*******WARNING****** VIOLENCE ALERT****** WARNING*******

This chapter contains graphic violence, and is not for the faint of heart. If you find graphic violence offensive, you may want to ship this chapter and resume reading with the next one. I will summarize aspects of this chapter in an author's note on the next chapter, which will enable you follow the story without loss of continuity.


Gottfried found a big charred patch of earth that, in its former life, had been a fuel depot. Interrogation of witnesses from the depot revealed that the fire had taken place shortly after a very careless cleaning lady had tried to clean the residue of an oil spill with bleach. The chlorine in the bleach had interacted with the petroleum in the oil to create a spontaneous combustion. With all the fuel around, it had not taken long for the heat generated by the combustion to ignite the fuel and totally destroy the depot.

Gottfried was infuriated! While hardly an act of sabotage, this imbecile's careless act had been very costly for the Third Reich. It had not only cost the fatherland a fuel depot when fuel was desperately needed for the war effort, it also delayed his interrogation of an important prisoner. Such a delay would be catastrophic for Germany if the Allies choose to initiate a biological offensive effort. This woman had to be punished. Suddenly an idea occurred to him, a way in which he could cut his losses. Gottfried ordered the woman be arrested and taken to his villa for "intense interrogation." Maybe this affair would not be a total loss after all.

Any fool could torture, mangle, or kill a person. That took no skill, but there was a real art to being able to inflict pain without causing damage. Knowing just how much a given human could take before passing out, inflicting pain just up to that limit, but not exceeding it, being able to inflict the maximum amount of pain for the maximum period of time — now that took real skill. Information could not be retrieved from an unconscious or dead person, but in general, given a sufficient period of intense suffering with no relief or hope, the toughest person could be made to sell his or her soul.

Like any art, the infliction of pain had to be practiced to maintain peak performance. This Goldilocks might prove to be a tough nut to crack. He couldn't die before he broke; too much was at stake. But Gottfried had a method. He could practice his method on this imbecile before he used it on the American. She would pay for her foolish mistake and serve as an example of what happens to fools and enemies of the Third Reich. Emil Gottfried was a man to be feared — and obeyed!

By the time Gottfried reached the villa, his men had gagged and shackled the woman spread-eagle, face up to a table in his "playroom." Like a human sacrifice, mused Gottfried with glee, how appropriate. Hmm, that was a thought. Maybe he would have an altar-type table built with an opening in the bottom for a fire, the heat from the fire below slowly cooking the person alive. Or, a table heated by an electrical current. However he ended up working it out, the slow roasting of a subject was an intriguing idea.

Gottfried's men were setting up movie cameras as he entered the room. The room contained raised platforms on either side for both cameras and their operators, designed so that the cameras had a clear view down on the hapless subject. One camera panned outward so that the subject's entire body would be in the field of view. The other zoomed in on the subject's face. Gottfried liked to study his interrogations. It helped him hone his skills. A lot of information could be gained about effective interrogation techniques from the body language of the subject during interrogation. In addition, it was just plain fun. Gottfried was a man who believed in enjoying his work.

The woman, in her late-twenties or early-thirties, had the firm muscular build of a person used to hard labor. She was actually quite attractive. This one might make a good addition to my trophy room, mused Gottfried. Totally vulnerable, she lay still on the table, either resigned to her fate or too terrified to move. Gottfried walked over to the table and examined the face of the woman imprisoned on it. Once bright blue eyes, now red from crying, revealed the despair and the terror she felt. Feelings the voice longed to express were muted into barely audible, muffled sounds by the gag in her mouth.

Normally Gottfried didn't use gags. For one thing it was hard to get information out of a prisoner when the sounds were muffled. And even when there was no information to be gained, as in the present case, he liked to hear the screams and the pleading of his subject. They were reminders of the subject's helplessness and Gottfried's power.

But occasionally, depending on his mood, gags were useful — especially with women. Women's screams tended to be high-pitched, hurting Gottfried's ears. In addition, when bound and tortured, speech was the last thing a subject had control over. By taking away the subject's speech, the subject was totally and completely disarmed. It was the final tangible reminder to the subject of how completely and totally his or her fate depended on Gottfried's will.

