Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
*****


Apr 7, 2012, 6:08:21 PM by ~OmegaWolfOfWinter
Journals / Personal




"Name: Amelia Weissmuler. Date of birth: June 6th, 1920. Test subject number 314-X. Specimen: Tiger." Amy heard all of this through a haze of sedatives that had begun to lose their already poor effect. She turned in the direction of the voice and saw a fearsome **** SS General standing behind a white clad scientist with a heavy accent. The general said nothing but listened and watched as Amy was strapped down to a cold metal table, completely **** with various wires, tubes and needles protruding from her flesh. She groaned painfully, the needles were extensive, and the **** scientists had no care of decency or respect. she was hit with another sedative and before she lost consciousness she heard the scientist, who she guessed was Dr. Heismeiller, say, "Name, Mordecai Dansker, former Major of the Third *****. Date of birth: September 19th, 1919. Test subject 14-W. Specimen: Wolf. As you
can see, Heir General, these are both healthy specimens, as are the test subjects." Amy heard a
rattling of cages. Her vison slowly went dark but not before seeing the doctor's face, uncovered and psychotic.
* *
When Amy woke up again, she was being suspended from the floor, the tubes and wires accompanied by menacing electrodes. there was an unnatural blue and white crackling of electricity around her, illuminating the other suspended tables nearby, the bodies in various grotesque positions and levels of decay. she tried to scream but found a machine unceremoniously shoved in her mouth, stretching deep inside her. she looked and saw nothing but obscene machines and various glass tubes of colored bubbling liquids. she tried sluggishly to break free but to no avail. what little strength she had was useless against the torturous devices emplanted in and around her. "Doctor, begin the experiment."
"Yaboe!" She heard a solid click resound through the room and heard a male scream in another room. the screams echoed for a long while, then nothing. she heard a gasp of releif from
the doctor and, "General! Subject 14-W... he has... Survived!"
"Good. now start on the frauline." there was a large thud from outside the room. "Quickly! this facility is under seige!"
"Yes sir, heir general. Test subject 314-X prepped and ready. Begin phase 1." she cried out silently as the needles burned hot inside her and the tubes boiled her insides. the electrodes soon incapacitated her and she fell unconscious.
*
*
"Phase 1 complete, heir general, subject is ready, proceeding to Phase 2."
Amy felt an intense burning around the needles, and an electric fire through her veins. the machine had been taken from her mouth, but she doubted she could scream any more, as her throat was raw from the silent screams of Phase 1. She felt her body shake uncontrollably as more electric shocks were administered. she was left panting and slumped over. "Sequence complete, the bonding process was a success." there was another thud and sediment from the roof fell to the floor. "Get her down now! They will be through soon!" She was lowered to the ground and unstrapped from the table, picked up, and placed on a stretcher. she raised her hands on front her face and nearly fainted, her hands, or paws, resembled that of a tiger, and as she looked, her whole body was covered in a slick orange, black and white fur. She was put into the backseat of an armored car with a simple blanket draped around
her. Amy felt nauseated
as the car sped off. It hit a bump in the road and she moaned painfully, clutching her furry belly and retching. the **** next to her turned away in disgust. the car ride was long and sickening, and she lost consciousness twice, and finally she tried to lay down in the cramped space. when the armored car finally stopped, she was pulled from the back seat and carried over a soldier's shoulder and into a small bunker. Once inside, amy heard a metal door open and was laid down onto a stiff bed with a single pillow and a single cover. There was a small window in the cell, a drab, grey stream of light shining in her eyes. She propped herself up on her elbow and shielded her eyes from the blinding contrast. Once her eyes adjusted, amy noticed that things had a particular sharpness to them and she had an acute awareness of things based on scent. she stood shakily, and noticed she was almost
six inches taller now, and her new tail swished back and forth along the concrete floor. she stepped
forward and grasped the iron bars and peeked out, seeing a black leather messenger bag and a black uniform lined with white. she couldn't quite reach the uniform, but was able to get a claw around the strap of the messenger bag. she pulled it closer to her and saw that her initials were monogrammed into the leather. she pulled it through the bars and opened the bag, pulling out a small, blank, leather bound journal and a pen. still ****, she sat on the bed and practiced writing, tearing out two pages of scratch paper. She began her journal with, "I am no longer the person i once was. i am something new, something... different."
• * *
The **** captain stepped into the bunker and saw amy, half lying, half dangling on the bed, the leather journal clutched close to her chest. he stormed into the cell and backhanded her awake, snatching up the journal as she cowered in the corner, her tail wrapped around her. the captain flipped through the pages of the journal and then closed iit with a snap. he glanced at it and dropped it on the bed. "it is yours now, Frauline. you are very special to the third *****. the fuhrer himself has asked for you to be placed in the Waffen SS and trained." amy glanced at the uniform on the table outside the cell and he nodded, "specially tailored for you, frauline. he stepped outside the cell and grabbed the uniform, setting it down on the bed. "you may Change into your new uniform and join the rest of us outside." he stepped outside and she was alone. she donned the simple uNdergarments then
slipped into the soft black trousers, after which she put on her military boots. next she put on the black and white jacket signature of the SS. the jacket was sleek and menacing, though it did little to flatten her chest, but that, she supposed, was one of her feminine charms. last was her hat and armband, both adorned with the *******. she gathered the leather messenger bag and stepped outside the cell, where a mirror stood, giving her a chance to see what had been done, the black uniform was a dramatic contrast to her brightly colored fur, and her new black stripes added a fierce look to her. she grinned and flashed menacing white teeth. she turned her body, looking at herself from different points of view. she slipped the **** armband onto her right arm and turned to leave. she stopped when she encountered a high pitch noise right next to the door. for the moment she just walked past, opening the door and adjusting her vision to the outside light. the layout was grey and barren,
as it always was in wartime. the captain was waiting for her along with a small squad of SS troops. a
Few laughed and remarked at her appearance, making cat noises and wolf whistling at her. she glared at them with a bright white snarl carved into her soft face. *they will fear me...

