CerebralError

“Утюг сука”

by

DISCLAIMER: This story contains some themes and content that most will find uncomfortable, namely the rape of an 17 year old German male by a female Soviet IS-2. You have been warned.

“Утюг сука”

Willi Höfler slowly reached up beneath the brim of his Stahlhelm and wiped the sweat from his brow, listening to the harsh, man-made thunder of artillery in the distance. He tightened his white-knuckled grip around the battered Italian Carcano rifle as the ripping sound of incoming shells passed overhead and shook the building around him. He coughed and covered his mouth to keep from breathing in the dust and soot that filtered down from the charred beams overhead. At seventeen years old he was barely old enough to grow a beard, but he could feel the dusting of blond hairs on his gaunt, dirty cheeks. He glanced around the room with tired eyes, hearing the quiet sniffling from one of the younger kids who had failed to hide their fear. There were seven of them – teenage boys, girls, kids as young as fourteen – all exhausted and filthy, huddled in the burnt-out shell of what had once been a delightful pastry shop. Willi’s parents had taken him here last year for his birthday; the increasing wartime shortages had made the small cake a special treat. It was the cruelest of ironies that he was likely going to die here exactly one year later.

The date was April 27th, and Willi lived in Hell.

If there was a better way to describe the current state of Berlin, he could not think of it. The once-proud capital of the Third Reich had been shattered and laid to waste by years of Allied bombing raids. Day and night the bombers of the United States and Great Britain had come to drop their explosive payloads, reducing entire swathes of the city to rubble. Hundreds of thousands had been killed by a rain of death that the Luftwaffe seemed increasingly powerless to stop, and countless others had simply fled the city to escape such a fate. Of those that remained behind, many were starving and malnourished. Clean water was in short supply, the pressure gone from the shattered pipes. Without plumbing, people simply dumped their refuse in the streets, spreading disease. Fires raged until they ran out of things to burn, and the unreachable dead rotted beneath the debris. Berlin was a city destroyed long before the Russians even arrived…

But now, the barbarian hordes howled for blood at the gates, a horrifying reversal of fortune from 1941 when the might of Germany had seemed unstoppable. Poland, France, Denmark, Norway, Belgium, the Low Countries, Greece, and Yugoslavia had all fallen to the superiority of the German soldier, and the armies of the Reich were poised at Moscow’s throat. Rommel was kicking the Tommys all over North Africa, while the Luftwaffe’s bombers struck at London. Victory had been all but assured, and the Greater German Reich would stand astride all of Europa in a new and glorious age! But one by one, the branches of the Wehrmacht had been been beaten back: the Kriegsmarine, the Luftwaffe, and the Heer. Now, not only had the Bolsheviks reconquered the lands lost to the Reich since 1941, but they had invaded the Fatherland itself! In the West, the Amis had crossed the Rhine after retaking France and Belgium, and were also pushing hard towards Berlin.

Only the most ardent supporters of National Socialism still believed the words of victory coming from Goebbels’ propaganda ministry. It was clear that the Führer’s vaunted Wunderwaffen had failed to break the will of the Allies, and in response he had tasked every man, woman, and child left in Berlin with the final defense of the city. For months they had labored, digging anti-tank ditches, erecting bunkers and barricades, and making tank traps from the endless rubble, transforming it into a fortress that would finally break the back of the Soviet advance. And as the Red Army closed in on the city, the Volkssturm, alongside the ragged remains of the Schutzstaffel and the Wehrmacht, would be the last soldiers of the Third Reich.

Willi instinctively flinched as another swarm of Soviet rockets – the damned ‘Stalin’s Organ’ – howled overhead like demons. Eight days ago, those defenses constructed at Seelow Heights had finally crumbled under the weight of the Red Army after a pitched, four day battle. The next day, the Russians had started shelling Berlin and hadn’t stopped firing since. He had thought it impossible for the city to become even more ravaged than it already was, but the relentless artillery barrage had proved him wrong. Buildings already damaged by the bombings were simply collapsing, burying those hiding within under tons of concrete and steel. Each day, the sound of gunfire and tank cannon got a little louder, a little closer to the city center. The Russians had already crossed the Teltow Canal, swarming towards the Reichstag at the center of Berlin and crushing all resistance in their way.

But the encroaching Red Army wasn’t the only thing that the terrified Berliners had to worry about either. As the Reich collapsed around them, the SS grew increasingly fanatical and relentless in their methods. Anyone, soldier or civilian, suspected of cowardice or desertion was rounded up and executed. Death squads roamed the city, shooting and hanging those they believed were trying to abandon their posts. Now bloated bodies hung from the trees and lampposts like demented fruit, and blackened blood congealed and drew flies in the streets. Signs around their neck proclaimed messages of their treasonous acts to dissuade others from following their example.

The Dark Ages had returned to Germany.

But Willi was not going to desert. He truly believed that it was his duty as a good German to defend the Fatherland and the Reich, even if the latter was becoming an increasingly hollow concept. To run away would be to abandon his friends and family, and to spit in the face of those who had already given their lives in his defense. Even if he had wanted to flee, his squad of Volkssturm had been taken over by an SS-Oberscharführer named Uwe Gottschalk, a hawkish man who had been fighting the Soviets since Barbarossa. He would have likely shot any of them if he had suspected they might desert. Indeed, one of the younger boys had fled a couple of nights ago and Uwe had beaten the other two members of his foxhole until they were black and blue, screaming at the two boys as tears ran down their cheeks and snot bubbled from their noses. No, Willi was not dumb enough to desert his comrades.

Gottschalk paced back and forth in front of the shattered windows like a caged tiger, with willful disdain for the chaos raging outside. “The bolsheviks are approaching!” The man shouted, “But they are walking straight into our jaws! Their panzers are vulnerable in our streets! Their own artillery hampers their movement!” He stabbed his finger in the direction of Tempelhof Airport, which had been besieged by the Soviets for several days now. “Our comrades valiantly resist the Russians with their every breath! The Führer expects all of us to do the same! We will fight them here, we will stop them here! The future of the Reich is counting on us!” The younger members of the group watched in awe at the man’s confidence. With such a fine example of Aryan superiority leading them, how could they lose? Uwe then locked his steely gaze on Willi, making a chill run down his spine. “Volkssturmmann Höfler! How many Panzerfausts do we have left?”

Willi lunged to his feet, the rifle clattering at his side as he stood at attention. “We have eight Panzerfausts remaining, herr Oberscharführer!” He barked, his back straight. As the oldest ‘soldier’ under Uwe’s command, he had been tasked with keeping track of the group’s supply of anti-tank weapons. The Panzerfaust was a true Wunderwaffe: cheap to produce, easy to use, and effective. Even though he had never fired one at an enemy tank before, he had seen a public demonstration on how even the least-trained Hitlerjugend could still use it with ease. But while German factories had once produced them by the thousands, now it seemed that there were never enough to go around. When they ran out of the ones they had, would they be able to get more?

Uwe nodded and slowly met all their eyes, looking around the room. “The Russian panzers are fearsome, but the Russian soldier is a dog! They are untrained, illiterate subhumans tainted by the sins of Bolshevism and Jewry! Without their armor to hide behind, they are useless! Now, this is what we will do…” He pointed down at a crude map of the intersection drawn in the dust on one of the cafe’s tables. “Myself and Volkssturmmann Höfler will take positions here. We will use the Panzerfausts to destroy the advancing panzers. This will block the road and force their other tanks to withdraw, where they will be savaged by our mines and 88s. Their infantry will be forced by their masters to advance even without their armor, and that is when the rest of you will strike!” Uwe pointed to several spots on the ‘map’. “Here and here! Two soldiers each with rifles. The machine gun will be set up on the second floor of this building. You will cover our withdrawl, and then fall back when I give the signal!” Two boys, both of them barely sixteen, stood sharply by the old MG 34 and saluted. Uwe looked around the room again, making sure he commanded their attention. “Do you all understand?” Dirty faces nodded in reply.

Willi thought quietly about the Oberscharführer’s plan as he crouched down by one of two crates stored behind the charred countertop, opening one of them to reveal the four Panzerfausts stored within. He quickly slung the rifle over his shoulder and retrieved a weapon for himself and Gottschalk. Despite his ruthlessness, Uwe understood that they would have to bleed the Soviets and then fall back, trading space for time. Throwing away his soldiers’ lives was a wasteful act. But the problem was, they just didn’t have much space left…or time. Willi hefted the Panzerfausts and set one on the table by Uwe, shards of glass crunching beneath his boots as he peered out into the street from one of the shattered windows.

