Oberleutnant Vogel scanned the station once again, alert for any sign of unauthorised personnel. His orders had allegedly come right down from von Manstein himself. Vogel didn't know if he believed that, but he did know that somebody had put a stick up his commander's ass, and his commander had been more than happy to pass the stick on. They wanted the railway station and surrounding area cleared for some unspecified, important, and incredibly secret project, and it was his job to keep it cleared.
The sound of a locomotive approaching broke his train of thought. He watched as a standard troop train chugged into the station, dozens of passenger cars behind it. It was braking as it pulled in, coming to a stop rather than passing through.
Is this all, he wondered? All that fuss, and it's just some troop train? More raw recruits, no doubt.
Doors began to open along the train. Vogel's mouth dropped open as the passengers began to pour onto the platform.
Women ##" hundreds and hundreds of them. And what women! There wasn't one there less than two metres tall, and many of them towered twenty or thirty centimetres beyond that! He gaped as hundreds of them swarmed onto the platform, a procession of spectacular beauty that wiped all rational thought from his mind.
"Well what have we here?" A mocking voice said behind him. He turned to hind himself face-to-chest with the largest breasts he had ever seen. The woman behind them was the biggest he had ever seen, an Aryan blonde over 240 cm tall. She wore black leather trousers and a white shirt whose sleeves had been cut off, leaving her arms bare. Her arms rippled with immense muscles. Behind her two other women smiled at his obvious shock, each almost as big as their companion. His eyes picked out their rank decorations; the rear two were soldats, ordinary privates, and the larger one an olbersoldat. All very junior to his own rank... and yet, he felt completely intimidated.
The big one put a hand on his shoulder and smiled. It was not an entirely pleasant smile, he thought... it reminded him of the sort of smile a cat might have whilst looking a mouse over. "So, little man," she said. "What's your name?"
"Private, that is not an appropriate way to talk to an officer!" He squeaked. It didn't sound at all convincing, even to him. Nor did it help that he was rapidly developing the most monumental erection he had ever experienced. Her smile spread as she glanced down and noted his reaction, and the two behind her giggled softly.
"Oh, I'm soooo sorry, Oberleutnant," she said mockingly. "I wouldn't want to make you... uncomfortable."
"Private!" He tried to snap at her, but somehow his voice wouldn't do it.
"Ohhh," she said, looking down, this time rather more frankly. "But I see you do look rather uncomfortable down there. Perhaps I should do something to make you a little more comfortable... take those trousers off you, perhaps?"
He was aware of more giant forms at his sides, surrounding him. The image of this giantess tearing his clothes off in front of the entire crowd flashed through his head. He trembled with humiliation... and lust.
"Everything in order here, Hannah?" A new voice said. Vogel turned to see yet another giantess behind him, this one wearing the insignia of an Oberfeldwebel.
"Just having a little fun here Greta," the bare-armed one replied defensively.
"Yes, I can see that," the woman she had called Greta replied. "And if we were on vacation, then a little fun would be fine with me. But since we are not on vacation, I suggest you adjust your focus." She smiled slightly. "Besides, there will shortly be more than a few communist males for you to play with."
Hannah brightened considerably. "I can't wait for that!" She smiled at Vogel, and he felt himself feeling both pity and envy for those nameless men. "Perhaps some other time, little man." She joined the flow of women heading out of the station to the waiting trucks.
Greta gave him a lopsided smile. "Be thankful, Oberleutnant," she said with a hint of mockery. "You would enjoy her attentions... but you would likely not survive them."
With that she turned and left him standing there. As he watched her broad shoulders recede into that incredible crowd, he couldn't help but wonder if it might not be worth it.
Captain-Lieutenant Demidov stood in the open hatchway of his T-34/76D and smiled. Truth was, he felt pretty good about himself and his place in the world. Here he was commanding his own tank company, nine of the best tanks in the world, riding into battle with the rest of the 7th Guards Army, in defence of the Rodina. He knew that thousands upon thousands of similar tanks and fighting vehicles of all types were riding along with him, spread out across a vast front ##" the Red Army was rapidly becoming the most powerful fighting force ever assembled and here they were, riding into glory! For what cause could be more glorious than driving the German scum from the motherland?
