Diary of a Nazi Rape Squad

Chapter 3 of Jill Crokett’s

Diary of a Nazi Rape Squad

 

 

August 17, 1941 (continued)

 

At 11:00 hours I led an assault team, weapons drawn, through the front door of the mayor’s house.  At that same moment a squad rushed the outside of the simple thatched roofed cottage, which was juxtaposed directly across from the village square, effectively sealing all exits.

 

Our unannounced entrance startled the little woman of the house, who was the only one at home at the time. The mayor’s wife was a pleasant looking, somewhat full figured middle aged woman of about 45 who wore her slightly graying hair in a tight bun. She was short, busty, and somewhat hippy.  She concealed her full, busty frame in a long Ukrainian-style peasant dress which consisted of a billowing skirt from the waist down and a full cut but snug bodice from the waist up.  The bodice buttoned up all the way from the waist to its high collar. The old style top hugged her ribs in a way that hoisted her pendulous boobs, accentuating her aging feminine form. Her long sleeves were rolled up to her elbows as if she had been cooking.

 

As my men searched the through the mayor’s house I interrogated his wife, demanding that she tell me were her daughter was, as well as reveal to me the names and locations of the village’s schoolteachers. The startled woman first pretended not to know anything, but when I persisted she nervously complied, stating that her daughter was working at the village bakery shop, which she said was owned by her son-in-law, the local baker. She also gave the location of the village school and the names of the two elementary school teachers, one of whom she said was a younger single woman, the other a married, middle-aged woman with grown children.

 

I ordered two of my men to go to the bakery, arrest the mayor’s daughter, and bring her to the village square without delay.  The older woman was now visibly trembling. I also sent a squad to try and locate the two teachers.

 

I resumed my interrogation, asking the mayor’s wife if she knew anything about a radio transmitter hidden in the woods behind her home.  She shook her head “no” repeatedly, acting as if she had never heard of such a thing, but it was clear to me that her breathing suddenly quickened and became labored in a nervous sort of way when I mentioned the transmitter.

 

I stared at her in intimidating silence for several minutes, then turned and motioned for the her to look out her front window. As she did, tears began to swell in her eyes and her lower lip quivered.  The view from the mayor’s front window looked directly across the street onto the village square.  Several fat tears rolled down the middle-aged woman’s cheeks as she saw a number of my soldiers lashing a long wooden crossbeam between the equally high saddles of two oak trees that graced the center of the square.

 

My translator explained to the her that the men were erecting a makeshift gallows, to be used against any underground resistance workers in the village, or anyone who had harbored them. 

 

The woman continued to weep silently while she watched the soldiers toss two noosed ropes over the gallows head beam.  Though she said nothing, her short, somewhat full figured frame spoke volumes as it quivered and trembled.

 

I told my translator to tell her that I would hang her daughter if she did not tell me everything she knew, right down to the faintest village rumor, about the suspected hidden radio transmitter. When she heard the words “daughter” and “hang” in the same sentence, the woman broke down and cried aloud, begging through her tears that she knew absolutely nothing, and that her daughter was totally innocent.  

 

As I listened to her pleas through my translator, one of my men, who had been searching the woman’s attic, climbed down the old handmade wooden attic ladder and approached me, whispering into my ear.  The soldier informed me that he had uncovered two hidden glass vacuum tubes, the type used in phonographs and radios, still in their small cardboard boxes, under some old clothes in the attic.  Spare parts for the transmitter, no doubt, I surmised. 

 

I turned and asked, through my Bavarian translator, the mayor’s wife if she or her husband owned a radio or a phonograph, and if so, could I see it. She said there was none in the house, but that a neighbor had loaned her husband a phonograph for the recent May Day celebration in the village.  At this point she didn’t know what my men had found in the attic, but she was clearly more nervous with my line of questioning regarding electronic devices.  Perspiration covered her brow as her full, matronly bosoms rose and fell with each heavy, labored breath. When I saw this, I new I had her pinned. This mouse was mine.  

 

From the corner of the woman’s eye she could now see, through her front window, her young married daughter being led up onto the makeshift gallows across the street. She could see that her daughter’s hands were tied behind her back.

