By GW

Superheroine, Power Miss, discovers a nest of fugitive Nazis in a Latin American jungle.

WARNING: This story contains nudity, graphic violence, rape and other perversities. It is most definitely intended for, and should only be read by, mature adults, over the age of twenty-one.

Author's Note: Certain attitudes and prejudices, presented herein, are not  those of the author, but were widespread during, the era, and in the milieu, portrayed. Also, thanks to "frend' for several suggestions incorporated herein.
 

In a hidden research facility, in the jungles of Los Grande....

As Gerda von Hipper waited for the experiment to begin, she brooded on her cruel fate:

“Ja, just because ve lost the war, I must live in zis damned Los Grande jungle, away from ze bright lights of Berlin. DAMN that American Bitch, Power Miss!  If it wasn't for her, I wouldn't have been in zat filthy American P. O. W. camp, and could have got avay ven ze war ended. I vas lucky to escape, at all; but now ze American pigs hunt me like a dog, as a fugitive from zer so-called 'justice'. Ja, just because I tortured a few prisoners for information, valuable to ze Reich, they call me a ‘var criminal’!  If  ve had vun ze var, it would be that bitch, Power Miss, who is ze war criminal.  Gott damn all American superheroines but especially that bitch!  Ach! I vould like to haff HER in my interrogation room for a few hours!  Ja, her and her big boobies.  Ach, und zat ozer bitch, Cynthia Lane, who informed on me! Snoopy reporter bitch! I vould like a few hours viz her too. She has big boobies, alzo.  I like very much to play wiz girls vith big boobies!”

At that moment Gerda’s own “big boobies” were very much on the mind of Doctor von Klinkhausen who was conducting the experiment. He couldn't keep his eyes off them.

“Mind, ver you are looking!” Gerda snapped.  “Keep your mind on your verk, like a good Nazi!”

“Ja, Ja!”  The old man muttered, as he worked on filling the syringe with the latest variant of the formula he had developed, from notes stolen by Gerda, herself, during the war years, from the estate papers of the deceased American scientist, Amanda Foster Lane.

As he fiddled with the syringe, Gerda continued to brood over her 1943 capture and incarceration, by the indomitable American superheroine, Power Miss.  It had been a harrowing, humiliating experience for the arrogant Nazi, one that Gerda could never forget.

“All right, Gerda, ve are ready!”  Doctor Klinkhausen said.  “It ist just a simple injection, and zen you vill be as strong as ze American superheroine Power Miss!  Ja, maybe efen stronger!”

“Ach, I vould like that!”  Gerda thought, picturing what she would do to her arch nemesis.  “I vould make her pay for zose years in zat filzy prison!”

Doctor Klinkhausen tested the syringe. Like Gerda, he was a Nazi fugitive, doomed to hide in this dreary South American jungle in order to evade Allied and Israeli Intelligence Services.

“You vill haff to take off your tunic, so zat I can administer ze formula!”  The white coated old man said, hopefully.

“Bah, nein! You are not going to stick ze needle in my booby. Here ist mein arm! Inject it, zer!”

“Ja, of course!  Vat vas I sinking?”  The crestfallen scientist muttered, and jabbed the needle as hard as he could, into the sturdy, blonde woman's arm.

“Ow, you schveinhunt!” Gerda squealed.  She was about to punch the old man, when suddenly her face went white and her eyes rolled. A moment later, she was lying on the floor, in a swoon.

“Ach, I hope I haff not killed zis vun too!”  Dr. Klinkhausen muttered, stooping to examine Gerda’s still body.  “The Kommandant vould be furious, to lose her.  Ach, it vas so much easier viz ze slave laborers.  No vun cared if a few of zem gafe zer lives for a Greater Reich. Now, I haff to experiment on good Nazis, like Obergruppenführer von Hipper, our Chief of Security!”

As the old man knelt over the unconscious body of the beautiful blonde, he took the opportunity to fondle her very ample bosom.  However, Gerda was not dead. He could feel her heart beating as he played with her firm breasts.

A few minutes later, Gerda moaned, and began to regain her senses.  After a stiff brandy, she felt a bit better.  She noticed her tunic was half unbuttoned and guessed the dirty, old man had been playing with her large breasts while she was unconscious.  She had a good mind to teach him a lesson, but that would have to wait.  Right now, she felt too sick and weak.