Gottfried stroked the woman's long, silky, blond curls.

"Mmmmmm, mmmmmmm," she mumbled in vain, trying to speak, eyes pleading, shaking her head as if to say "No."

He smiled as he caressed her face and neck — smooth, soft.

"MMMMMMM, MMMMMMM," she protested.

Gottifried ignored her, continuing to caress her. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft and reassuring, as he wiped tears from her cheek and stroked her face. Torment was as much a part of an effective interrogation as inflicting pain. Toying with a subject's emotions, building the subject's hopes only to dash them, slowly chipping away at its resolve, eventually causing total demoralization. The effective application of torment was an art, and one which required much skill and practice. Gottfried was a masterful artist.

"You are frightened, my dear," he observed. "As well you should be," Gottfried continued while stroking her face.

The terrified woman whimpered through her gag.

In a heartbeat, Gottfried's manner turned icy cold.

Taking the woman's face firmly into his hands, he asked harshly, "Do you know who I am?"

Terrified, the woman whimpered softly, acknowledging his words, weakly nodding her head yes, fear filling her face and eyes.

Basking in her terror, Gottfried's hands moved slowly, tenderly to her neck as he gently caressed it. Then, to ensure her complete and total comprehension of his power, Gottfried slowly, methodically emphasizing every move, wrapped his hands around her throat and began to squeeze. He reveled at the life in his hands and his ability to snuff it out at will. Slowly, he squeezed until she began to choke, smiling as he did so, not releasing his grip until she was at the brink of unconsciousness. Only then did he let go. Even through the gag he could hear her gasping for breath.

"I am feeling particularly generous today. I will remove the gag and grant you the freedom to speak."

As Gottfried removed the gag, he asked, "Do you know why you are here?"

The woman replied weakly, still gasping, "I…I was…trying…to clean…up a mess… and…and the fuel depot…burned." She paused, catching her breath. Finally she fearfully, but firmly asked, "What are you going to do to me?"

In silence Gottfried let her observe his eyes look her over, head to toe, his face revealing pleasure with what he saw. Then he grinned an evil grin. Not missing the implication in his expression, the woman became agitated. She frantically shook her head, screaming, pleading.

"NO! NO! Please, no! Not this! Please, don't do this! I beg you! I am a good Christian girl…Don't do this to me! Please!"

Perfect! The imbecile thinks I want sex. How terribly naive! If she really thinks she's going to get off that easily, she is a bigger fool than I thought.

"You have committed a crime against the Third Reich and for that you must be punished!" proclaimed Gottfried harshly.

"I am truly sorry," she declared remorsefully. "I meant no harm. I only wished to help. If I have done wrong, then punish me, as I deserve. Even kill me, if you must, but please, do not do this awful thing!" pleaded the woman, fear and desperation in her voice and tears in her eyes. "I am a good girl, believe me."

"Good girl or not, you have committed treason against the Third Reich. The penalty for treason is death." Gottfried proclaimed.

And die you shall, he mused, and then he smiled wickedly, eyes gleaming. But not easily. In pain, you will die. In long, lingering, intense pain. And suffering, agonizing suffering such as you have never known. This is the fate of those who betray the Third Reich. I, Colonel Emil Gottfried, will personally see to it. In pain and suffering, mine will be the last face you see on this earth.

"I have to prepare your punishment. In the meantime, contemplate your crime and enjoy what few precious moments of peace you have left. After that…"

His countenance was soft while he stroked her hair as if to comfort her, then turned vicious as he smiled. "After that, you will pay for your crime."

I am personally going to take you on a journey through hell!

Gottfried smiled at her again, with that same hideous smile that had nearly made Hogan melt. A smile that was so cold, so wicked it even made the blood of his own handpicked, hardened men curdle.

The helpless prisoner turned as pale as death. As Gottfried walked away, she began writhing and contorting as if to free herself from the chains binding her to the table, screaming and crying. Gottfried walked over to a cart against the wall and rolled it to the table. The contortions of the imprisoned woman were a sight to see. Gottfried paused to watch, beaming with sheer delight. There was nothing more exciting than a helpless, terrified subject struggling in vain to escape that from which there is no escape. She was definitely one for the trophy case.

