War Girls Complete Collection Chapter 347

Chapter 14

T

he

plenni

lived in a constant rollercoaster of hope and disappointment that added to the physical hardships, and more than one of the men went off the rails.

Some recovered after a few days in the camp hospital, while others took desperate measures. They stepped out of the line during their walk to work, knowing full well the guards would shoot them without hesitation.

One morning, commanders of the MVD, the Ministry of Internal Affairs, showed up at the camp. Their arrival struck fear into prisoners and guards alike, because the MVD was formerly known as the NKVD, or Soviet secret police – an organization comparable to the sinister Gestapo.

“These guys are bad news,” Helmut said after roll call.

“Why are they here?”

“No idea. Watch your mouth, will you?”

Johann nodded and clumped off to work. When his labor detail returned eleven hours later, a strange tension had settled over the camp. He bumped into one of the antifa-boys and asked him, “What’s going on?”

“They’ve been hauling prisoners into their interrogation rooms all day long.”

“Interrogation rooms?”

“Yeah.”

“What for?”

“Nobody knows.”

“Prisoner Hauser, come with me!” A guard had spotted Johann and made a check on some list in his hands.

A shiver ran down Johann’s spine. No doubt he’d be interrogated by the MVD. But what for? What did they want? Johann had worked in an office during most of the war, organizing logistics to and from the front. Only in the last months of the war had he been thrown into active combat.

He entered a small room in the administration office with only four chairs and a table. Two of the chairs were occupied by well-fed men in uniform.

“Sit down,” the older one told him.

Johann obeyed. As soon as he settled into the chair, the door opened again, and an attractive young woman entered. She sauntered toward Johann, apparently oblivious to the MVD commanders at the table. Unwillingly he held his breath, waiting for the inevitable rebuke.

“Good evening, Leutnant Hauser. My name is Olga Saltanova. Commander Toporov has a few questions he would like you to answer and I have the honor to be your translator,” she said with a smile.

“

Tovarish

Saltanova,” he stuttered.

“No, please call me Olga.” She extended her manicured hand.

“Olga.” Dumbfounded, he took her hand and inhaled her exquisite perfume. Her face was round and rosy with high cheekbones and beautiful brown eyes. But his eyes didn’t rest for long on her elaborate makeup. They were automatically drawn downward to her generous cleavage, which showcased her full and plump breasts.

He hadn’t seen such a beautiful, and alluring woman in years and the sight of her bustline, combined with the heavy perfume, made him dizzy. He caught himself just in time before he licked his dry lips and much to his distress, he noticed a long-forgotten tingle in his pants.

Commander Toporov asked something in Russian, but Johann had forgotten all about his language skills, his eyes riveted to the line where Olga’s breasts met.

“The commander would like to know if you ever shot civilians during your time in the Wehrmacht?” she translated Toporov’s words.

Johann tore his gaze away from her and looked at the commander. “

Gospodin

Commander. No. I never shot at civilians.”

Olga translated his answer and then waited while another question was asked. Whether he wanted to or not, he had to look at her face when she addressed him again. “How many houses of peace-loving civilians have you burned down?”

“I’ve never done anything like that,” Johann replied.

The interrogation continued for two hours, repeating over and over the same questions. It became increasingly difficult to focus on his answers, because every time he looked at Olga, his manly parts twitched and tingled. After years without seeing a woman, except for the doctor, nearby, he simply couldn’t control his reactions to a plump breast all but shoved into his face.

“What other atrocities did you commit against peace-loving Russian civilians?” Olga asked.

“I never even set foot into Russia before I was brought here as prisoner.”

The commander’s face twitched, and he exchanged a few words with Olga. Johann got the impression that the commander actually understood German quite well and didn’t need a translator. Olga was here for the sole reason of distracting him and making him slip up.

He vowed to be even more careful with every word he said. It wouldn’t be the first time the Soviets took a sentence out of context and switched around the meaning.

