene entertaining, it did not seem that entirely novel to them. Hochstetter said, "You balance very well in those shoes, 'Trixie'." As much as she could in the crowded space, she had her elbows out, and her hands up, near her size 40DDs, "Thanks. I spent some time in Sarasota, Florida. That's where the circuses winter in America. I learned to walk the high wire. I wanted to be the next 'Daring Darrel'. I guess I'll have to settle for being a 'Wild Wilma'." The SS/Gestapo man was skeptical of only his reasons for learning the art, "I'm sure." === The Major rose to his own feet, and announced to the woman who had gotten the hang of walking quicker than the others, "Enough of this. Since you are able, now, I suggest its time for one of your famous visits to the Kommandant!" Trixie, still a little wobbly, said, "Fame is so fleeting... and I'm not going to be fleet in these heels. Why don't you go on ahead of me? I'll meet you there, later." The SS officer barked, "Schnell!!" Trixie said, "These shoes are your idea! You don't have to call me names." The Major took the woman's upper arm again, thrusting her towards the door, "I could call you any number of names you've never been called before!" When the door was opened, again, for her, Trixie baulked, "It's cold out there! This is winter, you know! There's snow on the ground and I don't have any lingerie on! Not even a garter belt!" The Major swore, "Bah!!" But, glancing about, he snatched a knit peasant shawl from the nearest woman. Owens yelped, and ran away to cry like a little girl; she stumbled in her heels, but was rescued by Hogan's Regulars. === Having covered the frozen dirt compound, nearly to the three steps and small porch in front of the Kommandatur, Administration Building, even the stoic Major was getting cold without his overcoat. Her shawl pulled tight around herself, Trixie reminded him, "You're the one that wanted to save pages. Now look how complicated things have gotten. If I had on stockings, I could move my smooth, blue veined legs faster." The Major had an answer for the woman who was slowing him down, "I'll meet you inside. Don't slip on any ice. You could break your pretty neck in those heels." === Trixie nearly slipped on the threshold, she had had to take such mincing steps. Her high wire training was being put to use. Hilda looked up from her filing to cry when she saw her, "Oh, my!! Is that really you, my dear?!" The 40DD, 25, 36 woman reached out for body heat. "You can start by showing your warm feeling towards me by giving me a hug, Hilda!" The 36C, 23, 36 came to give it. But she hugged her like a woman would hug another, bent forward, her velvet cheek next to her cold damp one, with only the tops of her breasts pressed against the others (who, at least, didn't feel the need to reciprocate the posture). Trixie told her, "I never thought a bra would feel so good. You don't have a spare I can borrow?" Hilda broke away to look at the strange woman in the eyes as if she had just asked if she had a pair of briefs. Trixie got the 'hint', "Never mind; a bra's not part of the uniform they issued to us, anyway." The brunette the high forehead pulled the braided blonde back up against her, making sure their breasts touched in a less lady-like fashion. Hilda's hands were on the woman's arms as if she wanted to push her away. She didn't, though. The four large glands kept them from being closer than Trixie would've liked. Not to mention what it was doing to their shoulders. There was something to say for the flat chested. Hoping for something familiar to hang onto, she casually ran her hands around the blonde's back, moving one hand slowly down. Hilda tensed. Trixie moved in more quickly than she would've liked, "If there was ever a time I needed to be reassured of my manhood, it's now." Hilda told her, "But you are not a man. I have never kissed a woman before." Trixie brought her sensual lips closed to the other's, "This kiss will tell how much of a 'woman' I am. ...Inside." Hilda was sympathetic and curious enough to allow the kiss. The former Robert Hogan found all of the memories of all the hundreds women he'd ever kissed in his 40 years within her, and focused that passion into this kiss of... She kissed long, and hard, squeezing the gorgeous and desirable woman into her pliant and satiny gooseflesh. It was Trixie that finally parted the lips. She also let go of the other woman. Hilda tried to reassure the person drifting away from her, "It was nice! It wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it would be. -I could do it again, if you'd like!" The door to the Kommadant's office opened. Major Hochstetter was in full crooked smirk, "I wish you could have found a different line, Trixie. It makes it too easy to point out that you are no longer a man -inside as well as out!" Trixie looked at the man with open hostility, "This was all a demonstration. You went ahead knowing that I would go back to my old habits." Hochstetter said, "Ex-actly. As you said," he