Free Doomsday Warrior 06 - American Rebellion by Ryder Stacy Page A

my friends only,” the Freefighter replied coldly. A decanter was rolled over to her on a serving table by one of Von Reisling’s underlings.
    “Care for some sherry? Perhaps some schnapps?” he asked, trying to sound his most civilized.
    “Nein,” she snarled.
    “German? Very good. How much do you speak, beautiful woman?” She let him have a string of insults. The German language hypnotapes, the Freefighters had listened to in Century City before the battle of Forrester Valley had been quite efficient. The eye-patched officer reddened noticably.
    “So fluent . . . and so vile . . . but you interest me.” Von Reisling stood up, admiring her figure, long and lean yet so full.
    “Guard, have the skull templates arrived?”
    “Jawohl, mein commandant,” the soldier replied, handing over the device, designed by the Germans to measure racial characteristics. Von Reisling took them and then ordered the soldier out.
    “Remove yourself, but first check her ankle and hand restraints. This woman appears to be problematic.” The guard checked the cuffs and left, closing the door behind him.
    “My name is Von Reisling. General Von Reisling. Perhaps you have heard of me?” the German officer asked.
    “Why should I have?” Rona answered coldly.
    “I am in charge of this area of the U.S.S.A. As a matter of fact, it has been ceded to me. This is to be the seat of the Fourth Reich—the new Germany.” He opened his desk and took out a long sharp dagger and approached her. “Relax,” he said with a dark smile, “I only wish to remove your garments. These silly clothes will have to be cut off. A woman like you should be seen fully to be appreciated. I will arrange proper dress for you later.” He began cutting off her sheer clothing and she couldn’t do a thing to stop him. He took his time, pausing and half gasping as he sliced away the red halter top. The fullness of her white tipped breasts came free.
    “Such a wonderful roundness,” he said. “Like a German goddess.” He reached out to touch her, squeezing the flesh fruits between his icy fingers. “Ah, let us see the rest,” he said with a hoarse whisper, drawing back. He continued to cut away at her garments which fell to her feet, until the only thing she had on were the sparkling red high heel shoes. He stood up and admired her.
    Then he walked over to the desk to the pile of labelled templates—cutout profiles of the “Ideal Aryan Woman.” He picked up the first one, carefully placed it against her silhouette.
    “Hmm, not quite—but that’s type six, the lowest. Let’s skip to number three.” Still it didn’t match. There was one last template left and he fitted it against her face—and gasped. “Eva Braun,” he cried out. “You are the reincarnation of Eva Braun!” He stepped back from her, a mixture of seething desire and fear on his pale face.
    Rona suddenly had a hunch. If she was a goddess, then he was a mere mortal. Perhaps she could use it to her advantage.
    “Yes, I am Eva Braun, Hitler’s wife whom he married just before shooting himself—and me—in the Berlin bunker in 1945. How dare you treat me like this!” she spat out. “I have put up with your stupid insults, your coarseness long enough.” She glared at him„ trying to work some of the ESP thought-influencing that Rock had shown her, trying to reach into the German’s mind to make him fear her.
    “Now, kneel before me, cur. Properly show your respect.” Von Reisling grew white, his one good eye fixed like glue to her glaring green eyes that were so dominant, so . . . He fell to his high booted knees, and crawled the distance to her along the floor. It’s working, Rona thought, though even she was amazed at how well.
    “Now, show your respect,” she commanded. The Nazi leader began licking the fronts of her high heels, then her ankles.
    “Just the shoes, insolent one,” she demanded in as haughty a tone as she could muster.
    “Yes, my goddess, yes. Just to kiss