The Undefeated Part 1 :- Escape from the Red Army
Posted: Sat May 09, 2026 9:34 pm
To mark my return to the board after six months I present the first part in a brand new series. August 1945; The atomic bombs have been dropped on the Japanese cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, marking the end of WW2. For Sergeant Frieda Herzog and Feldwebel Karsten Jünge, however, their war is far from over. Captured by the victorious Soviets, the former Wehrmacht stabshelferrinnen face cramped conditions, and the potential to be marched into a Siberian gulag, far from their homeland and their families. However, an opportunity soon arises which will give the two women a chance to escape from captivity and track down their spouses…
Women's Internment Camp, Outskirts of Potsdam, Germany, Soviet Sector, Wednesday 16th August 1945 10:00am
“Damn it all, the bloody thing is in Russian! Does anybody here read Russian?!” Exclaimed a young mousy haired woman dressed in the faded blue of a luftwaffe helfrinnen, as she waved around a copy of the Krasnaya Zvezda or Red Star newspaper. Another, a middle aged emaciated SS auxiliary with graying hair, snatched the paper from her.
“Give it here, Luftwaffe!” The woman sneered, ignoring both the scandalised look from the younger woman and sniggers from the Soviet guards. “Bah, it's just propaganda! No one has a bomb that can wipe out a city.” She said dismissively, tossing the paper down the small table. Where it came to rest at Sergeant Frieda Herzog.
“What does it say, Frieda? I heard something about a bomb.” Asked Feldwebel Karsten Jünge in her characteristic Bavarian drawl. She was a young attractive girl of 23 with long raven coloured hair that spilled onto her shoulders, classical aquiline features and big blue eyes.
Frieda Herzog scooped up the newspaper, her eyes widening in shock. “The headline talks about the Americans dropping two bombs of apocalyptic proportions on the Japanese cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, killing hundreds of thousands of people. The Japanese Emperor is now suing for peace…” Her voice trailing off as she lowered the copy of Red Star.
Karsten put her hand to the mouth, gasping in shock. “Mein Gött!” The two women sat together, letting the gravity of the news sink in. At 32, Hamburger Frieda Herzog was once a stabshelferrinnen serving at the Office of General Staff ( OKW). She had joined up in 1940 after her husband, Leutnant Werner Herzog insisted that she could use her degree in linguistics to aid the war effort. Frieda could speak fluent Russian and English, and used her skills to decode Red Army radio intercepts. However, she was now a prisoner of the Soviets; her husband, captured by the Americans at Remagen. But she took solace in the fact that their beloved 5 year old daughter, Greta, was safe with her sister in Hamburg.
Frieda was a strikingly beautiful woman; with dirty shoulder length ash blonde hair that hadn't been clean in 4 months, bright hazel eyes, slightly squared features that were lined from years of war that only served to enhance her German beauty. Her slim, athletic figure that had survived the rigours of childbirth was now thin, her tattered drab olive uniform was practically hanging off of her.
“Bombs that destroy cities? That could have been Berlin…” Karsten breathed, breaking the silence.
“Or Hamburg…” Frieda added grimly, picturing her family for a moment.
She chuckled darkly. “So much for the thousand year Reich, eh?”
“Not too long ago, I used to believe in that thousand year Reich.” Karsten smiled sardonically. “Besides…” she gestured with her head over Frieda's shoulder at Frau SS and her cronies. “...don't let them hear you. Or you'll get a good finger wagging.”
Frieda laughed with her dearest friend. She had known Karsten for five years; back when she had been a fresh faced girl from Landsberg am Lach who had joined the OKW at 18, straight from the BDM, as a typist. Initially the two didn't get along; Frieda had found Karsten's idolisation of Hitler and the Nazis annoying, while Karsten found Frieda's lack of enthusiasm for the party jarring. However, following Frieda's pregnancy and their shared experience of having spouses at the front the two bonded, Karsten having been engaged to her soldier boyfriend since 1940. And over the years, with each passing defeat, Karsten's faith in the führer waned.
Now the two were thick as thieves and were more like sisters. To Frieda, she was like her second daughter and she had always looked out for the girl.
Karsten's face hardened as the door to their dingy prison opened, revealing a stone-faced male Russian Sergeant flanked by two young female soldiers, whose rifles hung lazily in their delicate hands, betraying their inexperience. “Reds? What is this? An inspection?” Frieda sighed.
A sudden tension fell over the hut, conspiratorial whispers were hushed into silence as the Soviet scanned the crowd of prisoners. In the far corner Frau SS spat on the floor and clicked her heels together demonstrating a perfect party salute. “Sieg Heil!” She cried in a futile display of defiance, that made the other women groan and fearful of the coming reprisal.
It did not come. Instead, the Russian's stone grey eyes rested on Frieda and Karsten in the centre. “You two…” He said in broken German pointing a stubby finger in their direction “..you are coming with us. Do not resist.” He clicked his fingers shouting coarse clipped orders to the women flanking them.
Frieda and Karsten shot nervous glances at each other as the two young Soviet soldiers hauled them off the benches. The women around them threw looks equal parts pity, equal parts scorn. All of them were well aware of what the victorious Soviets did to the innocent German women in their sector. None stopped to help them, Frieda couldn't blame them; they were weakened from malnutrition and their spirit broken by being defeated. None of them were soldiers.
As the two former stabshelferrinnen were dragged from the hut, Frau SS started to approach them. “You lucky traitorous bitches! Spreading your legs for some Commissar! While the rest of us rot away in here! We should hang you two from th-ugh!?” She yelped, falling to the wooden floor, struck in the face by the Makarov pistol drawn by the Soviet Sergeant.
He stood over her, face a mask of cold rage, sidearm levelled at her face, where she massaged a massive red bruise.“Keep back! Or you'll catch a bullet, you Nazi whore!” The Russian Sergeant snarled. Frieda glanced at the fallen woman with a mix of pity and scorn. So much for the master race she thought with venom as the fresh summer air hit their faces.
The Soviet Sergeant brought up the rear, pointing his pistol at the crowd of prisoners before leaving the hut and locking the metal door behind him.
The Prison Yard
“You two, come with us now.” He barked at Frieda and Karsten, who received shoves in the back from the rifles of their female guards for emphasis. Along with superfluous cries of poorly pronounced "Schnell!"
They were frogmarched towards an ominous out building across from the prisoner huts. “I demand to know where you are taking us?!” Frieda called in German to the Sergeant leading them. “Our treatment goes against the Geneva Convention–”
The Sergeant spun around his cold grey eyes narrowing. “The Geneva Convention doesn't cover women, wench. Besides, you are in the USSR now and we own you.” Another two shoves in their backs emphasised his point.
“At least tell us what's happening?!” Karsten demanded, her voice trembling with fear.
When they had reached the door of a small drab little out building the Sergeant turned, a smirk creased his face. “Inside you will find fresh baths, clean uniforms and breakfast waiting for you.”
The two German women glanced at each other. “What's the meaning of this? Why the preferential treatment?” Frieda eyed the Sergeant suspiciously. She didn't like the sound of this.
The Sergeant's smirk grew and there was an odd gleam in his eyes that set Frieda on edge. “You two are being…transferred. So you must look your best. Now no more questions.” They didn't like the euphemism in that statement, nor the glances their female guards shot each other. But before either German woman could utter another word, they were led inside into a dimly lit passage.
Prison Outbuilding, 10:15am
Once inside, the two auxiliaries were split up into two separate rooms which each contained a drawn bath. On the table next to the door lay a clean Wehrmacht uniform albeit with the nazi iconography removed, fresh underwear and a sandwich with a single shiny red apple and glass of water.
She shared a glance with Karsten, reading the terrified look in her blue eyes which appeared older under the dim light. Frieda knew that look; It spoke of fear, fear of the unknown and for her beloved Fritz. In that instant, Frieda vowed to find out what was really going on. For both their sakes.
“You each have 20 minutes to get clean, changed and fed. I wouldn't waste it if I were you.” Gestured the Soviet Sergeant, as the two women were pushed by their guards into the small dark windowless room, lit by a single hanging lantern. Frieda turned, seeing the wooden door latch shut.
Putting her ear to the door, Frieda heard the Sergeant bark in Russian to the two female guards. “You two keep watch. I’m going to update the Colonel.” From a small hole in the door Freida watched the two women saluting him as he disappeared into the daylight, before leaning against the far wall, sharing cigarettes.
Her vantage point allowed Frieda to get a better look at their captors. She was shocked at how young and pretty both women were, easily in their early twenties, both wearing clean, starched green red army fatigues with matching garrison caps and brown leather boots. They both carried bolt action rifles and according to their ranks were both Ryadovoy, or privates.
One was a young delicate looking girl with a fresh rounded face, high cheekbones with doe shaped brief eyes and chestnut brown hair tied into a short ponytail. While the other had more angular freckled features, almond shaped green eyes and shoulder length auburn hair. Frieda also noted her brusque demeanour as she took a drag from her cigarette. It was then the brown haired girl spoke in Russian.
“So Ivana, did I hear the Sergeant right? We are just giving these women over to Major Danilov? As ‘gifts.’ ” She asked tentatively, emphasising the word with disgust and taking a puff from her cigarette.
