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Das Fallbeil
- Thread starter Barbaria1
- Start date
Yes, he really is ,,,,
Madi has done a wonderful job, understated and yet very very effective. Those electro pics are really good. And in terms of the narrative it gives us the fact of Barb's torture without explicitly describing it. Now we encounter her supposedly broken, but I wonder . . . .
I love the way her former friend and frustrated lover finds himself in an awkward position, and an ambiguous situation. Aroused by her dossier, confronted by her vulnerability. I like how he wonders for a moment whether he himself has been named - the perils of living in such a totalitarian world. No such thing as innocence, just good luck.
PART 2.
Having ordered Barbara stripped, Dieter stood and watched, wrists clasped behind his back, as her skirt was loosened and dropped to the floor, baring her long, well-shaped legs. She wore nothing under the skirt. He thought he should avert his eyes but failed miserably, fixing them shamelessly on the wonders of her exposed womanhood while one of the soldiers fumbled with unlocking the cuffs that bound her wrists behind her back.
As soon as her wrists were free, her open blouse was slipped from her shoulders, pulled down off her arms and tossed aside. Completely naked, she brought her arms forward, rubbed her wrists, stood her ground and glared defiantly at Dieter, making no effort to cover up.
Dieter stared back, noting how for someone who had been tortured, her body was remarkably free of bruising or other ill effects. They must have wanted it that way, he mused to himself, having seen so many other prisoners brought before him in terrible physical shape. The bastards wanted to enjoy her charms intact ... 'torture her but don't destroy her' ... had been their game.
He wondered jealously how many times those brutes in the interrogation section at Prinz-Albrecht-Strasse may have had their way with her, and how willingly or resignedly she may have accepted their demands. And he thought of the irony that his Bärbel ... a fervent Nazi like himself ... had suffered so much at the hands of the regime she had always supported so faithfully. He sincerely doubted she was really guilty of any of the things she may have been forced to admit to under torture.
Breaking out of his reverie, he ordered her bound on her back to the bascule, the heavy wooden platform on which the condemned were strapped down and on which they were slid and locked in place beneath the waiting blade.
The soldiers giopped her at the elbows and led her to the guillotine. She went willingly enough, hips swaying gently and arse cheeks undulating sexily as she covered the distance. Seating herself demurely for a moment on the edge of the bascule, she glanced at Dieter before lying back along its length and gracefully swinging her long legs into place.
A quick routine check of the guillotine was performed. The executioner made sure that the mouton, with its gleaming steel blade, was correctly positioned at the top of the pair of grooved vertical posts that guided its descent. A basket to receive her severed head was put in place by one of the assisting soldiers.
As two other soldiers bent to the task of securing her in place, cinching a leather belt over her hips, Dieter retrieved the gray Wehrmacht-issue Leica camera from his desk drawer and busied himself with snapping photos of these preparations, as he was required to do, for inclusion in her dossier.
She grimaced as a worn leather belt was stretched across her hips and buckled into place, and blinked as the bascule slid forward until her head protruded through the lunette, the top half of which was snapped and locked over her neck.
She tried to look composed, but couldn't help but stare wide-eyed at the blade positioned, so threateningly, high over her head. He saw her gulp. He noted the tiny beads of sweat that had broken out on her forehead and that her chest had begun to visibly rise and fall as the pace of her breathing quickened. Her fear was palpable. She tried to wiggle and squirm, panic registering on her face, but the strap and lunette held her tight.
What must she be feeling? Dieter thought to himself. Has she any thoughts for me? Any regrets? Surely she was innocent! Surely she didn't deserve to die like this! A wave of sadness swept over him.
“My Bärbel” he whispered softly, almost inaudibly, to himself.
“What?” said Gunther, looking at him quizzically.
“Nothing,” Dieter snapped, recovering quickly and busying himself with snapping more photos of her strapped naked to the bascule. It was cold in the room and he took note of the fullness of her erect tumescent nipples floating so magnificently atop the soft flesh of her mounded breasts. An insane desire to reach out and touch them, to hold them in his hands and fondle them, as he had so longed to do in another time and place, gripped his consciousness.
Knowing that for propiety's sake the urge to do so had to be suppressed, he instead allowed his gaze to wander down her body ... to the milky paleness of her fair skin stretched over raised ribs ... then onward to the daintily indented navel that centered and adorned her flattened belly ... and on to the patch of brown hair with it’s fine little curls that graced her mound ... and further yet to the gentle flare of her hips, the tapered creamy flesh of her thighs, the sleek curves of her calves and the delicateness of her narrow ankles.
His pulse quickened. An irresistible stirring arose in his groin, generating a protrusion that not only pressed against the front of his trousers, but quickly reached such alarming proportions that he feared others in the room could scarcely help but notice. Dieter could feel rivulets of sweat streaming down his back, and could well imagine that his face was flushed.
