Part 3, Chapter 8, of RFV.

                   EIGHT

 

    Roger came to in a small room which was lit by a bare light bulb hanging from a cord in the ceiling. Apart from a metal desk and two chairs there was no other furniture in the room. There were some hooks in the walls at varying heights and the floor underneath them was blood stained. There was an aura of evil about the place and screams and groans could be heard from the next room. Groggily, Roger sat up and looked round.

    An SS Captain was standing watching him and two uniformed heavies guarded the door. The Captain, who was smoking a cigarette in a black holder, was a sadistic looking specimen. An old duelling scar ran from the corner of his left eye down to the corner of his mouth. His blond hair was razored close to his scalp. His blue eyes were cold and lifeless as a snake’s. His tailored black SS uniform was impeccable, as were his highly polished black leather jackboots.

    Roger swallowed nervously and hauled himself up into a chair and looked round. “Where am I?” he asked nervously.

    “SS Head Quarters,” the Captain’s clipped voice answered coldly. “Kapitan Kurt von Dorf at your service.” He bowed mockingly then clicked his heels together.

    Roger trembled. He trembled quite a lot. “I demand to see the Commandant,” he blurted.

    “Why?” Kapitan von Dorf asked curiously.

    “To give him a big wet kiss!” Roger replied then clapped a hand over his mouth.

    The heavies laughed. Although thick, it was obvious they understood english.

    “Interesting,” said Kapitan von Dorf, sitting down at the desk. “I’m sure he’ll be delighted to know that.”

    The heavies sniggered.

    Roger edged his hand away from his mouth. “It’s not my fault!” he bleated. “I can’t help it. I don’t want to say these things, honestly. It’s just that every now and then I’m made to say terrible things like Adolf Hitler was a kike f****t b*****d!!” he yelled, his eyes widening in terror.

    Kapitan von Dorf stopped toying with his cigarette holder and stared at him. The heavies by the door stiffened. The screams and groans from the next room stopped. The very building seemed to prick up its ears and listen.

    Roger swallowed.

    The Kapitan very calmly stubbed out his cigarette then looked over at the heavies. “Rolf, Herman,” he said, a sadistic smile on his face, “bring in the manacles and the electric prod.”

    Roger fainted and slid to the floor before they left.

    The Kapitan stood up and slowly unbuttoned his uniform jacket. He removed it and carefully draped it around his chair as Rolf and Herman returned.

    He pointed at Roger. “Get some water and bring him round,” he ordered.

    Rolf slipped out and returned with a bucket of water and threw it over Roger’s face. The spluttering Fleet Pilot sat up and shook his head. He hauled himself up on to the chair again and almost fainted for a second time when he saw the electric prod and the manacles lying on the desk.

    “You are fully awake?” the Kapitan asked him.

    Roger nodded.

    “Good because I don’t want you to miss this.” He picked up the electric prod and switched it on. He touched the metal desk with the tip and there was a blue flash and some black smoke drifted up to the ceiling.

    Roger recoiled in horror.

    “We’re going to knock this nonsense out of you,” the Kapitan told him. “This saying things you don’t want to.” He glanced at Rolf and Herman. “Begin the treatment,” he ordered.

    “Wait, wait, I’ve got something to say!” Roger squeaked.

    They waited.

    “Come up and see me sometime,” he began.

    The Kapitan frowned.

    “I’ll have nothing on but the radio!” he finished.

    “Enough!!” the Kapitan yelled. “Begin!!”

    Roger hid his face behind his hands and started moaning. “Give me another chance,” he begged. “It’s not my fault, really.”

    Rolf and Herman ignored his pleading and moved towards him.

    “Come on you little jerk,” rasped Rolf.

    “Little b*****d,” rasped Herman.

    “Please, please, give me another chance. I can’t--”

    Rolf and Herman moved past Roger, went round the desk and grabbed the Kapitan.

    “Oh treat me roughly!” he pleaded. “Rip my shirt!” begged Kapitan Kurt.

    “…control what I’m saying,” Roger finished and watched from between his fingers with widening eyes.

    Rolf and Herman ripped Kapitan Kurt’s shirt, dragged him over to the wall and manacled him to a couple of the hooks. Rolf picked up the electric prod, switched it on and touched his bare back.

    “Aaaarrrrgggghhhh!” the Kapitan yelled delightedly.

    Rolf and Herman looked at each other and shook their heads in disgust.

    “Oooohhhh!”  screamed Kapitan Kurt in pleasure as the prod touched him again. “More! More!”

    Roger couldn’t believe his luck. Relief flooded through him and his testicles came out of hibernation.

    “More!” yelled Kapitan Kurt in ecstasy. “The whip! The whip too!”

    Herman took a small whip from his belt and shrugged. He lashed the Kapitan half-heartedly across his back.

    “Harder!” Kapitan Kurt slobbered.

    Herman complied.

    “Ooohhhh that’s better! Oh the whip! Live for it, live for it! Live for the whip!”

    After five minutes whipping and prodding, Kapitan Kurt was un-manacled. He stretched luxuriously whilst Rolf patted his back with a warm towel then he put on a clean shirt and his uniform jacket. He took out his wallet and extracted some money.