Ivana, the red head, blew a contemptuous smoke ring. “Yes. Why do you ask, Katya? You're going all soft on the Nazis, now? Is that it?”
Katya took an extra long drag. “ There's no way this is above board? I mean you know the Majors reputation, right? About how he treats women? The man's a fucking pig.”
Ivana simply shrugged. “Of course it isn't above board, Katya. But Danilov is an NKVD officer and quite powerful at general headquarters. What he wants he gets. Colonel Sokolov wants to keep in the Major’s good graces, hence the two ‘gifts.’ Are we clear?”
Katya stubbed out her cigarette with her boot and shook her head. “It doesn't feel right, Ivana. I know they might be Nazis and everything but no woman deserves to be sold as a sex slave.”
Suddenly, the redheaded Russian threw down her cigarette. “Those German bastards did the same damn things and worse to our people when they marched into the motherland!” she snarled, punctuating every word with a jab of her finger into the brunette's chest. “Besides, these two bitches should be thankful. Should the Major like them they will be fed, taken care of and never get to see the inside of a Siberian gulag.”
Frieda recoiled away in horror at the news. So that's what they intend to do with us! Monstrous! She thought as she pulled off the tattered remains of her old uniform and dirty underwear that hadn't been changed in 3 months. I can't let that happen to Karsten. We have to escape this fate and find our men. But how do I inform her? I need to think. Taking a deep breath, Frieda climbed into the bath gasping at the shock as the warm water caressed her naked body.
“I don't like this, Frieda.” Came the panicked voice of Karsten from the next room. “What the hell were they talking about!” Before she could answer, Freida heard Ivana angrily thumping on the door telling them to shut up in Russian.
Inhaling once again, Frieda dove into the bath feeling the waters warm embrace. She closed her eyes and began to think. After a few seconds her eyes shot open. Latin! I remember Karsten told me that she was educated at a Catholic school as a girl and I learned it in my first year at University. I'll tell her in Latin, there's no way the Russians will understand us. She exhaled as she surfaced and began to wash her hair. Let's hope all that BDM rubbish didn't empty Karsten's head and she still knows her words.
It took Frieda another fifteen minutes to fully wash and dry herself. Tying the towel around her breasts, she took her sandwich and bit into it. It may have tasted of water and offal, but to Frieda the luncheon meat tasted like gold. She wolfed it down, washing down the meat with water, savouring the first meal she had in weeks that wasn't stale Soviet rations and cabbage soup. The apple was next; she bit into its soft white flesh, feeling bliss at the sensation of eating fresh fruit. Frieda couldn't even remember the last time she had eaten fruit.
10:32am
Stripping off her towel, a dry Karsten pulled on the clean underwear and uniform recalling her Latin from university. She also fine tuned her plan. We need to go to Hamburg and to my sister's, to Greta. From there we can look for Werner and Fritz. But first we'll need disguises, we can't go traipsing around the Soviet sector dressed like this…
The sound of the door opening chased those thoughts away. It was the Sergeant, behind him Frieda saw Karsten backed up against the wall, Ivana pointing her rifle at her chest.
“You two don't scrub up half bad…for Nazis.” The Sergeant said with a toothy, predatory grin. “Come on. Get on your feet, wench.”
Frieda played along, gently leaving the room and letting Katya shove her towards the exit. As they were led out back into the sunlight, towards the camp gate, Karsten caught her eye, the fearful look in her still there. “Don’t worry, all in good time child.” She whispered in Latin, just enough for Karsten to hear. The younger Auxiliaries eyes widened in surprise and in recognition, merely nodding in reply. Frieda smiled. Good she still knows…
1 km from the Camp, Outskirts of Potsdam, 11:05am
It was just the Auxiliaries and their female guards who walked the raised road leading North-East towards Berlin. The fat stone-faced Sergeant had left them at the gate to the camp, giving their guards orders to deliver the women to the Major’s billet, a hotel in the Berlin suburbs that was still intact.
As they neared the burnt out shell of a German halftrack which had crashed into a tree by the left road ditch, Frieda turned to Karsten putting her plan into action. All while their guards were distracted chatting about handsome boys in their Platoon.
“They plan to hand us over as slaves to some officer.” Frieda whispered in Latin to Karsten, who to her credit didn't betray her emotions.
“The bastards. Do you have a plan on escaping?”
Frieda nodded. “Yes. You have to create a distraction and I'll do the rest.”
Karsten smiled in understanding. Behind her, Frieda felt a shove in the back from Ivana. “What are you two yammering on about?” The Redhead snarled in very bad German, clutching her rifle menacingly.
Frieda turned, smiling innocently. “We are merely praying for our salvation. What's the harm in that?” Next to her, Karsten nodded fervently.
The two Soviet women glanced at each other and laughed. “You stupid Nazi bitch. There is no God, just the universal truth of communism.” Ivana said after their laughter had died down. “Now keep moving before I shoot you!” Next to her, Katya flashed them both a sympathetic look but gestured with her rifle. “You heard her, move along.” Sharing a knowing glance, the two German Auxiliaries played along…for the time being.
As they approached the wrecked halftrack, Karsten suddenly spun around to face Katya. “I need to take a leak…please.” Ivana narrowed her eyes. “What do you think this is? A pleasant walk in the part, fascist? Turn hell around, now!’ She snarled in broken German, raising her rifle.
“Wait, Ivana.” The smaller Katya warned in Russian, putting her hand on the redhead's weapon. “Do you want her to soil herself? I'm sure the Major wouldn't like that.”
Frieda could see the young Russian's mind working overtime, weighing up her options.“Ugh! Alright, I suppose I could use a smoke, but you go with her, Katya. I'll take blondie under the tree. She tries anything, shoot her.”
Katya nodded, before gesturing with her head to Karsten to a row of nearby bushes. Frieda shared a brief nod with her friend, she had done her part, now it was Frieda's turn.
“Don't you try anything, bitch or you're dead!” Ivana hissed as she led Frieda over to the tree by the wrecked halftrack. As she moved forward, she nearly tripped on a thick fallen branch. I could use that against Ivana, I just need an opening…
“Just stay there and don't fucking move!” Ivana said, slinging her rifle around her shoulder and taking out her cigarettes. She took her eyes off Frieda for just a second, to desperately light it.
That was all the opening she needed.
Frieda quickly snatched up the thick branch, and with a swift back handed lunge brought it across Ivana’s head with a sickening crack.
“Ugh!?!’ The young Russian croaked as she fell with a heavy thud onto her side, where she lay motionless. Dropping the branch, she heard the sound of rushing footsteps on grass, heralding the reappearance of Katya. Her big doe shaped eyes flicked between Frieda and her unconscious friend, cute features giving over to rage.
“You bitch!” She swore in Russian, bringing up her rifle and cycling the bolt, bringing it up to Frieda's chest. “You'll pay for - agrh!!” Her scream came before the thick wet thunk to the back of her head.
The young Soviet soldier collapsed forward in an undignified heap, rifle dropping to the ground, to reveal a startled Karsten clutching a small rock.
“Mein gött! D-did we kill them?!” She stammered, glancing at the motionless Russians and dropping the rock in shock. Frieda advanced, putting her hands on her friend's shoulders, squeezing them.
“I don't think so, Karsten. But we can always check.” That seemed to reassure the younger woman. “Right, so what do we do now? Make a break for it?”
Frieda turned, glancing at the bodies of the young Russian's, putting the next phase of her plan into motion.
“We strip them and put on their uniforms.” She smirked walking over to the stricken Ivana
Karsten's eyes widened in surprise. “I-I'm sorry, Frieda. We're going to take their clothes?”
Frieda crouched by Ivana’s prone form, rolling her onto her back and checking her pulse, finding a weak but steady rhythm. “Yes. We can't get to Hamburg, my home, dressed like this. Their uniforms should help us blend in.” She then stood up, stripping off her clean uniform, until she stood in only her slip and knickers.
Frieda began to pull off Ivana’s boots. “This one's just my size and Katya is yours.” She looked up, sensing the younger woman's hesitation. “Come on, Karsten. We don't have much time. You aren't squeamish are you?” She teased gently.
Shaking her head but smiling, Karsten walked back to Katya's body, flipping her into her back. “So Hamburg. Your daughters there, right? With your sister?” She asked, dragging Katya over to the halftrack by her ankles.
Unbuttoning Ivana’s tunic and taking off her belt, Frieda nodded without looking up. “Mhm. Hamburg is in the British sector, so we'll need transportation to get to the checkpoint at Wittenberge.”
“Let's make a deal. When we get to Hamburg, we'll both start looking for our men.” Karsten said, holding out a hand, which Frieda clasped and squeezed. “Deal.”
Karsten nodded then checked Katya's pulse, breathing a sigh of relief before she yanked off the Russian's boots.
11:20am
‘Damn this thing itches like a horse blanket, I miss my nice clean uniform.” Karsten complained as she buttoned up Katya's tunic.
“There's no pleasing some people.” Frieda quipped dryly, fixing on Ivana’s cap.
