Vampire Korps Of The Gestapo Ch 01

I would like to recognize to Dr. Mabeuse whose excellent novel 'Vampires of Prague' is published on the Literotica site in the novels & novellas section. The main reason I read V.O.P. was because I'd been writing vampire fiction for some time but never read any involving Nazis. This tale would not have been written without his permission to borrow that element, and try to make it my own. Thank you, doktor!

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Heinrich Himmler asked, "What brings you to my temporary headquarters this evening, Baroness von Schitt?"

A slight smile formed under his wispy mustache as he spoke; his question had been respectful, but nervous. He regarded the woman seated before him and his smile went away while fumbling with a lighter on his desk to avoid her Nordic ice blue stare.

"I want the assignment of Monika Fuchsmach."

The little German made no attempt to return her even gaze, settled for pushing the round spectacles up on his nose. "Who says there is an assignment concerning that slut of an actress?"

He lighted a cigarette to hide his discomfort, blew blue smoke. Since Adolf Hitler had combined the Sicherheitspolizei and the Kriminalpolizei and appointed Himmler as Obergruppenfuhrer, he had known no fear.

But he feared Ingrid von Schitt as much as he did his Fuhrer.

He swallowed in hope that she hadn't noticed his surreptitious smile. From the back corner of the office two SS majors equally surreptitiously fingered the butts of the Lugers in their holsters.

The beautiful blonde in the chair ignored the big men behind her and studied the little one in front of her. Her mannish short hair bristled around the collar of her SS uniform. "I have my methods, as well you know."

"Your methods?" asked Himmler skeptically. He took a deep drag and exhaled more smoke.

"Don't toy with me, you runt! I know what's going on and I want the mission," the blonde spat, her breasts outthrust as boldly as four-inch guns. "And be reminded my name is von Schmitt. Try not to mispronounce it again."

Himmler hazarded a glance in the direction of the two officers behind her and suppressed another smile. He should not have insulted her. He brushed at imaginary ash on the front of his black uniform to buy himself some time, placed the cigarette in an ashtray and watched it burn. Smoke curled toward the ceiling as the silence lengthened. He placed the cigarette between his thin lips, instead of inhaling he exhaled audibly, almost a sigh.

"And what mission would that be, baroness?"

"Do not try to feed me shit, Heinie."

Himmler winced at the appellation; no one, especially a woman, addressed him in such a manner.

Without turning around the baroness said casually to the men seated in back of her, to whom she'd been introduced only minutes ago: "Do you think it lost on me, dear Wolfgang and Siegfried, that your hands hover so close to your pistols?"

The two majors answered as one: "Nein, Frau von Schmitt."

"Also be reminded I am a colonel and will be addressed thusly."

"Jawhol, mein colonel!"

One of the majors lit a cigarette himself to demonstrate his hand was nowhere near a firearm; the other reached up to stroke his cleft chin. Himmler had warned them before she entered the room about her uncanny ability to see behind her back.

"As I said I have my methods, I want to handle that bitch."

The male Nazi officers understood the subtext of her comment. The majors exchanged wordless meaningful looks at Himmler, who coughed to buy another fragment of time.

Finally he ventured, "Have you spoken with the Fuhrer?"

"If you must know I've been talking to Leni Riefenstahl."

"Ah ha," chuckled Himmler, "the famous filmmaker."

"Precisely, you weasel." She rode roughshod on everyone.

Himmler stabbed out the cigarette and stood up, his outraged glare slightly over the baroness' right shoulder. "May I remind you, Frau, despite the fact that our Fuhrer bestowed the honorary commission of colonel upon you I am the Obergruppenfuhrer and, as such, insist you maintain military courtesy to the utmost."

Ingrid von Schmitt rose leisurely to her feet and clicked the heels of her jackboots together. She thrust a hand into the air in a bored salute. Sarcasm oozed from her words: "Sieg Heil! Forgive my outburst, Herr Himmler, but Leni and I are close friends."

When Himmler remained unspeaking she said with emphasis, "I repeat, I want Monika Fuchsmach. I vow to the Fatherland I will crush that whore." She paused and smiled, revealing unusually long canine teeth.

"But, of course, and I appreciate your concern in matters of the Reich," Himmler responded tartly. "Majors Koch and Trommler and myself however are discussing issues of far greater importance." A lie, they'd been talking about the extraordinary bosom of the Bavarian barmaid downstairs. "What exactly is your estimation of the Fuchsmach problem as it pertains to the Fatherland?"