nodded to her, "old habits are hard to break. But physically you have a brain that will fit inside your new, and very beautiful, head. Your, addiction, is no longer to women." Trixie found back the urge to puke. She retaliated with the sharpest tongue she could find, "Obviously I hadn't noticed before because there were no attractive men around." The arrow did not pierce; Hochstetter said, "As I've said, my only love is the Fatherland." Trixie answered, "At least I have the body that goes with that preference." That got to the Major. Trixie was finding her confidence game footing again-despite the high heels. The orphan's guardian would have been proud of his "niece". Uncle Sam's pupil still wanted to puke. === Letting the shawl drape casually over her shoulders, trying to remember she had a cleavage, now, Trixie entered the office. Sitting behind the Kommandant's desk was fat, cheeky Burkhalter. He was wearing a surgical mask. Sitting on the nearest guest chair was a bald-with-the-dark-brown-fringe woman dressed in the uniform-of-the-day. She was bent over at the shoulders, her hands clenching her knees. Her very down-turned lips just reinforced her message of abject misery. If Trixie couldn't have guessed, the monocle she wore provided the last clue she needed to the former identity of the woman. Burkhalter-the-Ladies'-Man rose up to greet her, "So wonderful to see you, My Dear!" And he gestured to the woman wishing the earth would open up for her, "Do you know Mitzie?" Trixie said, "I've been told we've met. It was in another life, wasn't it, Mitzie?" Mitzie said in her down-in-the-dumps soprano, "That's for sure." Trixie addressed the General, now, "So? Have you two been on your honeymoon, yet? I just can't wait to get to mine! I hear you haven't had sex until you've had multiple orgasms!" Mitzie interrupted, "Multiple!!?! That would mean multiple..." (Leave it to Klink to get something wrong.) Unable to say it, she said, "No!! We have not had any! He hasn't even kissed me, yet!" Trixie's eyes were on the surgical mask. "You're afraid she's contagious? Her!?! I bet she's a virgin!" Mitzie was going to protest, but thought of herself as too weak to. Burkhalter told her, "I know she's contagious! It's like the 24-hour flu. Only, you do not catch it the same way." Trixie said, "There's that word 'sex' again." She turned to the Major, "If you can't get the 'symptoms' through casual contact, why the masks?" The Major looked at the General with as much contempt as an inferior officer could show, "They are fearful of their pathetic manliness. There will still be a small chance of infection for another 24 hours, so before then, they will not even attempt a kiss for fear of loosing their one claim to manhood." Trixie said, going from Hochstetter, "Oh, I wouldn't be so sure about that," to Burkhalter, "If a man's hungry enough, he'll risk eating Eve's apple." She looked towards Mitzie, to add, "Especially when the pickings are so ripe." The bald woman tried to curl up into a ball, resting her forearms on her knees. Knowing when he'd been insulted, the General said to the impudent shorthaired brunette, "Speaking of 'ripe', it could also be called the '24-year flu'." Trixie was confused, "Does that mean I have to wait 24- years before I can go on my honeymoon?" Hochstetter said, "It means that your true purpose and service to the Fatherland is to provide babies-As many as we can wring from your excuses for wombs!" The General was more informative as he walked from around the desk, "Robert Hogan was 40. His men were similarly nearing the end of their breading time... If they were women. To be of any real value, the woman who provided them with what it takes to be a woman had to be of real value. Helga was, and is, a young, healthy woman. She has plenty of time to give us many Aryan kinder." Trixie controlled her rage, "You sent her to one of your blonde brothels." The Major reminded her, "'Resorts'. -Where she won't have to associate with anybody not as pure as herself." === Their shawls drawn tight around them, Trixie and Mitzie took the lead towards the door. The two male officers followed. Hilda wished them, perhaps, like one who knew remembered a Jewish or Gypsy friend she had never seen again, "Good-bye, Colonel! And Oberst!" Only hope and fear kept her from openly weeping. Trixie held the door open for Mitzie, "Age before beauty." Mitzie protested, "I am not that much older than you!" Trixie informed her, "You are not that much more beautiful than I am, either! Who wants to date a bald woman!?" Mitzie looked towards her high, high brow. She ran a hand over her scalp. "That's the one good thing about being a woman. I'm told my hair will be growing in, now." Trixie said, putting a hand on her to urge her out the door, "Not with your luck." Mitzie found her hackles, "Watch it! I still out rank you!" Trixie pushed, now, "With women, it's looks that ranks you." Out in the frozen dirt compound all of the women, including those from the other huts, and