|ROGER'S FABULOUS VOYAGES, PART 3, CHAPTER 8. (standard:humor, 1734 words) [8/10] show all parts|
|Author: Danny Zil||Added: Jun 18 2012||Views/Reads: 1193/891||Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|Roger is 'tortured' by the SS.|
EIGHT Roger came to in a small room which was lit by a bare light bulb hanging from a cord in the ceiling. Apart from a metal desk and two chairs there was no other furniture in the room. There were some hooks in the walls at varying heights and the floor underneath them was blood stained. There was an aura of evil about the place and screams and groans could be heard from the next room. Groggily, Roger sat up and looked round. An SS Captain was standing watching him and two uniformed heavies guarded the door. The Captain, who was smoking a cigarette in a black holder, was a sadistic looking specimen. An old duelling scar ran from the corner of his left eye down to the corner of his mouth. His blond hair was razored close to his scalp. His blue eyes were cold and lifeless as a snake's. His tailored black SS uniform was impeccable, as were his highly polished black leather jackboots. Roger swallowed nervously and hauled himself up into a chair and looked round. “Where am I?” he asked nervously. “SS Head Quarters,” the Captain's clipped voice answered coldly. “Kapitan Kurt von Dorf at your service.” He bowed mockingly then clicked his heels together. Roger trembled. He trembled quite a lot. “I demand to see the Commandant,” he blurted. “Why?” Kapitan von Dorf asked curiously. “To give him a big wet kiss!” Roger replied then clapped a hand over his mouth. The heavies laughed. Although thick, it was obvious they understood english. “Interesting,” said Kapitan von Dorf, sitting down at the desk. “I'm sure he'll be delighted to know that.” The heavies sniggered. Roger edged his hand away from his mouth. “It's not my fault!” he bleated. “I can't help it. I don't want to say these things, honestly. It's just that every now and then I'm made to say terrible things like Adolf Hitler was a kike faggot bastard!!” he yelled, his eyes widening in terror. Kapitan von Dorf stopped toying with his cigarette holder and stared at him. The heavies by the door stiffened. The screams and groans from the next room stopped. The very building seemed to prick up its ears and listen. Roger swallowed. The Kapitan very calmly stubbed out his cigarette then looked over at the heavies. “Rolf, Herman,” he said, a sadistic smile on his face, “bring in the manacles and the electric prod.” Roger fainted and slid to the floor before they left. The Kapitan stood up and slowly unbuttoned his uniform jacket. He removed it and carefully draped it around his chair as Rolf and Herman returned. He pointed at Roger. “Get some water and bring him round,” he ordered. Rolf slipped out and returned with a bucket of water and threw it over Roger's face. The spluttering Fleet Pilot sat up and shook his head. He hauled himself up on to the chair again and almost fainted for a second time when he saw the electric prod and the manacles lying on the desk. “You are fully awake?” the Kapitan asked him. Roger nodded. Click here to read the rest of this story (217 more lines)
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