The Master Race

Chapter 1
The Master Race

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Chapter Description: In Nazi Germany a young jewish woman and her father are being persecuted by Kapitan Schiffer and his men, but when Schiffer murders the father he falls under a terrible curse that lets him feel exactly how periless it feels to be a Jewish girl surrounded by Nazis.

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The Master Race

By Emma Finn

This story is one of six new stories in the compilation, Talons of the Hawk by Emma Finn, a book of transformation and body swap stories available on Amazon, iBooks, Barnes & Noble and Smashwords.

1

The Nazi soldier grabbed Dania by the collar of her coat and pulled her back, almost off her feet.

Her foot came down in the broad rain-splattered puddle beneath her, landing unevenly, and her ankle twisted, making her wince and open her mouth to cry out. But before she could release the scream, he spun her in a wide circle. The coat slipped off her shoulder and then her left arm and she twisted out of it, going down hard into the water and churning mud. Beneath the coat she had on only a short sleeved blouse over her skirt and both were instantly drenched in the water on the ground and coming down from the sky.

Her suitcase fell from her hand and now she did scream, pushing herself up to her hands and knees and reaching for it, scrabbling toward it. Another soldier kicked it out of the way and all eight of them laughed.

“No, please!” she begged. “I need that! It’s important!”

The soldier who had grabbed her, dropped her coat into the mud and caught her by her shoulders, pulling her up. Dania screamed.

“Let me go! Please!”

“Release her!” cried Gregor, her father. “She has done nothing.”

“She does not need to have done anything,” said the German kapitan. “She is a Jew. That is more than enough.”

Dania was weeping now, eliciting more chuckling from the Nazi squad, but it was only the stifled sound of it that showed she was crying. At night and with the rain streaking down her face, there was no visible sign beyond her stricken features.

“Silence her,” said the officer. “Her mewling is going to give me a headache.

“Shut up!” snapped the soldier holding her. He shook her hard. “Be quiet!” He roughly shook her again and when she stopped, dazed, he dropped her and she slumped on her knees into the mud.

Kapitan Schiffer took his eyes from her pitiful form and looked out across the darkened square of the little town. There was activity everywhere – soldiers searching houses, pulling Jews out to line them up. It wasn’t a big town and like the dozens he’d seen before, it was only noteworthy for its filthy degenerate inhabitants.

“Jews,” he said, sneering; sick of the lot of them. “The sooner the Fuehrer gives us permission to gun them down on sight, the better. I’m sick of the stench of them.”

He cleared his throat then spat at the girl on the floor where she was crumpled over her knees, hair falling on her face and into the water.

“Please,” said Gregor. “She is my child. She has done nothing to harm you or your soldiers. You do not need to be cruel. We will follow your instructions.”

“Done no harm to me?” replied Schiffer. “She fouls the earth I walk on. She taints the air I have to breathe.” He turned his metallic eyes on the old man. “Just like you.” He slid his sidearm from its holster, hanging it at his hip.

“We are doing what you ask,” stuttered Gregor. “We will do everything you say. We will line up with the others. We will get on the train. Please do not do this.”

Kapitan Schiffer turned to his men. “Did you hear that? This old fool is resisting.”

Gregor shook his head.

“He is inciting others to resist the decrees of the Reich.”

The soldiers chuckled again. The one that had manhandled Dania stretched his tongue down to his chin, grinning as he laughed, his eyes blazing. He had a series of three scars that sliced diagonally down his right cheek towards his mouth and as his cheeks warped, it took on a demoniacal caste.

Schiffer smiled coldly at Gregor. “Do you know the punishment for resisting us Jew?”

“Please... sir... We are not resisting you. We will do exactly as you say. You do not need to harm us.”

Dania lifted her heard, the water from the puddle and the rain washing down her face. Her lower lip was quivering. She looked from her father to the officer, opening her mouth to speak but accomplishing nothing more than a vague flapping of her lips.

“The punishment for resisting is death Jew,” said Schiffer, raising his arm to point the pistol at Gregor’s face.

“Please,” muttered Gregor. “We are not resisting.”

Schiffer smiled and pulled the trigger.

The muzzle flash lit up Dania’s gaping face.

The retort went out and then came back, reflected from the buildings of the square.

Gregor dropped vertically onto his knees.

There he remained for a second and then another.

Then he fell forward, arms at his sides, and dropped on his face in the mud.

2

Dania let out a scream of awful pitch and volume, gaping down at the corpse of her father. The scream went on and on and when the breath was drained from her she took in another agonising breath and screamed again.

He did not move. His face was in the water. His arms were still at his side. His buttocks pointed upwards, his knees too close to where his face had gone down.

In the instant after the gunshot, the air had been full of the stink of gunpowder, but the rain had drenched that away almost immediately.

Dania’s second scream died with her breath and she took in another long rasping intake of air. Then the gun butt of the scar-faced soldier, Ecker, smacked her in the cheek, spinning her round and knocking her down.

She landed on her back in water that reached up her sides, all sense and intent knocked out of her. She stared up at Ecker like a toddler, totally stunned, then the pain settled and the thought of her loss returned and she started to weep, touching her face where he’d struck it.

Ecker glowered down at her but the other privates laughed and Schiffer carefully reholstered his pistol, indifferent.

Dania was weeping again and she rolled over onto her side, oblivious to the water and the cold, staring at the back of her father’s head. There had still been no movement from him – of course there hadn’t; he had been shot in the face – but Dania couldn’t take her eyes off him, desperately hoping for it.