all of the civilians, about five for each hut, and all of the guards were assembled. All of the males had heavy coats on. Trixie, nearly slipped on a patch of ice at the sight. She asked, "What's this?" The General said to her, "Haven't you heard of the Fascist doctrine of 'Health through Hypothermia'?" His great overcoat was made of wool. Trixie got the idea, "'Whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger'. I'm familiar with the idea. It's dead wrong, but I'm familiar." The Major told her, and Mitzie, "It's evo-lu-tionary! Those that survive will be the strongest! It will toughen your soft bodies-which will be passed on to your young." Again the torturer appeared, "...And prepare you for the suf- fering of childbirth." The General had his own reasons, "Plus it will get them to appreciate body heat." Trixie surveyed his bulk, "You have enough body heat for three or four women." The Burkhalter smiled and patted his belly, "I am a General. You know what they say about power." Trixie 'guessed', "That is corrupts?" The beaming Burkhalter suggested to her otherwise, "It makes a great aphrodisiac!" === Under their shawls, the women were doing shallow knee bends (very shallow in heels), flapping their elbows, and warming their hands by blowing on them with steamy breaths or burying them in their pits (finding that while their breasts where as blue as a hag's, the rolls gave their hands more of a pocket). Trixie joined her people before their barrack. It was the same formation as when they'd been mustered for inspection before. But this time the goose-steppers were more intent on "inspecting" them. She noticed that Owens had adopted Kinchloe as a big sister, and was holding onto her hand. When the shivering Mitzie tried to join the General, she was directed to stand with the others. Trixie told the woman that wouldn't even be acknowledged as an officer's companion, "Welcome to the club, dearie." Mitzie told her, "Oh, shut up." And she tried to flap her hands on the opposite's shoulder and pull her shawl tightly around her at the same time. The General addressed them, "You are witness to how the Reich, either the Third or Fourth, will with certainty conquer the world! The Great Ruler Race will consume the world by turning their inferiors into ersatz-Aryans!" There was some grumbling, and attempt at rebellious humor, but their smaller hearts were not in it. "Since our conquered do not have the minds to be a master, they cannot have the bodies of one-but they can have a body reflects his glory and serves his needs! As the generations separate your progeny from their lower origins, they may even become near equals to those who have the pedigree to prove their true and pure Aryan roots! That ought to give you something to look forward to and help strengthen your resolve to repopulate the Earth for the Fatherland!" Some of the women fainted, or had more violent reactions to this news. The General and the Major took perverse interest in seeing what some of them had had for breakfast. The goons and thugs seemed to have lost their patience with insubordination now that the men were no longer men. More than one of them welcomed the chance to rough up a woman. While all of this was going on, Trixie noticed the ground trembling under her high heels. "All right, troops!! That's enough!! You're not officially out of the militaries of your countries, yet!! Suck it in, and take it like, soldiers! You knew you were risking your lives!! Those lives are over!! You've got a deep wound-It's time to learn to live with that handicap!!" Mitzie cried at her, "Did you say womb!!?!" Then, thinking her fears realized as the ground shook beneath her, "What was that!!?!!" General Burkhalter said confidently, "The retreat of our men from the front lines!" Still loyal Mitzie asked, "That's good news!?!" The General told her, and them, "We do not want our men infected, do we?! Once the enemy has been made low, and it's safe to go near them, we shall advance again-to the English Channel, the Atlantic-The World!!" Trixie said, "Yeah, yeah! We all know that women can't run or throw a ball worth a darn, let alone fight. But if sex is how you infect somebody ...Just how are you going to accomplish that?" The last part, she had a terrible hunch she already knew the answer. Burkhalter told her, "Not the way you're thinking! How long do you think it would take this brigade to go through divisions? Let alone what their officers would think about the delay of the advancement. Summery court-martial and firing squad comes to my mind-Both parties!!" He put his pudgy hands behind his back, and swelled out his belly as he addressed the assembly, "Since we do not want to risk accidentally decimating our own side, we are using a unique method of delivering the viruses! You needn't bother your little female heads about it, but it is a method that can target quite effectively those who we wish to..." and he gave a lusty grin, "lay down." Trixie turned to her people, "You heard him, ladies!! They are the Master Race! Only those destined and blessed by God Himself could change His plans for our world and us!! So, I urge you learn your lesson from the Bible's Dathan and Abiram! Submit yourself to authority as all proper women are commanded to do! 