Editorial Comment: In response to requests, Gerda von Hipper, a.k.a. Fraulein Power, makes two more appearances in "Fraulein Power's Trophies" and in the soon to be released "Fraulein Power On Safari" These two stories are sequels to "Latin Holiday"   Latin Holiday   and both occur in the week preceding the events of "Fraulein Power"  Fraulein Power

Author's Note: Certain attitudes and prejudices, presented herein, including but not limited to the accents of the characters, are not  those of the author, but were widespread during, the era, and in the milieu, portrayed.
 

The nation's capitol in 1949...

In a the editorial offices of a prestigious publishing empire, Political Columnist, Cynthia Lane, sat at her desk fidgeting nervously. She glanced at the telephone, thinking. "Oh God! Maybe it would be better, if I tell her over the phone?"

Cynthia drummed her fingers on the desk staring agonizingly at the phone.  An observer would have seen there were nervous droplets of perspiration on her wide, white brow. Finally, the beautiful brown haired columnist picked up the receiver and with trembling finger dialed the number she
had so come to dread.

Once, Cynthia Lane secretly wore the proud uniform of Power Miss, the gallant, indomitable superheroine crimefighter who struck terror in the hearts of all evildoers.  In those days as Power Miss, Cynthia feared nothing or no one.  NOW, she was the cringing slave to one of those very evildoers, perhaps the worst one of them all.

Cynthia's frightful ordeal had all started one terrible day, eighteen months earlier, in the tiny Latin country of Los Grande. There, Commandant Gerda von Hipper, a fugitive Nazi war criminal, recently possessed of super strength, not only defeated Power Miss, but horribly brutalized the adorable brownhaied crimefighter. The frightful experience left the valiant superheroine a broken woman, the spiritless, puppet of her abominable new Mistress, Fraulein Power, as Gerda now called herself.

"Ach! Who ist idt?"  Gerda answered the phone without undue ceremony.

"M-Mistress Gerda...i-it's me, Cynthia..."

"Ach! Vat do you vant now, Dumbkopf?"

Cynthia swallowed her resentment, as had become second nature to her in the last eighteen monthes, and stammered.  "Mistress, my editor is sending me to Chicago on a story, and I was wondering...that is...I was hoping...i-if it wasn't too inconvenient for you...could I...could I do the cleaning th-this evening, instead of tomorrow morning? Th-that way I can get the early morning flight..."

"Ach, you ztupidt bitch you can valk vor all I care!" Gerda interrupted. "Ach! Ja idt vill be inconveniendt vor me, budt I zuppose zo!  Zee zat you gedt here zoon; I like to go to bed early, zometimez!"  With that Gerda slammed the receiver, before Cynthia could say anything else.

White faced, and still perspiring heavily, Cynthia hung up the receiver. " Well I may as well get it over with!" She thought. Trembling nearly uncontrollably, she put on her suit jacket and left the Newspaper office, to drive to Gerda's apartment.

When Cynthia arrived, she quietly let herself into the apartment, with her servant's key. Gerda, a powerful, almost brutishly built, yet not unattractive, blond woman, did not get up. In a wrap that did little to conceal her voluptuous curves, she was lounging indolently on a divan. Gerda was staring intently at the evening news on the tiny twelve inch, black and white screen of her new $900.00 television set.

The News commentator was saying. "Yes! Tonight our Nation mourns another beloved superheroine!  Truly a tragedy, she was so young and beautiful, to be so foully and brutally murdered! Authorities have no leads on the unknown assailant. but..."

Cynthia gulped in distress. Of course, she knew all too well who had murdered her young friend. The enslaved superheroine tried to avert her eyes, but her gaze was drawn as though by a magnet to that horrible, grisly trophy board on Gerda's wall. On it, were mounted Fraulein Power's 'hunting trophies,' as she liked to call them.   In sick despair, Cynthia gazed at the new red uniform, that had just been nailed to the board.

Seeing Cynthia's teary eyes drawn to her Trophy Board, Gerda sneered to her cowering slave: "Ja! Zat vas vun tough. liddle bitch! Vizout Mein Power Mesh koztume, I don'dt sink I vould haff been able to do idt!"

As she had knew they would be, the cruel Nazi's words were like a dagger in the former Power Miss's heart. If she had not been defeated by Gerda von Hipper, the evil woman would never have had the Power Mesh costume. She blamed herself for the horrors that had befallen her friends.

Enjoying tormenting her victim, Gerda went on.  "Ja, I godt un ledder, today, vrom Tia Juana! Idt vaz vrom Senor Gonzalez!  You remember him, nein? He ist zat nize gentleman zat bought zat vriend of yours vrom me!  Ja, you know ze vun I mean,  Black Chicken or Black Parrot or some such ztupidt name like you zuperheroine dumpkopfs alvays like to call yourzelves!  Anyvay Senor Gonzalez zent zese fotografs uf her, alzo!"

Gerda held out an envelope containing photographs, to the horrified Cynthia.

Knowing better than to offend her evil Nazi Overlord,  Cynthia took the pictures and l reluctantly looked at them. Glancing at them, she felt sick with shame. It was as though she were peeping through a bedroom window at a horrible rape.