At their feet lay the two unconscious scantily clad Russian soldiers, shoulder to shoulder hidden from the world by the shadow of the rusted halftrack. Ivana was wearing only a solid cream satin bra and matching high waisted briefs. While Katya looked even more delicate clad in just a thin white slip and french cut white knickers underneath, the nipples of her small breasts peaking under the thin fabric.
“Say what you like about these Reds, they scrub up well. Not what I expected.” Frieda said, tossing Katya's rifle to Karsten.
The young brunette looped it over her shoulder. “I always thought that the whole thing about the Soviets being untermenschen was all lies.”
Frieda nodded, shouldering Ivana’s rifle as the two walked back onto the road. “While I don't like the thought of bolsheviks strutting around our fatherland, I don't necessarily blame them for invading.”
She then paused looking up and down the road. Karsten laughed at her confusion. “If we're heading west then we should be heading away from the sun.”
Frieda flashed her a smile. “Alright, BDM girl. You lead the way.”
Falling into step, the two auxiliaries dressed in stolen Soviet uniforms headed northwest leaving Katya and Ivana asleep in the ditch.
Abandoned Farm, 1km Northwest, Rural Brandenburg, Soviet Sector, 12:00pm
By noon, Frieda and Karsten had put a lot of distance between themselves and the unconscious Russians who had by now probably had woken up.
The partially ruined suburbs of Potsdam had given way to the arable farmland of the Brandenburg countryside. It's once peaceful fields and roads, now cluttered with abandoned military and civilian vehicles. The two women had checked each and every vehicle, only to be disappointed in finding either wrecks or empty fuel tanks.
Karsten sighed as she checked the fuel tank of an abandoned wehrmacht kübelwagen. “Scheisser, another dry tank. You would think at least one of these junkers would have an empty tank.”
Frieda wiped the sweat from her brow with her sleeve. “I'm not surprised, the Soviets probably syphoned off the gas or maybe Civilians.” She squinted, placing a hand over her eyes, seeing a small farm off to the right of the right, beyond the hedgerows.
“Hey Karsten. There's a farm half a mile down the road. Maybe we might get lucky.”
The brunette shielded her own eyes, nodding in recognition. “Never say never. Who knows? Maybe we'll find a tractor.” She added sardonically.
12:07pm
The two auxiliaries swept through the farmhouse, rifles raised, finding it abandoned and devoid of food, except a few chickens and livestock.
Moving onto the barn, they had hit the jackpot.
“Is that a Wehrmacht BW43 motorcycle sidecar?” Karsten's eyes had lit up when they had discovered the abandoned vehicle, along with its keys, discarded wehrmacht uniforms and empty weapons and a full jerry can of fuel.
“ How do you know about motorcycles, Karsten?” Frieda asked, surprised.
The younger woman smiled wistfully. “It was how my dear Fritz swept me off my feet. With a cocky smile, handsome looks and a BMW R75. He later taught me to ride it, you know, in happier times…” A look of melancholy washed over her beautiful features.
Frieda gently squeezed her shoulder. “You sure are full of surprises for a BDM girl. The last time I checked, proper German women shouldn't be driving motorcycles in their free time?” She said, flashing a smile.
“Well, Frieda, the last time I checked, proper German women shouldn't be mugging other women for their clothes. But it's been a day of firsts.” Karsten replied with dry sarcasm.
The two burst out laughing for a moment, then Karsten collected herself, picking up the full jerry can. “Come on, help me fill her up.”
It didn't take the women long to completely fill up the tank.
As Frieda opened up the barn doors, Karsten straddled the bike and switched on the engine, filling the barn with the throaty roar of the V8 engine.
“We'll have enough gas for 3 perhaps 4 hours of driving!” Karsten yelled over the din of the engine.
Frieda nodded, jumping into the sidecar. “Good, that should get us close to the checkpoint if we stick to the sideroads and avoid Red Army patrols!”
She then glanced at their stolen uniforms. “We'll also need to get a change of clothes, papers and a new vehicle, if we're going to get past the Reds and Englishmen! If we're dressed like Red Army and armed then we'll either get shot or arrested!”
“First things first!” Karsten smiled as she opened the throttle, speeding out of the barn into the balmy summer air.
1km from the Wittenberge Checkpoint, Outskirts of Havelberg, Germany, Soviet Sector, 15:05pm
For the next three hours, the pair had stuck to the smaller country roads and by roads. Between Karsten's driving skills and the off road versatility of the BW43, they had made good time.
There were a few hairy moments when the pair had to avoid the occasional Red Army patrol. And on one memorable occasion, they had to swerve out of a path of three T-34 tanks coming from the opposite direction. It was only through Karsten's quick thinking that they avoided a head on crash.
Karsten glanced down at the fuel gauge. “We're nearly running on fumes, Frieda! We'll need that vehicle and change of clothes soon!”
As they rounded the next bend, Frieda saw the boxy black shape of a BMW limousine in the distance, parked on the side of the road near a line of trees. “There's a car up ahead. Do you see it?”
Karsten nodded as they drove past a stone mile marker. “Ja. I’ll park the bike off the road so we can take a closer look.” She eased down the throttle, bringing the bike off the road and gently into the ditch switching off the engine.
As they dismounted, they looked up at the roadsign. “Look, Karsten. Only under a mile to Wittenberge, almost home.” She patted the brunette on the back as they crept forwards towards the limousine on the other side of the road. Using the ditch as cover they spied on the car and its occupants, who as luck would have it were two young women.
They were both young, in their early mid twenties if Frieda was any judge and pouring over a map laid over their car bonnet. There was a strong family resemblance between the women; both had the same oval features, shallow cheekbones and bright hazel eyes. They even had the same dark honey blonde hair; the older taller girl had her long hair in bunches, while the younger smaller one had braided pigtails. “Huh? They look like sisters…”
The sisters were dressed in expensive dresses; the older sister was wearing a black dress with white polka dots, matching heels and pearl choker and earrings. While her younger pigtailed sister was dressed in a red silk dress, matching pumps and a good dress watch.
Karsten smiled. “Would you look at that? They have both clothes and a car. And the pigtailed girl is wearing a very nice dress that looks just my size.”
Frieda raised her eyebrows. “It sounds like you're warming up to the idea.”
Karsten shrugged. “It’ll be good to wear something normal for a change. Besides, I'm baking in this outfit.” She glanced back at the two civilians. "So, how do you want to play this?”
Frieda grinned shouldering her Russian rifle. “Well, we are dressed like Russians. So let's act like Russians.” She climbed out of the ditch and headed across the road. Chuckling, Karsten was right behind her rifle raised.
“Hold it right there, Nazis! Put those arms up!” Frieda cried in her most commanding voice as she and Karsten advanced on the women rifles raised, playing their parts.
The two women's heads shot up, panicking as they raised their hands above their heads. “Nein! Don't shoot us, please! We are not armed!” The older sister cried.
“What do you want?! Please, don't hurt us!” The younger pigtailed girl whimpered in terror.
Frieda kept her face straight and her voice menacing. “Your travel papers. Present them to us, now.” The sisters hesitated for a moment. “You, in the polka dress. Papers, now. We haven't got all day.” She gestured to the car with her rifle.
Karsten kept her rifle on pigtails, inching towards her carefully. While polka dot kept her hands up as she walked over to the handbags on the bonnet.
Shaking the woman nervously dug them out and handed them over to Frieda before backing away, arms raised, next to her sister.
Frieda looked through the papers, one hand on her rifle. “Hm? Trudl and Hedwige Bauer? Heading to Hamburg in the British sector to see your mother, right?”
Trudl, the older sister, nodded her head frantically. Both girls were close to tears.
Frieda handed the papers to Karsten. “Well, I’m sorry, frauleins. But you won't be making it to Hamburg.”
“And we’ll be needing something else from you…your clothes.” Karsten said as they advanced on the sisters with their rifle butts raised.
Trudl and Hedwige whimpered. “What I don't understand?! We are innocent w-ugh?!” Trudl grunted as Frieda shoved her rifle butt into her cheek, sending her sprawling unconscious into the grass.
“Trudl!? No! Why are -argh?!” Karsten's rifle had caught the younger Hedwige square sending her into an unconscious heap next to her sister.
Frieda sighed, shouldering her rifle. “Sorry about this, frauliens. But desperate times call for desperate measures. It was nothing personal.”
Karsten knelt by the women, checking their pulses. “They're alive, thank God. We were a little rough with them though. I feel like shit.”
‘Yeah, I know what you mean. Come on, let's get their clothes off.” Taking the sleeping women by their ankles, Frieda and Karsten dragged their limp bodies into the treeline, ignoring the red bruises that were forming on their pretty faces.
15:30pm
“Now this is more like it, Frieda. Fritz always said red was my colour.” Karsten said appreciatively, smoothing down Hedwige's dress. “And these shoes are perfect.”
“And Werner likes me in polka dots.” Frieda smiled as she fixed on Trudl's pearl jewellery, wearing the woman's dress and heels.