His beloved Berlin was a wasteland, the air thick with smoke and dust. Not a single building stood undamaged, the streets filled with the scattered rubble of a civilization. Vehicles lay abandoned at the sides of the street, their tires long gone and their fuel tanks long empty. Sandbags and crude tank traps had been constructed out of anything and everything. Ditches and trenches had been dug into the streets, craters made by Russian artillery were used as shallow foxholes and fighting positions for anti-tank guns. Street trams had been packed to the roof with loose rubble and shoved into place to form crude barricades. The morbid joke ran that it would take the Russians twenty minutes to bypass those ‘fortifications’ – ten minutes to stop laughing at them, and then ten minutes to drive through them.

Oberscharführer Gottschalk again took the lead, striding out through the window and into the street. “Follow me, Volkssturmmann Höfler.” He ordered, holding the Panzerfaust firmly in his grasp. He turned to address his assembled ‘soldiers’ once more. “You all know what is at stake! Bleed the Soviets for every inch of ground! Make them regret ever setting a foot inside the Reich! Heil Hitler!”

“Heil Hitler!” Seven voices howled in reply. Their confidence bolstered, the German youths rushed to their ambush positions as Willi followed Uwe up along the street of shredded automobiles and scattered rubble. Already the sound of small arms and tank cannon was louder than it had been five minutes ago. He could hear the snarling of diesel engines, the metallic squealing of tracks as the Soviet tanks probed the city’s defenses. Undeterred by the noise, Uwe strode forward without even bothering to take cover. Willi wasn’t sure if this was bravery or insanity, but he held his helmet a little tighter against his head and hurried along behind the man. They rounded a gentle bend in the street, but one that would hide the waiting machine gun from any infantry that decided to follow them.

“This is where we will wait.” Uwe gestured to a pile of rubble that had spilled out into the street from a collapsed house. Some of it had already been piled into a low ‘wall’ of sorts by some thoughtful Berliner in preparation for using it as a defensive position. “Quickly, get yourself into position.” He ordered, “They should be here any minute.” Uwe crouched down behind the rubble pile and began preparing the Panzerfaust. Willi shuffled into place beside him, quickly removing the pin holding the warhead to the launcher. The primer was already inserted into the weapon, despite that making it not ‘safe’. But in this instance, having the weapon ready to fire at a moment’s notice was more important than safety. His stomach churned with nervousness, glancing over the debris again and again, each time expecting the Russians to suddenly be there.

The minutes began to bleed together into a nerve-wracking stretch where each echo, each crack of a distant shot, made Willi cringe. A chunk of brick was jabbing into his stomach, but he didn’t dare reach down to move it. More artillery thundered down on Templehof, bombarding the German strongpoint there. ‘At least the Amis aren’t bombing us now…’ He thought sardonically. The encirclement of Berlin by the Soviets meant that the other Allied Powers had ceased their bombing raids, out of concerns of harming the Russians. Willi would have given anything to see one of those devastating bombing raids falling on the heads of the Communists, even if it meant having to endure more of them himself.

He jumped as a diesel engine snarled just up the street, the sound of metal scraping against the cobblestones echoing off the shattered walls. Willi peeked up over the edge of the rubble just a bit and then promptly ducked back down when he saw the blunt snout of a Soviet T-34-84 appear around the corner. The commander was cautious, stopping to inspect the street in front of him. Brown-clad infantry huddled around the tank, shielded from attack by the machine’s metal bulk. The city was eating up tanks and men like a wolf ate rabbits. But there were so many rabbits…even a wolf got full. Uwe must have sensed Willi tensing because he shoved Willi back down against the ground before he even realized that he was starting to stand. “Not yet.” He growled, glaring at the Soviet panzer. “Wait until you know you will hit…” Willi didn’t like that, not one bit. That meant they would be more than close enough to hit him back. He held no illusions of his ability to dodge machine gun fire.

The T-34-85’s commander finally decided to continue his advance, the engine roared and gushed exhaust as the tank pivoted in place, lurching into motion towards them. The infantry advanced with the tank, men carrying rifles and submachine guns. At least ten of them, Willi counted. Laying there, watching the tank approach, and being able to do nothing made every part of Willi want to get up a run. Get up and scream. Get up and do something, anything! He could feel the weight of the tank vibrating through the ground like an earthquake, fragments of brick and mortar skittering off the pile of rubble. “Not yet.” Uwe repeated, and then again. “Not yet.” That blunt machine gun at the front of the tank pivoted from side to side, looking for targets. Targets like him. Soviet soldiers were close enough that he could see the whites of their eyes, some starting to move in front of the tank. They were going to be spotted if –

“Now!” Uwe lunged up from behind the rubble pile when the T-34-85 was no more than ten meters away, leveling his Panzerfaust at the tank barreling towards them. Bang! The high explosive shaped charge lashed out and slammed into the Soviet tank’s hull, detonating in a flash of flame and smoke. Fragments of molten metal spanged off the cobblestones as the tank ground to a shrieking halt. Willi thought he could hear the agonized screams of the crew inside, but the sound was drowned out by a volcanic rumbling that grew in volume as flames gushed from the hull and the hatches. A human torch managed to claw itself halfway out of the commander’s cupola before the entire turret blew off, a massive fireball of exploding ammunition and burning diesel lobbing the several ton turret into the air. The hunk of flaming metal arched over and smashed through the side of a building, showering rubble down onto the street below. A pall of noxious, greasy smoke boiled up from the wreck and flooded the street with choking fumes.

Willi cautiously peered over the rubble and stared at the blazing, mangled wreckage, shielding his face from the searing heat. Sheets of flame raged from the twisted hole where the turret had once been; strips of molten rubber dripped down from the bogies onto the shattered tracks. The infantry that had been advancing with the tank were nowhere to be seen, driven back by the savage heat and the destruction of their armored shield. Even though he could hardly breathe, a savage cheer clawed its way up out of his throat, his heart pounding with panicked elation. The Russians had been driven off by their stinging attack! With the street blocked by the wreckage, the Soviet tanks would have to withdraw and find a new route, and the chokepoint would leave any infantry that slipped through vulnerable to small arms. For one small moment in time, Germany was victorious again!

It was only then that Willi realized that he had pissed himself.

The victory evaporated the instant another powerful engine roared, turning his stomach to a black pit of ice. Tracks squealed and rattled, the sound growing louder and closer with each moment. As he watched in horror, the burning hulk of the T-34 was smashed aside in a storm of sparks and rent metal by the biggest tank he had ever seen. The cobblestones crumbled beneath its sheer bulk, nearly twice that of the ruined T-34. The gun sticking out of the broad-faced turret stretched on for miles. Black smoke and fire whorled around the hull, burning diesel dripping from the tracks as it drove through the blazing fluids of its wrecked comrade, making it look like it had just emerged from the bowels of Hades itself. Willi was frozen to the ground, petrified by the icy claws of fear tearing into his guts.

“Scheiße!” Uwe cursed, “IS-2!” Willi didn’t care what it was, he had to get away from that thing before it killed him! Finally in that primal part of the human brain leftover from when we were rodents scurrying under the feet of giants, Willi’s flight response finally overrode the paralysis of his higher thoughts. He pushed himself to his feet and turned to bolt, but Gottschalk grabbed him by the collar and hurled him back down to the ground. Uwe slapped him across the face and jerked him back to the rubble pile. “Fire your Panzerfaust, you fucking coward!” He bellowed, his eyes alight in rage and…something more frightening. “Fire it, or we’re both fucking dead!” Willi’s hands were suddenly clammy with sweat, shaking as he snapped the leaf sights into position, sighting it on the approaching monster. It was so close and so large that he could hardly miss… The trigger gave a brief instant of resistance beneath his fingers… Bang!

The launcher jumped in his hands, spitting a ten-foot plume of flame and exhaust out behind him. The warhead smashed against the turret of the IS-2 in a shower of sparks and smoke. Willi’s heart leaped for an instant, thinking he had actually slain this mechanized Goliath, but then the metal beast rumbled on as if though it hadn’t even felt the rocket carom off its armored hide. He dropped the empty Panzerfaust tube and scrambled to his feet before Uwe could grab at him again, bolting back towards the ambush site as fast as his feet would carry him. His lungs burned as he ran, his heart clenched in his chest, tears streamed down his cheeks. He felt his ankle wrench as he stepped on a brick, but he didn’t stop. He caught movement at the edge of his peripheral vision and made the mistake of looking back over his shoulder.