A distant explosion reached his ears, and his smile widened. Battle had begun! He knew, on some level, that this day could see his death. But the knowledge was abstract, theoretical; he didn't believe it, not really. Surely the great Andrei Demidov would live forever!
Movement from the treeline a thousand metres ahead caught his eye. Figures emerging from the woods! They... he squinted. They didn't look quite right, somehow. Black-clad rather than in camouflage, charging directly towards him on foot. Infantry, challenging the company? No artillery first, no air attack... not even any suppressive fire from the trees to force his crews to button up in their armour, restricting their visibility.
Not that it was it a particularly massed charge, he saw. Perhaps twenty figures were running at his force. They took no evasive action, made no attempt to seek cover to fire from... in fact, they didn't even seem to be carrying weapons! He stared in shock for a long moment as the figures sprinted across the field towards him. They seemed to be moving awfully fast... impossibly fast.
Then he shook himself from his reverie and snapped an order; "command tank order! All machine gunners, open fire!"
A split second later, nine 7.62 mm DT machine guns opened fire, their rattle cutting across the roar of the engines. Demidov snarled in sadistic glee as lines of red tracer fire cut through the advancing figures.
The snarl died a moment later, replaced by puzzlement tinged with a hint of nervousness. The strange black-clad figures kept advancing! He watched in astonishment as machine gun fire washed over the figure to his front, then back across her ##" and only in that instant did he realise that the figures were, at this distance, unmistakeably female! The stream of fire centred on the woman, held there... he could actually see tracer rounds hitting her, ricocheting off at crazy angles as they did when they hit steel armour.
And still she came.
"Main gun, high explosive round!" He barked. In an instant, the loader had the round seated and the gunner slewed onto a target. "Fire!"
A flash of flame and smoke from the barrel, and an instant later a heavy explosion as the round exploded, showering shrapnel all around. The high explosive round was absolute murder on unprotected troops...
The shell burst practically on top of one of the women, sending her tumbling for twenty yards. A cheer rose to Demidov's lips ##" and she rolled back up to her feet without pause and was running again.
"Reload!" He yelled, an edge of panic in his voice.
It was too late. The women moved with insane speed, they were here!
His eyes bulged in shock as he realised that he was facing giants of some kind ##" the woman approaching was almost as tall as his tank was!
She reached the front of the T-34, lowering her shoulder as she came, and slammed into it. Incredibly, the twenty six tons of steel didn't simply roll right over her; instead, there was a jarring impact that threw him painfully against the edge of the hatch hole. The impossible woman was pushed backwards... but as he watched, her booted feet sank into the ground, carving massive furrows, and slowly, against all reason, his beloved T-34 ground to a halt.
She looked up at him, and amidst all the insanity of the moment he was struck by how truly beautiful she was. Her black leather outfit, dotted with rips and tears where the bullets and shrapnel had hit her, strained against the massive musculature within. Yet far as she was from the soft slim curves of the women he usually found attractive, he could not help but admire her terrible loveliness. The thought had no place here, in the middle of battle, but somehow he found himself wishing they could find some private place...
The woman caught his eyes, and in an instant of perfect clarity he understood that she knew exactly what he was thinking. The thought sent a flash of humiliation through him.
Maintaining eye contact with him, she took hold of the frontal armour. He was stunned to see the thick steel actually bend as her fingers sank into it. She flexed her incredible body and slowly began to tilt his tank over onto its side. Demidov screamed in panic; big as she was, she couldn't be that strong! Nobody could simply tip a twenty five ton tank over, it was impossible!
But she was, and she did. He cried out in fear as his magnificent tank was slowly, relentlessly tipped onto its side. The tracks ran wild as the driver poured power on, then stopped as he realised that it wasn't accomplishing anything. Demidov tried to crawl free, eyes still locked on the woman as she reached over and gripped the edge of the driver's hatch. Steel bend as she forced her fingers under it. She kept her gaze upon him, a knowing little smile on her beautiful face as muscles bulged once more. The hinges a latch gave way with a sharp crack as, with little apparent effort, she tore the entire hatch off the body off the tank and tossed it aside.
Demidov clutched frantically at his holster, drawing his Nagant revolver as the giant casually reached into the hatch and dragged his driver out. The man thrashed uselessly as Demidov fired, missing the woman completely.