Behind them, partially hidden by the bushes and discarded red army uniforms, were Trudl and Hedwige curled up together and wearing only their expensive underwear. Trudl was clad only in her black french lace bra and matching French cut lace panties. While Hedwige was evidently feeling adventurous, as she was wearing just a pair of red lace and satin frilly knickers, her small but well rounded breasts, with dark pink rose petal areolas on full display.
“Huh? That's something I would never do, go topless.” Karsten commented as they left the treeline and the unconscious scantily clad women behind.
At the car, Frieda read the transit papers.“So I'm Trudl Bauer, your older sister, that would make you…
Karsten smiled. “I'm Hedwige Bauer, younger sister and we are going to see our sick mother in Hamburg.”
Satisfied, Frieda replaced the papers into Trudl's handbag, swinging it behind her shoulder before sliding onto the passenger seat. “Wunderbar, we shouldn't have any problems.”
Getting behind the wheel, Karsten sniggered. “You know we look nothing alike right?” She switched on the ignition and pulled out onto the road.
Leaning into the seat, Frieda smiled. “Neither does my sister and I, but we do have the same eyes.”
Wittenberge Checkpoint, Border between the Soviet and British Sectors, 15: 46pm
With Karsten once again behind the wheel, it didn't take the pair long to reach the checkpoint in their stolen limousine. Compared to the motorbike ride, it was uneventful.
When they arrived, they found a long queue of people, horses and carts coming from the checkpoint. Ahead was the checkpoint with two pairs of guards, two wearing the forest green and saucer helmets of the British and the drab olive green of the Red Army. Leaning out of the passenger window, Frieda's blood ran cold as she saw the telltale black uniforms of the infamous NKVD. From the look of them they were scanning transit papers and pulling female civilians for questioning, much to the chagrin of the watching British troops.
“Schiesser! There are NKVD at the checkpoint and it looks like they are pulling up women for questioning.”
Karsten groaned. “Verdammt! Did they find those Russians?! You don't think they're looking for us?
Frieda shook her head, as they noticed a middle aged farmer lose his patience and turn his produce cart around, the large draft horse neighing in reply.
“Perhaps we should ask that farmer.”
As the farmer neared them, Karsten rolled down the window and stuck her head out.
“Good afternoon, mein herr. Can you tell us what's going on at the checkpoint? What's the hold up?”
The grizzled farmer stopped and flashed them a weary smile. “ Good afternoon, Frauleins. It's those damn Bolsheviks and their NKVD, that's what's happening. Apparently they are looking for some female werewolves…”
The two women glanced at each other puzzled. The farmer shook his head. “ You know the werewolves, right? Those crazy diehard Nazi resistance idiots. Making things worse for the rest of us tired of the war.”
Karsten nodded. “I see. So they are just searching and questioning female civilians,yes?”
The man nodded. “Ja and searching everyone's car and cart too.” He shrugged, patting his mare's head. “I mean I was going to Hamburg for the farmers market, but I’m going home. I can stand those smug Russians. At least the British smile at you.”
Karsten flashed him a sympathetic look. “Well, thanks for your help, mein herr.”
The farmer nodded once. “Look, frauleins. If I were you then I would go back the way you came and try again tomorrow. Auf Wiedersehen.” With a doff of his cap, the farmer trotted back down the road.
The women got out of the car “So what do we know, Frieda?” Karsten asked, looking back at the checkpoint. “This car and these clothes won't get us past that checkpoint, now. We need a new plan.”
Frieda scanned the refugee line looking for any opportunity, as she got closer she noticed two young nuns at the end of the line who courtseyed as she looked at them. Frieda smiled, a plan forming in her mind. They look our size and maybe the Russians might not like nuns but the British just might.
They were very attractive girls; one had a diamond shaped face, high cheekbones and green eyes. While the other had cute rounded freckled features with a tapered chin and big turquoise coloured eyes. They were both dressed in long black habits, tied with rope belts from where they hung their rosaries and flat black shoes. Their heads were partially covered in the characteristic white wide birdlike wimples. Flashing the two nuns a smile, Frieda returned to Karsten.
“I think I have a solution to our problem.” She flicked her head at the nuns. “Those sisters are just our size and look innocent enough. Let's ambush them and take their outfits. The Russians aren't looking for two nuns.”
Karsten walked next to her. “How ironic that the Catholic Church comes to our aid not once but twice.” Frieda patted her shoulder. “Well it did say ‘ Gött mitt uns ’ on our belt buckles.”
Karsten chuckled as they crept up on the two nuns. “And now He'll strike us down for touching His brides.” She quipped dryly.
They took the two nuns by surprise. Simultaneously, Frieda and Karsten clamped hands around their mouths to muffle their cries of protest before punching them in the back of their heads. The young nuns went limp with grunts of pain.
The Auxiliaries looked up, relieved that no-one had registered the nuns' assault. They then dragged their unconscious bodies under their shoulders into the roadside ditch beside the parked car.
5 minutes later
“We are certainly going to hell for this.” Karsten joked as she tied her stolen nuns' habit with the rope belt.
“Perhaps, Karsten. But if this reunites me with my Greta and Werner and you with Fritz, then I can live with that.” Frieda replied, fixing on the wimple. “Sorry sisters…”
Karsten also stopped to apologise to the sleeping nuns. “Sorry, frauleins but our needs were greater.”
They glanced at the unconscious scantily clad bound and gagged real nuns curled up unconscious at their feet, clad only in their beige slips and knickers, showing off their petite, slim bodies. With their whimples removed, the freckled nun had short ginger hair cut tomboyishly short while the green eyed nun had cute shoulder length black ringlets.
They had torn the dresses stolen from the Bauer sisters into strips, binding their wrists, ankles and gagging them.
“Why didn't we do that before, Frieda?” Asked Karsten as they left the nuns asleep in the ditch.
“We didn't have anything to tie the others up with. Come on, let's go.”
Playing the part of humble nuns, the two bowed their heads and rejoined the refugee line with none the wiser.
16:01pm
After 10 minutes, the Soviets let through a young family, an elderly couple in a VW Beetle and a farmer with a cart full of milk, who mentioned he was on his way to Hamburg. It took the Soviets only a few minutes to determine he had no women hidden in the back.
Then it was Frieda and Karsten's turn.
When he saw their stolen habits, the young NKVD officer sniggered to his fellows. “Go back the way you came, ladies. And don't even think about preaching to us. There is no God in the USSR, only the universal truth of Communism.” He said in broken German, his partner and the Red Army troops chortling, drawing disapproving looks from the British.
Frieda put on her best tearful face. “Please, good sir. Our convent is just beyond the checkpoint. You must let us pass. God will look favourably on you.”
The NKVD officer crossed his arms. “Ugh! Like I need God's favour. Besides, you could be werewolves for all we know. Turn back now!”
Then a British soldier, the chevrons on his sleeve marking him as a Sergeant stepped forward. “What's going on here?” He was a handsome man, around Frieda's age with a dark brown moustache above his top lip.
Frieda acted quickly, remembering her English. “Please, good Sergeant. I was telling this man that we must be allowed through. Our convent is just past the checkpoint. But he seems most insistent that we stay. Will you help us?”
The Sergeant turned to the NKVD officers. “Come on now, comrade. Be a good sport. What's the harm in letting them pass to their convent?”
It was the second NKVD officer, a blonde haired man who spoke. “Because they could be spies or these werewolves I'm sure you've heard of Sergeant. Letting them pass is mistake.”
The Sergeant shook his head. “Really? Disguising as a nun sounds completely absurd. Besides, they look harmless.” He sighed, beckoning Frieda and Karsten forward and opening the barrier, letting them through. “My apologies, Sisters”
The Russians looked outraged. “What do you think you're doing, English?” The blonde officer went an angry shade of puce.
“Just abiding by food fashioned fair play and common decency my Russian friend.” He replied, closing the barrier. “You Reds are always so suspicious of everything.”
The NKVD officer grunted. “Tsk. You British are always soft touch.” with that he angrily turned back to the line of refugees.
The British Sector 16:12pm
The British Sergeant shook his head at the Russian's back. “Unbelievable. Sorry again, Sisters. Will you be alright from here?”
Frieda nodded. “Yes, our Covent isn't far. Thank you young man. Bless you, in the name of the Father…” Despite not speaking a word of English, Karsten followed her lead and her Catholic school education paid off again. After giving the British their blessing, the two false sisters bade them farewell and continued up the road.
Once they were out of earshot. Karsten sighed with relief. “For a second I thought we were done for. If it wasn't for that Englander Sergeant…" She held the pause for emphasis.
Frieda nodded. “Werner always said you could rely on the British for being both polite and courteous. If a little gullible.”
Karsten rubbed the back of her neck. “So Frieda? How are we getting to Hamburg? We have no car, no motorcycle. Please don't say we’ll walk. It's an awful long way after all.”
Looking ahead, Frieda smiled as they neared the milk cart. “Looks like God moves in mysterious ways.” She pointed to it, making her friend smile.
“Well it's either that or we have absurd luck.”
Frieda gently squeezed Karsten's shoulder. “Who knows it could be both? Let's go, Karsten, let's get a lift from the good farmer. And give him our blessing.”