As brave as he was, as vicious as he was, even Gottschalk knew when it was time to retreat from a lost fight. The SS officer was also running from the tank as quickly as he could, though his face lacked the look of pure terror that Willi knew was plastered on his own. He didn’t want to think about the reaming out that he would receive from the SS officer when they escaped. If Uwe didn’t execute him for cowardice, he would consider that a miracle. As it turned out, he wouldn’t have to worry about that anymore. The bow gun on the IS-2 opened up with an absurd hammering noise. Dust and chips of stone kicked up around Gottschalk’s feet, sparks jumped from the car husks he was dodging between. Another burst of fire nearly chopped him in half, throwing his body to the ground in a spray of blood and dust without even a cry of pain.

Willi rounded the bend as fast as his ankle would carry him, pain wrenching up his leg. If he could just get another Panzerfaust..! A rifle bullet cracked past his head, and then a machine gun opened up, stitching a line of impacts only a foot in front of him. He yelped as fragments nipped at his ankles and he tripped, slamming against one of the abandoned cars. The machine gun made a different sound than the stuttering Russian gun…it was the MG34! It was their machine gun! The ambush was shooting at him! Now Willi was the one screaming in rage as bullets snapped overhead, rattling against the car’s body and keeping him pinned down, but his allies couldn’t hear him. They just kept firing in their excitement. Willi never thought he could imagine a situation where he hoped his own side ran out of ammunition, but here it was!

He could hear the tank coming, the sound of metal smashing as it shoved cars off the road or crumpled them like tin cans beneath its weight. The gun poked around the shallow bend in the road, the turret rotated enough that he could see the Cyrillic writing painted crudely in white on the green metal. ‘Утюг сука’. Sparks started dancing across the front glacis and turret of the the tank as the boys shifted their fire to the obviously more threatening target. Willi jumped to his feet again, feeling his ankle flare in protest at the abuse, but this was his only chance! Another rifle bullet, Soviet this time, ricocheted off the hood of the car he was trying to clamber over, tugging briefly at his sleeve as it sliced a hole in the fabric. The IS-2 lumbered to a stop, the turret slowly rotating as it aimed at the winking muzzle flash from above the bakery…

A flash of white fire erupted from the IS-2’s massive cannon, the pressure wave snatching at his uniform. Willi screamed and clutched at his deafened ears, dust and the stench of gun smoke were literally rammed down his nose and throat. The machine gun instantly stopped firing, the MG34 and the two boys manning it obliterated by the shot. The Panzerfausts downstairs in the bakery also detonated in their crates, adding to the destruction that blew the building to rubble. Fragments of brick and splinters of glass rained down around him, but half-maddened by the concussion Willi didn’t even notice. Blood trickled from his ruptured eardrums, a shrill ringing screamed inside his skull. Hot tears blurred his vision into a mush, but he could still make out the shape of the damned IS-2 looming over him. He squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the machine gun rounds to tear into his body…but they never came.

One minute and an eternity later, he was still breathing. Willi slowly opened his eyes, blinking rapidly to clear away some of the tears. The IS-2 sat motionless only meters away, its engine idling loud enough to hurt his damaged ears. “What?” He rasped at the tank, his throat raw from the smoke and from screaming. The Soviets inside must be laughing at him. “What are you waiting for?! Kill me!” He suddenly didn’t care anymore. Death would be better than suffering like this! He scooped a chunk of stone from the street and hurled it against the IS-2’s hull. “Verdammt Sie! Just kill me!”

The engine snarled and the tank lurched forward, clanking on heavy tracks. Willi flinched and tried to scramble back with his hands, his momentary defiance evaporating in a blink. They were going to crush him beneath the tracks! He tried to get to his feet and run, but he had no balance and fell to the trembling earth. He sobbed and scrabbled at the ground, trying desperately, frantically, to drag himself out of the way. Too slow, he would never make it. Tracks screeched and kicked up sparks and dust from the street, the massive tank grinding to a halt only inches away from crushing him into red paste. Its engine rumbled in a way that sounded like heavy breathing, white fumes drifting up from the exhausts. Willi stared up at the metal behemoth, quivering like a leaf on an autumn tree.

“Vyyti. Ya budu zabotit’sya o etom.” A voice growled loudly from within the tank. Willi understood no Russian, but it was a woman’s voice! His tormentor was a woman! There were quieter voices from inside the armored hull, but these he could not make out as clearly. “Ya skazal vyyti! Teper’ !” The brutish-sounding woman boomed, even louder than before. Then to Willi’s utter astonishment, the hatches on the tank opened. One by one, the crew of the tank slowly climbed out from the top of the turret, their bodies filthy and sweaty. Their uniforms were in tatters, and it was obvious that they had not bathed in weeks. Despite his disorientation, Willi couldn’t help but stare in disbelief and dismay. These were the people that had beaten Germany? They were walking wrecks! The four of them glared vitriol at him too, as if though this was his fault, but then they shrugged and seemed resigned to the situation, gradually fanning out to stretch and relieve themselves. What in Hell was going on? Then Willi abruptly realized that not a single one of them were women.

The IS-2’s engine revved again, the tank shuddering as that broad turret began to rotate – there was still someone inside the tank! Willi was too close for the massive cannon to aim directly at him, but the turret stopped turning when it faced him. Then an eye opened up on the right side of the turret, just beside the gun mantlet, glaring down at him. Willi’s thoughts went utterly blank. He was certain that he had just gone insane. Or maybe he was dead after all. Either one of those explanations were more plausible to him than the fact that the tank was staring at him! That cycloptic eye seemed to sneer, the blackened smear of gouged metal where his Panzerfaust had hit gouged over the it like a scar. “Knabe komm.” The tank growled in crude, thickly accented German.

To compound the living nightmare in front of him, a seething cluster of metallic cables slithered out from beneath the tank’s chassis, snaking across the ground directly towards him. All rationality fled as the first of those cables snared around his ankle. “N-Nein! Nein!” He screamed, kicking at the cable as it slithered up his leg. A second cable whipped around his other ankle and together they began dragging him towards the tank. He tried to find something, anything to grab hold of, but there was nothing. He didn’t even know where his rifle had gone. “Let go of me! What is happening?!” He looked over and saw more Soviet infantry cautiously advancing further into the city. “Help me! Ich gebe auf! I surrender!” He sobbed, pleading with the stone-faced Russians. He’d rather face them than what was happening to him! But they saw the tank and pointedly ignored him, leaving him to his fate.

“Vyyti izvivayas’, malen’kiy cherv’!” The tank…shouted at him, and a metal gauntlet cracked across his face. His ears rang even worse than before, the stinging pain threatened to make him black out. More cables looped under his armpits and around his chest, binding him tightly. Another curled dangerously around his throat, the firm pressure choking off his protests. He felt the tendrils tighten further and haul him off the ground as though he weighed no more than a sack of potatoes. Willi kept trying to struggle against his bonds as much as he could, yelping in sudden pain as he cracked his shins against the spare tracks bolted to the tank’s lower glacis. “Ya skazal, brosit’ dvigat’sya!” Another slap, harder than the first, brought him to the ragged edge of unconsciousness.

When the blackness finally retreated from his vision, Willi was sprawled face up on the tank’s hull, his arms and legs pulled spread eagle over the upper glacis like a prisoner on a torturer’s rack. The driver’s viewport jammed painfully against his spine, and those metal cables coiled so tightly around his wrists and ankles that he did not have the strength to move them by even an inch. The metal of the tank’s hull was rough and pitted from crude construction and battle damage, and uncomfortably hot. He could feel the vibrations from the engine, and the sharp bite of diesel fumes hanging thick in the air made it difficult to breathe.

The tank’s cannon hovered over him, his head only centimeters below the mantlet. Thick, silvery fluid dripped from the metal and onto his face, his skin tingling wherever the liquid touched. He sputtered and tried to turn his head away, but one of those metal hands grabbed his hair and yanked his head back into place. The heat radiating from the tank grew nearly oppressive as the cannon began elevating towards the sky, a gray seam widening in the green-painted metal. It seemed to twitch and pulse before his eyes, looking…alive. He felt a hand claw at his uniform, sharp metal fingers knifing into his collar. With alarming ease, the hand raked down the front of his coat and shirt, ripping the fabric apart and exposing his chest. Again and again her claws struck, shredding his dirty uniform into scraps of fabric that barely clung to his body. Pips of blood quickly rose in the angry red scratches she had gouged in his skin.