"First and foremost the young slut has declined the lead role in Leni Riefenstahl's new film."

"And what makes that a grievous problem?" Himmler snorted. "Especially after Fraulein Riesenstahl's disgusting display in Konskie two weeks ago?" He knew what the public did not; she had interfered with Nazi soldiers executing several Polish civilians. He had viewed a photograph showing her face etched with horror as the rifles fired again and again.

The blonde colonel seemed to take umbrage. "I have spoken to Fraulein Riefenstahl since she traveled to the Baltic to apologize to the Fuhrer." Himmler snorted again, aware of the incident. In the back of his mind he questioned both women's politics; that was his job. Indeed Riefenstahl had already wormed her way back into Hitler's good graces. "The Fraulein may be his favorite director but I doubt he is much concerned with the roles a second rate actress chooses for herself."

"Monika Fuchsmach's refusal to appear in the new Riefenstahl picture is a veiled insult to Hitler personally."

"Rest assured our Fuhrer is more occupied with---" Himmler stopped himself, he'd almost divulged the upcoming annexation of Czechoslovakia, "---the Munich Agreement." Two days ago Hitler had signed that treaty which was why Himmler was currently in his hometown of Munich. That and, of course, the Oktoberfest, which would conclude Sunday.

To his dismay baroness von Schitt seemed undeterred. She declared, "Do you know Monika Fuchsmach is sharing a bed with Tobias Rothschild? Even though he is a rich and powerful banker in Berlin he is Juden and high on Adolf's list of undesirables."

Himmler allowed himself another small smile. "You have my word, baroness, that Tobias is not long for Berlin, and probably this world. That is a confidence that will not leave this room."

She surveyed the quaint hotel suite serving as an ad hoc office for Himmler. "Herr Rothschild is not the only man that outspoken piece of fluff is screwing. You've heard of Odell Yell?"

The name got the attention of all three men in the room.

"The athlete from the British team? Didn't he win the bronze medal for the decathlon in the 1936 Olympics in Berlin?" asked Koch.

Trommler noted, "He is from Africa, is he not?"

Ingrid von Schitt smiled hugely, "A native south African. Your majors are both right, Herr Himmler."

A silence as large as an observation zeppelin hung in the suite. After a few moments the men began muttering amongst themselves, nothing of consequence.

The woman said, "That makes a few too many embarrassments piling up against the Reich. Steps must be taken, and taken soon! Again, I request the assignment, Herr Himmler."

His forehead wrinkled above his round spectacles, the cigarette expired in the ashtray. Like filmmaker Riefenstahl he suspected baroness von Schitt's true motives, but he had a very good idea. After a moment he said, "My concern would be you cannot operate during, uh, daylight hours."

"That is why I have lieutenants, I know how to delegate. Not unlike yourself. Ja?"

Himmler touched a delicate finger to a sheet of valuable stamps atop his desk, took his time lighting another cigarette.

The baroness added, "According to my spies the scandalous slut arrived in Munich with Odell Yell early this evening on the Orient Express. They hired a car to take them to the Oktoberfest."

"Monika Fuchsmach's here, in Munich, right now?"

Von Schitt nodded, "Probably hoisting a stein of lager in a beer tent as we speak, spreading her legs for any enemy of the state wearing trousers." The baroness' own jodhpurs were impeccable.

Himmler pursed his lips, did some more thinking. "My orders come only from the Fuhrer, as you are doubtless aware. I am in charge here and will handle this affair as I see fit."

Major Koch got out of his chair to say, "Siegfried and I will gladly volunteer to lay this problem to rest."

"With a minimum of public outcry," Trommler added.

Himmler noticed both men wore wry smiles, how careless of them.

Frau von Schitt deigned to not turn around and face them. She said to Himmler, "Well, well, the news a pretty little actress is in town has certainly perked up the two majors. They are dull and completely miss the point, I'm afraid. Public outcry is what is necessary for this particular intrigue."

Himmler shifted his gaze from the smirking men to the female colonel. "Please make your point, baroness."

"Monika Fuchsmach needs to be publicly humiliated. And what better opportunity exists than the Oktoberfest, taking place right now across the street from this hotel?"

Koch's eyes gleamed with transparent thought, "A famous actress raped and murdered would forever prevent her climbing back on her high horse."

Himmler wanted to yawn. "I have to agree." Again he placed the tip of a finger to the page of stamps.