“Stop crying,” snapped Kapitan Schiffer.

But she didn’t stop. She went on weeping and weeping, bringing her soaked hands up to cover her mouth.

“Stop... crying,” said Schiffer, extending his pistol again, down toward her head.

Dania sobbed and sobbed, not removing her eyes from Gregor’s body for even a second, even to blink.

Then a second gunshot came.

It impacted the water in front of Dania’s face, throwing splatters up against her cheeks, and her head snapped up to look at the kapitan’s sneering expression in terror, her tears forgotten.

“Pick her up,” said Schiffer.

Ecker and another soldier roughly snatched her to her feet, though her legs bowed, unable, anymore, to carry her weight.

“Can I trust that you will not resist us as your father did?”

She stared back at him, eyes crazed.

“Hmmm?”

She said nothing.

Ecker grabbed her chin, squeezing his dirty fingers into her cheeks. “Answer him!”

“I won’t resist,” she whispered. “I won’t resist.”

“Good,” snapped Schiffer. “Take her away.”

Ecker manhandled her backwards as she reached behind him toward her father. “Papa!” Then her face darted left to the rain-drenched suitcase and she struggled to get free. The sudden movement from her unresisting form startled Ecker and she broke free.

He snatched after her, grabbing the loose bottom of the back of her blouse, but her momentum carried her forward and the fabric ripped. Still, the jerk twisted her and she lost balance, coming down on her side several feet from her quarry.

The rain was slowing but she had no sense of that. She had only one desire now in all the world. She pushed herself up and crawled and the soldiers simply watched, impressed perhaps by her temerity. On hands and knees she went forward until she was almost within reach of the suitcase, then Ecker snatched her up with his arms round her waist and chest. Dania squealed in panic and rage but Ecker snarled, cupping his hand over her mouth, pinning her body to his diagonally with his other arm.

“Stop wriggling you little devil,” he snapped, jerking her hard until she fell still.

Kapitan Schiffer chuckled, delighted by the display. “I have to admire your spirit Jew,” he said. “It makes one wonder why you fight so hard.” He looked back at her father’s dead body. “Though I suppose the most worthless of heirlooms might become priceless if it is all that remains of the past.” He smiled coldly, walking to the case. “Shall we see what is so important to you that you would show such disdain for the Reich?”

He tapped the case with the side of his foot then glanced at one of the soldiers. “Open it.”

The soldier wrenched it up, water pouring from a hole in one corner. He pulled at the catches, grimacing, then winced and broke the seal, letting the contents tip out all over the muddy ground.

The rain had now stopped entirely and the dampening effect it had had on the sound diminished. From all about them, cries and shouts came as townsfolk were pushed and threatened into orderly lines.

Schiffer stooped, prodding at the soaking items, flicking them clear to sink into the deep puddles. “Let me see...” He went on sifting. “Pretty dresses. Photos.” He lifted and glanced through the few they had saved then tossed them into the mud, eliciting a groan of despair from the girl’s throat. “Nothing of value. See?” He smiled affably and entirely falsely. “Apart from this perhaps.”

He pushed back the last of her clothes to reveal an old and timeworn piece of sculpture; a clearly worthless piece, too scratched and tattered to be entirely discernible. A bird of some kind obviously, but no lucid sign to its type.

Dania tensed, quivering, understanding the futility now of any form of resistance but unable to stop herself murmuring, “Please. Please.”

“You want this?” Schiffer smiled pleasantly again, holding it up. He turned his back on her, walking closer to the nearest building to take advantage of the light from its windows. He brushed at its surface, trying to make out the details. It was made of no stone he was aware of.

“It was my...”

Schiffer looked back quizzically.

“... my father’s. From his grandfather. It’s been in... in the family for...”

“Speak child,” said Schiffer. “Ecker. Release her. Her tears have appealed to my heart. Who could refuse such abject misery?”

There were chuckles all round but Ecker released her, a leer passing over his scarred face. Dania staggered toward Schiffer, her hand out to reach for the statuette. Schiffer went on examining it as the last of the rain’s moisture dripped from the roofline near him. In the darkness, the light above him was almost dazzling.

“You want this back?” he said.

Dania nodded eagerly.

“But you do understand that it doesn’t belong to you.”

She frowned, cocking her head, her mind almost shattered.

“It belongs to the Master Race.” He laughed. “Well of course it does. Everybody knows that Jews are inhuman. As such, how can they possibly own anything?”

The soldiers sniggered. Dania glanced at them and reached out again. “Please. Sir. I’m begging you. It is all I have left. It is worthless to you. Please.”

“How dare you ask this of me when you know it isn’t yours?” asked Schiffer, his voice saccharine. “You wish to steal this off those who rightfully own it?”

“No. Please. It is mine.”

Schiffer grinned maniacally. “No my dear. I think you’ll find it is nobody’s”

Then he struck it against the wall of the house as hard as he could, even as Dania darted forward and screamed, and the statuette shattered in a great cloud of dust.

3

Dania cried out in anguish and fell to her knees, utterly broken, as fragments of the statuette fell to the muddy ground.

The soldiers were laughing hysterically but Kapitan Schiffer only sneered down at the girl as she reached for the broken parts. The dust from the thing still hung in the still air about them both, settling on their damp clothes and scenting the air as it entered their mouths and noses.

“The Reich owns you now girl,” said the officer, “and it owns all your possessions. You would do well to remember that.”