The tank’s engine revved again and the hand slid lower and gripped at his privates. Tightly, too tightly! Pain whited out his vision, a squeak slipping past his lips as he grit his teeth from the pressure. A moment later, he squeezed his eyes tight in shame as he felt his penis bared to the open air. “Teper’ vy znayete, chto ya odin v zaryada.” The tank growled, finally releasing her vice grip on his cock. Willi sagged against her hull and whimpered, closing his eyes and wishing it would all stop. The trickle of silvery fluid was almost constant now, drooling rivulets of mercury running down his chin as he kept his mouth closed tightly. The hand gripping his hair jerked his head up towards that oozing seam. He tried to twist, to turn his head away, but it felt like his scalp was being ripped off. Without even a chance to hold his breath, his face was jammed up into the steaming port, the smell of hot iron flooding his nose. A bit of that mercury fluid also found its way up his nostrils and he sputtered, coughing frantically. This only opened his mouth and let more of the tank’s bitter fluid pour in. He spat it out, struggling again as he gagged. He couldn’t breathe. He was going to be smothered!

“Da! Yesh’te moyu pizdu, vam fashistskaya kiska!” The tank rumbled in perverse delight, grinding his face deeper against her slit. Willi’s head swam, unable to breathe. He swallowed down a mouthful of her hot fluids, wanting to retch at it flowed down to his stomach. His heart surged against his ribs, electricity raced through his nerves, his limbs tingled down to his tips of his toes. His fists beat uselessly against her hull as her steely hands fell upon his cock again. “Vy vyzvali. Zhalkiye.” She roughly stroked his length – which became shamefully hard despite his distress. His eyes watered as his lungs screamed for air. She – the tank – pulled his head away just for long enough for him to swallow a desperate breath of air before she mashed his mouth back against those oddly soft folds. Too soft for metal, but it was metal. Why was he noticing this? Why did he care? Why did he feel so warm? The IS-2’s engine roared, the vibrations shuddering through his body. She continued to jerk him off without a hint of tenderness, strong metal fingers sliding back and forth over his shaft.

Willi gasped and gagged on the metallic fluid pouring down his throat, his struggles rapidly weakening as his strength started to ebb. His thoughts felt hazy and distant, tears trickled down his cheeks as he slowly, reluctantly, stuck out his tongue into the writhing, oozing metal. It was painfully, terrifyingly clear what the tank wanted, even though he didn’t understand how or why, or even what. He just wanted to survive this… The tank’s engine seized up, her metal hand going still against his cock, but only for a moment before the gears crunched back together and she howled in delight. She pulled his hair even tighter, shoving his face even deeper against her port. He grit his teeth, feeling the flood of warm fluid flowing over his face, dripping down onto the tank’s glacis plate beneath him, and dripping off her hull to the shattered street below. The soft metal mashed and squelched with liquid as his tongue desperately probed her depths. His cock twitched beneath her fingers, slick with silvery lubrication and precum. But the IS-2 was much more worked up than Willi. She jerked forward on her tracks, metal linkage squealing against the drive sprockets. Revving louder, and louder, it would be a surprise if the entire Russian advance didn’t hear her roaring engine and cries of pleasure. “O yebat’ mat’ d’yavola!” She snarled, screwing that one eye tightly shut. “Bystreye, shlyukha!”

Those steel hands, those metal cables tightened so sharply that Willi practically cried out, feeling his bones ache, his flesh and muscles bruising under the sheer tension pinning him to her hull. It felt like an eternity, this steel behemoth screaming and shuddering beneath him. Had she been a human, she would have been thrashing her head back and forth. Willi slurped and lapped his tongue around inside her, feeling it tug on his, almost crushing the soft muscle. Silvery fluid flooded around his lips and tongue, more than he could swallow. He shut his mouth and gagged again on the gunmetal and kerosene taste that coated his tongue and warmed his belly. He was vaguely aware of his own cock throbbing and spurting all over the tank’s hands, but it was a distant, hollow feeling that left him even more drained then he already was.

Just as suddenly, her grip on him disappeared and he practically slid off the tank’s hull and flopped to the ground. Willi curled up on his side and retched, trying to empty his stomach of the contents sloshing around inside. For a moment, he forgot about the tank looming over him, about the scraggly Russian crew standing off to one side, or the infantry scurrying past. He forgot about the artillery and rockets pounding the city to dust and rubble. His entire world was centered around him and what had just happened to– Pain. White-hot, blistering pain instantly made his world shrink to a blood-red pinprick. At some point he became aware that he was screaming, only because he had to take a breath to replace the air gone from his lungs. The IS-2 carved across his back, slowly, deliberately, a metal talon slicing a symbol into his flesh – a mark for the whole world to see. It was too much for him to handle. Consciousness flickered, and then fled completely.

– – –

When Willi finally awoke, the sky above was nearly dark, lit only by the fires and distant flashes of still more artillery. He was laying on the side of the shattered street, discarded like a piece of garbage. Every part of his body was in agony, from his scalp to his toes. Scratches and bruises covered almost every inch of his skin – the tank must used him more than once after he had passed out… His back felt like molten iron had been driven into his flesh, and the shredded skin of his shoulderblades was stiff and sticky with dried blood. Slowly, very slowly, the world started to come back into focus, and it was only then that he noticed that the heavy throb of the IS-2’s engine was long gone. Lifting his head, he saw that the tank was no longer there, just a trail of crushed cobblestones and rubble. The sounds of fighting were well past him now, the Soviets even closer to the Reichstag, the city center, than they had been this morning. Even the ruined T-34 had stopped burning…how long had he been laying there?

He staggered to his feet and looked around in a daze. The tattered shreds of his uniform barely clung to his body, his ankle barely held his weight. How had he avoided being shot out of hand by the Russians that he knew had to have passed him? Why was he not being herded together with all of the other prisoners and being shipped off the the Siberian gulags? He didn’t understand…was it something to do with what the tank had carved into him? Had she…intended for him to be spared of the Soviet’s wrath? He could understand someone not wanting to get on the vehicle’s bad side, but… He shook his head harshly, even desperately. He was alive, that was all that mattered. If this…mark that the IS-2 had given him kept him safe from the Red Army…at least long enough to wait for the war to be over…maybe he could even make his way West towards American lines…

He sagged wearily as exhaustion crashed over him like a wave, almost slumping against a wrecked car. Whether he tried to make it to the Americans, or just waited for the war to end around him…he needed to rest. Time to sort out his thoughts, to try and clean himself as much as possible… He saw a particularly large flash, a fireball rolling up over the shattered rooftops of Berlin and stared at it blankly. He didn’t flinch. He was too tired, too uncaring, to flinch. He wasn’t sure what would come next, but one thing was for sure, his war was over…

– – –

– – –

Hello again, everyone!

It’s been a very long time since I last posted something here, (Holy shit, November 2014.) and for that I apologize profusely. I am not a very fast, nor a very consistent writer (as Ratbat will vehemently attest to after months of wanting to see more of my stuff completed), and I am also a perfectionist, so I tend to take a lot of time picking apart and rewriting my stuff. I also hemmed and hawed about writing, and then finishing this story because I was both uncomfortable with the content and didn’t know how well it would be received. And then after spending so long on it, I started to get burned out on the concept. Add that to various real-life issues, and it was very unlikely that this story would have seen the light of day. So, thanks again to Ratbat for egging me on to complete this. This story’s completion is more of her effort than anything.

So, I feel that I should clear things up first and foremost. I do not condone rape, nor am I trying to trivialize it. The fact that it is a male being forced into a sexual situation does not make it any better. However, the idea originated back when I was writing Operation: LUSTY. Originally, I pictured Petra being much colder and more aggressive towards Kenneth, even to the point of being mean, and she was not going to be gentle during sex at all. And I had the thought that if a living machine – be it a plane, tank, or ship – was determined to have sex with you, it was going to have sex with you, and it wasn’t going to really matter what your opinion on the matter was. There is no way a human could be stronger than the vehicle. And while romantic and passionate sex is all well and good, it’s not the only kind of sex there is. I couldn’t make the concept fit very well with Petra without a severe reworking of the entire story, so I instead decided to take that idea and apply it to a different one set during the climactic end to the War in Europe: The Fall of Berlin.