He wanted desperately to stop this insanity .. to rescue her, his Bärbel, from all this ... but how? There were simply no options open to him. She was stretched out on the bascule, naked and helpless. The blade was ready. All was in order. His duty was clear. There was no going back.
Not knowing what else to do, Dieter stalled for time ... by raising the Leica to his eye to snap another photo. In the same motion he was able to wipe a tear from his eye without attracting attention to his distressed state.
He was about to take yet another set of photos, when a hand was suddenly placed on his shoulder. He startled and turned. It was only Father Manfred, the priest who always appeared ... seemingly out of nowhere at the last moment ... to offer the last sacrament to the condemned.
Dieter shook his head, hastily gesturing with his free hand for the priest to withdraw. He knew Barbara was not religious. The priest nodded and retreated, vanishing as quickly and mysteriously as he had appeared.
But then Dieter regretted having sent him away. Who was he to say whether she needed solace of that kind at this moment? He felt weak in the knees, and was more keenly aware than ever of his profuse sweating.
Gunther, who had positioned himself next to the switch that would release the blade, was eyeing Dieter curiously. He clearly thought Dieter was acting quite strangely.
The four soldiers had stepped back, and were standing at a respectful distance. One of them had left and returned with the hose that would be used to rinse the bascule after Barbara's corpse was removed. He held the nozzle in his hands. A wheeled cart stood ready nearby. A second strap had been added and tightened over her breasts, crushing and flattening them against here chest She had closed her eyes. All was in readiness. Dieter just had to give the command.
Yet he hesitated. Handing the Leica off to one of the others, he went slowly over to her, ostensibly to offer her a blindfold, and leaned close to her face.
“Bärbel,” he whispered as softly as possible, “You know how I loved you. I never wished for anything like this. You must believe me! You must understand my position here. I’m so sorry.”
She opened her eyes and stared at him blankly. Her eyes moistened and blinked two or three times. Then she looked away.
Behind his back he heard the shutter on the Leica click.
He glared disapprovingly at the soldier with the Leica, pocketed the black blindfold he held in his hand, and backed away from the machine of death.
The ever patient Gunther caught his eye. Dieter nodded.
The blade came down with a crash.
Dieter waited a second and then turned on his heel and wandered back to his desk. Behind him he heard the men joking among themselves as they went about the grisly work of disposing of Barbara's remains. The stench of emptied bowels and the unmistakable metallic-like odor of spilled blood wafted across the room to assault his nose. He felt as though he might vomit.
Dieter reached his desk and sat down behind it. He removed his visor hat and set it down. Bowing his head he cradled it in his arms and remained like that for several minutes, fighting back the nausea that gripped his body, as well as the urge to cry.
Only when he felt he had brought himself under control did he lift his head, reopen her dossier and sign his name on the last sheet in the designated place to indicate that he, SS Untersturmführer Dieter Horn, had duly carried out and witnessed the execution of Barbara Mohr, tried and convicted of criminally betraying her Führer and Fatherland ... another traitor brought to justice.
Then he closed the dossier, rose to his feet, retrieved his hat, and made ready to leave the room, but not before looking once more in her direction. The soldiers had laid her decapitated body on the wheeled cart, and placed her severed bloody head between her thighs. Her eyes were open ... that haunting blank stare of the dead ... and seemingly were looking directly at him. It was eerie.
The soldier to whom Dieter had given the Leica to was busy snapping photos again, circling around the cart, photographing her from every angle.
Burying his sense of disgust, Dieter nodded curtly at his men, pivoted on his heel and pushed his way out through the chamber's double doors.
Passing down the corridor, he approached the portal leading from his building to the prison courtyard, but not before pausing to withdraw his Pistole Parabellum from its leather holster on his belt. He wiped his nose and then his eyes with his sleeve.
Through the portal morning light bathed the courtyard, beckoning him forward.
Dieter released the gun’s safety, took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders and strode purposely out into the sunlight.
DAS ENDE
Having ordered Barbara stripped, Dieter stood and watched, wrists clasped behind his back, as her skirt was loosened and dropped to the floor, baring her long, well-shaped legs. She wore nothing under the skirt. He thought he should avert his eyes but failed miserably, fixing them shamelessly on the wonders of her exposed womanhood while one of the soldiers fumbled with unlocking the cuffs that bound her wrists behind her back.
As soon as her wrists were free, her open blouse was slipped from her shoulders, pulled down off her arms and tossed aside. Completely naked, she brought her arms forward, rubbed her wrists, stood her ground and glared defiantly at Dieter, making no effort to cover up.