She raised her head slowly until she was glaring at him with smouldering coals for eyes. “I wish you could feel how I feel,” she spat. “I wish you could know exactly what it’s like to lose everything; to be vilified for your race; to be abused and hurt by brutal men who should know better. I wish you could die feeling hopeless and frightened and lost.”

Schiffer stared at the trembling girl, momentarily awestruck, then he laughed long and loudly at her.

“Such generosity,” he said, his voice full of mirth. “You do me a kindness. And that kindness should be rewarded.” He turned his face into an exaggeration of pondering thought. “In return,” he said, “I wish you and your heirs great happiness, fortune and prosperity; hereafter and forever.” He glanced up at his soldiers. “Take her away and throw her in the train with the others. She can get her first taste of that at Dachau.”

Two of the soldiers grabbed her up, carrying her away. She didn’t resist this time, only clutching the head of the shattered statuette unnoticed against her breast.

Kapitan Schiffer turned his back on her, still chuckling, surveying the damage his commands had wrought.

Never in the wildest dreams of his childhood had he considered a time when he might possess such casual power. It was Godlike almost; his whim deciding the life or death of these cattle.

“Clear away this refuse,” he said, “and hurry up getting the Jews out of these buildings. I’m going to go and dry off.”

He didn’t bother watching them scoop up the remains of the old man and carry him toward the pyre they were building. It was all about making a statement. That was how Schiffer saw it. The people had to understand how powerless they were.

They had commandeered a shop to function as a command post. Schiffer went inside and took off his greatcoat.

The soldier inside saluted. “Heil Hitler.”

“Yes yes. Heil Hitler,” replied Schiffer carelessly, walking through into the back office. “See that I am not disturbed,” he said, shutting the door.

He discarded his coat and slumped into the cushioned chair behind the desk. He coughed, blocking his mouth with a closed fist, then coughed again. The dust from that damn old relic had settled on his lungs. Even that didn’t dislodge the tickle. He paused, waiting to see if he would cough again, then frowned.

The light dimmed in the little room, taking on a flickering hellish shade as though from firelight, though there was no source like that.

It brightened, then it dimmed again. Schiffer coughed and went on coughing. There was a tightness in his chest and stomach. He pitched forward, throwing out wracking coughs as the light almost dimmed to black, then he went backwards, rocking in the chair as the light flashed a bright yellow then returned to normal.

Schiffer gave out one more cough, raising his hand to his mouth, then went rigid.

It wasn’t his hand.

It was small and slender; the hand of a girl. And the sleeves of his jacket were gone. The forearm was bare.

He pitched his head forward to look down at himself and let out a squeal of dismay as curly brown hair swung into his field of view and he saw the skirt he was wearing; the short sleeved blouse and the slight womanly frame he now possessed.

And immediately the Jewish girl’s curse came back to him and he realised just what it might mean.

4

Schiffer could barely comprehend what had happened to him but he also had no doubt in his mind that it had.

He had become a young woman.

He... She was wearing a pleated skirt that fell to just below her knees. Below that her legs were bare and slender down to laced up shoes with a low heel. She examined herself frantically: her tiny hands, slim wrists; the curly brown hair that fell about her face and down to her shoulders. She touched her new face gingerly, the alien sensations of smooth cheeks chilling her in the centre of her chest.

She jumped up as that encroaching cold froze her veins. The skirt caught the air at the swift movement. She looked behind her at the backs of those thin legs. She checked her slender stomach and modest bosom.

“Mein Gott,” she murmured. “This cannot be.”

But it was. And it was no dream; only a waking nightmare.

The curse from the Jew girl – it had to be that – but the certain realisation did not reassure Schiffer in the least, for she recalled it in detail. That fact of that chilled her still further for it went far beyond this simple transformation, horrifying though that alone was.

She had to find a mirror to see the complete aberration, but though she searched the office, Schiffer could find nothing of the sort. She moved slowly; carefully, anxious that any abrupt noise might bring in the guard.

How could she possibly explain who she really was in a way he or anyone else would believe? She couldn’t.

Something caught her eye: the coat she had left on the back of the chair.

That had changed too. It wasn’t her long military overcoat anymore. It was a dull blue woman’s coat, cinched at the waist to flare out somewhat around the hips. Schiffer stared at it morosely, the full implications sinking in deeply. Then she moved rapidly, pulling up the coat and searching through its pockets. She found what she was looking for on the second try: papers.

She flipped them open and immediately her heart fell yet further as her worst fears were confirmed.

The name listed was Amalia Dalheimer. Aged seventeen. Jewish.

Her eyes clouded as she mouthed the syllables of the name then came into focus again.

The papers had a photograph and Schiffer scanned the wan, sad-looking face; the round eyes; the curly shoulder-length hair. She glanced down at herself. This was her now.

A Jew.

And a girl.

Her lip curled in disgust and then turned down in self-pity.

As a boy, Schiffer had been brought up in a superstitious household. Even as a man he had not shown the scorn that others did toward belief in the black arts. And there was no disbelieving the cool air on her legs and forearms, the sensation of diminution. But, even as a girl, Schiffer possessed the same cunning and ability to flex that had taken him to his post as kapitan. Her mind was churning; measuring options; reconciling with this impossible horror simply because there was no other choice.

What did she know?

That it was the Jew girl’s curse that had caused this.

That there was no way of reversing it if she hid away.

That perhaps only the girl herself could dispel its power.

That she had only her wits now.

Her men would not believe anything she told them.