By Spring of 1945, the Red Army was overwhelming the last, desperate defenses that the Germans had to offer. Hitler was only days away from killing himself, and the Soviets had a long list of grievances that they were going to repay the Germans for, with interest. The weight of Soviet artillery shells dropped on Berlin during between April 20th and May 2nd was greater than the total tonnage dropped by Western Allied bombers on the city during the entire war. The Germans, having long-since scraped the bottom of the manpower barrel, employed the Volkssturm, the Hitlerjugend, and even the police to help reinforce the few gutted SS and Wehrmacht divisions that still remained. During and immediately after the battle, there was widespread instances of vengeful Soviet troops (mostly rear echelon units) raping German women in retaliation for what German soldiers did to Russian women during their invasion of the Soviet Union. And that was what made me think of the IS-2 having her way with Willi, despite his struggles.

Now, some of you might be wondering why Willi is using an Italian bolt-action rifle during the battle for the German capital. That’s because when Italy capitulated to the Allies and switched sides, the Germans pretty much took over what was left and continued to fight the Allies, and in the process secured thousands of Italian-made Carcano rifles. By the time the Fall of Berlin was taking place, the arms industry in Germany was more or less nonexistent. So, they began arming Volkssturm units with the Italian arms they had confiscated.

I apologize if the ending was a little weak. I didn’t really know how to wrap it up, but I didn’t want to hold it up any longer. If I come up with a better ending, I’ll edit in the new one at a later date. I’ve got more ideas line up, and hopefully moving on to a fresh subject will mean faster posting, but I won’t try and make promises this time. Hopefully, you guys are happy with this, and as always, feedback and critiques are welcome.

Thank you, everyone.

CerebralError

“Operation LUSTY”

by

“Operation LUSTY”

<Advanced Landing Ground ‘R-71’ – formerly Lechfeld Air Base

<Lagenlechfeld, Germany

<May 29th, 1945

Kenneth Novacek climbed out of the C-47 Skytrain’s cargo bay and down onto the battered tarmac, carefully hefting his aviator’s bag over his shoulder. The War in Europe had officially ended three weeks ago, with the Nazis finally surrendering unconditionally to the Allies on May 8th. Hitler had blown his twisted brains out while the Soviets pummeled Berlin into the ground, and the entire western half of Germany was firmly occupied by the armies of the United States, Great Britain, Canada and France. Judgment would come to those responsible for perpetrating the deadliest war in history, but Kenneth wouldn’t be part of that messy process. Instead he was part of an operation that he believed was just as crucial: Operation LUSTY – the United States Army Air Forces effort to secure and study German aeronautical advancements and technology.

For most of the war, the Germans had been embarrassingly ahead of the curve in weapons technology, and air power had been the real game changer. Air power had allowed the Wehrmacht to sweep through Poland and France with ease. It had been air power had almost broken the back of the British Islands, and just last month American air power had sank the largest battleship to ever float. Eventually the Allies designed fighters which could fly higher, faster and were more heavily armed and armored than what the Axis could field against them, but Nazi engineers kept cranking out advanced technology even as the Combined Bomber Offensive pounded Germany into submission. Cruise missiles, ballistic missiles, radio-guided bombs, jet and rocket-powered aircraft… Only a lack of fuel due to heavy Allied bombings kept the bulk of them on the ground.

Kenneth looked around at the sprawl of devastation and whistled long and low. There wasn’t much left to call Lechfeld an airfield anymore. Allied bombers had reduced it and the nearby Messerschmitt factory to rubble shortly before the U.S. Army had captured the area at the beginning of May. There were plans to reconstruct the base for American use in the continued invasion of Nazi Germany, but those plans were promptly shelved once the Germans capitulated a few days later. However, the Army Air Forces Intelligence Service was very interested in the discovery that was made at Lechfeld. Within a week of the war’s end, a man had been sent to train pilots and crew chiefs to fly and maintain the apex of the Reich’s aeronautical technology.

Kenneth walked towards what had once been a line of eight hangars. Now only one remained intact. Junked aircraft littered the airfield, with mechanics trying to scrounge together enough unbroken parts to make other aircraft functional. Temporary structures had been built, and the runway patched so that planes could fly in and out, something that was going to be very important in the next couple of weeks. His briefing said that the first pilot that had been sent found thirty-something aircraft on and around the airfield, most of them damaged or rigged for destruction by the retreating Germans. Others had been damaged by approaching U.S. soldiers or by civilians trying to salvage something to sell. But there was one plane that, while not damaged, no one knew how to deal with. Which is why he’d been summoned by Colonel Harold Watson to fly out to Lechfield at once.

Even though Lechfeld been bombed out over a month ago, Kenneth could still smell the cloud of scorched metal and burnt aviation fuel still hanging over the area. He tried to imagine the activity that had taken place here in those last desperate months of the war. The last of the Luftwaffe’s pilots scrambling into their planes to try and cut down a few B-17s, with time and fuel running out, and knowing that their efforts were futile. The thought was somewhat aided by a furious tirade of German echoing from the sole surviving hangar. Some nervous looking G.I.s stood guard in front of the structure, armed with Garand rifles and M3 Grease Guns. Rather less inconspicuous was the pair of M16 MGMC half-tracks with quadmount .50 cal turrets pointed inward towards the hangar doors.

Kenneth angled himself towards them and approached the soldiers standing guard. A tired and unkempt looking Sergeant – one that looked too young to have earned the rank through experience – took a step towards him, but upon seeing the silver 1Lt. bars on his jacket sketched a rough salute that would have left most officers fuming. “Lieutenant.” He offered before going back to holding the submachine gun in his grip. Kenneth quickly returned the salute and took a step back to study the hangar doors, military formality being far from the first thing on his mind. “We found…her…when we were searchin’ the airfield…” He said, pausing for a moment to scratch at a few days of rough stubble. “I gotta be frank with you, El-Tee. I ain’t seen nothin’ like this before. Y’mind tellin’ me just what’s goin’ on here?”

‘No, I’ll bet you haven’t…’ Was Kenneth’s unspoken thought. He took off his garrison cap and tucked it under his arm. “Who found her first, Sergeant?” He asked, ignoring the man’s question. As far as this was concerned, whatever was in this hangar was classified Top Secret. He looked among the faces of the other soldiers to see if the man was amongst them. The Sergeant, slightly annoyed that his inquiry had been brushed off, shook his head and gestured somewhere beyond the airfield.

“That’d be Corporal Schuyler, and he ain’t here, he’s uhh…restin’ and recuperatin’, Sir.” The man snorted, knowing exactly what the young Corporal was likely getting up to. There were a lot of desperate fräuleins around these parts who’d do anything you wanted in exchange for a pack of Luckies or a chocolate bar. But at Kenneth’s nonplussed expression the Sergeant’s smirk quickly faded and he explained. “We were expectin’ Germans to be in the hangar, but nothin’ like this.” He gestured briefly to a cluster of large caliber holes in the hangar door. “She tried shootin’ her way out when we got close, but the Krauts musta fucked off without reloadin’ her all the way. She only had like a second’s worth of fire…” He snapped his fingers. “Schuyler was right there when she opened up, though. Straight up pissed himself, he was shakin’ so bad.” The young Sergeant shrugged. “And it ain’t like we’re fightin’ no more. We’re just doin’ occupation duty now that the war’s over. So we sent Schuyler out to get his wits back.” The man didn’t say ‘And if you got a problem with it, then fuck you, Sir.’, but the look in his eyes said that he meant it.

Kenneth shrugged off the G.I.’s unspoken insubordination. If Corporal Schuyler was off somewhere getting his ashes hauled, it wasn’t really a concern of his now, was it? Besides, he had more important things to focus on at the moment. The hangar looked like it had been partially damaged from the bomb hits that had leveled the base around it, every window had been blown out, and the entire structure seemed to sag to the side. “Is she safe?”