She handled his driver, a man so big and tough that he could barely fit into the tank, as if he were a small child. She dangled his body upside-down, wrapping one giant hand around his thigh and another around his shin. With a wink at Demidov, she casually bent his knee joint back on itself. Demidov shuddered in horror as the sound of splintering bone cut across the din of battle. The driver screamed as if hell itself was clawing at him ##" which, Demidov thought in terror, it just might be.
He fired again, scoring a hit this time. He saw the woman's leather jacket dimple where the round hit her above her gigantic breast; it ricocheted off as she smiled at him. She reached over and snatched the gun out of his hand, and he felt a horrific snapping in his finger as it caught in the trigger guard and was practically torn off at the knuckle.
"Nicht frech werden," she chided. As he watched in disbelief, she slowly closed her mighty fist ##" and crushed his pistol in her hand like a toy, before tossing it aside.
The second hatch in the turret opened and his loader began to scramble out. "What's happening!" he yelled, clearly oblivious to the madness unfolding around them ##" the loader was the only one in the tank who had no way to see out during combat.
The woman pounced with impossible speed, a hand closing around the loader's neck. She dragged him out and as his eyes bulged in shock, dropped him to the ground and then stood. One booted leg raised... hovered for a second... and then came down with blinding speed and amazing force directly onto his shin. The bone had no chance; it shattered into a hundred shards, tearing through muscle and skin as the entire thing was utterly destroyed. The man convulsed in agony, the sounds joining the screaming of the driver as his hands clutched at his destroyed leg.
"Sie hier ##bernachten," she said. Then she shoved Demidov aside and stuck her arm into his hatch. A moment later she yanked the gunner free.
The man struggled, but it was hopelessly futile. The demon-woman clutched him to her chest and wrapped her arms around him, as if to cuddle him to her breast. Then her arms began to constrict...
The man screamed at first, but only for an instant ##" after than his chest was so constricted that he didn't have the breath to scream. He thrashed against her, kicking and punching, desperately trying to break free.
He might as well have kicked a battleship. The woman grinned at Demidov as her arms tightened... and tightened. Sickly snapping sounds signalled his ribs beginning to break, and he gurgled as the broken shards tore into his lungs and shredded them. He gave a choking cough as the air was forced from his lungs ##" and blood sprayed the front of the woman's black leather uniform. She threw her head back and laughed with delighted joy as slowly, centimetre by centimetre, she crushed the man's chest until it was literally flattened against her. The gunner slumped as she tossed him aside, clearly dead.
"No!" Demidov screamed as she reached over and took hold of the loader once more. The man was still screaming, a seemingly endless wail of agony. She rolled him onto his front, barely a foot away from Demidov, and straddled his back. She grinned in sadistic pleasure as her hands went around his neck. She looked at Demidov, raising an eyebrow as if to say 'after all, why not?'
Her arms flexed, and in that instant he realised what she was going to do. He opened his mouth to voice a protest he knew would be futile... and before he could make a sound, there was a horrific crack as the man's spine broke in two at the neck. Muscles and tendons tore with an organic ripping sound as she tore the loader's head off his neck. His headless body convulsed, a fountain of blood spraying directly over Demidov as she causally tossed the head into his lap.
Insanity clawed at his mind. He tried to crawl away, knowing it was useless. The devil was a woman, and she had come for him. There was no escape.
In this last, at least, he was correct. The woman reached out with casual speed and closed an immense fist around his ankle. She yanked him back; it was intended to be a feather-light pull, but she came within a hair's breadth of dislocating his leg. He moaned in pain as she dropped him and turned her demonic attention towards his driver once again.
The man had passed out from the agony in his shattered legs. She frowned in disappointment ##" how could she make him suffer if he was asleep! She slapped his face, once, twice, then again, in the process smashing his jaw. The fresh pain brought him around, and he whimpered through a mouthful of blood and shattered teeth.
She began laughing again, a surprisingly girlish giggle, then slapped him again, harder this time. The sound was like a gunshot; his cheekbone shattered under the blow, followed by the other one as she caught him with a backhand.
Demidov watched in horrified fascination as she slapped his driver's face into oblivion. One blow shattered his eye socket, bursting the eye and sending a splash of fluid down his ruined cheek. She laughed and repeated the destruction to the other eye. She took her time, obviously relishing the destruction of the man with a sick sadistic glee.