And that she was in grave danger staying where she was.

This was a military command post. She was suddenly a civilian woman. A Jew.

They were there to arrest all Jews on sight.

Schiffer’s eyes grew wider with panic. She couldn’t possibly let that happen. She had had her suspicions for some time about what happened to the Jews who were sent to the camps. She had to avoid that at all costs.

At all costs.

But what could she do? Seek out the Jew girl and demand she reverse her enchantment? How could she find the girl now? She had already been arrested. She might be on the train – locked away; ready to depart.

And how could the girl be persuaded to reverse it? Schiffer had murdered her father. She would laugh in her face sooner than break the charm.

But what other choice did she have? To flee? And to what?

Even if she managed to avoid capture here in the town, she would have no one to turn to; no money. She might be arrested at any time and sent to the camps. And even if she eluded that, what life would she have as a lone Jewish girl with no prospects and no home? Her only hope would be to try to flee the country, but where could she go that was outside the growing sphere of Nazi influence? And what would she do if she reached there?

The very idea of living the rest of her days as a woman filled her with dread. And surely she wouldn’t survive that long. The Reich was set to last a thousand years. The Fuehrer would not stop until he had crushed all enemies before him. In time there would be nowhere free of his influence.

Schiffer’s teeth started chattering. She closed her thin arms about her, shaking all over, unable to take her eyes off the forlorn face in the photograph; off the name and details of this pitiful creature she had become.

Amalia Dalheimer. Seventeen years old.

A Jew.

Her only choice was no choice at all. She had to find the Jew girl, wherever she was, and demand that she reverse the foul enchantment. She had to beg if necessary.

And there was some hope, for surely the Jew girl did have something to gain if the spell were broken.

If Schiffer became himself again then he could order her release. He could release all the Jews. And what matter the consequences of that from his commanding officer? It was worth any risk to get his true form back.

And once he was a man again she would no longer have power over him. He could always reconsider his generous offer.

5

Schiffer had never been through the little door at the back of the office. It opened without a key into total darkness.

Her best hope was finding the Jew girl and her destination was clear. The train. It was unlikely an opportunity would present itself before there but her foremost objective had to be scouting out the situation from a safe distance.

She might look like a simple-minded female but she retained the keen tactical mind of a career military officer. She could think her way through this situation, surely.

On the other side of the doorway was some kind of other room but with no light source it was pitch black. She stepped over the threshold, her arms out in front of her, treading carefully with tiny testing steps out in an arc.

It was some kind of storeroom but there was no indication of egress, even as her eyes became more accustomed to the inky gloom. She searched as cautiously and quickly as she dared but it was useless. There was only one tiny window high up with no catch, too small even for her lithe new form. There was no door.

She cursed, fretting at her dwindled options and looked back the way she’d come.

In the main shop front there was the guard she’d posted on entry. How could she hope to get past him?

Capture was one way of reaching the Jew girl quickly but what if it went awry? The girl might not grant her demand or worse; she could end up in a different carriage on the way to Dachau. Even once at the camp they might not be held within easy reach of one another.

And she knew the stories of the camps. There was no worse fate than that, surely.

The words of the curse were foremost in Schiffer’s mind and surely some of the words had already come true; but there had to be some leeway to divert that fate. She had to believe that.

Becoming this girl had illustrated perfectly the horror of being a young Jewish woman with no family in these times. Could that not be lesson enough if only she could work to break it?

Schiffer didn’t know, but she had to believe there was yet hope.

She left the storeroom and went to the door to the main shop, listening intently but to no avail. There was the noise of shouting still from out in the square and the occasional retort of gunfire, but nothing from beyond that door.

She had to risk it. What other choice did she have? But how to play it to avoid immediate capture.

Schiffer narrowed her eyes.

She played it out in her mind as she put on the woman’s coat on the chair, buttoning it up tightly and fastening the belt, all the while feeling uncomfortable in this delicate new frame. With it on she looked appallingly similar to the Jew girl herself – just another Jew to be rounded up and loaded into the transports. Schiffer shuddered.

She went back to and carefully opened the door a peep. The guard was there in the shop doorway. There was no way past without being seen. She considered her plan a moment more then opened the door quite widely and stepped into it, facing the room she was coming from, her body and the door itself blocking the view inside.

“Yes. Thank you Herr Kapitan,” she said, as though addressing herself inside. “I am only glad that you enjoyed my services.”

In the corner of her eye, Schiffer saw the guard glance back with interest but she didn’t react to that. Instead she went on addressing the empty chair in the back office. “Of course. I can come back later if you’d like. It’s an honour to be called to... service the needs of such a handsome officer. I’ll come back in an hour?” She paused. “Alright. Thank you Herr Kapitan. I am so very grateful for your generosity.”

She shut the door, still not turning round, straightened her coat then walked as carelessly as she could toward the door and the guard as though she might walk right past him.

His expression muddied as, presumably, he struggled to reconcile her presence there when he hadn’t seen her enter. But his mind obviously shrugged it off. How could it not. She was there. Her presence defied the illogic of it.

He stepped toward her as though to block her way and Schiffer’s heart trembled, but instead he stepped aside, letting her walk level and then past him.

Schiffer almost gasped in relief to be clear but she trapped it in. She was literally a hair’s breadth away from doom now and would remain so until she found the Jew girl.

But at least she was outside. At least now she had a chance.

6

The square was still full of people: Jews pulled from their homes; soldiers jabbing them to move them onwards; weeping women; neutered men. There were snarls and bellows from the troopers, violence as necessary, Many of the people had been brutalised, wounds visible on their faces.