The two auxiliaries flagged down the milk wagon and with the farmer's permission climbed into the back, after giving him.a quick blessing. For the first time since the war’s end, both women had the faintest of hopes that they would see their loved ones again.
As the cart got underway, Frieda closed her eyes and saw the faces of her beloved Werner and darling daughter, Greta. Soon, I will hold you both again. And I pray Karsten will hold her Fritz again as well.
Women's Internment Camp, Outskirts of Potsdam, Germany, Soviet Sector, Wednesday 16th August 1945 10:00am
“Damn it all, the bloody thing is in Russian! Does anybody here read Russian?!” Exclaimed a young mousy haired woman dressed in the faded blue of a luftwaffe helfrinnen, as she waved around a copy of the Krasnaya Zvezda or Red Star newspaper. Another, a middle aged emaciated SS auxiliary with graying hair, snatched the paper from her.
“Give it here, Luftwaffe!” The woman sneered, ignoring both the scandalised look from the younger woman and sniggers from the Soviet guards. “Bah, it's just propaganda! No one has a bomb that can wipe out a city.” She said dismissively, tossing the paper down the small table. Where it came to rest at Sergeant Frieda Herzog.
“What does it say, Frieda? I heard something about a bomb.” Asked Feldwebel Karsten Jünge in her characteristic Bavarian drawl. She was a young attractive girl of 23 with long raven coloured hair that spilled onto her shoulders, classical aquiline features and big blue eyes.
Frieda Herzog scooped up the newspaper, her eyes widening in shock. “The headline talks about the Americans dropping two bombs of apocalyptic proportions on the Japanese cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, killing hundreds of thousands of people. The Japanese Emperor is now suing for peace…” Her voice trailing off as she lowered the copy of Red Star.
Karsten put her hand to the mouth, gasping in shock. “Mein Gött!” The two women sat together, letting the gravity of the news sink in. At 32, Hamburger Frieda Herzog was once a stabshelferrinnen serving at the Office of General Staff ( OKW). She had joined up in 1940 after her husband, Leutnant Werner Herzog insisted that she could use her degree in linguistics to aid the war effort. Frieda could speak fluent Russian and English, and used her skills to decode Red Army radio intercepts. However, she was now a prisoner of the Soviets; her husband, captured by the Americans at Remagen. But she took solace in the fact that their beloved 5 year old daughter, Greta, was safe with her sister in Hamburg.
Frieda was a strikingly beautiful woman; with dirty shoulder length ash blonde hair that hadn't been clean in 4 months, bright hazel eyes, slightly squared features that were lined from years of war that only served to enhance her German beauty. Her slim, athletic figure that had survived the rigours of childbirth was now thin, her tattered drab olive uniform was practically hanging off of her.
“Bombs that destroy cities? That could have been Berlin…” Karsten breathed, breaking the silence.
“Or Hamburg…” Frieda added grimly, picturing her family for a moment.
She chuckled darkly. “So much for the thousand year Reich, eh?”
“Not too long ago, I used to believe in that thousand year Reich.” Karsten smiled sardonically. “Besides…” she gestured with her head over Frieda's shoulder at Frau SS and her cronies. “...don't let them hear you. Or you'll get a good finger wagging.”
Frieda laughed with her dearest friend. She had known Karsten for five years; back when she had been a fresh faced girl from Landsberg am Lach who had joined the OKW at 18, straight from the BDM, as a typist. Initially the two didn't get along; Frieda had found Karsten's idolisation of Hitler and the Nazis annoying, while Karsten found Frieda's lack of enthusiasm for the party jarring. However, following Frieda's pregnancy and their shared experience of having spouses at the front the two bonded, Karsten having been engaged to her soldier boyfriend since 1940. And over the years, with each passing defeat, Karsten's faith in the führer waned.
Now the two were thick as thieves and were more like sisters. To Frieda, she was like her second daughter and she had always looked out for the girl.
Karsten's face hardened as the door to their dingy prison opened, revealing a stone-faced male Russian Sergeant flanked by two young female soldiers, whose rifles hung lazily in their delicate hands, betraying their inexperience. “Reds? What is this? An inspection?” Frieda sighed.
A sudden tension fell over the hut, conspiratorial whispers were hushed into silence as the Soviet scanned the crowd of prisoners. In the far corner Frau SS spat on the floor and clicked her heels together demonstrating a perfect party salute. “Sieg Heil!” She cried in a futile display of defiance, that made the other women groan and fearful of the coming reprisal.
It did not come. Instead, the Russian's stone grey eyes rested on Frieda and Karsten in the centre. “You two…” He said in broken German pointing a stubby finger in their direction “..you are coming with us. Do not resist.” He clicked his fingers shouting coarse clipped orders to the women flanking them.
Frieda and Karsten shot nervous glances at each other as the two young Soviet soldiers hauled them off the benches. The women around them threw looks equal parts pity, equal parts scorn. All of them were well aware of what the victorious Soviets did to the innocent German women in their sector. None stopped to help them, Frieda couldn't blame them; they were weakened from malnutrition and their spirit broken by being defeated. None of them were soldiers.
As the two former stabshelferrinnen were dragged from the hut, Frau SS started to approach them. “You lucky traitorous bitches! Spreading your legs for some Commissar! While the rest of us rot away in here! We should hang you two from th-ugh!?” She yelped, falling to the wooden floor, struck in the face by the Makarov pistol drawn by the Soviet Sergeant.
He stood over her, face a mask of cold rage, sidearm levelled at her face, where she massaged a massive red bruise.“Keep back! Or you'll catch a bullet, you Nazi whore!” The Russian Sergeant snarled. Frieda glanced at the fallen woman with a mix of pity and scorn. So much for the master race she thought with venom as the fresh summer air hit their faces.
The Soviet Sergeant brought up the rear, pointing his pistol at the crowd of prisoners before leaving the hut and locking the metal door behind him.
The Prison Yard
“You two, come with us now.” He barked at Frieda and Karsten, who received shoves in the back from the rifles of their female guards for emphasis. Along with superfluous cries of poorly pronounced "Schnell!"
They were frogmarched towards an ominous out building across from the prisoner huts. “I demand to know where you are taking us?!” Frieda called in German to the Sergeant leading them. “Our treatment goes against the Geneva Convention–”
The Sergeant spun around his cold grey eyes narrowing. “The Geneva Convention doesn't cover women, wench. Besides, you are in the USSR now and we own you.” Another two shoves in their backs emphasised his point.
“At least tell us what's happening?!” Karsten demanded, her voice trembling with fear.
When they had reached the door of a small drab little out building the Sergeant turned, a smirk creased his face. “Inside you will find fresh baths, clean uniforms and breakfast waiting for you.”
The two German women glanced at each other. “What's the meaning of this? Why the preferential treatment?” Frieda eyed the Sergeant suspiciously. She didn't like the sound of this.
The Sergeant's smirk grew and there was an odd gleam in his eyes that set Frieda on edge. “You two are being…transferred. So you must look your best. Now no more questions.” They didn't like the euphemism in that statement, nor the glances their female guards shot each other. But before either German woman could utter another word, they were led inside into a dimly lit passage.
Prison Outbuilding, 10:15am
Once inside, the two auxiliaries were split up into two separate rooms which each contained a drawn bath. On the table next to the door lay a clean Wehrmacht uniform albeit with the nazi iconography removed, fresh underwear and a sandwich with a single shiny red apple and glass of water.
She shared a glance with Karsten, reading the terrified look in her blue eyes which appeared older under the dim light. Frieda knew that look; It spoke of fear, fear of the unknown and for her beloved Fritz. In that instant, Frieda vowed to find out what was really going on. For both their sakes.
“You each have 20 minutes to get clean, changed and fed. I wouldn't waste it if I were you.” Gestured the Soviet Sergeant, as the two women were pushed by their guards into the small dark windowless room, lit by a single hanging lantern. Frieda turned, seeing the wooden door latch shut.
Putting her ear to the door, Frieda heard the Sergeant bark in Russian to the two female guards. “You two keep watch. I’m going to update the Colonel.” From a small hole in the door Freida watched the two women saluting him as he disappeared into the daylight, before leaning against the far wall, sharing cigarettes.
Her vantage point allowed Frieda to get a better look at their captors. She was shocked at how young and pretty both women were, easily in their early twenties, both wearing clean, starched green red army fatigues with matching garrison caps and brown leather boots. They both carried bolt action rifles and according to their ranks were both Ryadovoy, or privates.
One was a young delicate looking girl with a fresh rounded face, high cheekbones with doe shaped brief eyes and chestnut brown hair tied into a short ponytail. While the other had more angular freckled features, almond shaped green eyes and shoulder length auburn hair. Frieda also noted her brusque demeanour as she took a drag from her cigarette. It was then the brown haired girl spoke in Russian.
“So Ivana, did I hear the Sergeant right? We are just giving these women over to Major Danilov? As ‘gifts.’ ” She asked tentatively, emphasising the word with disgust and taking a puff from her cigarette.
Ivana, the red head, blew a contemptuous smoke ring. “Yes. Why do you ask, Katya? You're going all soft on the Nazis, now? Is that it?”
