September 1944, Slovakia
On September 8, the Red Army along with partisan sympathizers began a major offensive on the Dukla Pass, a strategically significant mountain pass in the Laborec Highlands of the Outer Eastern Carpathians, on the Slovak-Polish border, desperately fighting through the mountains to penetrate into Slovakia. The Germans were retreating, slowly, tenaciously and fighting back hard to inflict as many casualties as they could on the advancing Soviet forces. One of their new favorite tactics was to fire artillery into the trees, showering the exposed soldiers with splinters that ripped through them like shrapnel from a grenade. The men in tanks were safe, but those on foot were vulnerable to the deadly debris exploding all around them. The Soviets were also having trouble with slipping and sliding over muddy, narrow roads. German minefields were hastily constructed to slow down the advance and cover a fall-back and regrouping of Axis forces.
Sturmbannführer Ilsa Hauppman had been forced to abandon her home at Čachtice Castle. The mid-13th century had been her base of operations, as it had once been the infamous Countess Elizabeth Báthory's, ever since it was given to her by Heinrich Himmler only two years earlier. Now she had been forced to destroy most of her original equipment and experiments, her own personal belongings before they fell into Soviet hands. Herself, along with a small detachment of her personal guard were to make their way back to Berlin upon order of the Fuhrer, most likely to hide in a bunker and continue her experiments. The rest of the soldiers under her command were to re-enforce the troops under command of General Gotthard Heinrici. Everything was going to hell. Despite their victories in France against the British and American forces, the sub-human Slavs were still completely in control of the Eastern front and their puppet-mascot the Soviet Superwoman was still leading them. She looked up at her castle fortress for a long time amid the sounds of jeeps and trucks, the barking orders all around her. It was humiliating. A hand on her shoulder shook her out of her thoughts.
"Sturmbannführer, we must leave now." Her black garbed driver and a member of her elite guard stared at her with imploring expression. Ilsa nodded slowly, cast another glance at her former home before resigning herself and moving to the backseat of a waiting jeep.
Satisfied, her driver entered the jeep on one side as another tall, Aryan member of the elite guard entered on the opposite side. The sounds of the combat could be heard even here now meaning that the Soviets were not very far from here, continuing to gain momentum in their offensive. Ilsa patted the gas mask she had in the bag next to her. So badly did she want to charge into the fray and rip the bodies of these Slavic beasts apart, scattering them and their forces over the snow in bloody handfuls. The truth of the matter was that she had very few doses of her serum left, until she reached her Berlin laboratory at least, and with the Soviet Superwoman still hunting her from all accounts she felt it was more prudent to follow orders and fall back. Should she run out of it dealing with the vermin here and then run afoul of her hated enemy, the results would not be at all to her liking. Besides, she still had not had the opportunity to test her other project on that lesbisch and all of that was waiting for her in at the capital.
The jeep hummed to life and she pulled off into the convoy of vehicles heading away from the area. Half a dozen tanks including a Pather and ten or so half-tracks and jeeps made up the formation as it pulled away from the ancient castle.
"How will we achieve victory now Sturmbannführer?" her driver asked, the tone of her voice choked with emotion.
"It depends on how you define victory then doesn't it? If you mean forcing the Soviet Union and it's Wall Street Jewish allies to the surrender table, that ship has long since sailed away. If you mean the survival of Germany and the Third Reich as a victory, then perhaps there is still hope." Ilsa answered honestly.
Only a few miles up the road a crude roadblock suddenly sprang into view ahead of them, made of overturned vehicles and piled debris. Soviet soldiers and partisans opened fire from behind the roadblock and from the surrounding woodlands with rifles and machine guns as the column approached it. A partisan with a Molotov cocktail and an apparent death-wish rushed the jeep directly in front of Ilsa setting it and it's occupants ablaze before being gunned down by German soldiers. Ilsa's driver quickly shifted gears and crushed the petal down to the floor under her boot cursing. The guard in the front seat was shot several times and tumbled out of the jeep like a rag-doll. The only Panther tank under Ilsa's command bullied its way forward past the retreating jeep and smashed into the barricade, punching a hole that would allow the other vehicle, and it's much more important passenger to escape. Ilsa's driver skillfully maneuvered into the opening and sped off down what resembled the roadway. The distinctive chatter of more Russian automatic weapons to the left of their position gave Ilsa a terrible premonition.
