Krieg ist Treibsand

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some_writer_guy
Posts: 41
Joined: Fri May 13, 2016 5:32 am

Krieg ist Treibsand

Postby some_writer_guy » Wed Jul 13, 2016 9:34 am

Hello all. I asked some time ago whether or not I should post this, and a couple of you stated that you would be interested in seeing it. Apologies if you find the plot to be sort of jerky and rushed, or if it seems to be a little void of substance. I ripped this from a book I'm writing, and for this site, I had to basically add the first page just to give the reader some info on the character and a description of what she looks like. Then I went ahead and added more detail pertaining to her sinking, as I'm sure you all like. If it seems like there should be more before and after the scene, that's because there is, it just has nothing to do with quicksand, or even the character.

If you need to visualize what she's wearing, just google Afrika Korps uniforms. And if you need to know what she's saying...learn German...or use a translation website or something. LOL

Note: The character is a Nazi. And I don't mean she's strict. I mean she's literally a nazi. And she's a murderer, an opportunist and a bi...unpleasant woman. Killing her slowly in the story was an enjoyable affair after the things she does and the person she is. If you're offended, don't read. Also, I don't condone Nazis. It's a war novel.

Enough jibber-jabber. Enjoy the story. :D


Der Krieg ist Treibsand

A young woman stood before the Panzerkampfwagen, and impatiently sighed, looking at her watch. She wore the khaki uniform of the Afrika Korps, complete with the shorts and soft cap usually worn by men in the Wermacht. She had chosen the uniform because it was comfortable and If there was any question as to how she could get away with such a thing, the red party armband on her left arm and the skull and crossbones on her cap answered them. She was SS, and that in itself was the last word in most arguments. Her name was Franziska, and despite her young, innocent appearance, she had the heart of a monster and a temperament and ruthlessness that most men who knew her feared.

She removed the M-43 field cap from her head, revealing her short, bobbed blonde hair brushed behind her ears. She slapped the cap against her thigh and huffed irritably. The assault was supposed to have begun ten minutes ago, and she could almost sense the American forces far off in the distance, the polyglot army of mutts and their poorly constructed tanks destroying the Fatherland. It angered the 19 year old private. They had no business here. They had no place interfering with the reich, with the strength and perfection of the system that Franziska had come to love, if only for her own personal gains.

Her light blue eyes peered out toward the horizon as she thought, coldly ignoring the two soldiers running past, laboring under the weight of the large ammunition crate they were carrying. She had given so much to Germany, to the reich to be here, to be a soldier. Her athletic ability aside, turning in political dissidents, traitors to the party, had earned her a leadership rank in the youth program as a teenager. She'd even had her own uncle arrested by the gestapo when she was 15. She was there, grinning sadistically at Uncle Klaus as the secret police threw him into the back of the car at gunpoint. She was a youth leader by 16, but it hadn't been enough for her. Franziska had dreams. She had ambitions. The girl from Dresden had fantasies of being a Valkyrie, a perfect aryan warrior woman.

But the program...it was flawed in her eyes. As hard as she worked, she knew she could only hope to become a mother to many children, or at the most a telephone operator for the Wermacht. This was the common path for german women, even the best in their classes. It wasn't for her, to spend her life lying in a bed, giving her body to every soldier that payed a visit, to become nothing more than a factory, mass-producing perfect children. It was necessary of course, to have women do this, but Franziska was a soldier at heart. And being more active in the party meant more chances for money and power. The power...that is what she craved the most, the feeling of untouchability. The look of fear in the eyes of common people who saw her. And she did whatever she had to in order to meet her goals. Some would kill to get the positions she'd achieved. Franziska had killed.

Finally the panzergruppe received orders. And that meant the opportunistic girl received her orders. Orders Franziska ate up greedily. The panzer company was going to move out and many scouts were needed to find the best way to maneuver. Franziska was to be sent to the southeast, to a swamp near a small river to scout by foot. If they could find a way to flank their enemy, to catch them by surprise, they could use their superior armor to push the Americans back. And to Franziska, this meant more than a victory for the army. If she could be the one to find the path, to lead the assault, it would be a victory for her as well. She would no doubt be commended, rewarded, promoted. This could be not only a turning point in the war, but the pivotal moment she needed to become someone important!

She took a weapon from the back of a supply truck. An MP-40. Technically, she was a female acting only as a scout, and she wasn't supposed to even carry a weapon. Not that many of the soldiers or officers around at the moment would say anything. She was SS. She cocked her head as she felt the weight of the firearm. It felt so familiar, and she remembered the last time she had held one of the weapons. It was six months before, when she'd been assigned to the prison camp, her first active-duty assignment. When she and a dozen other soldiers had used them. She'd had a momentary lapse of conscience about the mass grave she had helped fill, but it was fleeting. She blanked the thoughts out of her mind. Eggs to make an omelet. Blood red paint for the masterpiece. Pawns in her own game.