'Give unto Caesar that which is Caesars'!!" Newkirk minced forward and asked, "Beggin' your pardon, Ma'am, but what exactly does that mean?" LeBeau rolled her eyes and commented in French. Kinchloe squeezed Owens' hand reassuringly and smiled for her while she told Newkirk, "It means that we give the goons exactly what they want." Newkirk cried, "Here!? Now!?!! Out in the freezing bloody open!?!" Trixie said, "You dance with the man who brought you." Kinchloe said, "In this case, for." LeBeau elbowed Newkirk, stage whispering, "'Dathan and, Abiram'!" Newkirk's brain finally thawed, "Oh, right!" Trixie told her girls, "To the tune of "Steam Heat"!" Newkirk commented, "At least the thought is right." First their Commanding Hoffrau started humming then others picked up on it, a cappella. Most started with their shawls (Kinchloe gently pulled on the one she'd loaned to Owens). As sensually and gracefully as they could (and they were not used to thinking of themselves in those terms), they revealed as much of their cleavage as the tied up, peasant neckline allowed. A few wanted to get straight to the main part of the act. They were stopped by looks, comments, and threats of those who were using their shawls to do a shimmy, or some other provocative dance move. In the heels they were locked into, they had to take it very slow and carefully. The tight, knee-length skirts precluded any Rockette moves. The goons, and even the normally stone-faced SS thugs, grinned, and took a few steps back to see the whole show better. Major Hochstetter finally yelled, "Stop it! Stop it, I say!! This is highly irregular -Prisoners are not supposed to act like this!!" Getting no response, he turned to the General, "General, order them to stop-whatever it is they're doing!!" More of the women did as the earlier ones had done and had started untying their blouse's necklines and pulling the hems out of the tight black skirts. The General's grin was as pleased as it ever got, "Why? They will be doing things like this anyway. I think it shows a healthy state of mind to recognize the inevitable!" Again the Major seethed with frustration. Trixie slid up to a couple of SS soldiers, and gently took them just under their elbows. "I think you'll have a better view back here." They were so lost in other thoughts they allowed themselves to be moved; their grins widened as they agreed that they did have a better position. Meanwhile, Sergeant Hans Schultz had shuffled onto the parade ground dragging his rifle, and half-asleep. He was nearly at his usual post when his eyes opened to what was going on around him. "Was ist dieser??" Trixie past him with another ogling goon, "Oh, hello, Schultzie! Come over here with the others, and enjoy the show!" Schultz asked, "Show?" but he, as always, did as he was told. Delaying the final exposure as long as possible, Newkirk bent forward and, gritting her teeth, pulled the neckline away from her towns and cities, "I wish the Madam would hurry up! It's bad enough being blue in the face." LeBeau whispered back to her, "You're complaining!? It's a well known fact that the smaller you are, the faster you freeze." Newkirk saw that Kinchloe had switched to lifting her skirt, and followed her lead; "Not when it's your cup size!" Kinchloe added, "And when it comes to your gluteus, it's the size of your maximus, adipose-wise." Trixie surveyed the ragged line of men as she edged towards the Administration Building. She found she had company that didn't want to be left alone. Mitzie asked, "What are you doing?!" Trixie, annoyed, told her, "If you must know, I'm going to turn the hose tap!" Mitzie shook her head sadly, "Whatever it is you're planning, it won't work. The weather's too cold! No water will come out of there!" Trixie answered, even as she turned the valve, "I know! There isn't any pipe to it underground." The dynamite that had been placed into bore holes that had been blasted into earth and rock with the aide of the pipes the past week and a half, and the TNT that were tied to the support frames of the tunnels exploded! Like for Dathan and Abiram in the Bible, the ground opened up beneath the men! God's judgment had arrived!! Submachine guns and rifled fired up, unable to penetrate more than a few inches of loose soil, with most of the bullets hitting only crisp air. Leaving the cowering Mitzie, Trixie walked over to the cowering Schultz. He pleaded, "Help me! Help me! They've got guns!" Trixie said, "Sure. You got a light? I left my matches in my other skirt." Schultz looked up from the hem of the skirt he was hiding behind; "Matches?" === With the matches, Trixie eased her way as close to one of the trenches as she dared. The goons had fired off most of their rifles' ammo, but