And Schiffer was seeing it all with new eyes. It wasn’t just a foot of height she’d lost. The perilousness of her new predicament made her empathise more keenly with these herded and doomed cattle. It was only chance really so far that kept her outside of that fate; the focus the soldiers had on the square and its denizens.

She crept along the front of the shops, pushing away from the street light. It was taking her further from the train and the Jew girl but there was no direct route unless she were caught up with the rest of the pitiful peasants.

At the next corner she slipped into the darkness of an alley and moved as fast as she could into the street at the back, keeping cautious as every new field of view opened out. If she was careful then surely she could close the gap to the train; find out which carriage the Jew girl was on; speak to her through the gaps; persuade her to undo what she had done, offer her freedom in return.

There seemed to be no soldiers in that area but she didn’t quicken foolishly. She kept her attention needle sharp and slowed as much as she dared when she had to.

A door opened thirty yards away and she shrank into the shade of a doorway as one of her former platoon shoved an elderly man and woman out onto the street. Frightened as she never had been before, she cowered in the shade, painfully aware of how slight she was now; of the girlish clothes and slender diminutive form that marked her weaker gender. Every sensation, from the breeze in her hair to the chill around her ankles reminded her of how low she had fallen; how desperate she was now; but she reminded herself who she was inside. She was a German officer, not some puny girl child. She had the strength of will to overcome this or any challenge.

She waited until the soldier had shunted the aged couple out of sight into the bright lights of the square then crept on. It wasn’t too far to the station now by her reckoning but the hardest part of this was still before her. As she sneaked, she tried to run through approaches she could use but none were certain and how long might she have before, in the worst case, the Jew girl might even alert the soldiers to her presence?

Schiffer moved up to the corner where moments earlier the soldier had passed and had a peep round, showing only her eyes and pinning back her long hair with a whispered curse of frustration. This thoroughfare was wider and gave a clear view into the square... and out of it. No one was looking her way but if she crossed then, for several moments she would be in clear view.

The soldiers seemed close now to the end of their night’s work. The Jews had been rounded up and were being marched toward the station and the train. There wasn’t long now before the chance was lost forever. What use was staying clear and free of capture if she was doomed to imprisonment in this woman’s flesh, destitute and alone, one of the unclean?

She considered circling wider to limit the chances of her being spotted, but the risk of being late was too great.

Schiffer cursed again to herself and then set out across the street, instantly coming into potential sight of the soldiers.

Her nerves were high but she went on walking steadily. She couldn’t run for fear the rapid movement would draw the eye even more. One step after another, she kept moving, wishing the darkness on the other side of the street could swallow her up that little bit faster.

At any second she might hear the call of a trooper, but none came. She was past half way now. Still none came. Three quarters. Only yards away. She kept walking.

And then the shadows swallowed her and she fell forward in relief, resting her hands on her knees, the thick hair masking her face, breathing raggedly as though her throat now was too narrow to allow air through.

“Shouldn’t you be out in there with the others?”

Schiffer tensed, eyes becoming wild again, almost crazed. The voice had come from her right, the opposite side from the town square; a man’s voice, low and uneven. There was something familiar about the voice but nothing she could place because it was pitched unusually low. It wasn’t the man’s normal speaking voice.

“I...” What could she say? “The kapitan has requested my presence in his private quarters.”

“Oh did he now?” The voice rose a little, becoming closer to a normalcy that she might be able to place. “Well he’s back the way you came. Why are you walking away from him? And why are you sneaking around?”

He stepped out of the darkness of an overhang; not into the direct light but so that enough illumination filled in his features from the gloom. And Schiffer’s heart fell as she not only recognised the Nazi uniform but the parallel scars down his cheek, the twinkle of suggested leer in his eyes.

It was Ecker.

And suddenly her predicament had become a thousand times worse.

7

Ecker gave Schiffer a leer, walking slowly toward her, and the nascent girl got her first real sense of her new scale. This wasn’t just the man she remembered. From her new reference frame, he was something monstrous, far taller than she was and broader as well.

It underscored her narrow frame and thin, weak limbs. This was a man far superior to her now in strength and durability. Whatever he chose to do, she would have no power to resist. He was tougher than her; stronger than her. He would be able to run faster and for longer than her. She might as well have been a pretty doll for all the power she had.

And he kept coming, getting closer and closer until he stopped right in front of her, requiring her to bend back her neck to look up to his face.

“Well answer me,” he said.

“Er, sorry,” whimpered Schiffer, surprising himself at the tremulous voice that issued from his constricted throat.

“You lied to me before. Did you really think I was that stupid?”

“No. I’m sorry. Please. Don’t hurt me.”

All her training as a soldier and an officer and it meant nothing now, the instincts of her physical form overwhelming any hope she had of maintaining self-control.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” replied Ecker with a leer. “I had something else entirely in mind.” He extended his tongue to make a point and waggled it, grinning around its circumference.

Schiffer realised what the soldier meant and the fear bristled in every limb of her tiny frame, to her fingertips and toes.

Her eyes darted left and right, looking for some way to get out of this; but she knew her chances with morbid finality. She’d seen Ecker have his wicked way before. As an officer she’d chosen to let it happen on occasion, knowing how useful the man’s brutality and unflinching amorality could be.

“Please... sir,” she stammered, feeling the shift in authority keenly; the reversal of their statuses, “I have to go to the train now. I need to hurry.”

