He was not a violent man.
He and his Polish wife, Magda, lived modest, quiet lives, and raised their two children, a boy, and a girl.
He thought he was relatively happy, that he and his family were insulated from much of the political unrest caused by Hitler and his party.
Hartmann was careful to avoid any possible insinuation that he was anti-Nazi, but he loathed the ideas that were coming into vogue.
He detested the thought of a ‘master’ race, having seen that, once cut, all men and women bleed red.
His outlook on his fellow man was shaped more by his understanding and observation of the frailty and the fragile structures that comprised the human body.
Dr. Hartmann continued his work, making interesting strides in combining biological and chemical compounds that increased the ability for the body to heal itself.
He was on the verge of a tremendous breakthrough.
He had isolated some mechanism that might make humans immune to normal injuries.
He knew his methods could be used to create solutions to some of the most vexing problems facing mankind.
He was ready to prepare and submit a request for a grant to explore this new arena of science and medicine, and secure the funding he needed to implement his plan.
—————
Then, 1939 dragged him rudely into the reality and horrors of modern warfare.
—————
His research had brought him to the attention of Hitler’s SS-Standortarzt Eduard Wirths, who had him arrested for ‘crimes against the State’.
Hartmann was sent to the Stalag and ordered to perform surgeries on SS troops brought in with heinous wounds.
Following the oath of his profession, Hartmann did his best to save lives, regardless of their nationality.
He was warned that, despite his cooperation, his family’s lives were forfeit if he refused to perform any operations as requested.
One day, he met Dr. Josef Mengele, whose reputation preceded him.
Dr. Hartmann was fascinated by and disgusted with the man.
Mengele had a hypnotic, powerful personality, and was able to immediately comprehend staggeringly complex medical procedures.
Dr. Hartmann was forced to watch as Mengele supervised horrific experiments on prisoners.
The thought of his beloved wife, Magda, and their two children, Villi and Emma, stayed his hand.
He couldn’t bear to watch, but he had no choice.
He knew that it would soon be his turn to operate.
He had no idea of how he would comply with such an order.
—————
The day came and Dr. Hartmann and Dr. Mengele were prepped for surgery.
The patient was a young man, who was feeble.
Dr. Hartmann did not immediately recognize him, due to his emaciated state.
While he was being prepped, he smiled at the two men, in spite of his obvious discomfort at the procedure.
“We will be operating on his frontal lobe, Herr Doktor Hartmann,” said Mengele.
“I wish to see if it is possible for us to use sulfuric acid and nitrous oxide to affect a situation whereby the frontal cortex creates accelerated neuron activity,” he said.
“I surmise that this increased activity will, in turn, make this oaf intelligent to perhaps the level of a cretin, or maybe a moron,” he added, with a grim smile.
“Herr Doktor, do you not think that this will have no actual effect?” asked Hartmann.
“It is well-known that the brain itself will not feel pain, but the added chemical reagents may inflame the surrounding skin and membranes, causing incredible pain, do you not agree?” he asked.
Dr. Josef Mengele’s eyes descended on him.
He felt cold, as cold as the black darkness behind those piercing orbs.
“Dr. Hartmann, I care not for the feelings or welfare of this simpleton,” said Mengele.
“I find it disturbing, most disturbing, that you are so acutely concerned with this side-effect of the procedure,” he added.
Mengele bent to the patient, making a small incision across his forehead.
Hartmann felt his testicles shrivel into his body.
He was fighting with himself inwardly because he knew the consequences of not following orders.
Yet, his conscience was railing against this injustice!
A bead of sweat formed on his own forehead, which one of the nurses dutifully wiped away with a sponge.
The young man grimaced, then smiled again, not understanding the impact of the cut.
The nurses blotted the blood from the incision away from the boy’s skin.
Hartmann was tense, thinking of his options.
Could he kill Mengele?
If he did, the lives of his family would no doubt be forfeit.
And yet, this innocent boy did not deserve such a cruel fate!
Torn by indecision, Hartmann put down his scalpel.
“Herr Dr. Mengele, perhaps this boy is not the best subject for this test,” he inquired.
“Dr. Hartmann, it is necessary to perform this operation on this particular patient for the reason that I am wanting to personally observe the results!” shouted Mengele.