 

“No sir, please, No!” she begged it her best broken German, falling to her knees in front of me, her hands folded in prayer to me as she watched the soldiers slip a noose over her 25-year-old daughter’s neck.

 

“Take me to the transmitter, now” I told the woman as she pleaded for her daughter, “and I may let her live” I said.

 

“Yes Sir, yes master!” the mayor’s wife answered immediately. Within moments she was leading me toward the back door of her cottage.

I quickly selected a team of about a dozen soldiers, including my translator, a medical corpsmen, and a combat photographer, to accompany me and the woman into the woods.  I also sent two men to fetch several large canvas duffel bags of field equipment from the supply truck and bring them into the woods with us.

 

The midday sun warmed our backs as we followed the mayor’s wife through a barley field between her cottage and the edge of the forest.  As she walked ahead of us she had to lift her long skirt in order to negotiate the tall mid-August stalks of barley. Several of us kept our weapons draw in case it was a set up for an ambush, or in case the woman was foolish enough to run.

 

Once in the forest our group followed her down a narrow, little-used path, once crossing a brisk forest stream.  After about 15 minutes of hiking we came to a small, narrow clearing, at the edge of which stood a small wooden hunter’s shed.  The windowless primitive cabin had a wood shingled roof which was covered with thick green moss.  My men quickly busted a brass padlock off the shack’s only door. 

 

Inside, neatly splayed out along a long, narrow wooden shelf, was a portable wireless set, including spare batteries, a coiled length of portable antenna wire, a small emergency clockwork generator, and what appeared to be a bilingual operator’s manual written in English. The manual was full of notes, neatly handwritten in Russian. The notes appeared to be written by a woman, probably the mayor’s wife. I would send the manual to intelligence headquarters in Berlin.

 

Berlin would probably want to interrogate the woman too, of course, but it would be a mistake to waste this fine piece of mature Slavic femininity on some bumbling, flatulent, subway riding Berliner who is probably posing as an intelligence officer just to keep his sorry ass off of the Russian Front.  His most creative interrogation skill no doubt would be to put his cigarettes out on her tits, all while thinking about what he is going to have for lunch. I believe the Reich deserves better, and I will try and deliver it.

 

My combat photographer got out his flash camera and proceeded to take photographs of everything in the cabin before any attempt was made to remove the radio equipment. When he was done I asked him to set up the camera on his portable tripod and place it in the small forest clearing. There was little sunlight in the forest except for a few square meters at the center of the clearing.  Near the center of the clearing stood two young fir trees, each just a little more than one meter apart from the other. Neither had any low branches.

 

I ordered my men to clear the area between the trees of any grass or sticks and then place a blanket from one of the equipment bags on the ground, spreading it out picnic-style in front of the two slender young trees. Once cleared, I ordered mayor’s wife to stand in the narrow spot of sunlight between the two trees. The eyes of all the soldiers were now fixed on her.  Her breathing was again nervously labored, but she remained silent and obeyed me without question, moving to face me from directly between the trees.

 

She stood silently obedient, her arms at her sides, as a slight summer breeze tossed the odd loose strands of her salt-and-pepper hair.  She anxiously awaited my next order.

 

I turned and told the corpsman to take the small white porcelain basin from his medical kit and go fill it to the with water from the stream. As he left to fetch the water I walked up to the woman and, staring her in the eye, began to rip the buttons from the bodice of her peasant dress one at a time, slowly working my way from the collar down to her waist. Her eyes swelled with tears of both fear and humiliation as the young soldiers anticipated seeing the woman stripped. She was the age of most of their own mothers.

 

I ripped free each cloth-covered button free one at a time, slowly moving down the crest of her breasts. As I did, her mature bosoms expanded, eventually allowing the full crack of her cleavage to be seen by the male onlookers. I couldn’t help but notice that the crotches of the younger men were swelling.  I thought about the fact that many of them were teenage boys who had probably never seen a mature woman naked before. I knew they were excited with anticipation. I was.