The Sergeant looked at the Army Air Force officer like he had grown a second head for a moment. Was she safe? Finally, the man shook his head and looked back at the hangar. “Hell if I know, Lieutenant. We ain’t been in there since we secured the airfield. She ain’t fired off any more cannon rounds, and either she’s got no rockets or is smart enough to not use ’em.” He gestured to the pair of half-tracks. “And we told her that there’s enough firepower out here to shred a Panzer. So now she just screams her head off all damn day, which ain’t no real treat either.” The Sergeant scowled openly now. “And as much as you flyboys are all over this Buck Rogers stuff, I’m more concerned about keeping my men alive.”

“Thank you, Sergeant. You’ve been most helpful.” Kenneth said quickly, cutting off anything else that the rankled G.I. might have been planning to say. “I would like to ask Corporal Schuyler a few questions when he is finished…recovering from his ordeal. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” He stepped past the Sergeant and walked towards the looming hangar, briefly inspecting the cluster of cannon holes in the door before he opened the smaller, man-sized door and stepped inside. As he turned around to pull the door closed, a woman’s voice growled behind him.

“So haben die Amerikaner schließlich schickten ihre Lakaien.” Turning back, Kenneth laid his eyes on the most beautiful aircraft he’d ever seen. The overhead lamps were off due to lack of power, but the daylight streaming in through the shattered windows caught swirling motes of dust, creating an almost ethereal effect inside the hangar. The diffused light played across her sleek fuselage in a shape that appropriately reminded him of a shark. The leading edges of her wings angled back like a knife blade, perfect for cutting through the air, and from beneath each wing hung an engine nacelle. But these engines lacked propellers – they were jets. This was the first operational jet fighter: the Messerschmitt Me 262. And by God, she was beautiful. Even the hated swastika emblazoned high up on her tail couldn’t detract from the allure of such a machine.

A pair of eyes glared daggers at him from beneath the leading edge of her canopy and her mouth, set just behind her forward landing gear, was an angry snarl of razor sharp teeth. A quick check confirmed that she had no rockets mounted under her wings, but that didn’t mean that she still wasn’t dangerous. Any cornered creature could lash out and do damage. “I am not afraid of you, American.” She boasted in German, not aware that Kenneth was relatively fluent in the Deutsch language. “I have shot down several of your so-called ‘Flying Fortresses’ over the Fatherland. I watched them burst into flames and plummet to the ground below! And your Mustang fighters,” She laughed defiantly, “They were so slow! They could not even touch me. And if they could not harm me, American pig, just what can you do?”

Kenneth let her boast as much as she wanted. All the Germanic pride in the world wouldn’t change the fact that her side had lost the war. ‘And to the winners, go the spoils.’ He thought to himself. And what a spoil she was! Reports of the Nazi jet fighter had emerged in April of the previous year, a plane so fast that piston-engined aircraft might as well have been nailed in place. A plane that had come right out of a science fiction serial. It was only in the last few months of the war that the Luftwaffe had really turned the Me 262s loose, and in that time they had managed to damage or shoot down several hundred aircraft. There was nothing in the Allied arsenal that could keep up with them. If the Nazis had more of them sooner, then the war might have gone rather differently. Thank God for that. He also didn’t point out to her that most of the Me 262s destroyed during the war were done so when they were the most vulnerable – on the ground.

Kenneth took off his leather flight jacket and set it onto a nearby tool cart, ignoring the faint twinge in his shoulder. He looked up to meet her eyes and shrugged.“Just what do you expect me to do, hmm?” He asked back with a grin, savoring the split second of surprise that registered on the Me 262’s face when she realized that he could speak German too. To her credit, she recovered quickly and glowered at him again. “I am only here to talk to you, nothing more.”

“Do not speak lies to me, American! I may be your prisoner, but do not expect me to cooperate.”The Messerschmitt jet spoke defiantly, watching him closely as he walked around to view her from the side. Her body was painted a soft blue-gray on the undersides of her wings, engine nacelles and fuselage, while the top half was varying shades of feldgrau camouflage. A white Balkenkreuz was painted boldly on both sides of her fuselage just behind her wings.

“This isn’t an interrogation,” Kenneth said calmly, moving behind the jet to inspect her tail. “The war is over now, and we don’t expect you to know where the Luftwaffe was developing aircraft. You are just a soldier, after a-” The Messerschmitt abruptly slammed her tail end against the ground, a sharp bang of metal against concrete that made Kenneth wince. Not because of the volume, but because she might damage herself.

“You get away from there!” She screamed. “Right now!” Beneath the rage, Kenneth caught the edge of fear in her voice and backed away from her tail, understanding some of her defensiveness now. “I am not one of those human women, whoring themselves to you in exchange for a sweet word and some food!” The jet shouted at him, her voice almost painfully loud inside the confines of the hangar. “They may betray their oath to the Fatherland for candies or cigarettes, American, but I will not!”

Kenneth walked slowly back in front of the enraged aircraft, making sure that his hands were clearly visible to her. “I am not going to hurt you, okay? I promise.” He made sure to keep his motions nonthreatening as he walked over and picked up a stool, moving it front of her and sitting down on it. “My name is Kenneth. All I would like is to know your name…”

The Messerschmitt continued to stare at him with anger and suspicion but finally, and it seemed with great reluctance, she offered. “Petra.”

Kenneth smiled faintly and nodded. Petra. It was a nice name, and a start. He reached over and grabbed his jacket, pulling out the slightly crumpled box of Lucky Strikes and tapped one into his palm. He slipped the unfiltered cigarette into his mouth, but decided against lighting it. There were too many things in an airplane hangar that could burn with just a few cinders. Instead he just let the cigarette hang there. “What happened to your pilot?” He asked her, and watched a new spark of anger flare in her eyes.

“Cowards!” Petra raged, “All of them are cowards! They ran! We still had ammunition! We still had fuel! We could have still fought! But instead they abandoned me! They wanted to destroy me!” She lifted her wings like a human throwing their arms up. “Grenades! They wanted to put grenades in my engine nacelles!” She shuddered at the thought of it. Kenneth noticed how she had made this a personal affront, using ‘me’ instead of ‘us’. Petra lowered her wings and frowned. “He is probably in one of your prisoner of war camps or he is dead. Or he is in the hands of the Soviets and that is as good as dead.”

Kenneth had to agree with her there. The commies had been making land grabs all over Eastern Europe. Anywhere that they ‘liberated’ from the Germans seemed to be fast turning into good little Red territories. And he knew that there were more than a few American aircrews being ‘interned’ at Russian camps after crash landing in Soviet territory. One of these days, he was sure, there was going to be a showdown with the Soviet Union. He couldn’t see a way around that. But that was neither here or now, and information that they gleaned from aircraft like Petra and her fellow Me 262s would help put America in the lead in that future, hypothetical conflict. “When was the last time that you flew?”

“Ohh…” Petra’s icy eyes grew distant, almost dreamy as she recalled the pleasant memory. “It was in March…” She said, “One of your bomber swarms, over Berlin. It was at the extreme edge of my combat range, but oh how my engines sang that day!” Her control surfaces moved slightly as she relived the experience in her head. “There were thirty-seven of us, the most jet aircraft ever assembled for a single sortie! We approached the swarm from the side and opened up with a salvo of Orkan rockets, and then closed to use cannons.” Kenneth noticed a faint whistling sound, and realized that Petra’s turbojet engines had spooled up slightly, sucking in air through the intakes. “I did not have long over the battlefield, I would have to return to base to refuel, but I made my attack run on a Flying Fortress. I looped up far behind him,” Her engines whined louder, and Kenneth smelled a faint kerosene-like odor in the air, “Then I swept down past the interceptors until I was below the bomber, and a little over a kilometer behind. I pulled up sharply, and he was there! I could not miss! I-”

Petra stopped her recollection in mid-sentence, suddenly realizing just what side of the war the man she was talking to had been on. To Kenneth’s surprise, Petra looked genuinely embarrassed with herself. Even more surprising was that she apologized. “I’m…sorry. Did you know any of them?” She asked, her breath slightly ragged. Her engines spooled back down, but that faint kerosene smell remained.

For the first time Kenneth noticed the pair of stubby, metallic hands that had emerged from a spot between her landing gear and were wringing together nervously beneath her fuselage. ‘Just like Anne’s.’ He mused, fondly recalling the P-40 Warhawk that had first opened herself up to him over the lonely sands of North Africa. That had been his first encounter with a living machine, but it had not been his last. Somehow, the machines seemed to know of one had bore witness to one of their kind, but Petra was the only one he had seen though that didn’t try and hide it from everybody. He shook his head gently and looked the flustered jet in the eyes. “No, I didn’t know any of them.” He said, “I flew fighters, not bombers. North Africa, Italy, and Normandy campaigns.” And by the time of the raid she had just described – which had claimed twelve bombers and a fighter, the most successful strike by Me 262s to that date – Kenneth had been working with Colonel Watson’s Team One, trying to locate the planes on the elusive ‘Black List’.