An hour later found her in the middle of the large swampland, trudging her way toward what she could only hope was the enemy positions. Her feet were already wet, and no matter how hard she tried, Franziska couldn't avoid all of the pools and puddles of water. Eventually, she just gave up on trying to keep dry and clean, and began to push through the mess of a wilderness she was wandering in. She scoffed. The Nazis practically worshipped nature. Stupid. She hated it. She would have rather been in a city somewhere, with electric lights, a radio, and paved roads instead of a bug-infested moor full of stinking mud puddles.

She heard voices and waded into the shallow water, hiding behind a small mound topped by patches of tall grass. She knelt down, sitting in the water up to her waist, cradling the submachinegun in her arms. The voices were speaking English, and her mind began to work. Was it simply a scouting party? Some lost troops? Or was it the vanguard of the main force of American troops? Bubbles suddenly erupted from under the water, breaking at its surface as if the water was boiling around her, and Franziska felt her boots slide down into silty mud under the water. This captured her undivided attention for the time being, as she realized that she was stuck. She couldn't stand up and risk being seen, but knelt down, it seemed impossible to wiggle her boots free from the mud. At least the water was up to her chest now, and helped camouflage her. She looked back up in time to see two enemy soldiers standing nearby, and cursed herself for not paying attention.

“Halt!” Franziska called, standing fully upright, pointing her weapon at the two soldiers. They froze immediately, staring at what initially looked like a teenage girl in a nazi uniform and shorts. Unsure of whether or not to try to raise their own weapons, they stood there looking at the young woman a moment before slowly starting to shoulder their rifles. Franziska gently pulled at her stuck feet. “Ich werde schiessen!“ She screamed, panting. She pulled the trigger on the MP-40, the long burst of automatic fire downing both of the enemy soldiers. She watched them fall dead, their bodies slipping into the water of the swamp. She gave a small grin at what she had done.

“Sheisse...“ She muttered, tugging her boots from the mud, and crawling up onto the mound to escape the quicksand-like patch she'd found. A distant rumble sounded, and a few seconds later a stray shell landed in the swamp, about thirty yards away, where it exploded in a violent eruption of water and muck. Franziska flattened out against the ground for a moment, panting heavily. Another shell landed a hundred yards away, and the woman slid into the water and began to run frantically through the swamp, sloshing through the small pools of water and stumbling over patches of grass.

She ran further into the enormous bog, the landscape dotted by the small rises in the land, each bearing weeds or a few occasional trees. She was still running, still determined to do what she'd set out to do. She tried to keep to the drier parts of the lowlands, as the whole area was interspersed with more small pools of stagnant water along with larger ponds, not to mention spots of soft earth that tried to hold onto her feet when she stumbled into them, making it difficult terrain to transverse in the mad rush she was in. She ended up in a large area that looked like a field of earth, void of any vegetation. Small puddles speckled the large basin, and feeling that she'd finally made it through the worst of the bog, Franziska made her way toward the bank on the distant shore of the depression.

Immediately, she began to realize that she'd made a mistake. The ground here was soft, like she was walking on bread dough. Worst of all, it was sticky. Too sticky. Nonetheless, she kept her eyes on the far side. She'd already come this far, and Franziska wasn't about to give up because of a little mud. Her boots sank into the thick wet silt with each passing step, and she found herself straining more and more, grunting as she pulled free one foot then the other. Her legs were growing tired, and sweat beaded up on her pale forehead, rolling down her cheeks onto her soaked uniform.

She grunted with each step as walking became even more difficult. The shallow mud was now a little deeper, and it sucked relentlessly at her boots. Another step, and her right boot sank even deeper than her left into the soft mud just below the surface of the shallow water. Franziska let out a half confused/half angry grunt, and pulled her left boot out of the mire, a sucking noise issuing from the muck. She stepped forward, and with a bubbling, hissing sound, the ground seemed to give out from underneath her. Before Franziska could react to what was happening, the young soldier began to slip quickly into the soft mud, frantically pumping her legs against the sucking power of the saturated earth. It felt to her as if some force was gently holding onto her feet, slowly drawing her down and she fought. In an almost slow-motion effect, she felt the cool, thick mud roll over her boots, past her wool socks, up her bare legs, underneath and over her shorts, and up her stomach.

“Nein...Nein! Schisse!” She yelped as she sank down to her chest. Thinking quickly, the fiery young woman threw her maschinenpistole away and her arms forward, stopping, at least for the moment, her downward descent.