“Vell, I don’t feel stronger!”  Gerda snarled angrily.

“It vill take about a veek!”  The old man answered. He looked on, guiltily, as Gerda rebuttoned her tunic, though he couldn't keep his eyes from her bountiful chest.  “Each day, you vill feel stronger, until vun day soon, you vill be a superwoman, ze perfect Aryan woman!”

“I better, Old Man, or you vill be very sorry!”

Meanwhile, by a strange twist of fate, one of Gerda’s enemies was preparing to visit Los Grande, herself.

“Sure, Dad, if you like, I'll be glad to go with you, on your State Department trip! I can get some local color for my column, and maybe have a fling with one of those exciting Latin men!”  Cynthia Lane grinned.

“It's time you did find a man, and settle down, Cynthia!  Of course, I’d prefer you married a good American lad!”  Senator Lane answered.  “You've been on your own too much, since your mother died seven years ago!”  At the thought of his late wife, Senator Lane's face saddened and he bowed his head a moment   “Ah, Amanda was such a brilliant woman!”  He murmured to his sympathetic daughter.  “I don't know what she saw in a hick lawyer like me? If she'd lived, there were so many more discoveries, she would have made, to benefit humanity.

“I miss Mom too, Dad but she married a ‘hick lawyer’ who made it to the United States Senate!”  The senator's proud daughter interjected, patting his arm tenderly.  Cynthia's father was Senator James Lane, powerful  Chairman of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee.  The State Department had invited him to visit Los Grande as a Pan-American good will gesture. His beautiful, political columnist daughter would be a valuable asset in that endeavor.

A week later, Cynthia, looking gorgeous in a new Paris gown, found herself at a Los Grande Foreign Ministry reception, delicately trying to balance a champagne glass and a plate of canapés, while she diplomatically evaded the blatant, sexual advances of Senor Martinez, the Los Grande Minister of Police.

As she fenced archly with the police official, out of the corner of her eye, the sharp-eyed reporter caught a glimpse of a familiar face, at the far end of the room.

“Good Lord!”  Cynthia thought.  “That looks like Gerda von Hipper!  I wish, I could get a better look!  Darn it, though, I can’t offend this guy, even if he is a jerk; he’s too important!”

The blonde woman, incongruously dressed for the smart, diplomatic reception, in a black, leather rain coat and high boots, saw Cynthia at the same second Cynthia saw her, and bolted for the door.

Cynthia gritted her teeth, in annoyance, knowing she couldn’t go after the woman, right then.  “Not in this ‘getup’ certainly!”

“Well!”  Cynthia thought. “I might as well get something out this conversation!  Even if he is a jerk, he’s supposed to be an efficient cop!”

“Senor Maritnez, I was interested to know, if there are many Germans living here, in your country?” Cynthia asked, as she discreetly squirmed to avoid Senor Martinez’s hand on her arm, from reaching her breast.

“Ah, you reporters!”  The police official smiled insinuatingly. “You think every Latin American country is full of Nazi war criminals, in hiding!  Actually, there are very few Germans here in Los Grande!  There is just the Medical  Research Facility.  It is in the jungle, about sixty kilometers from here!  But, I, myself, personally checked that out, very carefully!  They just do medical research there!” Senor Martinez replied, as he shamelessly ogled Cynthia’s splendid décolletage.

“I think someone else ought to check it out, EVEN MORE CAREFULLY!” Cynthia thought to herself, behind a bland, sympathetic smile.

As soon as she decently could, Cynthia adroitly made her excuses, and sped back to her hotel.  Once alone, she opened a secret compartment in her steamer trunk, and took out a red mesh, body suit and a pair of yellow boots trimmed in scarlet.

“Perhaps, Power Miss can find out, what the police couldn't?”  Cynthia said half aloud, clenching her fist with determination.  As she swiftly shook loose her elaborately coifed hairdo, and let her long brown hair fall free, she slipped out of her Paris gown.