Katya took an extra long drag. “ There's no way this is above board? I mean you know the Majors reputation, right? About how he treats women? The man's a fucking pig.”
Ivana simply shrugged. “Of course it isn't above board, Katya. But Danilov is an NKVD officer and quite powerful at general headquarters. What he wants he gets. Colonel Sokolov wants to keep in the Major’s good graces, hence the two ‘gifts.’ Are we clear?”
Katya stubbed out her cigarette with her boot and shook her head. “It doesn't feel right, Ivana. I know they might be Nazis and everything but no woman deserves to be sold as a sex slave.”
Suddenly, the redheaded Russian threw down her cigarette. “Those German bastards did the same damn things and worse to our people when they marched into the motherland!” she snarled, punctuating every word with a jab of her finger into the brunette's chest. “Besides, these two bitches should be thankful. Should the Major like them they will be fed, taken care of and never get to see the inside of a Siberian gulag.”
Frieda recoiled away in horror at the news. So that's what they intend to do with us! Monstrous! She thought as she pulled off the tattered remains of her old uniform and dirty underwear that hadn't been changed in 3 months. I can't let that happen to Karsten. We have to escape this fate and find our men. But how do I inform her? I need to think. Taking a deep breath, Frieda climbed into the bath gasping at the shock as the warm water caressed her naked body.
“I don't like this, Frieda.” Came the panicked voice of Karsten from the next room. “What the hell were they talking about!” Before she could answer, Freida heard Ivana angrily thumping on the door telling them to shut up in Russian.
Inhaling once again, Frieda dove into the bath feeling the waters warm embrace. She closed her eyes and began to think. After a few seconds her eyes shot open. Latin! I remember Karsten told me that she was educated at a Catholic school as a girl and I learned it in my first year at University. I'll tell her in Latin, there's no way the Russians will understand us. She exhaled as she surfaced and began to wash her hair. Let's hope all that BDM rubbish didn't empty Karsten's head and she still knows her words.
It took Frieda another fifteen minutes to fully wash and dry herself. Tying the towel around her breasts, she took her sandwich and bit into it. It may have tasted of water and offal, but to Frieda the luncheon meat tasted like gold. She wolfed it down, washing down the meat with water, savouring the first meal she had in weeks that wasn't stale Soviet rations and cabbage soup. The apple was next; she bit into its soft white flesh, feeling bliss at the sensation of eating fresh fruit. Frieda couldn't even remember the last time she had eaten fruit.
10:32am
Stripping off her towel, a dry Karsten pulled on the clean underwear and uniform recalling her Latin from university. She also fine tuned her plan. We need to go to Hamburg and to my sister's, to Greta. From there we can look for Werner and Fritz. But first we'll need disguises, we can't go traipsing around the Soviet sector dressed like this…
The sound of the door opening chased those thoughts away. It was the Sergeant, behind him Frieda saw Karsten backed up against the wall, Ivana pointing her rifle at her chest.
“You two don't scrub up half bad…for Nazis.” The Sergeant said with a toothy, predatory grin. “Come on. Get on your feet, wench.”
Frieda played along, gently leaving the room and letting Katya shove her towards the exit. As they were led out back into the sunlight, towards the camp gate, Karsten caught her eye, the fearful look in her still there. “Don’t worry, all in good time child.” She whispered in Latin, just enough for Karsten to hear. The younger Auxiliaries eyes widened in surprise and in recognition, merely nodding in reply. Frieda smiled. Good she still knows…
1 km from the Camp, Outskirts of Potsdam, 11:05am
It was just the Auxiliaries and their female guards who walked the raised road leading North-East towards Berlin. The fat stone-faced Sergeant had left them at the gate to the camp, giving their guards orders to deliver the women to the Major’s billet, a hotel in the Berlin suburbs that was still intact.
As they neared the burnt out shell of a German halftrack which had crashed into a tree by the left road ditch, Frieda turned to Karsten putting her plan into action. All while their guards were distracted chatting about handsome boys in their Platoon.
“They plan to hand us over as slaves to some officer.” Frieda whispered in Latin to Karsten, who to her credit didn't betray her emotions.
“The bastards. Do you have a plan on escaping?”
Frieda nodded. “Yes. You have to create a distraction and I'll do the rest.”
Karsten smiled in understanding. Behind her, Frieda felt a shove in the back from Ivana. “What are you two yammering on about?” The Redhead snarled in very bad German, clutching her rifle menacingly.
Frieda turned, smiling innocently. “We are merely praying for our salvation. What's the harm in that?” Next to her, Karsten nodded fervently.
The two Soviet women glanced at each other and laughed. “You stupid Nazi bitch. There is no God, just the universal truth of communism.” Ivana said after their laughter had died down. “Now keep moving before I shoot you!” Next to her, Katya flashed them both a sympathetic look but gestured with her rifle. “You heard her, move along.” Sharing a knowing glance, the two German Auxiliaries played along…for the time being.
As they approached the wrecked halftrack, Karsten suddenly spun around to face Katya. “I need to take a leak…please.” Ivana narrowed her eyes. “What do you think this is? A pleasant walk in the part, fascist? Turn hell around, now!’ She snarled in broken German, raising her rifle.
“Wait, Ivana.” The smaller Katya warned in Russian, putting her hand on the redhead's weapon. “Do you want her to soil herself? I'm sure the Major wouldn't like that.”
Frieda could see the young Russian's mind working overtime, weighing up her options.“Ugh! Alright, I suppose I could use a smoke, but you go with her, Katya. I'll take blondie under the tree. She tries anything, shoot her.”
Katya nodded, before gesturing with her head to Karsten to a row of nearby bushes. Frieda shared a brief nod with her friend, she had done her part, now it was Frieda's turn.
“Don't you try anything, bitch or you're dead!” Ivana hissed as she led Frieda over to the tree by the wrecked halftrack. As she moved forward, she nearly tripped on a thick fallen branch. I could use that against Ivana, I just need an opening…
“Just stay there and don't fucking move!” Ivana said, slinging her rifle around her shoulder and taking out her cigarettes. She took her eyes off Frieda for just a second, to desperately light it.
That was all the opening she needed.
Frieda quickly snatched up the thick branch, and with a swift back handed lunge brought it across Ivana’s head with a sickening crack.
“Ugh!?!’ The young Russian croaked as she fell with a heavy thud onto her side, where she lay motionless. Dropping the branch, she heard the sound of rushing footsteps on grass, heralding the reappearance of Katya. Her big doe shaped eyes flicked between Frieda and her unconscious friend, cute features giving over to rage.
“You bitch!” She swore in Russian, bringing up her rifle and cycling the bolt, bringing it up to Frieda's chest. “You'll pay for - agrh!!” Her scream came before the thick wet thunk to the back of her head.
The young Soviet soldier collapsed forward in an undignified heap, rifle dropping to the ground, to reveal a startled Karsten clutching a small rock.
“Mein gött! D-did we kill them?!” She stammered, glancing at the motionless Russians and dropping the rock in shock. Frieda advanced, putting her hands on her friend's shoulders, squeezing them.
“I don't think so, Karsten. But we can always check.” That seemed to reassure the younger woman. “Right, so what do we do now? Make a break for it?”
Frieda turned, glancing at the bodies of the young Russian's, putting the next phase of her plan into motion.
“We strip them and put on their uniforms.” She smirked walking over to the stricken Ivana
Karsten's eyes widened in surprise. “I-I'm sorry, Frieda. We're going to take their clothes?”
Frieda crouched by Ivana’s prone form, rolling her onto her back and checking her pulse, finding a weak but steady rhythm. “Yes. We can't get to Hamburg, my home, dressed like this. Their uniforms should help us blend in.” She then stood up, stripping off her clean uniform, until she stood in only her slip and knickers.
Frieda began to pull off Ivana’s boots. “This one's just my size and Katya is yours.” She looked up, sensing the younger woman's hesitation. “Come on, Karsten. We don't have much time. You aren't squeamish are you?” She teased gently.
Shaking her head but smiling, Karsten walked back to Katya's body, flipping her into her back. “So Hamburg. Your daughters there, right? With your sister?” She asked, dragging Katya over to the halftrack by her ankles.
Unbuttoning Ivana’s tunic and taking off her belt, Frieda nodded without looking up. “Mhm. Hamburg is in the British sector, so we'll need transportation to get to the checkpoint at Wittenberge.”
“Let's make a deal. When we get to Hamburg, we'll both start looking for our men.” Karsten said, holding out a hand, which Frieda clasped and squeezed. “Deal.”
Karsten nodded then checked Katya's pulse, breathing a sigh of relief before she yanked off the Russian's boots.
11:20am
‘Damn this thing itches like a horse blanket, I miss my nice clean uniform.” Karsten complained as she buttoned up Katya's tunic.
“There's no pleasing some people.” Frieda quipped dryly, fixing on Ivana’s cap.
At their feet lay the two unconscious scantily clad Russian soldiers, shoulder to shoulder hidden from the world by the shadow of the rusted halftrack. Ivana was wearing only a solid cream satin bra and matching high waisted briefs. While Katya looked even more delicate clad in just a thin white slip and french cut white knickers underneath, the nipples of her small breasts peaking under the thin fabric.