“So you admit to having committed crimes against civilians of other nationalities?” Olga said.

“No. I never harmed a civilian, Russian or otherwise.” Johann’s eyelids threatened to close with exhaustion. He hadn’t even had dinner and could only hope that Helmut had saved him up a bowl of soup. He grimaced at the thought. The hot soup tasted like bitter dishwater, but cold soup was so much worse.

“Did you grimace because you remembered the awful crimes you perpetrated against peace-loving civilians?”

“No. I didn’t,” Johann burst out, but sagged in the same moment. If they noticed his tension, they’d have him right where they wanted him. “I grimaced because I missed dinner and my stomach is hurting.”

The commander pursed his lips and said, “You can eat as much as you want, if you decide to finally tell us the truth and confess your crimes.”

Johann blanked his expression of all emotion, although anger roiled through his body. The promise was alluring. Eat until he was full for the first time in more than two years? He’d forgotten how it felt not to be hungry. The temptation overwhelmed Johann, but would he sign his own death sentence when he told them what they wanted to hear?

He sighed. “

Gospodin

Commander, I have told you the truth the entire time. I never committed any crimes against civilians. I fought other soldiers, because our countries were at war.”

Olga repeated his answer and the commander slammed his hand down on the table, shooting angry stares at her. Johann almost felt sorry for her, because she apparently would get into trouble for not teasing a confession out of him.

“Commander Toporov wants to know why you persist in telling us these lies. You seem to believe you are very clever, but the commander wants you to know that in the end he will make you talk.”

What were they after? Did it make a difference if he said what they wanted to hear? Was there a worse hell than this camp? Or a quick and painless death? Torture? The icy grip of fear crushed Johann’s spirit.

Not torture, please.

He was tempted to offer the commander the compromise that he’d work in the coal mine instead. Anything but torture.

“I did nothing wrong,” Johann said, exhaustion making his brain slow to react. His eyelids drooped. Someone prodded his arm.

Olga smiled at him, leaning over to give him a very good view at her precious boobs. “Commander Toporov wants you to know that if you don’t cooperate, you will never see a naked woman again and will certainly never fuck one.”

Johann felt himself flush at her words, but she didn’t flinch the tiniest bit. More pleasant thoughts that involved his hands on a naked woman wiped away his exhaustion. Reveling in his daydreams, he was caught unawares at the next question and understood only part of it. “I’m sorry. Can you repeat that, I didn’t…”

The commander slammed his hand on the table again.

Olga listened for a moment and then translated, “Commander Toporov will not repeat the question. He wants to know if you are admitting it?”

“Admitting what? I didn’t do anything. I didn’t even understand your question,” Johann replied. The righteous anger fueled his brain. They’d tricked him with sex, lowering his guard. He had to be more alert.

The questions continued. On and on… until the commander said, “I’m hungry. You can return to your barracks. For now.”

Johann clearly understood the thinly veiled threat, but at this point he didn’t care anymore.

Everyone in the barracks was already fast asleep, but Helmut woke when Johann slid into the bunk.

“Is that you, Johann?” Helmut whispered from the neighboring bunk.

“Yes.”

“I saved you dinner.”

Tears welled in Johann’s eyes as Helmut slid from his bed and removed a mug with soup and a piece of bread that he’d hidden under the bunk.

“You’re a saint,” Johann said, greedily devouring the food in the darkness of the barracks.

“What did they want?”

“They kept prodding me to admit to war crimes.”

“I’ve heard as much. They’re keen on anyone above the rank of a foot soldier.”

“Silence!” someone yelled.

Johann swallowed the rest of his food, plummeted onto his bunk and fell asleep before his head hit the hard mattress.

Over the next week the Russians interrogated him a total of ten times. Each time they asked the same questions, and each time he gave the same answers. By the time Johann left the interrogation room on the seventh day, he was more determined than ever to make sure Commander Toporov never extracted any sort of confession from him.