Cynthia eyed the heavy duty girdle and brassier, she usually wore under her uniform, with distaste.  "I should put them on, I suppose; it's only decent, but Heck, it's so darn hot, down here!”  Cynthia thought.  Then, with a wicked gleam in her eye, Cynthia slipped her incredible body, directly into the red, power mesh suit, and in no time was ready.

In Cynthia's place stood.... Power Miss!

Power Miss stepped out onto the balcony of the hotel suite, and warily looked around.  Good! The street, far below, was deserted.  Without a moment's further hesitation, Power Miss leaped off the balcony rail, and flew straight into the air.  The scarlet, power mesh of her costume contained antigravity elements invented by her brilliant mother.  Those elements not only gave Power Miss the power to fly, but also repelled high velocity objects, making the heroic crimefighter impervious to bullets, although not too slower moving fists and knives.  With her super strength, though, that was never any problem. Shortly before her untimely death, her mother had give Cynthia the power mesh suit, and the chemical formula that increased her strength a hundred fold.  On her deathbed, her mother had sworn Cynthia to use these inventions only for good.

Her mother died in 1939. In the following eight years, Power Miss became a legend, recognized throughout the free world as a champion of justice and bane of criminals. She was the heroine of every red-blooded American kid, boys as well as girls. Of course, during the war years, Power Miss devoted her incredible abilities to counterespionage.  Even though the war had ended two years earlier, Power Miss still maintained close ties to the intelligence community. She was well aware that Gerda von Hipper was at the top of the list of fugitive Nazis, wanted for trial.

Before Cynthia  had time to even make her apologies at the Foreign Ministry reception, the woman who aroused her suspicions, was already driving, with reckless speed through the jungle. "Damn Bitch!  I sink she saw me!  I neffer should haff gone to ze ministry tonight, vile zat American delegation is in Los Grande!"  Gerda thought to herself.

"Ja, but I had to make my veekly visit, to keep Senor Martinez happy!  Ze lecherous fool vill do anysing for me!"  Gerda though smugly.   "Oh how I hate zat bitch, drinking champagne in a Paris original, vile I rot in zis damn jungle, und vear zis ugly uniform!  Damn her anyvay! I vonder if she knows about ze institute.  Ze vay, zat fool, Martinez, vas ogling her booobies, he may tell her anysing!  Best to move operations!  Ve are too close to ze capital anyvay!"

Gerda had just arrived back at the Nazi research facility, and was about to start evacuation procedures, when what appeared to be a scarlet clad cyclone descended on the facility.  Power Miss systematically destroyed he guard towers, sending Gerda’s subordinates fleeing into the jungle.

"Gott damn her!" Gerda cursed.  "Vell, I suppose I must handle zis, myself!'

Once she destroyed the perimeter defenses, Power Miss set out to search the facility.  She had just entered a dismal, dark gray, laboratory anteroom, when she was confronted by her old foe, Gerda von Hipper, in full Nazi regalia.

"Vat do you vant here, Yankee!"  Gerda challenged, nervously.  "Zis is a humanitarian, medical laboratory!  You haff no business, here!"

Power Miss laughed ironically, at this bare face lie. "That will be the day, when you are associated with innocent humanitarianism, Gerda!  I'm taking you back to civilization!  The authorities are very anxious to have a word with you, in Nuremberg!"

As she spoke, Power Miss observed Gerda’s comic opera uniform, with a mixture of contempt and amusement.  It may have been a little catty, but the heroine couldn't resist an innocent gibe. "Really Gerda, that short skirt is not only ugly as sin, but it's terribly passé, as well! Haven't you heard about the 'New Look' here in the jungle?"

"I giff you 'New Look' bitch!"  Gerda snarled. Power Miss expected the fugitive war criminal to flee in terror, as the cowardly Nazi had in their past encounters. Instead, Gerda surprised the superheroine by advancing to meet her.  In fact, Gerda boldly initiated the struggle, by grabbing the American crimefighter's waist, in a test of strength. To her utter amazement, Power Miss found herself unable to easily dominate the contest.

Hardly believing it possible, at first, Power Miss exerted only a fraction of her tremendous strength.  The heroic crimefighter was always concerned that she not use her mother's gift to needlessly injure another human being, even one so despicable as Gerda.   By the time Power Miss realized how strong Gerda had become, since they last met, the German woman had gained a considerable leverage advantage.