“Say what you like about these Reds, they scrub up well. Not what I expected.” Frieda said, tossing Katya's rifle to Karsten.
The young brunette looped it over her shoulder. “I always thought that the whole thing about the Soviets being untermenschen was all lies.”
Frieda nodded, shouldering Ivana’s rifle as the two walked back onto the road. “While I don't like the thought of bolsheviks strutting around our fatherland, I don't necessarily blame them for invading.”
She then paused looking up and down the road. Karsten laughed at her confusion. “If we're heading west then we should be heading away from the sun.”
Frieda flashed her a smile. “Alright, BDM girl. You lead the way.”
Falling into step, the two auxiliaries dressed in stolen Soviet uniforms headed northwest leaving Katya and Ivana asleep in the ditch.
Abandoned Farm, 1km Northwest, Rural Brandenburg, Soviet Sector, 12:00pm
By noon, Frieda and Karsten had put a lot of distance between themselves and the unconscious Russians who had by now probably had woken up.
The partially ruined suburbs of Potsdam had given way to the arable farmland of the Brandenburg countryside. It's once peaceful fields and roads, now cluttered with abandoned military and civilian vehicles. The two women had checked each and every vehicle, only to be disappointed in finding either wrecks or empty fuel tanks.
Karsten sighed as she checked the fuel tank of an abandoned wehrmacht kübelwagen. “Scheisser, another dry tank. You would think at least one of these junkers would have an empty tank.”
Frieda wiped the sweat from her brow with her sleeve. “I'm not surprised, the Soviets probably syphoned off the gas or maybe Civilians.” She squinted, placing a hand over her eyes, seeing a small farm off to the right of the right, beyond the hedgerows.
“Hey Karsten. There's a farm half a mile down the road. Maybe we might get lucky.”
The brunette shielded her own eyes, nodding in recognition. “Never say never. Who knows? Maybe we'll find a tractor.” She added sardonically.
12:07pm
The two auxiliaries swept through the farmhouse, rifles raised, finding it abandoned and devoid of food, except a few chickens and livestock.
Moving onto the barn, they had hit the jackpot.
“Is that a Wehrmacht BW43 motorcycle sidecar?” Karsten's eyes had lit up when they had discovered the abandoned vehicle, along with its keys, discarded wehrmacht uniforms and empty weapons and a full jerry can of fuel.
“ How do you know about motorcycles, Karsten?” Frieda asked, surprised.
The younger woman smiled wistfully. “It was how my dear Fritz swept me off my feet. With a cocky smile, handsome looks and a BMW R75. He later taught me to ride it, you know, in happier times…” A look of melancholy washed over her beautiful features.
Frieda gently squeezed her shoulder. “You sure are full of surprises for a BDM girl. The last time I checked, proper German women shouldn't be driving motorcycles in their free time?” She said, flashing a smile.
“Well, Frieda, the last time I checked, proper German women shouldn't be mugging other women for their clothes. But it's been a day of firsts.” Karsten replied with dry sarcasm.
The two burst out laughing for a moment, then Karsten collected herself, picking up the full jerry can. “Come on, help me fill her up.”
It didn't take the women long to completely fill up the tank.
As Frieda opened up the barn doors, Karsten straddled the bike and switched on the engine, filling the barn with the throaty roar of the V8 engine.
“We'll have enough gas for 3 perhaps 4 hours of driving!” Karsten yelled over the din of the engine.
Frieda nodded, jumping into the sidecar. “Good, that should get us close to the checkpoint if we stick to the sideroads and avoid Red Army patrols!”
She then glanced at their stolen uniforms. “We'll also need to get a change of clothes, papers and a new vehicle, if we're going to get past the Reds and Englishmen! If we're dressed like Red Army and armed then we'll either get shot or arrested!”
“First things first!” Karsten smiled as she opened the throttle, speeding out of the barn into the balmy summer air.
1km from the Wittenberge Checkpoint, Outskirts of Havelberg, Germany, Soviet Sector, 15:05pm
For the next three hours, the pair had stuck to the smaller country roads and by roads. Between Karsten's driving skills and the off road versatility of the BW43, they had made good time.
There were a few hairy moments when the pair had to avoid the occasional Red Army patrol. And on one memorable occasion, they had to swerve out of a path of three T-34 tanks coming from the opposite direction. It was only through Karsten's quick thinking that they avoided a head on crash.
Karsten glanced down at the fuel gauge. “We're nearly running on fumes, Frieda! We'll need that vehicle and change of clothes soon!”
As they rounded the next bend, Frieda saw the boxy black shape of a BMW limousine in the distance, parked on the side of the road near a line of trees. “There's a car up ahead. Do you see it?”
Karsten nodded as they drove past a stone mile marker. “Ja. I’ll park the bike off the road so we can take a closer look.” She eased down the throttle, bringing the bike off the road and gently into the ditch switching off the engine.
As they dismounted, they looked up at the roadsign. “Look, Karsten. Only under a mile to Wittenberge, almost home.” She patted the brunette on the back as they crept forwards towards the limousine on the other side of the road. Using the ditch as cover they spied on the car and its occupants, who as luck would have it were two young women.
They were both young, in their early mid twenties if Frieda was any judge and pouring over a map laid over their car bonnet. There was a strong family resemblance between the women; both had the same oval features, shallow cheekbones and bright hazel eyes. They even had the same dark honey blonde hair; the older taller girl had her long hair in bunches, while the younger smaller one had braided pigtails. “Huh? They look like sisters…”
The sisters were dressed in expensive dresses; the older sister was wearing a black dress with white polka dots, matching heels and pearl choker and earrings. While her younger pigtailed sister was dressed in a red silk dress, matching pumps and a good dress watch.
Karsten smiled. “Would you look at that? They have both clothes and a car. And the pigtailed girl is wearing a very nice dress that looks just my size.”
Frieda raised her eyebrows. “It sounds like you're warming up to the idea.”
Karsten shrugged. “It’ll be good to wear something normal for a change. Besides, I'm baking in this outfit.” She glanced back at the two civilians. "So, how do you want to play this?”
Frieda grinned shouldering her Russian rifle. “Well, we are dressed like Russians. So let's act like Russians.” She climbed out of the ditch and headed across the road. Chuckling, Karsten was right behind her rifle raised.
“Hold it right there, Nazis! Put those arms up!” Frieda cried in her most commanding voice as she and Karsten advanced on the women rifles raised, playing their parts.
The two women's heads shot up, panicking as they raised their hands above their heads. “Nein! Don't shoot us, please! We are not armed!” The older sister cried.
“What do you want?! Please, don't hurt us!” The younger pigtailed girl whimpered in terror.
Frieda kept her face straight and her voice menacing. “Your travel papers. Present them to us, now.” The sisters hesitated for a moment. “You, in the polka dress. Papers, now. We haven't got all day.” She gestured to the car with her rifle.
Karsten kept her rifle on pigtails, inching towards her carefully. While polka dot kept her hands up as she walked over to the handbags on the bonnet.
Shaking the woman nervously dug them out and handed them over to Frieda before backing away, arms raised, next to her sister.
Frieda looked through the papers, one hand on her rifle. “Hm? Trudl and Hedwige Bauer? Heading to Hamburg in the British sector to see your mother, right?”
Trudl, the older sister, nodded her head frantically. Both girls were close to tears.
Frieda handed the papers to Karsten. “Well, I’m sorry, frauleins. But you won't be making it to Hamburg.”
“And we’ll be needing something else from you…your clothes.” Karsten said as they advanced on the sisters with their rifle butts raised.
Trudl and Hedwige whimpered. “What I don't understand?! We are innocent w-ugh?!” Trudl grunted as Frieda shoved her rifle butt into her cheek, sending her sprawling unconscious into the grass.
“Trudl!? No! Why are -argh?!” Karsten's rifle had caught the younger Hedwige square sending her into an unconscious heap next to her sister.
Frieda sighed, shouldering her rifle. “Sorry about this, frauliens. But desperate times call for desperate measures. It was nothing personal.”
Karsten knelt by the women, checking their pulses. “They're alive, thank God. We were a little rough with them though. I feel like shit.”
‘Yeah, I know what you mean. Come on, let's get their clothes off.” Taking the sleeping women by their ankles, Frieda and Karsten dragged their limp bodies into the treeline, ignoring the red bruises that were forming on their pretty faces.
15:30pm
“Now this is more like it, Frieda. Fritz always said red was my colour.” Karsten said appreciatively, smoothing down Hedwige's dress. “And these shoes are perfect.”
“And Werner likes me in polka dots.” Frieda smiled as she fixed on Trudl's pearl jewellery, wearing the woman's dress and heels.
Behind them, partially hidden by the bushes and discarded red army uniforms, were Trudl and Hedwige curled up together and wearing only their expensive underwear. Trudl was clad only in her black french lace bra and matching French cut lace panties. While Hedwige was evidently feeling adventurous, as she was wearing just a pair of red lace and satin frilly knickers, her small but well rounded breasts, with dark pink rose petal areolas on full display.
“Huh? That's something I would never do, go topless.” Karsten commented as they left the treeline and the unconscious scantily clad women behind.