"Ja! Zat virst vun ist what do you zay, ze vlier zey hand out on ze ztreet, zo people commen in to zee ze zhow. Ha, ha! Look at ze liddle changes zey make to ze zlut's costume!"

"Ja und ze ozer picturez are uf your vriend doing her acdt on ztage! Effry night zey haff a ravvle to  pick un member of ze audience to perform viz her!  Zis vinner really got into ze spirit of ze singk, don'dt you sink?"

Forced to look at her friend performing vile sexual acts for a paid audience, Cynthia sniffled in misery.  "Oh poor Dinah! How can this evil fiend have sold her into such depravity?" Cynthia wondered, even now hardly able to fathom the full depths of Gerda von Hipper's infamy.

"Ja! Senor Gonzalez sez zat ziz man in ze fotografs ist a criminal vrom your Zity of Zhicago! Your liddle zuperheroine vriend vunce zent him to jail!  Ach, idt ist zuch a small vorld, isn'dt idt? I zuzpecdt, zo, Senor Gonzalez isdt nodt abuff rigging ze ravvle vor un oldt buzinezz acqvaintenze, eh!"

As Cynthia tearfully handed back the pictures, Gerda snickered, "Ja, I likedt ze changez zey make to ze liddle zlut'z costume zo much, I had vun made vor you alzo!" The grinning Nazi  handed Cynthia a package.  "Pudt ziz on, vile you vork!" She sneered, adding one more humiliation to the mountain of shame she had heaped on the long suffering Power Miss, in the previous eighteen montes. "Commen back und zhow me ven you are ready!"

Cynthia took the package into the bathroom to change. Her heart sank, even lower, when she saw the horrible caricature, Fraulein Power had ordered her to don. It was patterned after the proud Power Mesh uniform she once wore. That seemed so long ago, now. Of course, the body suit was made of some other material, and it lacked strategic material at bust and crotch.  Mistress Gerda  had added a few adornments as well, net stockings and red and yellow garters, to be worn with her jaunty red and yellow boots.

Sniffling in shame, at the disgusting obscene thing, Gerda had made of her proud costume, the reluctant former superheroine nevertheless donned the repellent getup, knowing the consequences if she dared refuse. She crept back to her Mistress to display it, slinking along like a shamed pet dog in some outlandish new garment inflicted by a hateful owner.

Back in the living room, Gerda was on the phone.

"Nein, nein! You stay on zat island und don't come here!  I haff forbidden id! Do you understandt me, Zlut?" Gerda slammed down the receiver, just as the unhappy figure in a red and gold costume shamefilly approached her, in terror.  Cynthia knew from bitter experience, the vicious Nazi had a habit of taking out her anger on the nearest object at hand, and  all too often that happened to be Cynthia

"Ach! You und zat ozer zlut interrupted me vile zat yankee propagandist...(Ach, und zey are alvayz abuzink poor Dear Doctor Goebbels)...vas  talkink aboudt your rezently dezeazed vriend!  Ze funeral ist tomorrow!  Ze publick ist nodt invited!  Only ze liddle bitch's vriends! Zat's vat zey sink! In fact, zat phone call vas vrom zat Amazon bitch! Zhe vanted mein permizzion to come to ze zervizes!  Impudnendt bitch! Zhe knowz I haff vorbotten her to leaf zat Island!  Lucky for you, you are goink to be oudt uff town! I dondt like mein zlutz payink zeir repsectz to mein enemies!  I maybe vill go mein zelf zo! Jusdt to zee how zhe lookz ven I finishedt viz her! Ledt zem try to keep me oudt!"

Cynthia almost choked on the boiling hated in her bosom. Only the terrible terror Fraulein Power had instilled in her heart, kept it in check.

When Gerda had snickeringly inspected, Power Miss's new costume, Cynthia proceeded to carry out her weekly chores of housecleaning her hated Mistress's apartment.

Gerda was just settling comfortably into her overstuffed easy chair, to watch her favorite television programs, when there was a crash from the bathroom.

"Ach! Vat hast zat ztupidt bitch done now? Gottdamn her! Can'dt she effer leaf me in peaze?" Gerda sputtered, and strode toward the bathroom to see what caused the disturbance to her nightly routine.

Cynthia had accidentally knocked over a bottle of shampoo from a shelf, and it had smashed. The unfortunate former superheroine was trembling in terror.

Nazi retribution was swift  and merciless.

As Cynthia tottered on uncertain legs, hardly able to stand after the deadly punch, Gerda glanced at the toilet Cynthia had been diligently cleaning.

"You call zat klean, you filzy zlut! I vill zhow you klean!" The Nazi shouted. "I vill zhow you how to klean a toilet ze righdt vay!"

Gerda seized her unfortunate, unpaid maid of all work by the hair. Cynthia was larger and actually stronger than Gerda, even now, but Fraulein Power had totally broken her, torn the heart and courage from her bosom. She no longer dared to oppose her vile Mistress. Screaming in terror, Power Miss made no resistance as Gerda propelled her to the toilet, and upended her large shapely body.