    “Same time tomorrow, Kameraden?” he asked, handing Rolf and Herman some notes.

    “Jawohl Herr Kapitan!” they replied, pocketing the money, saluting and leaving.

    “Ah, I enjoyed that,” Kapitan Kurt remarked, settling gingerly into his chair. “Oh, how rude of me �" would you like some of the treatment?” he enquired of Roger.

    The offer was politely declined.

    “Never mind. Not everybody enjoys it. Now where were we? Ah yes, you said earlier that Adolf Hitler had been a b*****d. Care to expand on that?”

    “Well, he was, “Roger began cautiously. “Just a bit.”

    “Hmmm. He could be a b***h at times,” Kapitan Kurt conceded. “But he wasn’t all bad. A greatly misunderstood chap in fact. He had a lot of good points you know.”

    “Such as?” the emboldened Roger asked sceptically.

    “Well, he was very good with his Great Aunt Helga.”

    “His Great Aunt Helga? Who was she?”

    “Lovely old woman,” Kapitan Kurt mused, “or so I read. Her family name survives to this day. One of her descendants gave me this,” he said, holding up his finger.

    “What, that ring?”

    “No this,” Kapitan Kurt said, pointing to his duelling scar. “Lovely family.”

    “So what did Hitler do for his Great Aunt Helga that made him such a good chap?” Roger asked.

    “He made a lot of sacrifices for her. For instance, there was a situation way back during World War Two. Did you ever read about the Second World War?”

    “A bit,” Roger replied.

    “Well this situation happened just after Dunkirk when Germany was poised to invade Britain. It would have changed the entire course of the war. We would have defeated Britain and the rest of their Allies would have capitulated. Germany would then have adopted its rightful place �" as ruler of planet Earth.”

    “So what happened?”

    Kapitan Kurt sighed. “Adolf got a letter from Helga. Said she was feeling a bit off and could he come and see her and maybe take her away somewhere for a couple of weeks.”

    “And did he?”

    “Of course. He left the entire German Army poised on the edge of the Channel and rushed off to take care of Helga.”

    “You mean the Germans lost their advantage of winning the war and thus ruling the planet because Hitler went on holiday with Helga?”

    Kapitan Kurt nodded. “That’s correct. Then when he returned Germany had lost its fantastic position. So you see, he wasn’t as bad as he’s been made out to be.”

    Roger considered this. “Well what about those millions of people who were killed on his orders?” he asked.

    Kapitan Kurt looked a bit uncomfortable. “Oh that.”

    “What d’you mean, ‘Oh that?’”

    “Well it was just…just…it was just high spirits, that’s all.”

    “High spirits!?” Roger mocked. “Don’t be ridiculous!”

    Kapitan Kurt fiddled with the crossed whips insignia on his uniform jacket. “Okay, I’ll be honest. There was more to it than high spirits. Look, you seem to be an understanding sort of chap so I’ll tell you the real reason. It’s top secret.”

    “Alright, so why did he do it?”

    Kapitan Kurt hesitated. “It was a cry for help,” he said finally.

    “A cry for help!” Roger said incredulously. “What was the matter with him?”

    “Everything,” Kapitan Kurt admitted. “He wasn’t getting the recognition he deserved as a painter and Eva Braun, his girlfriend, was threatening to reveal the intimate inside the Fuhrer Bunker stories. Tell the world about the shouting and screaming and biting the carpet stuff. The whole thing got too much for him.”

    “Well couldn’t he have gone to someone for help?”

    “Not really. You see, they were amongst the first to go up against the wall when he came to power. So he just started taking it out on others.”

    “On millions of others.”

    “Oh alright!” snapped Kapitan Kurt crossly. “Millions of others.” Suddenly the Kapitan’s pleasant manner changed and he looked like his old sadistic self again. “You little s**t!” he said savagely, slamming his fist on to the desk.

    Roger jumped.

    “Sorry, did I startle you?” Kapitan Kurt sneered.

    “A bit.”

    “I was just killing a fly,” he explained, flicking it from the desk. “Sorry.”

    Roger swallowed and nodded.

    “Look,” Kapitan Kurt went on, “let’s forget about Hitler. After all you’re supposed to be here to answer questions.”

    He pressed a button on the desk and Rolf and Herman reappeared.

    “And if you don’t answer the questions,” Kapitan Kurt went on, “you won’t win any prizes in this weeks edition of BLACK-JACK-BOOTS!!” he yelled, jumping up and throwing out his arms in a little Jimmy Mormon type gesture.

    “BLACK-JACK-BOOTS!!” echoed Rolf and Herman, grinning and clapping.

    Roger frowned. “Black jackboots? What’s--”

    “BLACK-JACK-BOOTS!!” echoed Rolf and Herman.

    Roger cringed. “What is it then?”

    “It’s a Quiz Show!” Kapitan Kurt explained excitedly. “And you’re on it! Take him to the next room!” he ordered.

    With great gentleness, Rolf and Herman grabbed Roger by an arm each, lifted him off his chair, dragged him across the room and threw him next door.