At the car, Frieda read the transit papers.“So I'm Trudl Bauer, your older sister, that would make you…
Karsten smiled. “I'm Hedwige Bauer, younger sister and we are going to see our sick mother in Hamburg.”
Satisfied, Frieda replaced the papers into Trudl's handbag, swinging it behind her shoulder before sliding onto the passenger seat. “Wunderbar, we shouldn't have any problems.”
Getting behind the wheel, Karsten sniggered. “You know we look nothing alike right?” She switched on the ignition and pulled out onto the road.
Leaning into the seat, Frieda smiled. “Neither does my sister and I, but we do have the same eyes.”
Wittenberge Checkpoint, Border between the Soviet and British Sectors, 15: 46pm
With Karsten once again behind the wheel, it didn't take the pair long to reach the checkpoint in their stolen limousine. Compared to the motorbike ride, it was uneventful.
When they arrived, they found a long queue of people, horses and carts coming from the checkpoint. Ahead was the checkpoint with two pairs of guards, two wearing the forest green and saucer helmets of the British and the drab olive green of the Red Army. Leaning out of the passenger window, Frieda's blood ran cold as she saw the telltale black uniforms of the infamous NKVD. From the look of them they were scanning transit papers and pulling female civilians for questioning, much to the chagrin of the watching British troops.
“Schiesser! There are NKVD at the checkpoint and it looks like they are pulling up women for questioning.”
Karsten groaned. “Verdammt! Did they find those Russians?! You don't think they're looking for us?
Frieda shook her head, as they noticed a middle aged farmer lose his patience and turn his produce cart around, the large draft horse neighing in reply.
“Perhaps we should ask that farmer.”
As the farmer neared them, Karsten rolled down the window and stuck her head out.
“Good afternoon, mein herr. Can you tell us what's going on at the checkpoint? What's the hold up?”
The grizzled farmer stopped and flashed them a weary smile. “ Good afternoon, Frauleins. It's those damn Bolsheviks and their NKVD, that's what's happening. Apparently they are looking for some female werewolves…”
The two women glanced at each other puzzled. The farmer shook his head. “ You know the werewolves, right? Those crazy diehard Nazi resistance idiots. Making things worse for the rest of us tired of the war.”
Karsten nodded. “I see. So they are just searching and questioning female civilians,yes?”
The man nodded. “Ja and searching everyone's car and cart too.” He shrugged, patting his mare's head. “I mean I was going to Hamburg for the farmers market, but I’m going home. I can stand those smug Russians. At least the British smile at you.”
Karsten flashed him a sympathetic look. “Well, thanks for your help, mein herr.”
The farmer nodded once. “Look, frauleins. If I were you then I would go back the way you came and try again tomorrow. Auf Wiedersehen.” With a doff of his cap, the farmer trotted back down the road.
The women got out of the car “So what do we know, Frieda?” Karsten asked, looking back at the checkpoint. “This car and these clothes won't get us past that checkpoint, now. We need a new plan.”
Frieda scanned the refugee line looking for any opportunity, as she got closer she noticed two young nuns at the end of the line who courtseyed as she looked at them. Frieda smiled, a plan forming in her mind. They look our size and maybe the Russians might not like nuns but the British just might.
They were very attractive girls; one had a diamond shaped face, high cheekbones and green eyes. While the other had cute rounded freckled features with a tapered chin and big turquoise coloured eyes. They were both dressed in long black habits, tied with rope belts from where they hung their rosaries and flat black shoes. Their heads were partially covered in the characteristic white wide birdlike wimples. Flashing the two nuns a smile, Frieda returned to Karsten.
“I think I have a solution to our problem.” She flicked her head at the nuns. “Those sisters are just our size and look innocent enough. Let's ambush them and take their outfits. The Russians aren't looking for two nuns.”
Karsten walked next to her. “How ironic that the Catholic Church comes to our aid not once but twice.” Frieda patted her shoulder. “Well it did say ‘ Gött mitt uns ’ on our belt buckles.”
Karsten chuckled as they crept up on the two nuns. “And now He'll strike us down for touching His brides.” She quipped dryly.
They took the two nuns by surprise. Simultaneously, Frieda and Karsten clamped hands around their mouths to muffle their cries of protest before punching them in the back of their heads. The young nuns went limp with grunts of pain.
The Auxiliaries looked up, relieved that no-one had registered the nuns' assault. They then dragged their unconscious bodies under their shoulders into the roadside ditch beside the parked car.
5 minutes later
“We are certainly going to hell for this.” Karsten joked as she tied her stolen nuns' habit with the rope belt.
“Perhaps, Karsten. But if this reunites me with my Greta and Werner and you with Fritz, then I can live with that.” Frieda replied, fixing on the wimple. “Sorry sisters…”
Karsten also stopped to apologise to the sleeping nuns. “Sorry, frauleins but our needs were greater.”
They glanced at the unconscious scantily clad bound and gagged real nuns curled up unconscious at their feet, clad only in their beige slips and knickers, showing off their petite, slim bodies. With their whimples removed, the freckled nun had short ginger hair cut tomboyishly short while the green eyed nun had cute shoulder length black ringlets.
They had torn the dresses stolen from the Bauer sisters into strips, binding their wrists, ankles and gagging them.
“Why didn't we do that before, Frieda?” Asked Karsten as they left the nuns asleep in the ditch.
“We didn't have anything to tie the others up with. Come on, let's go.”
Playing the part of humble nuns, the two bowed their heads and rejoined the refugee line with none the wiser.
16:01pm
After 10 minutes, the Soviets let through a young family, an elderly couple in a VW Beetle and a farmer with a cart full of milk, who mentioned he was on his way to Hamburg. It took the Soviets only a few minutes to determine he had no women hidden in the back.
Then it was Frieda and Karsten's turn.
When he saw their stolen habits, the young NKVD officer sniggered to his fellows. “Go back the way you came, ladies. And don't even think about preaching to us. There is no God in the USSR, only the universal truth of Communism.” He said in broken German, his partner and the Red Army troops chortling, drawing disapproving looks from the British.
Frieda put on her best tearful face. “Please, good sir. Our convent is just beyond the checkpoint. You must let us pass. God will look favourably on you.”
The NKVD officer crossed his arms. “Ugh! Like I need God's favour. Besides, you could be werewolves for all we know. Turn back now!”
Then a British soldier, the chevrons on his sleeve marking him as a Sergeant stepped forward. “What's going on here?” He was a handsome man, around Frieda's age with a dark brown moustache above his top lip.
Frieda acted quickly, remembering her English. “Please, good Sergeant. I was telling this man that we must be allowed through. Our convent is just past the checkpoint. But he seems most insistent that we stay. Will you help us?”
The Sergeant turned to the NKVD officers. “Come on now, comrade. Be a good sport. What's the harm in letting them pass to their convent?”
It was the second NKVD officer, a blonde haired man who spoke. “Because they could be spies or these werewolves I'm sure you've heard of Sergeant. Letting them pass is mistake.”
The Sergeant shook his head. “Really? Disguising as a nun sounds completely absurd. Besides, they look harmless.” He sighed, beckoning Frieda and Karsten forward and opening the barrier, letting them through. “My apologies, Sisters”
The Russians looked outraged. “What do you think you're doing, English?” The blonde officer went an angry shade of puce.
“Just abiding by food fashioned fair play and common decency my Russian friend.” He replied, closing the barrier. “You Reds are always so suspicious of everything.”
The NKVD officer grunted. “Tsk. You British are always soft touch.” with that he angrily turned back to the line of refugees.
The British Sector 16:12pm
The British Sergeant shook his head at the Russian's back. “Unbelievable. Sorry again, Sisters. Will you be alright from here?”
Frieda nodded. “Yes, our Covent isn't far. Thank you young man. Bless you, in the name of the Father…” Despite not speaking a word of English, Karsten followed her lead and her Catholic school education paid off again. After giving the British their blessing, the two false sisters bade them farewell and continued up the road.
Once they were out of earshot. Karsten sighed with relief. “For a second I thought we were done for. If it wasn't for that Englander Sergeant…" She held the pause for emphasis.
Frieda nodded. “Werner always said you could rely on the British for being both polite and courteous. If a little gullible.”
Karsten rubbed the back of her neck. “So Frieda? How are we getting to Hamburg? We have no car, no motorcycle. Please don't say we’ll walk. It's an awful long way after all.”
Looking ahead, Frieda smiled as they neared the milk cart. “Looks like God moves in mysterious ways.” She pointed to it, making her friend smile.
“Well it's either that or we have absurd luck.”
Frieda gently squeezed Karsten's shoulder. “Who knows it could be both? Let's go, Karsten, let's get a lift from the good farmer. And give him our blessing.”
The two auxiliaries flagged down the milk wagon and with the farmer's permission climbed into the back, after giving him.a quick blessing. For the first time since the war’s end, both women had the faintest of hopes that they would see their loved ones again.
As the cart got underway, Frieda closed her eyes and saw the faces of her beloved Werner and darling daughter, Greta. Soon, I will hold you both again. And I pray Karsten will hold her Fritz again as well.