Finally, she tired of it. She grinned once more at Demidov and made a fist. Before he could draw breath, she punched the driver in the face. Her fist punched straight through his head, shattering the skull and throwing an explosion of gore across her black leather uniform.
Demidov felt on the edge of passing out himself. It dawned on him that he couldn't hear any more sounds of battle ##" no roar of engines, no metallic squealing of tank tracks, no explosions, no rattling of machine guns.
But no, he realised, there was still one sound that was all too familiar to anybody who long experienced battle. Drifting across the field was the sound of agonised screams.
With horror, he realised that every one of his mighty tanks must have been stopped, much as his had... these D'yavol Zhenshchiny were murdering his men.
The woman moved towards him now, eyes still locked on his, a smile playing on her beautiful lips. He shivered with fear as she approached... or was it lust? He lay perfectly still as she straddled him, waiting for death... and yet, despite all he had seen, hoping for something very different.
Her big hands reached out to his chest, lightly gripped his uniform, and with the slightest jerk of her fingers she ripped it open. Her fingertips trailed across his chest. As she touched him he somehow he knew that this was not simply some gentle loving caress, nor even something purely sexual. It was a claiming, a taking possession.
He wanted to rebel, wanted to fight against it. Yet he found that he could not. Her strength was unapproachable, of course, but that was not the worst of it. No, the worst of it was that despite the horrors he had seen, despite the casual sadistic brutalities she had just inflicted on men he counted as his closest comrades... he couldn't bring himself to reject her.
She was claiming him as hers, and he was letting her, because he wanted to be hers. He should hate this devil, should loathe everything about her. And he did, on some level. He was terrified, he was horrified. Yet at the same time, he simply could not stop wanting her, could not stop wanting to be at her side ##" no, that wasn't it, he didn't belong at her side, he wasn't worthy of that freedom. He wanted, he needed, to be at her feet, in worship.
She was the devil... and Andrei Demidov was consumed with the desire to be her acolyte. He could think of no greater privilege than of being allowed to crawl beside her as she returned to whatever hell she had emerged from.
And she knew it. She looked into his eyes and she saw directly into his soul. He could hide nothing from her. She smiled knowingly as she reached behind her and tore his trousers from him. Her fingers grazed his cock, and in that moment he became instantly, painfully, throbbingly erect.
"Please," he whispered. A distant corner of his mind that still clutched on to the last shreds of his sanity wondered what he was begging for. Please touch me? Please take me?
Please destroy me?
She touched him here, and there, just gentle grazes with her finger tips, but each touch left a trail of bruised flesh in its wake. A storm of pain and lust raged through his body, wiping all rational thought from his mind. He whimpered as she slowly marked him as hers, wishing nothing in the world would stop her, knowing that nothing in the world could.
She lifted up and he cried out in torment, terrified that she would leave him there. He babbled half-nonsense words, begging her to stay, praying to her for mercy ##" but no, he saw, he was not to be abandoned ##" she unbuttoned her leather trousers and dropped them, leaving her naked from the waist down but for the beautiful black leather boots. She stepped out of the black material and straddled him once more as she reached to unbutton her jacket, shrugging it off of her shoulders. She was naked beneath it.
The sight of her glorious body filled his eyes. She was muscular beyond comprehension, a rippling fallen angel of strength and power.
"Ber##hre mich," she whispered. He had never learned a word of German in his life, but he instantly knew what she wanted. His hands reached up, touching the ridged contours of her abdomen. A jolt of lust went through him as his fingers made contact, and he almost exploded in orgasm right then. She chuckled knowingly as his hands explored her, fingertips tracing the contours of her sharply defined muscles. Her skin felt soft and smooth, the most lovely skin he had ever touched. Yet beneath it her muscles felt like nothing in his experience. It was as if the most perfect feminine softness ever made had been draped over a statue of the hardest steel ever forged. Yet the statue could flex, and move, and touch him, and make him her own.
His hands slid to her sides, tracing the outline of her obliques, and on up. She bent over him as his hands found those magnificent breasts, cupping them in his hands. At that moment, his mind ceased all rational thought.