Dieter stared back, noting how for someone who had been tortured, her body was remarkably free of bruising or other ill effects. They must have wanted it that way, he mused to himself, having seen so many other prisoners brought before him in terrible physical shape. The bastards wanted to enjoy her charms intact ... 'torture her but don't destroy her' ... had been their game.
He wondered jealously how many times those brutes in the interrogation section at Prinz-Albrecht-Strasse may have had their way with her, and how willingly or resignedly she may have accepted their demands. And he thought of the irony that his Bärbel ... a fervent Nazi like himself ... had suffered so much at the hands of the regime she had always supported so faithfully. He sincerely doubted she was really guilty of any of the things she may have been forced to admit to under torture.
Breaking out of his reverie, he ordered her bound on her back to the bascule, the heavy wooden platform on which the condemned were strapped down and on which they were slid and locked in place beneath the waiting blade.
The soldiers giopped her at the elbows and led her to the guillotine. She went willingly enough, hips swaying gently and arse cheeks undulating sexily as she covered the distance. Seating herself demurely for a moment on the edge of the bascule, she glanced at Dieter before lying back along its length and gracefully swinging her long legs into place.
A quick routine check of the guillotine was performed. The executioner made sure that the mouton, with its gleaming steel blade, was correctly positioned at the top of the pair of grooved vertical posts that guided its descent. A basket to receive her severed head was put in place by one of the assisting soldiers.
As two other soldiers bent to the task of securing her in place, cinching a leather belt over her hips, Dieter retrieved the gray Wehrmacht-issue Leica camera from his desk drawer and busied himself with snapping photos of these preparations, as he was required to do, for inclusion in her dossier.
She grimaced as a worn leather belt was stretched across her hips and buckled into place, and blinked as the bascule slid forward until her head protruded through the lunette, the top half of which was snapped and locked over her neck.
She tried to look composed, but couldn't help but stare wide-eyed at the blade positioned, so threateningly, high over her head. He saw her gulp. He noted the tiny beads of sweat that had broken out on her forehead and that her chest had begun to visibly rise and fall as the pace of her breathing quickened. Her fear was palpable. She tried to wiggle and squirm, panic registering on her face, but the strap and lunette held her tight.
What must she be feeling? Dieter thought to himself. Has she any thoughts for me? Any regrets? Surely she was innocent! Surely she didn't deserve to die like this! A wave of sadness swept over him.
“My Bärbel” he whispered softly, almost inaudibly, to himself.
“What?” said Gunther, looking at him quizzically.
“Nothing,” Dieter snapped, recovering quickly and busying himself with snapping more photos of her strapped naked to the bascule. It was cold in the room and he took note of the fullness of her erect tumescent nipples floating so magnificently atop the soft flesh of her mounded breasts. An insane desire to reach out and touch them, to hold them in his hands and fondle them, as he had so longed to do in another time and place, gripped his consciousness.
Knowing that for propiety's sake the urge to do so had to be suppressed, he instead allowed his gaze to wander down her body ... to the milky paleness of her fair skin stretched over raised ribs ... then onward to the daintily indented navel that centered and adorned her flattened belly ... and on to the patch of brown hair with it’s fine little curls that graced her mound ... and further yet to the gentle flare of her hips, the tapered creamy flesh of her thighs, the sleek curves of her calves and the delicateness of her narrow ankles.
His pulse quickened. An irresistible stirring arose in his groin, generating a protrusion that not only pressed against the front of his trousers, but quickly reached such alarming proportions that he feared others in the room could scarcely help but notice. Dieter could feel rivulets of sweat streaming down his back, and could well imagine that his face was flushed.
He wanted desperately to stop this insanity .. to rescue her, his Bärbel, from all this ... but how? There were simply no options open to him. She was stretched out on the bascule, naked and helpless. The blade was ready. All was in order. His duty was clear. There was no going back.
Not knowing what else to do, Dieter stalled for time ... by raising the Leica to his eye to snap another photo. In the same motion he was able to wipe a tear from his eye without attracting attention to his distressed state.
He was about to take yet another set of photos, when a hand was suddenly placed on his shoulder. He startled and turned. It was only Father Manfred, the priest who always appeared ... seemingly out of nowhere at the last moment ... to offer the last sacrament to the condemned.
Dieter shook his head, hastily gesturing with his free hand for the priest to withdraw. He knew Barbara was not religious. The priest nodded and retreated, vanishing as quickly and mysteriously as he had appeared.
But then Dieter regretted having sent him away. Who was he to say whether she needed solace of that kind at this moment? He felt weak in the knees, and was more keenly aware than ever of his profuse sweating.
Gunther, who had positioned himself next to the switch that would release the blade, was eyeing Dieter curiously. He clearly thought Dieter was acting quite strangely.