Hartmann was taken aback by the ferocity of the reproach.
He needed to come to a decision, and quickly.
He grasped the scalpel more tightly, gauging the distance between himself and his target.
Mengele’s eyes narrowed, and he turned back to the boy, ready to drip some of the acid into the wound.
He moved his scalpel into the wound, pressing slightly to open it to receive the acid.
Just then, an adjutant officer suddenly interrupted the operation.
“Herr Doktor Mengele, my apologies, but it is most urgent,” he stammered.
“Scheisse!” spat Mengele, tossing the scalpel into a bowl of water.
“What is it, dummkopf?” he shouted at the unfortunate officer.
“Herr Hitler requests your presence immediately!” said the SS officer, holding out a telegram in his trembling hand.
Mengele snatched it and read it quickly, then just as quickly tossing it away.
“Ach! What nonsense!” he shouted, pulling off his surgical gloves and mask.
“Put this idiot into his holding cell, and Dr. Hartmann, you come with me!” he shouted, swearing lustily in German.
The young man, grinned at Wernher Hartmann, a slight amount of drool in one corner of his mouth.
“I love you!” he said.
Hartmann spoke quickly to the nurses.
“Stitch that cut closed, and damn you, be careful! Use anesthetic procedures! Bandage and suture that wound as if he were the Fuerher’s own son himself, or by the Black Forest trolls I will have your hides!” he shouted.
The two nurses nodded at him, shocked by his response.
He gripped the young man’s hand.
“I’m sorry, son, but I will be back. You won’t be subject to this, I promise!” he whispered into the boy’s ear.
The young man looked at him, still smiling and drooling.
“I love you!” he said.
Dr. Wernher Hartmann fled before the nurses could see his tears.
—————
“Herr Doktor, I will need to reschedule our procedure for another day,” said Dr. Mengele.
“I trust this will not impose too much of a burden, hmm?” he asked.
Hartmann knew Mengele cared nothing for his opinion.
He thought about the scalpel he still held, that he had unconsciously carried from the operating theatre.
One quick stroke and this monster would be finished.
He readied himself to strike.
“Oh, by the way, Herr Hartmann,” said Mengele.
Hartmann froze in his tracks.
“Ja? Vas ist?” he asked, stepping closer, readying himself.
He knew he would also die, but he hoped Magda and the kinder would understand h
is sacrifice, and eventually forgive him.
“Herr Hartmann, I bring news of your family,” said Mengele.
Stunned, Wernher stood his ground, staying his hand, with the utmost of willpower.
“They are being sent to a better living facility, in Auschwitz,” said Mengele.
“I hear it is very beautiful, this time of year,” he smiled.
“What of me? Am I to join them there,” Hartmann asked, daring not to hope to be reunited.
“Oh, we shall see, Herr Doktor,” said Mengele.
He stroked his chin, thoughtfully, as if considering something important and secret.
“You are very valuable to me here,” he mused, “but perhaps you would be better suited to my projects there.”
Mengele’s hand stopped, and he rubbed his left cheek vigorously, wincing slightly.
Hartmann wondered what Mengele meant.
The adjutant had returned and noticed the scalpel.
“Herr Doktor, if you please?” he said, motioning to the blade.
Hartmann stood very still.
In the coming years, he would remember his weakness and his indecision.
He would forever regret the actions he took.
Slowly, head bowed, he handed the scalpel he had received from the boy’s father, from Solingen, to the SS Officer.
“Thank you, Herr Doktor,” said the man, as they watched Dr. Mengele walk to the waiting automobile.
As he walked away, they heard him speaking to the driver.
“Ach! The old fool probably thinks his balls have descended, again!” he said laughing.
“The joke is on him, though! Last time I examined him, Der Fuerher had no balls!” he laughed.
Mengele got into the car, and it drove away.
—————
Three weeks later, Hartmann found himself in Auschwitz.
Magda and the children were nowhere to be found.
At first, he was crushed by the knowledge.
When he began to understand just what was occurring in the Camp, he thanked God that they were not there.
Until he realized that, perhaps, they HAD been there, and he was simply too late.
—————
Sometime later, he escaped the Camp.