Gottfried noticed the cameras were on and rolling. Good. He would let them get this on tape before he got to work. Gottfried could only hope Goldilocks would be as entertaining when it was his turn.

When this subject lay still, sobbing and exhausted from her struggles, Gottfried took two leads and connected them to the proper shocks on the power supply. The other ends of the leads he attached to the subject's body. Gottfried did so gleefully, watching and feeling the chest rise and fall as she cried once more, in awe of the life it displayed and his control over it. He remembered that he still needed her measurements. Gottfried carefully measured each part of the woman's body, savoring her terrified reactions as he did so. She rolled her head sobbing, begging.

"No. No, please no, I'm a good girl. Please, PLEASE, I beg you, don't do this to me. Pleasssse."

It was wonderful! The control, the power! If only Goldilocks weren't waiting, if only he had more time.

Once Gottfried had finished taking measurements, he turned on the power supply. It had two controls: one for voltage and the other for current. High current killed, but high voltage with a low current was merely painful. He set the current low. For openers, he would use a low voltage and see how she reacted to it. He set the voltage and turned on the power supply. She jerked slightly, her muscles tensing, and gasped. He noted her reactions were more indicative of discomfort than pain. Gottfried left the voltage on and continued to observe for a while, looking for signs that sustained application of voltage resulted in the body becoming tolerant of the effects of the voltage.

He recorded his observations in a notebook. He increased the voltage slightly; the subject's muscles tensed more. She gasped again. Gottfried again recorded his observations, and then increased the voltage again. The cycle was repeated over and over. With each increase in voltage, her reactions became more and more pronounced. Eventually, the subject's body convulsed and she screamed in pain.

In halting speech she cried, "S-S-Stop! … P-Please."

Gottfried made a note, "Subject's resolve weakening." He spoke not a word, but just smiled an evil and haunting smile.

Not yet, my dear!

The cycles went on. The screams grew more and more intense, pain turning into agony.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH," she shrieked, her body convulsing in an ark with the table.

"S-S-S-STOP!" she stammered, "S-S-STOP!"

Gottfried literally beamed, taking great delight in her anguished pleas to stop.

"Ohhhhh…w-why…" she stammered, laboriously "Why…a-are you…ahhh…why are you d-doing…ohh…d-doing this…t-to me?"

Silence.

When Gottfried finally spoke, his voice was cavalier. "It's fun!"

When the screams grew less intense, and the woman's eyes began rolling aimlessly in their sockets, Gottfried knew it was time to stop. He made a note of the current and voltage readings with an added comment, "Subject showing signs of shock." This was where the art came in, knowing when to stop. She couldn't lose consciousness – yet.

Gottfried slapped the semi-dazed woman on both cheeks a couple of times and let her rest a few minutes until she was fully cognizant of her surroundings. As Gottfried removed the leads from her body, the dazed woman groaned weakly, "Stop…no more...please… kill me…but please…I beg you…no more!…No more!"

At this point she would have done anything he asked to stop the pain. His experiment was a success! Gottfried was pleased. No, he was more than pleased — he was ecstatic. Goldilocks may have a higher pain tolerance. So for him, Gottfried might have to use higher voltages and adjust the cycles. Maybe even use more cycles. But this data provided him with some very useful information. Gottfried was confident the process would work equally well on the American.

Goldilocks would hardly qualify for membership in the master race, but he wasn't exactly ugly. Despite his dark looks, women probably found him attractive, and he undoubtedly enjoyed their attention. That would be his downfall, his weak point. That's where Gottfried would attack — his masculinity. The image of what a "real" man should be. A perceived assault on his masculinity would affect him the same way a perceived assault on her virginity affected this subject. Yes, it would work.

For, although Goldilocks had put up a stoic front, Gottfried had caught the paling of color, even under the face paint, at his overture. Goldilocks understood the implication and it revolted him. Granted, the man's pride would not allow him to openly express his fear as the woman had, but Gottfried had seen it. It was a weakness that would work against him, which Gottfried could prey upon. As the American suffered the agonizing effects of the electrical shock, the combination of pain and torment would ever so slowly etch away his granite-like resolve, until he broke. Then…

That evil look passed over Gottfried's face yet again. He could have done this for hours, even days. But fun as it was, this prisoner's usefulness had come to an end. It was Goldilocks' turn.