The four soldiers had stepped back, and were standing at a respectful distance. One of them had left and returned with the hose that would be used to rinse the bascule after Barbara's corpse was removed. He held the nozzle in his hands. A wheeled cart stood ready nearby. A second strap had been added and tightened over her breasts, crushing and flattening them against here chest She had closed her eyes. All was in readiness. Dieter just had to give the command.
Yet he hesitated. Handing the Leica off to one of the others, he went slowly over to her, ostensibly to offer her a blindfold, and leaned close to her face.
“Bärbel,” he whispered as softly as possible, “You know how I loved you. I never wished for anything like this. You must believe me! You must understand my position here. I’m so sorry.”
She opened her eyes and stared at him blankly. Her eyes moistened and blinked two or three times. Then she looked away.
Behind his back he heard the shutter on the Leica click.
He glared disapprovingly at the soldier with the Leica, pocketed the black blindfold he held in his hand, and backed away from the machine of death.
The ever patient Gunther caught his eye. Dieter nodded.
The blade came down with a crash.
Dieter waited a second and then turned on his heel and wandered back to his desk. Behind him he heard the men joking among themselves as they went about the grisly work of disposing of Barbara's remains. The stench of emptied bowels and the unmistakable metallic-like odor of spilled blood wafted across the room to assault his nose. He felt as though he might vomit.
Dieter reached his desk and sat down behind it. He removed his visor hat and set it down. Bowing his head he cradled it in his arms and remained like that for several minutes, fighting back the nausea that gripped his body, as well as the urge to cry.
Only when he felt he had brought himself under control did he lift his head, reopen her dossier and sign his name on the last sheet in the designated place to indicate that he, SS Untersturmführer Dieter Horn, had duly carried out and witnessed the execution of Barbara Mohr, tried and convicted of criminally betraying her Führer and Fatherland ... another traitor brought to justice.
Then he closed the dossier, rose to his feet, retrieved his hat, and made ready to leave the room, but not before looking once more in her direction. The soldiers had laid her decapitated body on the wheeled cart, and placed her severed bloody head between her thighs. Her eyes were open ... that haunting blank stare of the dead ... and seemingly were looking directly at him. It was eerie.
The soldier to whom Dieter had given the Leica to was busy snapping photos again, circling around the cart, photographing her from every angle.
Burying his sense of disgust, Dieter nodded curtly at his men, pivoted on his heel and pushed his way out through the chamber's double doors.
Passing down the corridor, he approached the portal leading from his building to the prison courtyard, but not before pausing to withdraw his Pistole Parabellum from its leather holster on his belt. He wiped his nose and then his eyes with his sleeve.
Through the portal morning light bathed the courtyard, beckoning him forward.
Dieter released the gun’s safety, took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders and strode purposely out into the sunlight.
DAS ENDE
connoisseurs
Senator
A dark, sad and like Kathy wrote, intense story. Very, very good written it tells of a human moment in a totalitarian world. I don´t know if it was intended, but to me it seems like payback for all the wrongs Dieter had done in this regime. Even in the last moment, pistol in hand, he is a loser because it will not change anything.
Madiosis pics were outstanding (like always).
Madiosis pics were outstanding (like always).
xso
Tribune
Great story, thanks! No wonder the Nazi's lost the war, having such soft ss officers.....comitting suecide while carrying out his duties.......touching nevertheless.....I enclose another ss guard - prison love story..........
http://www.historyisnowmagazine.com...nd-jewish-prisoner-at-auschwitz#.W8dZGFUzbIU=
very good story, Barbara!!!
RacingRodent
Consul
Interesting tale, a palpable sense of loss there at the end.
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Good story, very intensely written. Thanks Barb and Madiosi!
A clear lack of routine and training! If it were fumbling while unclipping a bra, I would understand, but this! A real disgrace to the glory of The Third Reich!
Jon Smithie
Tribune
Ausgezeichnit!
A woman finding herself interrogated and tortured by a former boyfriend whose sexual advances she'd rejected
happens in Isabel Allende's 'The House of the Spirits' (not that I'm suggesting imitation on Barb's part)
Vielen Dank
Good story, very intensely written. Thanks Barb and Madiosi!
A clear lack of routine and training! If it were fumbling while unclipping a bra, I would understand, but this! A real disgrace to the glory of The Third Reich!
Bra unhooking was covered in the training manual, cuffs were not.
Literally, 'falling axe' - which of course is what it is!
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
An extremely conflicting story between the eroticism and the horror. Quoom did one of his best works (IMHO) on that.
The one at Plotzensee was notorious. I understand it was even modified to speed up the process of executing prisoners.
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
The interrogators are even Jack-booted!