“Oh there’s no real hurry liebchen,” he said, stroking her arm with the gliding scrape of the fingernails of his first and second finger. “I’m sure it’ll wait for you if you’re in that much of a hurry to get to the gas chambers.”

Schiffer flinched at his touch but was too petrified to pull fully away, sure that if she did so he would grab her and the assault would really start in earnest. A sheaf of different responses fell through her mind’s eye; options she had; desperate moves she could make. But no training or discipline could prepare her for this situation and her body’s biochemical releases were cracking any train of thought into splinters. Every action she could think of could be countered. Knowing the man as she did, there was no way out of this.

And in that instant, as the realisation of fell doom settled into place, her desperation and fear made her dart to the side and run for it.

She jerked right then left, cutting behind him, in her panic, hoping his size would act against him.

Ecker snarled and lunged for her. His big clumsy fingers snagged at her hair but didn’t catch hold and Schiffer had an instant of white relief and hope.

She ran away from the square, into the darkening street, then as she sensed Ecker’s bellowing pursuit approaching, she jinked left and then right, altering her trajectory.

Again he missed her and that hope pulsed brighter in her.

She jinked again, right then left, then right, then right, then left.

Ecker swiped forward with both arms but she ran clear of his closing trap.

A corner came up to the left. If she could just get out of his line of sight, she could lay low; circle back; get away from him.

She ran to the corner and turned.

And then his fist closed on her hair and her legs went from under her.

The momentum twirled her round, almost horizontally as Ecker continued to move into the space where she had been, then she bashed up against the wall with her legs and then tumbled down.

A second sharp pain bit into her scalp when she came down and then a third as Ecker yanked her back the way they’d come. “Come here you little vixen!”

Schiffer squealed, snatching at her hair but Ecker dragged her by it another fifteen or twenty feet then used it to swing her round. He released her and she tumbled away, rolling side over side until she crashed into the brick wall on the other side of the street.

She was aching all over and dizzy but she tried to lift her torso from the floor, her head lolling.

Ecker was suddenly there again and his boot swept underneath her, pummelling her in the stomach and throwing her back against the wall.

Schiffer winced and dropped onto her chest, curled arms crumpled underneath her.

She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t think.

Then Ecker’s paw came down on her coat, dragging her up to standing.

Her legs wouldn’t support her alone. It was only Ecker’s hands that gave her the extra strength to remain upright. She looked up into his face, her eyes half-closed, stunned by the pain and the fear, but what she saw in his gaze chilled her more completely than anything that had come before.

He was grinning. He was excited. This was fun to him and nothing more. He no more identified her as another human being as he would an animal at his feet.

“Naughty naughty,” he said. He gripped the lapels of her coat and wrenched them out and down, tearing the stitching and pulling it off her shoulders. He wrenched again and it tore clear, coming open at the back. He released her sufficiently to drop it clear and Schiffer sagged, falling back against the building, the brick rough against her bare forearm.

Ecker grabbed her again in the same place, this time on her blouse, and leered down into the slit front where several buttons had already given way, chuckling to himself. She looked up with pleading eyes and then he wrenched down on the fabric, tearing it open and down from one shoulder leaving her upper arm and one side of her chest exposed.

Schiffer let out a squeal of dismay and panic. She felt so powerless. How could she possibly combat this monster? She couldn’t!

Then Ecker took her by the upper arms, lifting her onto her toes and pushed his face into hers, smiling viciously. “Give me a kiss fraulein,” he said. “You’re a pretty little thing. Even if you are a Jew.”

8

Schiffer gaped into Ecker’s smirking face inches from her own and realised with senseless panic that there was something worse than being sent to the camps; worse perhaps even than being herded into one of the gas chambers.

Ecker pulled her closer and forced his face against hers, pursing his lips. Schiffer’s face became a grimace of revulsion but Ecker seemed not to care or notice. His thick leathery tongue probed inside her screaming mouth, blocking off her air and he laid smooching kiss after kiss on her taut cheeks and neck.

Schiffer struggled to bring her arms between her chest and his, to push him away, but it was like pushing at an elephant. There was the slightest give but not even a slim chance that she could move him.

“Please!” she stammered, between engulfing passionless kisses. “Don’t do this! Let me go!”

Ecker pulled away abruptly and glanced toward the square, heeding the nearness of people that might hear. “Keep it down,” he snapped. “Think what you want. This is happening.”

But Schiffer realised the significance here.

Ecker didn’t care if he was seen brutalising a Jew but there was a subtle line between doing it to get the job done and doing it purely for pleasure. And he was shirking his duties out here while the other soldiers got to work driving the remaining Jews toward the station. He wouldn’t get in trouble if he was spotted, but he might be embarrassed into letting her go and putting her with the rest.

She opened her mouth and feeling every bit the desperate panicking girl that she now was, she unleashed the loudest scream she could.

But Ecker was fast and he had expected it from the get go. He covered her mouth with his hands, shoving his dirty big fingers inside and onto her tongue, stifling much of the power. Schiffer went into a frenzy of dread, struggling to get free with every part of her slender body.

In response, Ecker shook her left, taking her back out to a crooked arm’s distance, then he bashed her hard against the wall, cracking her head against the brickwork, instantly stilling her.

Schiffer’s entire body crumpled as consciousness left her. Surprised, Ecker held onto her for a moment longer as he realised what he’d done, then he let her slump to the ground. Her legs folded beneath her as she went down then she fell to the side, her head slumping into the mud; hair splayed out and away, exposing her slender neck and smooth cheeks.