Gottfried stroked the woman's cheek reassuringly as he smiled sweetly letting her believe her punishment was over, that she would soon be freed, allowing her to recover, building her hopes, setting her up for the grand finale. "Of course, my pretty, as you wish."

When she had settled down, her body ceased to quiver, relief flushed her entire being, he took his dagger, thrust it forcefully into her left side directly under the rib cage, and left it lodged there.

"AHHHHHHHH!" she screamed, eyes bulging out of their sockets. Her body instinctively tried to double up, but was held in place by the restraints.

Gottfried was a man who hated asymmetry, so he stabbed her again, this time under the right rib cage with the dagger's identical mate. There, that was better — symmetry! As she shrieked in agony, Gottfried looked down on her pain-filled face and smiled broadly.

Death you want, death you shall have. But on my terms, my lovely, not yours. And my terms mean more pain! Not an easy death.

Gottfried's mother had been a nurse. She had taught him about human anatomy and how to ease suffering. But through the Gestapo, Gottfried learned that the same knowledge which eased suffering could also be used to cause suffering — and that, to Gottfried, was much more enjoyable. He had learned his lessons well. The daggers lodged in the woman's sides would prevent the wounds from bleeding excessively outside her body, but they would not stop the internal bleeding. She would still bleed to death, but more slowly and painfully.

Gottfried gripped his prisoner's pain-contorted body. He could feel its life slowly ebbing away. It energized him. The soft, pain-filled moans were music to his ears. It wasn't long before her skin became cold and clammy. Breathing was difficult and torturous. Each labored breath brought increased pain, the motion of the daggers slicing further into her body caused more internal damage, bleeding — and pain!

"Ohhhhh," she moaned. "My stomach…my stomach…ohhh…help me," she whispered breathlessly.

Blood began to fill the abdominal cavity. Gottfried noted her stomach was hard and distended when he touched it. She was weakening, the unbearable pain and blood loss driving her deeper into shock. The moaning woman began to weep softly.

"Help me!" she pleaded again, "Somebody… PLEASE… h-h-help me."

She paused.

"Ohhhhhh…the pain…the pain…ohhhhh…mercy," she whispered, her weak voice starting to trail off, "Have…mercy…ohhhh…h-h-helpp…m-me…pleeeeeeese!"

Her pleas for mercy fell on deaf ears. Gottfried was enjoying himself too much to have mercy on anybody. The men recording the event on the cameras were too afraid of Gottfried, even if had they cared. Gottfried pressed hard on the swollen stomach. She shrieked so hard, Gottfried thought it would bust his eardrums.

"I'm so sorry, my precious, I'm afraid I'm just not in the mood for mercy," Gottfried replied with mock remorse, stroking her golden locks as she moaned softly, oblivious to his actions.

Gottfried mused that soon there would be a different Goldilocks for his amusement, and wondered how much he would take before he too moaned in agony and begged for mercy. It would be wonderful.

Gottfried gleefully picked up the gag, twisted it, and then shoved it in the dying woman's mouth, tying it tightly behind her head. In doing so, he took away her last freedom, her last hope, her last words that would never be heard. The very act itself assured her not only would there be no help and no mercy, but it denied her the means to ask for any, denied her an outlet for her pain, afforded her no comfort. Her last moments would be tormented, pain-filled, with only an apathetic cameramen and an uncaring tormentor for company. He saw hopelessness acknowledged in the woman's tear-filled eyes, in her whole face, racked with pain, intense pain and despair. How he relished the moment.

Gottfried knew shock when he saw it. She was starting to lose consciousness. Death would come soon. He shook her. Dazed eyes rolled in their sockets to look at him then closed; the body in his arms was going limp. He slapped half-opened pain-filled eyes, and tried weakly to speak, her words lost forever in the gag as once more merciful darkness overtook her, this time never to loose its grip.

Gottfried shook and slapped her again. No response. She was still alive, barely. Gottfried embraced the limp form, as he absorbed the last flickering embers of life from a body whose soul was now beyond his reach. Soon it was over. Well, she had been fun while she lasted. Now on to bigger and better things — Goldilocks!