The baroness twisted a cigarette into a long ebony holder while musing, "Rape is a wonderful idea, but simply killing her would not do, her agony must be prolonged."

Koch said, "With all due respect, colonel, Major Trommler and I have the proper equipment with which to besmirch the girl. Please allow me to suggest, Colonel von Schmitt, that you oversee the prolonging of the agony."

"And the humiliation," Trommler said, the soul of cooperation.

Himmler refrained from rolling his eyes at their carelessness. He admitted to himself the colonel was correct, both were dull men, with imaginations extending no further than the ends of their pricks.

The woman in uniform frowned as the majors nodded in tacit agreement. She leaned forward in her chair and appropriated the lighter on Himmler's desk. After getting her cigarette going she blew a plume of smoke at him and sneered, "Those who were uninterested in scandals in the Reich a few minutes ago have made an abrupt about face."

Koch reiterated, "But Siegfried and I are better equipped for this sort of undertaking."

The colonel raised her voice in protest, "I brought the mission to your attention in the first place, Herr Himmler, my intention was to accomplish it, not share it."

He saw the baroness' exposed canines again. His face got as red as the flag on the wall behind him and he smashed a fist down hard enough to make the objects on the desktop jump: the phone, the cigarettes and lighter, the stamps. "All of you, enough, I say!"

He fixed a hard look at the majors that meant they would be wise to shut up. He continued to carefully avoid the eyes of the baroness, having no desire to be ensorcelled by the leader of the Vampire Korps of the SS, appointed by Hitler. Himmler had urged the Fuhrer long ago not to dabble with the occult as a weapon of war. And where had it landed him? With a legion of vampires in his own Gestapo, each one more dangerous than a roomful of brown shirts. He commanded them on paper only; von Schitt and her bloodsucking goons did exactly what they pleased when they pleased. Hitler had shunned the Korps since its formation. "You deal with them, Heinrich," Hitler had said. "I put you in charge of the SS over Hermann Goring, are you unfit to lead?"

The memory of the Fuhrer's words still galled Himmler.

He composed himself and set his bitterness aside. For the first time since the baroness appeared unannounced at the door of his suite tonight a large and undeniable smile hiked up his mustache. He'd hatched a plan while his officers bickered like children. Majors Trommler and Koch wanted to make light of the volatile Colonel von Schitt. Together they wanted the chance to plunder the luscious Monika Fuchsmach as much as the depraved baroness. So be it!

"Achtung!" he cried and everybody leapt to attention with a shuffle of boots. He walked behind them as he spoke: "Baroness, so you know, Trommler and Koch number among my most ruthless and dangerous troops, like yourself. Upon review of your fears in regard to the treacherous Fraulein Fuchsmach I have made the decision that you shall direct these two capable young men in this enterprise to erase this heinous blemish from the face of Germany. These two are as well endowed as you are vicious and calculating. Whatever plan you concoct will have my blessing. We all know about the brilliant Night of the Long Knives. Tonight will go down in history as the Night of the Long Dicks. Colonel, in addition to whatever indignities you personally deem to inflict upon Monika Fuchsmach I want you to ascertain that she will be violated by our stout majors here. Are there any questions?"

There were none.

"That woman's life and death is at your discretion, colonel, and if your proposed target does not survive I want it kept a secret. If she endures the degradation and humility I want photographs of the results on the front pages of every newspaper in Europe. Do I make myself understood?"

Three voices answered in unison: "Jawhol, Obergruppenfuhrer."

He dismissed them amid a chorus of danke schoens.

With any luck the whole self-serving manipulative bunch would annihilate themselves, go down in flames and Himmler could have some peace. And be alone with his stamps.

**********

Ingrid von Schitt swore under her breath as she strode through the lobby.

That damned Himmler had outgeneraled her, saddling her with two of his hatchet men like lesions on a very sore arse. No love lost between them and her; Koch and Trommler would monitor her, report her every move to the Obergruppenfuhrer. Why had she not just acted first instead of seeking Himmler's sanction? Better to ask forgiveness than permission. Inside the festival grounds she could lose them with ease but the off chance they'd crop up at the most inopportune time grated on her nerves. The Oktoberfest wasn't a street carnival, it sprawled for several blocks south of St. Paul's Church.

Across the street the bell tower loomed, the wind causing one of the bells to ring. Its musical note was absorbed by the noise of revelers, their singing and shouting, the accordion music and the mechanical racket of the Ferris wheel. Damn and double damn!