the thugs still had some in their automatics. She called out to them, "The gas pipes have been breached down there! I you don't throw up your weapons, I'm going to light matches!" A voice asked, "Wolfgang, do you smell gas?" Wolfgang answered, "Ja, Otto. It is still hissing." After a few more scintillating conversations like that among the men in ditches, the weapons started to be thrown out. Trixie, a match lit, dared to peek down at the trapped rats. She ordered, "Schultz! Come and collect these arms! You, I know won't use them." As Schultz came to obey, Trixie's Troopers came to volunteer their own assistance, "What about us?" Kinchloe said. Newkirk said, "Let me have a sten!! I won't use it on them- Just scare the bloody hell out of them! Take a few digits off of the, at worse!" LeBeau was more militant, "I don't need any gun! I'll garrote them all for what they did to us!!" Trixie turned to them, as their leader, "And give them the easy way out? Women, I have a far better idea in mind. They wanted to play God? Let's give them a taste of divine justice!" Kinchloe's mouth dropped, "You can't be serious!" Newkirk said, "Bloody Blooming Hell, no way!" LeBeau said, "I would rather become a nun for the rest of my life." Trixie told them, "If you won't do it as an order, or revenge, do as your patriotic duty-These Ratzis are going to get to live normal lives soon. While millions of people have no life at all." Kinchloe said, "It sounds like revenge to me." Newkirk agreed, "Yeah. But it's not just for what they did to us." LeBeau cried, "Liberte! Egalite! Fraternite!" And jumped into the jaws of Hell. Newkirk followed with, "Shouldn't that be Sorority!?!" Ready to make the leap, Kinchloe told her leader, "I used to be a proud black man." Trixie said to her, "Now they'll have one more voice on the other side." === All over the camp, women were jumping into the trenches, bringing the war to the enemy for their own individual reasons. Mitzie had finally come out from hiding, "What happened?! Is the battle over with?!" Trixie pushed her into the hole behind her. "The Battle of the Sexes has just begun!" Schultz said, "That wasn't nice! The others jumped on their own. That woman could have hurt herself! She is already bald. She had a monocle." Trixie said, taken aback, "I know. I ought to be ashamed of myself. "Oh, Schultz?" "Yes?" "Be gentle with her after you fall on her." And she pushed the fat sergeant in with Mitzie. === One woman hadn't gone into the breeches. The 5'5" 34C 24 34 was very dirty blonde dressed as Carter came out of the Kommandantur's door. She paused on the porch to look around, curious. Trixie went to her, "Carter, that is you?" The woman smiled just like the goofy sergeant, "I was this morning. I don't know who I am, now." Trixie nodded, "That's you, Carter. I'm Colonel Hogan." Carter looked at the women in admiration, "Wow! You make a good-looking woman. Great, even. ...Fantastic-" The brunette told the ditzy blonde, "I know! I know!" Carter said, "I looked in Hilda's mirror to see what I looked like, but I was so-That's right! That's what I wanted to tell you!" Trying to be patient, her superior said, "Ask me what, Carter?" Carter said, "I know who Nimrod is! Newkirk said it's got to be the last person you'd suspect, and in the movies and radio they never mention their name as a suspect!" She got a pleased, quirky grin, proud of her ability to figure out a mystery, "It's Hilda, isn't it? She's the only one we haven't suspected, yet." Under an angry, raging frown, the other woman turned and stormed back to the dirt parade ground, "Nimrod!?! Nimrod!!? You want to know who Nimrod is!!?!" As she came to Nimrod, she lifted her knee to crush his nuts. The tight skirt got in the way. So Hogan hauled off and belted Hochstetter across the jaw with all her fury! Even as a man, Hogan had never delivered such a punishing blow. The man who played evil-incarnate far too well was dropped to the ground. She reached down and lifted him up with one hand, and struck him several more times. The little woman then took him by both lapels and screamed, "Why!?!! Why did you have to let this happen to us!!?!!" An eye about to swell, blood running out of his nose and mouth, the groggy Nimrod told her, "Orders... I was under, orders..." Hogan wanted to tear his throat out, Trixie wanted to tear his heart out. Instead, she shoved the filth down. "You did become like your character. 