Ecker frowned, looking down at her. He looked back toward the square, conscious of the time this was taking, but not too perturbed unless the kapitan saw him.

He returned his gaze to the unconscious girl. Her shoulder and chest were still exposed, the hand of her right arm curled in on her stomach. Her face was almost beautiful, despite the cracked skin about her lip and the dirt; and despite her race. Her pleated skirt had not flapped up entirely but it had slid a little way to show a tantalising glimpse of thigh.

Ecker squatted close to her feet and looked at that section of thigh, quietly and unconsciously salivating. He reached forward with a crooked first finger and gave it a further nudge, sliding it up. More pale skin came into view and Ecker shifted to release some of the pressure in his trousers.

He looked again toward the square. There was a cluster of barrels against the wall in that direction. Now that he was lower there was little fear of being spotted. And what if he was? In these times he couldn’t predict any more than a reprimand. Nobody cared what happened to these Jews. That was what made life in the military so fantastic. It reminded him of ancient days he had heard tell of, when warriors would slaughter and raze and take whatever they wanted in spoils and women.

To be able to do this kind of thing freely, practically endorsed by the higher ranks, was the most wonderful element of his life thus far.

He got onto his knees, separating the crossed ankles of this girl, then he looked up her body, letting the anticipation build.

9

Within the broken tangle of semi-conscious thoughts in Schiffer’s head she was detached from this place; this impending assault.

She was a man again, in Berlin, and a woman was screaming.

As Ecker traced his finger up the yielding flesh of her inner thigh on the darkened street, the dream memory was carrying her away from the foulness of it, to a time when Schiffer still had control over his life.

The woman was screaming. That was the central theme. And he was standing in his uniform, his arms folded, as she was dragged out of his apartment doorway and to the top of the stairs.

The memory wasn’t perfect in the dream. It wasn’t a blow by blow retelling of the scene as it had occurred. But the sense of finality and release was there as it had been in real life. Release from personal connection and the pinch of anachronistic morality.

The woman was screaming as she was dragged away by the soldiers; cursing his name; and he knew she was his wife. He knew that turning her in for her anti-Nazi views had been the proper thing to do.

And yes; if he could do that in service to his Fuehrer then there was no limit to his loyalty. He knew that.

In the dream the woman was drawn out of sight round the staircase and Schiffer turned to his commanding officer.

“We won’t forget this Schiffer,” the officer said. “Loyalty of this calibre will be rewarded.”

And his promotion came within the month, exactly as promised.

And the screaming woman was long gone. Dead probably. So she didn’t matter anymore. And he didn’t have to remember that screaming.

Schiffer’s eyes opened.

She felt the hand squirming up her inner thigh, almost at her crotch.

She knew where she was, lying in the mud at the foot of a wall.

The sky was black above her.

It was starting to spit rain again.

She was dazed, unable to move yet beyond a slight tilt to her head, but she got her eyes open enough to see the determined expression on Ecker’s face, gazing in rapture down at her nether regions.

The movement of her head caught Ecker’s eye and he flicked up to look at her and grinned broadly. Then he tossed back the flap of her skirt, exposing the full length of both legs.

Schiffer shuffled, trying to gather her strength to move but her body wouldn’t follow her commands. The concussion against the wall might have really damaged her. She might be paralysed. She might be dying. But Ecker didn’t care.

He gripped her knee with a tight pinch and yanked her legs further apart. Schiffer gave a shrill but pitifully breathless yelp. Ecker reached into her crotch and scrabbled for her panties, wrenching them down, the movement pulling her legs together at the knees, ankles still splayed.

She tried to reach up with her arm but she was so dizzy. The arm swayed, her view of it blurring. Her head was pounding.

Ecker grabbed at the panties and tore them in two with a snarl then prodded at the remains, pushing them part way down each leg, still as intact, frayed circles.

“Are you ready to serve your country liebchen?” snarled Ecker.

She tried to say “No,” but no breath came. Her throat hurt. Her eyes kept closing in a tight wince. Then Ecker slammed her legs apart again and her eyes popped open. He was unbuttoning his trousers.

She struggled, finding some small strength in her arms, but she couldn’t find purchase around her to pull away. Despite that, she managed to pull a few inches along the ground.

Ecker grabbed her thighs, lifted them and slammed her buttocks back down. “Keep still!”

“No,” she whimpered at last. “Please.”

Her strength was coming back but nowhere near fast enough. Her vision was pulsing in and out of focus with her thundering heart. She felt broken inside.

Ecker laughed, long and loudly, his chin rising, the laughter like the barking of an angry dog.

Schiffer pushed herself up and flailed, slapping his face as hard as she could. Then she raised her knee to her face and lashed out, ramming it into his chest.

He roared in anger, tipping back, and she scrambled round onto her hands and knees and tried to scrabble away.

Her strength wasn’t great enough to get up and she was totally disoriented. She had no idea which way the square was or the station. There was no thought anymore of finding the Jew girl and breaking the curse. That goal was entirely gone from her reach. All she wanted was to be free of this moment; this brutal attack. She wanted to be away from there in any direction her legs could take her.

But those same legs betrayed her. They were too weak. And then Ecker’s hand slapped down on her ankle and then the calf of her other leg.

She screamed pitiably but he wrenched her backwards, her face in the mud. She tried to scream again but his fist came down hard on the side of her face, wiping out all intent and energy, then it came down again.