“What will happen to me now?” Petra asked him quietly, all arrogance and pride suddenly gone from her voice. This was a woman who was scared of what the future held in store. “I do not want to be a trophy of war…the sky is all I have left!” Petra wavered for a moment, her pride warring against her desires, and then she cast herself over the edge. “Please, Kenneth, I must fly!”

Kenneth rocked back slightly on the stool, a little stunned by the desperation in her voice. But could he blame her? To be the culmination of years of technological development, able to fly faster than any other plane out there, gifted with the unique feature of sentience and intelligence, and then to be told that you could no longer do what you were built to do…yes, he would be desperate too. He had been that desperate, when the the docs told him that the injuries sustained in his crash landing would prevent him from flying in combat again. He knew that his motivations had been selfish, to make it this close to the finish and be told he was out of the race…but to no longer be able to push himself to those limits? To not feel that kind of freedom…?

To Hell with it…Kenneth grabbed the lighter from his jacket and lit the cigarette still dangling from his lips. He drew in a breath of smooth smoke and exhaled it. “The Army Air Force is going to ship you back to the United States, and there is nothing I could say or do to change that…” He told her honestly, and watched her eyes sink to the floor.

“I guess that is your right as the conquerors…” Petra interrupted with bitter sadness in her voice. Kenneth lifted his hand to tell her there was more to what he had to say.

“But you’re not going to wind up in a museum or on Hap Arnold’s front lawn…at least not for some time.” He continued. “I know for a fact that they’ll want to fly you as much as possible, to see how you perform in flight. They’re also going to want to see how you stack up against the jet fighters that the United States and Great Britain are developing…” Petra’s eyes widened slightly, her gaze sweeping up towards his. “The British have the Gloster Meteor, and the U.S. just put the P-80 Shooting Star into service. I think the Brits even managed to shoot down a couple of Arado jet bombers with theirs…”

Petra was unable to contain the feeling of joy that swelled inside her airframe. To be able to fly again, and better, to fly against other jets, aircraft that could actually prove a challenge in a dogfight… The thought made her turbines spool up again, her eyes fluttering shut as that kerosene smell rose in the air. To push herself to her utter limits again, to feel that thrill of soaring higher than the angels…she let out a slight gasp, her eyes snapping back open as a familiar electric tingle raced through her. A few silvery drops of excitement oozed from a slit on the underside of her fuselage, rolling down the metal and dripping onto the floor. She stared at the American sitting across from her, swallowing dryly. Her engines whined, the exhaust quickly warming the air inside the battered hangar. “A-and you promise that this is what will happen?”

“I promise.” Kenneth nodded, smiling. “That’s why they sent me here, to see if I could explain the situation to you. None of them have seen a living machine before, they didn’t know what to do with you.” He explained, observing her parted lips and her slightly dilated eyes, and knowing what it meant. Even that sharp avgas smell was growing pleasant to his nose…if not slightly overpowering. But it was getting a little stuffy inside the hangar and he reached up and loosened his tie and collar slightly.“So, what do you say, Petra? Will you work with us?”

Petra was a proud aircraft, but even German pride had its limits. She had not flown in months. For her, that was a torture beyond compare. And now the skies were open to her again! She could almost feel the wind under her wings again… Practically drunk with excitement, she saw Kenneth loosening his top and felt a surge of lust well up inside her. “Yes, yes! I will work with you, Kenneth!” She growled, extending a pair of flexible, metallic tendrils from the same port as her ‘hands’. They snaked across the floor towards the American and curled around his legs before literally dragging him towards her.

Kenneth just barely managed to keep his balance as he was dragged bodily towards the Messerschmitt, having to throw out his arms to steady himself. The muscles in his injured shoulder stabbed knifes down his arm and across his back, but he grit his teeth and bore the pain. Petra’s eyes were locked on his as though her were a target in her gunsights, and he felt her hot breath washing over him as she pulled him practically against her nosecone. He grinned and tilted his head back to place a kiss right on the underside of her nose, placing his hands on her fuselage and feeling the heat radiating from the metal. The vibrations of her engines transmitted through her body and into his. “I thought you said you weren’t the kind to sell yourself…” He remarked, but couldn’t help the grin that formed on his face. Petra shot him a glare even as one of her metallic hands began clawing at his uniform.

Not for candy and cigarettes, American.” She reminded him breathlessly, “But you offered me my life and my freedom back…so shut up before I change my mind…” Kenneth prudently fell silent, letting his hand come down from her nose and close around hers. He ran his fingers around her metal ones, before reaching up to pull the knot out of his tie, tossing the garment over onto his jacket. Her hand went to his belt and was quickly joined by the second, deftly undoing the buckle. He pulled his shirt free from his slacks and started to unbutton it, feeling his erection rising beneath those dextrous manipulators. Petra fondled the bulge and nodded appreciatively, but she couldn’t help but make a jab at his expense. “Hmm…not as big as Gunther’s, but let’s see if you can’t handle the the Luftwaffe’s best, American.” She teased.

“Oh, I can handle anything you can throw at me.” Kenneth finished unbuttoning his shirt and Petra’s hands left his groin and ran over his abs, spreading his shirt open as she felt the muscles there, moving up to his pecs. She pulled his shirt off and tossed it somewhere as she continued to explore his flesh. The hands lingered for a moment on the rough patch of skin on his shoulder, before they slid down his arms and to his hands again. Kenneth grinned and gently eased out of her grasp, tracing his hand along her airframe as he walked around her again. As before, she watched him closely, but with a different sort of fire burning in her eyes. Her lips were parted as she panted softly, her fuselage creaking slightly as the Messerschmitt practically wriggled with anticipation.

As he approached her tail again, Petra lifted it up and spread her rear tires apart, leaning forward so that her nosecone almost touched the ground, displaying herself for him. She glanced back over her wings and grinned. Kenneth could see the slit that had become noticeable just in front of the Balkenkreuz, a seam in her fuselage about a foot in length, with silvery, mercury-like fluid glistening around the edges. A cluster of those metallic tendrils emerged from beneath her quivering body, curling towards him. “What do you think, hmm?” She asked coyly. “German engineering at its finest.”

Kenneth strongly doubted that engineering had anything to do with it, but he took a few steps forward and placed his hands along the heated edges of the slit. A shudder rolled through Petra’s airframe, her engines coughing lightly. He spread the edges of her slit with his thumbs, and the trickle of fluid increased, starting to drip down onto the floor and puddle beneath her. He started with his fingers, two of them, sliding them into that strange, semi-metallic port, his fingers and hand rapidly becoming soaked with Petra’s fluids as she clamped down on his digits. She seemed to hunch up at the touch, a moan slipping past her lips, the sound almost lost over the sound of her singing turbojets. He grinned and plied a little deeper, sinking his middle and index fingers in down to the knuckles and spreading them apart. The war slogan ‘V for Victory!’ popped into his head and he almost burst out laughing.

Petra’s hands balled up as she tried to lift her tail even higher, the top of it scraping against the rafters. Kenneth slowly withdrew his fingers and looked at the silvery fluid that coated them for a second, before he used his thumbs to spread the entrance to her slit a little more, enough where he was able to lean in and run his tongue through the channel. Petra howled as her engines screamed, the heat radiating from their exhaust making Kenneth’s skin glisten with sweat. Her fluids dripped down his chin and onto his chest as his tongue explored her again. She tasted like gunmetal and kerosene, but for some reason he’d never understand those two unpleasant tastes were intoxicating coming from her. His whole body tingled as he explored, and there was so much to explore…

“Stop…Kenneth…st-” Petra panted, “…Stop teasing, Ameri…American!” Her tendrils wavered as another flush of heat pulsed through her, before she set to work removing his pants. She didn’t bother with delicacy, simply popping the button open and yanking them and his underwear down to his ankles. One of her tendrils curled around his shaft and began stroking it firmly, the tip of another brushed against his balls. His cock, already erect, throbbed eagerly under her touches. He grinned and tilted his chin up to sink his tongue a little deeper into her, loving how the jet fighter trembled. He felt electrified, the tingling reaching down to his toes and the tips of his fingers as he lapped at her as eagerly as a cat lapping up cream. Petra squirmed and gasped and protested feebly, but she continued jerking him off with her tendrils, the smooth linkage slithering back and forth over his turgid flesh. “I…unnh! T-told you…to sto-ahp!…teasing!” She cried, her eyes squeezed shut as she came closer and closer to a climax. Her engines sputtered as she came close to flaming out.