"Take us off road!" she barked at her driver who nodded a reply
Ilsa stood and grabbed the .30 caliber machine gun mounted on the jeep, cursing that she didn't have a gunner. Her driver drove the jeep out into the open clearing, through some thick shrubs. A score of Russian soldiers opened up on them as they made their way past. Ilsa was nearly thrown from the vehicle as it crossed the uneven ground, be she held onto the machine gun and managed to return fire, raking the nearest Russians and hurling them to the ground in bloody heaps. The Soviet forces continued to fire at her retreating jeep, bullets slamming into it. One just managed to miss the engine block and the driver fought for control. Sturmbannführer Hauppman sprayed more bullets in response, dropping a pair of Soviet soldiers who were firing alongside them. A few half-tracks had appeared coming up from behind them, their machine guns and infantry inside shooting at anything that resembled the enemy. The Panther tank had joined the fray as well as several Panzer Mark IV's. No longer a column, their vehicles were scattered in all directions.
One of the half-tracks erupted in a plume of exploding gasoline as a Russian Degtyaryov Anti-Tank Rifle round smashed into it's thin armor. The German forces continued to retreat, leaving four burning Panzers and three dead half-tracks. A number her soldiers, some of them good women with genetic enhancements lay dead and scattered behind them on the battlefield. An anti-tank projectile streaked out and barely missed her jeep as the driver did her expert best to keep ahead of the Soviet ambush. Both women were worried now that perhaps they were driving head-long into a German mile field. Felled trees all along the sides of the roadway now were an indication and a running over a mine would leave them both stranded, helpless or worse. Still, bouncing over a possible mine field was preferable at this stage then getting snared in the Soviet surprise attack on her position.
Ilsa's driver caught a round in the side of her head, spinning the jeep to the side and dumping out it's important occupant. Ilsa Hauppman was tossed unceremoniously onto the mud, spattering her once-clean black SS uniform. As the jeep bounced a few more yards, the driver also tumbled out, her body landing on one of the mines she had been so worried about in life. The explosion sent the already dead woman's torso flying in one direction and her legs in another. Ilsa was on foot now and caught in their snare. She looked around desperately until her eyes settled on her gas mask apparatus. She dove for it, taking it into her arms and continuing on towards the side of the now overturned jeep. It would provide her with the cover she would need for the next few minutes as she activated her serum. There was no longer any option. She would become death itself and battle her way back towards the beleaguered tanks. From there she would at least made to the hidden Reich facility in Rastenberg. It was the only choice open to her now. Ilsa slid the gas mask down over her blonde haired head and activated the inhalation system, breathing in deep her chemical concoction.
Everywhere on her body it felt as if she were going to explode. Instantly, large swells of muscle began to fill up her SS uniform, pumping and pistoning as her body grew in front of her eyes. Huge biceps swelled on her arms, and her chest ballooned with thick, steely muscles. Ilsa moaned as her stomach swelled outwards. Her hands instinctively went there for the pain, and she felt it settle into ridged valleys and peaks of muscles. Within moments her uniform shredded from her unreal looking body, pumping with hard swimming musculature and throbbing veins. Ilsa was absolutely gigantic and looked carved from living marble, her body utterly indifferent to any preconceived notions of femininity . She was now grunting and breathing hard, like a bull and also like a bull, her thick, bulging neck, capped with rigid, tendon-striated sick bulges of trapezius muscle, was frightening in its size and vascularity. Her face split into a terrible grin as she stood up from behind the wreckage of the jeep and looked out towards the enemy positions. Attacking her here, driving her from her home would be the last mistake they would ever make.
And every soldier she killed wore the face of the Soviet Superwoman.
A massive thank to
for this incredible image of Ilsa! You always make her look great my friend.
Also a shout-out to my comrade-in-arms
for inspiring me to write this particular story!
Ilsa Hauppman, Soviet Superwoman and the story are my creations and property.
Ilsa, going under the handle genocide now, can be found in