 

Once the matron’s bodice had been completely ripped open from collar to waist, I firmly grabbed the top of the blouse and yanked it outward and backward, exposing her bare, strapless shoulders.  I then walked around the woman and with both hands yanked the entire top down to her waist, pulling the sleeves off her arms as I did. As I pulled the woman’s blouse down from behind her pendulous, melon-like boobs plopped out and dropped downward.  Her thick, wide dark-pink nipples stood fully erect in the slight afternoon breeze.       

 

I then ordered her to raise her hands straight over her head, and she obeyed. As she raised her arms, the men stared fixated at her huge tits as they lifted and separated. 

 

Convinced I had humiliated her, I stepped back to pass sentence on this middle-aged wife of the village mayor. I spoke one short statement at a time, pausing at each line so my translator could perform his task.

 

“Woman, because you have chosen to be a subversive enemy of the Third Reich, you will now be stripped completely naked and your entire body, from head to toe, will be clean-shaven with the barber’s razor. You will then be tied down and raped by any man of my company who wants fuck you, and as many times as he wants. When we are finished raping you, each of your tits will be bound tight at its base with a thin cord. Your arms will be tied up high behind your back. In this position you will be hanged by your breasts in the village square and publicly whipped with a bullwhip across your buttock 75 times” I said in a stern, authoritarian voice.

 

As the translator caught up with my words the women began to cry aloud, but was also relieved that I had spared her life.  But I was not finished.

 

“As an additional sentence, if you do not give me the names and locations of other resistance collaborators in the area, I will order that your daughter be raped and bullwhipped also, after which time you both will be burned alive at the stake in the village square. Do you understand?” I added.

 

When the translator finished the woman broke down sobbing, falling to her knees and pleading with her hands.  I motioned for two of my men to pick her off the ground and hold her up. When they did I stepped forward and, kneeling in front of her, began to strip her from the waist down. I first dropped her dress, then unbuttoned her petticoat and knickers and pulled them to her ankles. Once I had stripped off her hose and shoes, I ordered the men to tie her hands tightly behind her, wrist to elbow. 

 

Just as I had expected, her pussy was a dark, thick wooly bush. When the corpsman returned with the basin of water I ordered him to shave her completely, pussy, underarms, head, everything tip to toe. The corpsman was also our company barber, and he could shave the thickest beard in a minute. To help him, once her arms were tied, I had the men lay her on her back and tie her ankles over her shoulders wide apart, attaching each ankle to one of the small fir trees behind the blanket. As the corpsman began shaving her pussy bald with a straight razor, another soldier helped him by first cutting off all her head hair with a pair of scissors. Another man made up fresh batches of shaving lather.  She was totally smooth in a matter of minutes.

 

With the shaving concluded, the twelve of us, myself included, stripped off our uniforms.  I was first.  Before I began, I had the men retie her ankles even lower down the truck of each fir tree, near the roots. This position spread her bare pussy even wider, pulling her knees to her shoulders and allowed for the deepest penetration. With the mayor’s wife’s calves pulled tight over her shoulders, I grabbed her huge tits with each hand and squeezed them as hard as I could. They had become handles for me to gain thrust with.

 

With a forceful jab I slammed my cock as deep into her as I could, fucking the 45-year-old woman with all my might.  She moaned and screamed as I pounded against her pelvis.  When I had finished taking her pussy as hard as I could, a line of soldiers had formed behind me.  They fucked her deep and hard for more than an hour without stopping. As my soldiers thrust their swollen tools deep inside her, her screams could be heard to echo through the forest. Some of the younger ones even took seconds with her. I told them to use her pussy as they wished.  When they were done, their cum literally soaked the blanket beneath her crotch.

 

When all were spent and satisfied, I sent most of the men back to the village, with instructions for them to send twenty more soldiers as replacements.  And I ordered them to bring the mayor’s daughter with them. We would make it a family outing.

 

Within a short while the 20 fresh young replacements arrived with the mayor’s daughter in tow, her arms still tied behind her.  She was an attractive blond girl in her mid-twenties who had two small children with her baker husband.  As soon he she saw her mother tied down and shaved, she screamed uncontrollably. Her mother, in return, upon seeing her daughter, she began babbling, giving the names and locations of supposed resistance operatives.  I asked her to speak slower so that we could write them down.