'I was just following orders'. That's what all the Fascists say." Carter came up to them, "Wow, who would've expected the double agent who couldn't be found because he was so good at seeming to be a nasty Nazi was really the guy who was so good at seeming to be a nasty Nazi." Hogan told Carter, "It wasn't just him. Remember Nimrod has access to the highest top secrets in Germany. The 'Nimrod' moniker was a double agent trick as well. Their real code name has got to be 'Hydra'." Carter asked, "'Hydra'??" Getting up only to his elbows, the agent said, in a more British accent, "I am 006. And there are seven of us working in Nationalist Germany. But it is even more com- plicated than that. But tell me, Hogan, how did you find my identity out?" The woman with the 40DD chest looked past them at him, "It was easy, really. We first met when you were a captain assigned to guard a dam we wanted to blow up as a present to Hitler on his birthday. The next time I saw somebody who looked like you was that first visit of Hochstetter. Only, I blew him and his car up with an exploding pen!" Carter said, "Wow!! How, how did he escape that one?!" Hogan told her, still looking down at him, "Hochstetter didn't. Old Nimrod took his place. He had Hochstetter's face, and was just waiting as somebody else until he could take the Nazi's place. Hochstetter wasn't SS; he was Gestapo. But it suited Nimrod's purposes to blur the differences. That way, he could work with and against both sets of nasties." Then she threatened, "I bet I can tell people who want to know who are the other Hydra agents. I've met several men with more than one identity." 006 took the threat seriously, "Fascism will not die with just the defeat of the Nazis. It will appear wherever, whenever men look down on women, thinking them as little more than something to be used, less as human as their own kind... less than human. We needed a field test of one of the possible answers to that future threat." Hogan said, "It really is 'Divine Justice'?" 006 smiled, still crookedly, but far less evilly; he started getting up, "Exactly. If those that practice evil against somebody just because of their race, their gender... just how another looks has to live the life he abhors, the world has a chance to be a far better place. If only through suicide." Hogan asked, but fearing she knew the answer, "Then there is no way back for my people?" 006 said with sympathy that seemed as real as the evil he portrayed, "I'm afraid not." Carter asked Hogan, "What does that mean?" Hogan, wandering away as she considered their options, said, "It means that we're stuck." Carter said, "Stuck!?!! As women!!?!" Hogan nodded, and informed him, "And without any effective birth control, we have only three options on how to live the rest of our now young lives." November, 2001, the Pentagon, America. Major Hakim had come to the end of the military part of the report. "I had a feeling that was why I was called to review 'Divine Justice' and make my recommendation. There has been a lot of wishful thinking about doing that to Islamists. 'Giving them the taste of their own Sharia'. But I didn't know we actually had the capability of doing it. "I wonder if they'll get around to doing the same to the Bible-Thumpers and Talmudists." (Sigh) "The Confucianists, the Mangaists..." "Major," the tall, straight Col. Weston greeted. The man with the gray buzz hair had re-entered his sacred vault, apparently wanting to close it up to the outside as soon as possible. "A few more minutes, Colonel. I haven't read what happened to Hogan and his people after the war." Quickly, the Major scanned the follow up reports. There was a list of children Hogan had had. A dozen!. ..All of them by different men ...All of those very ethnic. None Aryan. Fatima Hakim's almond eyes opened wide in shock as she came to one name. "So that's it. We just thought grandma was a slut." A grim smile went across this face of Special Time Agent Nimrod. The End Here is a possible Universe for Fictionmania, if anyone would like to pursue the idea of Nimrod, and/or the Time Operatives of the Alternative History Agency. Who runs it? Certainly anybody from the Establishment of our reality. Though, it could be run by people who hide in the alphabet soup of bureaucracy-and whose threat to "reassign" anyone who discovers them from cutting their budget keeps them in business. Do you think it would be fun to see Jefferson Davis become a Negress? George Custard an Indian woman? Babe Ruth the Great Bimbo? How about d'Eon de Beaumont, Nelly Bly, or a reformed, or (and female) John Wayne being agents? Maybe Belle Starr was one of their failures. ' Definitely for fans of Jose Phillip Farmer's "Riverworld". Maybe there's a competing outfit with a different agenda. Say, controlling the soaring birth rate by cutting back dramatically the main cause of overpopulation, men. (Obviously the AHA has its reasons to be more selective.) I can easily see George W. Bush as a woman. Note: Bob Crane [Col. Robert Hogan] was a regular for a year on that wholesome show "The Donna Reed Show". He was married to Sidrid Valdis/Hilda. In her divorce papers she said that he didn't want to take their son for treatment after the boy broke his arm, and that as a father he would much rather watch porno movies, some of which he was in. He also liked playing drums at topless bars. He was killed (in a particularly gruesome way) by a man, it is suspected, from whom Crane had withheld his supply of women. There was a man whose life would have been better if he had been turned into a woman.