He was vaguely aware of her moving back, and the soft welcoming warmth of her sex engulfed the head of his erection. She slid back onto him, and it was the most perfect moment of his life. He caressed her breasts as she used him, touching her erect nipples with his fingers. She made a guttural sound of pleasure and leaned forward to grant his mouth access. Demidov keened deep in his throat as his lips closed around her nipple, making love to it with his tongue.
By all rights, he should have climaxed the instant she first touched him. He had never experienced such pure intense pleasure, not even in the heights of orgasm. And yet, somehow, he did not. He did not wonder at the strangeness of it ##" that would require thought, and in that moment Andrei Demidov was not capable of thought. He was nothing more than an animal now, a beast, a creature of pure primal emotion, of instinct ##" but the beast knew the answer, because the answer was very simple and completely fundamental to its existence.
He did not orgasm because she did not desire it.
He ran his tongue over her nipple in slow circles, his hands reaching around to stroke the steel deltoid muscles of her shoulders, then running down to the rhomboids. He caressed, he explored... he worshipped with his hands.
She seemed to ride him forever. Perhaps it was seconds, perhaps it was hours ##" time had no meaning to the beast. She rode him for an instant. She rode him for all eternity.
Her movements quickened. She threw her head back, emitting a guttural howl of pleasure that was the loudest, most primal sound in his universe. He felt the soft wet heat of her grip on him increase... and increase... and he screamed into her breast in agony and ecstasy as her body clenched on him, crushing his hardness.
Presently she stood, still smiling that soft knowing smile. Demidov whimpered as he looked up at her. Blood was trickling down her thighs. Blood and shreds of... something.
She silently placed a booted foot on his chest and raised an eyebrow, seeking permission. His life was hers to take as she pleased, she knew. But she didn't merely want his life; she wanted his personhood, she wanted his soul. She had murdered his men with a joyful sadistic brutality, she had taken possession of his body and mind, and now she wanted the final indignity... she wanted him to beg for his death. Not as a release from pain and horror ##" she wanted it as an act of sacrifice, as an act of worship for her.
He gave it to her.
Something passed between them. A wordless consent. A willing surrender.
She pressed her foot down, ever so gently, and Demidov's chest collapsed under her boot heel. A moment later, he was dead.
Greta looked around at the carnage of the battlefield. The other women were also taking their pleasure, she saw. She chuckled with approval.
She picked up her jacket and trousers... though about it for a moment, then tossed them aside. Why not display her body? Was she not the living embodiment of Aryan perfection? Let them see, and worship.
From the south came the distant sounds of artillery fire. They needed to be on about their task; there were plenty more communists to destroy, plenty more men to destroy. There was no need to discuss it with the others; they knew because she knew.
Around the field her platoon rose, every one of them casting aside her clothing just as Greta had. They gathered together, silent, yet somehow sharing the experience they had just had, passing the joy on to one another.
It was time for the next advance.
"Herr Field Marshal?"
Von Manstein turned, an eyebrow raised as the messenger approached and saluted. The man's voice sounded... pleased. That was something of a surprise; it had been a long time since a messenger had brought him pleasing news in this double-damned country.
He most especially didn't expect pleasing news today. On the personal orders of the Fuhrer he had been forced to send these... freaks, these bizarre Amazons into the front of the attack. Sheer nonsense! Granted they seemed like hulking brutes, big and strong. He supposed they might make decent soldiers, on a purely physical level, but what was he to do in combat with a bunch of women? The notion was preposterous. But then the Fuhrer did so love these silly notions of war-winning wonder weapons.
"What is it?" He asked.
"Sir, the first reports are coming in from the front. It seems like... well so far sir, it seems like complete success! We have reports coming in... massive destruction of the enemy caused by the, um, the special weapons battalions."
"What?"
"Our conventional units are advancing... they report no opposition at all. They are moving through fields of destroyed vehicles of every kind. Tanks, artillery, most lying with their crews dead around them. We do not have an accurate count as yet sir, but we think more than twelve hundred tanks have been destroyed, along with better than nineteen hundred guns. Our men are meeting almost no direct opposition at all ##" there is some long range shelling, but it seems that those Russian forces which have not been destroyed have simply fled."
Von Manstein turned his eyes to the big map of the area, littered with symbols denoting units facing off against one another. "So," he murmured, "it seems the little corporal had a point after all..."
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