Kenneth smirked to himself. She wanted him to stop teasing? Very well, he’d stop teasing…with Petra right on the edge. All at once, he pulled his mouth away from that wonderfully smooth seam, a stream of her silvery arousal oozing from his chin. Petra seemed frozen in place, her eyes wide open and her fuselage trembling as her body tried to cope with the sudden cessation of stimulus. Even her engines fell instantly silent, twin gouts of flame flaring from the exhausts as they were suddenly starved of oxygen. Kenneth reached up and wiped his lips, looking down at the bib of fluid that coated his chest. “Is that better, my dear?” He teased.

Petra quivered for a moment and then screamed in a rage, smashing aside the tool cart he had placed his bag and clothing on. “God damn you, you gutless American bastard!” She shrieked with the fury of a woman denied, launching into a hail of obscenities so vile that even Kenneth’s understanding of the German language couldn’t fully comprehend it. The man door to the hangar opened and one of the G.I.s standing guard outside peered in to see what the commotion had been. He blanched when he saw the Luftwaffe jet with her tail hiked obscenely and the Army Air Force officer standing naked and erect behind her, and Petra directed her fury at the intruder. The stunned G.I. withered under the verbal onslaught and slammed the door behind him in a hurry, likely with one hell of a story to tell the guys outside. With the distraction gone, Petra reared on Kenneth again, the tendrils around his dick had stopped moving, and now coiled like a snake about to strike. “Now stop toying around and fuck me! Fuck me, or suffer the consequences!”

Kenneth was still grinning when he reached up to place his hands on the sides of her fuselage. Despite herself, Petra shuddered again. “Kenneth…” She warned, but slowly began lowering her tail when he pulled down. Kenneth eased down under her fuselage, laying down on his back on the warm hangar floor, his erection pointed up towards her. Petra carefully collapsed her rear landing gear until she had settled down on her engines, her hands and tendrils roaming over his body. As much as they both wanted this moment, she was still four tons of aircraft settling down over him. Her metallic hands gripped his shaft and she positioned her slit over his shaft. As soon as she was in place, she dropped her tail and sank down onto him. His shaft plunged into her, her walls instantly squeezing him like a vice, mercury arousal seeping out around it.

Petra cried out happily, throwing her head back until her fuselage was almost bent like a bow. She lifted her tail and plunged it back down onto him, again and again and again. Kenneth was just along for the ride, and befitting of a jet fighter it was the most intense ride of his life. Her engines shrieked, and Petra, already close to a climax when Kenneth had stopped eating her out, quickly reached that edge again. Her hand found his and squeezed it tightly. This time there was no teasing, no stopping. The Luftwaffe’s last victory over the USAAF. Petra’s flaps extended, her engines strained to pull in more and more air, red-hot exhaust searing the pavement directly behind them. There was a moment where the whole world seemed to hold its breath, and then it exploded like a bomb.

She jerked her tail up, her body twitching, eyes open wide as her head thrashed back and forth. Her tail crashed down again, and Kenneth reached up and clamped his hands against her sides. He thrust his hips up into her, and Petra screamed in rapture, fluid gushing from her as she clenched around him. He kept driving his dick in and out of the climaxing jet, feeling his own climax rapidly building. Her engines flamed out again, and Kenneth smelled his hair singe as he held her body against his, giving a few final thrusts before he groaned and blew his load into her. Even though the hot spurts of cum were nearly overpowered by the gush of her orgasm, her needy slit held his seed inside. Finally spent, Petra slumped, her wingtips drooping towards the ground, her tongue hanging out as she panted for breath. Kenneth felt her walls continuing to clench softly around him as the last echoes of her orgasm faded away.

“I think the whole base knows what we were doing…” Kenneth gasped from beneath her. His waist, stomach, and thighs were a mess of silvery fluid, and he was glad he had brought a change of pants because the pair he had been wearing was now a smoldering lump of burnt fabric that had been caught in the blast of one of her jets. Only then did he notice that a few blisters had formed on his arms and that the sides of his body looked like he’d been sunburned. The entire hangar felt as hot as an oven and it was a miracle that the entire building hadn’t gone up around them.

“Oh, they can all go hang…” Petra purred, her eyes half-lidded with satisfaction. “If you are half as good a pilot as you are a lover…” She grinned, slowly lifting herself up off him. Her landing gear trembled unsteadily, but she stood proudly, practically beaming with the afterglow. Her manipulator hands and tendrils scooped Kenneth up and helped him to his feet. He wiped as much of her fluids from his skin as possible before looking around the hangar to try and find a towel or something to finish cleaning up. “Where do you think you are going, American?” Petra asked, quirking a brow in amusement. “I did not say I was finished with you yet…” Her hands trailed up his chest and came to rest on his shoulders. Eagerly, she pulled him back towards her, her eyes blazing brightly.

– – –

The sun was noticeably lower in the sky by the time that Kenneth emerged from the hangar, his legs barely able to support his weight. His uniform was as neat as he could make it, but he’d have to shower as soon as possible and brush his teeth, otherwise someone might wonder why his breath smelled like he had been sucking on an exhaust pipe. It was a different group of soldiers guarding the hangar than the ones who had been there when he arrived, but they all stared at him with a mix of disgust and confusion. None of them said anything to him, which was fine with him. What some G.I.s thought of his actions didn’t matter to him, but his getting results did. And he had gotten results.

“Lieutenant.” A gruff voice interrupted him, and Kenneth spun to see Colonel Harold Watson himself standing nearby. Kenneth snapped to attention and saluted the commanding officer of Operation LUSTY. The Colonel was dressed in his signature leather jacket and white scarf, the man’s bushy eyebrows furrowed together slightly. He returned the salute and Kenneth lowered his arm to his side. The Colonel looked over Kenneth’s slightly disheveled appearance and the corners of his mouth pulled down into a frown. “So, did it have any demands?” He asked. Like most, the Colonel wasn’t ready to accept the reality of living machines. Kenneth wasn’t sure if people would ever be ready.

“Just two, sir.” He answered. “The first is that she is not disassembled by our technicians. It would literally kill her, sir.” Watson’s mouth twitched slightly, but he said nothing. “The second is that I be the one to pilot her until the transfer in Cherbourg.” Kenneth couldn’t help but smile a little bit at the thought. He’d be sure to put her through her paces…and she had promised to show him no mercy either. She had also revealed an interesting tidbit to help sweeten the deal in her favor. “Sir, she did have some information to give us, about another plane, she claimed it was even able to outperform her in a mock dogfight…” He chuckled to himself, that particular bit of information was still a bit of a sore spot for her.

That bit of information seemed to improve the Colonel’s demeanor a little. Watson has been…enthusiastic…about the project ever since it’s inception. Though some found the man arrogant, even egotistical, none could deny that the man didn’t get the job done. And if not for this man’s sway, Kenneth would not have been here. “Well, what did she say? Was the information useful?”

Kenneth looked down at the piece of paper folded under his arm, pulling it out and unfolding it for the Colonel to see. Drawn by Petra’s hand was an aircraft that made even the highly advanced Me 262 look outright contemporary. A boomerang-shaped aircraft with no vertical control surfaces of any kind. A flying wing. Kenneth looked down at the paper, and back up to the Colonel. “I think so, sir. She called it the the Horten 229…”

– – –

messertest5

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Here we are! My first entry on this website, with plenty more planned to join it! Sorry that it took longer than I had initially planned, but no plan ever survives first contact with the enemy! (The enemy in this case being everyday life.) During the process of writing I came across more and more information about Operation LUSTY (LUftwaffe Secret TechnologY.) and its efforts in the Lechfeld area, and I realized just how inaccurate the earlier parts of the story were. So that required a rewrite of most of the first three pages. However, it’s done now and open for you all!

I would really appreciate any feedback you have to offer. Comments, critiques, any of it! I’m still new to writing erotica solo, especially involving living machines. So, any help will be immensely appreciated!

Thank you all!

CerebralError