—————
Some time, later still, he was in Italy.
A local woman had taken to him, and he soon felt obligated to go through the motions with her.
It served his purpose well, as he needed a cover identity.
The hunt had begun for Nazis, and anyone of German descent was suspect.
The woman’s affections provided him with a respectable excuse as a traveling salesman of surplus medical supplies.
He had managed to secure an alibi.
Soon, she tired of him, and she sought a more responsive lover.
He was glad to let her go.
She’d provided the necessary items to keep him away from the authorities, who were screaming for Nazi blood.
He was not a Nazi.
He had never been.
But, he was full-blooded German, and he also reasoned that no one would believe him if they knew he’d been in Auschwitz.
—————
One day, two men walked up to him.
“Dr. Hartmann? Please come with us?” said the bigger of the two, in German.
“I am afraid you have the wrong person,” he said, suddenly aware of the danger.
He wished he spoke Italian better, so as to be able to pull off being a native.
“My name is Dietrich Haas,” he said, trying to smile.
“I am a salesman, not a doctor, good sirs,” he added.
“You are Dr. Wernher Hartmann and were married to Magda Lewandowska. You and she had two children – a boy, Vilhelm, and a girl, Emma. All three are deceased,” he said.
“I am sorry,” he said, looking not at all as though he were.
“What do you want?” asked Wernher.
“Herr Doktor, we have a proposal for you,” said the man.
The man was not smiling.
—————
For the next several years, Wernher was made a member of the KGB.
He was taught all manner of obscure trade in spycraft, and he was a natural.
His mind was sharp and he excelled in his studies.
Soon, he was being sent into the field, usually in search of former Nazi officers.
He found a calling in being able to find such men, and deal with them properly.
His heart had come to terms with the loss of his family, but he had chosen to repay their killers in remorseless fashion.
He reasoned that such animals deserved nothing more.
—————
One day, in late 1979, he approached men he knew to be CIA agents and offered to become a double-agent for them. They almost arrested him and laughed him out of their offices.
—————
On April 24, 1980, Operation Eagle Claw commenced, and a disaster of major proportions ensued.
President Jimmy Carter was embarrassed, as was the nascent Delta Force.
A large quantity of classified information had been left behind at the site, despite heroic efforts of the Delta Force men.
The CIA was at a loss as to how to contain the situation.
—————
On April 26, 1980, a man walked into CIA Headquarters.
He was wearing a white linen suit, with a white silk tie, and wore a jaunty white Fedora.
His eyes were hidden behind aviator sunglasses.
He carried a tan satchel.
The security guards eyed him uneasily as he strode by them, ignoring their stares.
People walked past him, doing double-takes.
Was he a movie star or somebody equally important, they wondered?
He walked slowly to the receptionist’ desk, scanning the area professionally.
“May I help you?” she asked, icily.
The recent debacle in the Desert had affected everyone’s mood.
Dr. Wernher Hartmann took a packet of documents from the satchel.
He unceremoniously tossed them into the receptionist’s plump lap.
“I shall be waiting over there,” he said, gesturing to the leather seats near the paintings of former CIA directors.
He walked slowly over to the seats and sat down.
A few minutes later, his career as a CIA agent had begun.
—————
CHAPTER ONE
OK, so here I am, under water, in the hot tub, with Bone’s cock in my mouth.
I’ve been down here for about seven or eight minutes, but it seems like maybe hours.
My jaw hurts a bit.
Bone’s cock is huge.
Like, it’s famously big.
It was on the cover of a sports magazine once!
Bone’s cum bubbles out of my nostrils and hangs in front of my eyes in the water.
I’ve been watching it for a while, now.
It’s thick and ropy, and normally it’s delicious.
But, right now, I am pissed.
So, I am not exactly enjoying the sensations, and tastes, as much as I wish I could.
Karl has his dick in my ass, and he seems to be intent on pounding me into the side of the hot tub, regardless of his brother being in the way.
Asshole!
I extricate Bone’s bone from my sore mouth, and spit out some cum, rising up from my watery grave.
Hah! That’s a laugh!
I notice that my tattoo is glowing.
Nice.
I am now officially a freak.
Boned 3 (Mandarin Connection Book 6) Page 2