All she could do now was lie there, the mud cloying her cheeks and in her long hair.

Ecker opened the front of his trousers and grabbed her by the knees, lifting her up to meet his crotch.

He fumbled, grumbling throatily, then there was pain and violation more deep and penetrating than anything she had faced so far.

Gripping her exposed legs, Ecker yanked her forward and back against his pelvis, grunting in animalistic pleasure.

Schiffer couldn’t move anymore, but she could feel the slam of her pelvis against his; the pinching grip of his hands on her legs; the awful insertion inside her hated private place, over and over and over again.

Her body shuddered with each pounding ram. The mud of the road was in her mouth and blocking her nose. She spluttered; tried to move her arms; failed.

Ecker’s agitation increased. His moans raised in pitch. The violent affectionless snatching increased in intensity.

Then Ecker stopped as though paralysed. His groaning ceased in one final grunt and then nothing and the hot seed entered into her and Schiffer quietly started to sob.

A long almost silent wheeze came from Ecker and he gave several more spasmodic but gentle pumps, and then he released her, pushing her bare buttocks clear of him and resting back on his heels. He let out a long sigh.

Schiffer didn’t move. She lay where she was in the mud, chest down, eyes to the side, hair tangled and soaking about her face; her skirt still in disarray, legs and buttocks exposed, her blouse torn down still to reveal her shoulder and part of her back.

10

Ecker got up to his feet. He straightened his dirty uniform and brushed at it with his hands.

Still Schiffer didn’t move.

Ecker circled to her waist and prodded her side with his boot. She let out a light groan. He pushed his toe underneath and flipped her onto her side.

Schiffer’s eyes naturally went to his face but she averted them immediately, cowed by his authority and violence.

“Get up,” he snapped.

She just lay there.

Ecker gave her a sharp kick. “Get up Jew!”

From somewhere she found an ounce of strength and curled in her limbs as best she could. The movement was agonising and exhausting. She bent into a foetal shape and then pushed down on the mud, straining to lift her own weight.

“Hurry up Jew. The train is waiting.”

She managed to get, swaying, to her feet; still dizzy and bewildered.

Ecker gave off one single throaty chuckle. “You look a sight. You should take better care of yourself.”

She lowered her head and nodded, fearful of how he might react if she showed anything but total obeisance.

She knew she couldn’t get away from him now. She knew there was no path before her except the train and the camp and the gas chamber.

All hope was gone.

Ecker prodded her cruelly in the shoulder, then prodded her again until she was up against the wall. “You won’t tell no one about this; understand?” he said.

She tried to nod.

“Did you hear me?” He put his hand round her throat and started to squeeze.

Schiffer raised her own hands feebly to pry at it but he batted them away with his free hand.

“Did you hear me?” he demanded, squeezing harder, cutting off all chance she had to breathe, making her eyes bulge as all resistance ebbed away from her.

He jammed his hand against her throat once, then twice, as she gargled desperately, then he released her and she crumpled again to the floor.

Only one hope remained to her; that she might find the Jew girl on the train or in the camp and beg her to release the enchantment. But there was slim chance of that.

This was her life now – a Jew and a prisoner – the curse enacted in terrifying detail.

She realised in her pitiful acceptance that if she couldn’t find the Jew girl then only one element yet remained before her, as inescapable as the rising tide.

That was to die.

Hopeless.

Frightened.

And lost.

11

Half a mile away, as Ecker roughly pulled Schiffer to her feet once more, Dania van Cleef trudged on in the procession amidst the dozens of other Jews being herded toward the station.

She could see it ahead now; see the cargo train with its open sliding doors. Two of the cars were already full. She saw a pair of Nazi soldiers pulling the door to the second one closed and locking it with chains.

They had heard rumours of this scourge but the reality was a thousand times worse.

The fact of her father’s death was like a scorching wound; one, she knew, she might never be able to accept. Compared to that, the loss of her home and belongings was immaterial. But still, she couldn’t fathom the hurt she’d felt when the officer had shattered the statuette. In a painful new reality of constant danger and insecurity, that had truly been the last piece of her former life stolen away.

She had secreted the stone head deep in the folds of her clothes, desperate to cling on to at least that little broken keepsake, and she knew she would fight to the death now if she had to, to keep hold of it. It was all she had left.

The procession came to a stop for a moment. There was a delay. Soldiers were shouting orders. One was asking where the kapitan had gone. Nobody had seen him.

Dania ignored them and looked morosely to her left.

There was a narrow passage between two outbuildings. At the end of the passage was the entrance to a coal chute.

She looked to her right; ahead; behind. Her view to the soldiers was blocked in every direction.

But that meant their view of her was blocked too.

She frowned, thinking, then she darted into the little passage, unnoticed, and went to the coal chute.

Behind her no one had noticed her departure.

She hesitated once more.

The words of her curse to the Nazi officer came back to her suddenly, but then so did his words in reply.

“I wish you and your heirs great happiness, fortune and prosperity; hereafter and forever.”

In a first faltering way, that sardonic response had come true. This was fortune here if it was anything. It was a chance at escape.

And she wasn’t about to let it pass her by.

Dania took the hawk’s head from her inside pocket and gripped it tightly, then she jumped into the chute and passed out of sight.

If you liked this then read the complete compilation of stories in Talons of the Hawk on Amazon to find out what other transformations the hawk has perpetrated throughout history.

You can also follow my serials every other day on http://transformation-stories.blogspot.co.uk/

 

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