She didn't suffer fools lightly and the two objects of her scorn paused to light cigarettes on the hotel steps. The three Gestapo officers surveyed the scene outside. The majors were laughing at some joke she had not heard. She could've listened, overheard their conversation had she cared to and, for that matter, chucked them like javelins five meters away. That would have served no useful purpose other than serving those oafs right. She needed to distance herself from them as soon as feasible.

"Enough buffoonery, majors," she snarled. "Since I have no desire to breathe the same as air as you two we're going to split up. This is the battle plan."

Trommler interjected before she got another word out: "You're not going to pull rank on us, are you?"

The baroness' left hand shot forward, clutched the front of his uniform and lifted the major into the air like a dumbbell, jackboots dangling. His cigarette fell from his mouth onto the street, its ashes whipped away in the strong breeze. She resisted shaking him like a pom pom.

"Go ahead, Wolfgang," she warned Major Koch without looking in his direction, "draw your Luger. It would give me great joy to insert the barrel into your rump." Her eyes never left Trommlers' while she uttered her threat. "And by the way, Siegfried, the same goes for you."

He retorted, "This is conduct unbecoming of an officer."

"Colonel," entreated Koch, "there are people watching. We're on a mission! Is it prudent to draw attention to ourselves so early in the game?"

She released Trommler suddenly and he hit the cobblestones hard, staggering to maintain his balance. To soothe his wounded dignity he barked at a quartet of vacationers, "Curiosity will land civilians in a cell, we are Schutzstaffel."

"Yes, you idiots had best be on your way," growled Major Koch.

Frau von Schitt laughed an ugly laugh as the crowd dispersed. Her breasts rose and fell, she slapped the cigarette from Koch's mouth. "Listen up," she said in a deadly whisper, "Himmler wants photographs of this debauchery so one of you round up a camera tout suite. The other one get me the longest Mercedes limousine available from the motor pool."

The majors had lost their sense of humor, at once all business.

Trommler came to attention, said respectfully, "Where shall we rendezvous?"

The baroness drew back her cuff and consulted her watch. "It's 2030 hours, give or take." Her eyes raked the fairgrounds, she gnawed her lip in thought, tapped the toe of a boot for a moment on the sidewalk. "Trommler, meet me in half an hour outside the Schottenhammel tent. Koch, be at the Hippodrom in forty five minutes."

"I'll secure the vehicle, colonel, where do you want it parked?" asked Koch.

"Good thinking, major. Put it in the south end where they park the busses. Remove any swastika flags or Nazi paraphernalia, I don't want any punctured tires when we're ready to move. In fact, forget the Hippodrom for now and stay with the car."

The majors gave subdued salutes and prepared to tend to their assignments when the baroness stopped them. She motioned them into an alley next to the hotel. When assured they were alone she ordered them to drop their trousers. The men exchanged glances, then obeyed without a word.

The colonel did not have to explain her last order. "Himmler was correct, you two men would put a donkey to shame. Fraulein Monika is going to remember this night for the rest of her short life. Cover yourselves, dismissed." She left them in the alleyway headed for the Wies'n, the enormous meadow where the festivities took place each year in Munich. The soles of her boots drummed on the street as the majors zipped up their jodhpurs.

Minutes later she strolled through the throngs of people. They sang and danced to musicians busking in the walkways, staggered about slopping ale from their steins. Neverending noise swarmed from everywhere: the creak of carousels and swings in the fun-fair, music, the cries of children and adults alike, hawkers bellowing their goods. The smell of fish, roasted chicken on spits, soups, malt beer, pig knuckles, pretzels, coleslaw, veal sausages, potato dumplings and red cabbage all mingled with the scent and sweat of humanity. Many of the women dressed in dirndls and the men wore festive hats, suspenders and lederhosen. Others chose to attend the fest clad in silk suits and evening gowns. Tides of pedestrians parted for her, possibly because of the black SS uniform.

She had a prearranged destination: the Armbrustschutzen beer tent where the crossbow competition had been held for over four decades. To get there the baroness cut through the scattered tables in a beergarden into the mob in the central thoroughfare. A brass band struck up a tune and Colonel von Schitt knew she was close. Stalls had given way to beer tents over the years and now those gave way to actual structures, some playing host to several thousand drinkers. The half dozen major breweries sponsoring the event had constructed the buildings. Tents still abounded, that tradition likely would never change, small tents clustered between enormous pavilions.