Now, Franziska began trying desperately to lift her legs free, to squirm her way out of the quicksand-like much she'd stumbled into. As she continued to fight, she began to gasp and whimper. Her thick leather boots were stuck in the mud. Not just stuck as she began to realize, trapped beyond hope. She felt encased...imprisoned, and she hated it. For the first time in her life, she actually felt fear. Ideas raced through her mind. Grab something to pull yourself out...no, there is nothing here. Work your feet out of your boots...can't...they're to tight.

Hilf mir! Bitte...Bitte hilf mir!” She called, clawing at the mud around her. She almost no longer cared if she were rescued and captured by her comrades or the Amerikanische schweinehunds. “Bitte! Ich bin im Schlamm versinken! Oh Gott verdamnt! Oh Schisse!” Her shrieks were unanswered. She was too far from her own lines for anyone to hear her, and the sound of the distant battle muffled her cries for help.

“Mein stiefel! OHHH GOTT, mein stiefel!” Franziska whimpered, trying in vain to lift her boots free from the grip of the mud. She sank deeper, slowly losing her arms to the soft wet earth as she clawed at the muck. She watched as her red armband began to slowly disappear beneath the surface of the mud. A frightening image came into her head. The ones she'd helped bury. She saw the pit in her memory, remembered the ones who were still alive and squirming as the soldiers began to shovel the wet soil onto them on that gray, drizzly morning. Buried alive. They deserved it, didn't they? She snapped back into the present and it hit her like a brick wall. She was about to be buried alive now too.

“Ich...Ich w...werde als Soldat s...sterben...” Franziska quaked. She swallowed hard and took a deep breath, steadying herself, preparing herself for the death she knew was coming. She tried so hard to fight tears, to stay calm and dignified. She had known that this war might lead to her death. She didn't want to die gloriously...she wanted to live prosperously. She had fought so hard to earn a place in the military elite. Now, the girl from Dresden who had always fancied herself a Valkyrie realized that she would not only die, but no one would ever know. All of her work wad for nothing. She closed her blue eyes and held her head high as the wet sticky mud climbed her neck. She resolved to at least be dignified at the end.

“Schroeder...Franziska...Mann...SS79578...” She inhaled shakily, and let out a small sob before pushing it all down and assuming a stoical mask. “Ich...bin ein soldat. Ich bin mutig. Mein Blut ist rein.“ It was almost like a mantra for her, a means to try and forget what was happening to her. But by the time she had sank to her chin, Franziska was desperately holding onto whatever fragile grasp she had on her composure and her sanity. “Ich...b...b...bin ein...s...sol...MEIN GOTT!!! HILF MIIIIIIIR!!!“ She shrieked before being silenced by the swamp covering her mouth. Now real panic set in, and Franziska began to furiously struggle, pulling at her arms and her legs madly, the remaining air in her lungs being forced out in a muffled yet primal scream. Her frantic struggling drew her under, and within a few seconds, the bog settled back into its once peaceful state. Unlike the soldier it had just consumed, it remained deaf to the war, eternally incapable of love or hate, steadfastly an enemy to all.

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sixgunzloaded
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Joined: Tue May 05, 2015 8:16 pm

Re: Krieg ist Treibsand

Postby sixgunzloaded » Wed Jul 13, 2016 12:35 pm

Es ist wunderbar! Excellent story! Well told and nicely descriptive. A very enjoyable read! Thanks! :D
How long did Tarzan watch before deciding to save Jill..?

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bogbud
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Joined: Sat May 30, 2015 6:43 am
Location: Stuck and sinking

Re: Krieg ist Treibsand

Postby bogbud » Wed Jul 13, 2016 2:24 pm

Intense and a very good read! Like a mixture of The Dawns here are quiet and Ilsa, She-wolf of the SS.

Too, bad she's gone already. Maybe there's room for a prequel, back in a german or polish bog? :)
I'm already chindeep in this mudbog and every desperate attempt to move my stuck legs only drives me deeper in. The thick mud slowly swamps my waders and my arms have nothing to hold onto.
I'm feeling home.

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PM2K
Always Remembered
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Joined: Wed Apr 15, 2009 6:14 pm
Location: Eastern Ontario

Re: Krieg ist Treibsand

Postby PM2K » Thu Jul 14, 2016 3:18 am

Excellent! :D

some_writer_guy
Posts: 41
Joined: Fri May 13, 2016 5:32 am

Re: Krieg ist Treibsand

Postby some_writer_guy » Thu Jul 14, 2016 10:04 pm

Thanks for the positive feedback guys! I am glad you all like this one so much. And yes, when writing this scene, I was partially inspired by a few similar scenes including the one from "Dawns" (A fantastic movie and book).

I will try and get another story up sometime soon. If everyone likes the soldier-girl thing, I'll see what I can drum up. :D


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