she saluted the captain and said, "heil ******." he returned the gesture, "heil. you are now part of the Waffen SS, frauline Amelia."
"please sir, its amy."
he noted her directness and ferocity, "very well, amy. before we assign you a task, though, you must prove yourself." he addressed the squad, "they are all corporal's and sergeants. you are merely a private. you will gain a rank for each one that you ****. however, they have been told that if they do not force you to submit, they will be killed or sent to the russian front. so you best fight your hardest, private amy."
as he finished, the squad set down their Mauser 98K's and MP-40's and stepped closer to her. her eyes widened in shock, then narrowed in ferocious determination. there were twelve of them.
"Fight!"
• *
Amy took a fighting stance and faced her attackers. she attempted a punch at the nearest one but was kneed in the gut, she was thrown back a few feet. she fell to her knees and clutched her stomach with one hand, holding herself upright with the other. tears sprung to life in her eyes and threatened to roll down her cheeks. she fought the tears back and stood, feeling her claws extend. she swiped at a soldier's throat, catching him right in the throat. blood splattered the ground as he choked on his own fluids. the remaining eleven were taken aback slightly, allowing her to pounce another soldier, punching and tearing at his gut with lethal force. her fur was bloodstained and she waited a moment too late, watching the cavity she created fill with blood. she was barreled over, the wind knocked out of her by a sergeant. she lay on her back, gasping for air as the soldiers closed in,
landing a few punches and sending her reeling back. she staggered back, struggling for breath. she
Bumped up against something and realized it was a bunker wall, she was trapped. she thought quickly and decided for a new course of action, she waited for one of them to gather his bravado and throw a solid punch at her, which was useless, she grabbed his wrist and smashed his head against the wall, filling his helmet with blood and brains. in the same move, she had grabbed his Luger and had downed three more of the remaining ten. in their moment of confusion she kicked the closest one in the fork of his legs and followed up with a pistolwhip. the man went down quickly and died by the heel of her merciless boot. the remaining six charged at her, one falling by her last bullet and another caught a swift kick in the ribcage, shattering the bones to peices. the rest of the men were sergeants, and they began to retreat, running into the open field. she was about to chase after them when she
heard another Luger fire. she turned to see the captain shooting the deserters. each fell, one by
One by the captain's gun to her surprise he let a single man go. "you have done very well, frauline amy. you have killed eight out of twelve men, not bad at all."
she was panting, her uniform dirtied, "why.. did you let.. him go?"
the captain smiled, "someone has to spread you're reputation, heir captain."
she gaped at him. "i am... captain?"
"yaboe, heir frauline. you have proved yourself worthy to serve under the fuhrer."
she saluted him, "thank you, heir captain."
*
amy wrote in her journal as they were driven to one of the Stalags: "my promotion to captain has earned me my choice of weapons, ive chosen a few, two long barrel Luger's, a cavalry saber, and a sixteen foot bullwhip. i also carry an automatic Mauser in my messenger bag. other than a few knives carefully hidden on my body, that should be it. ive become the fuhrer's favorite enforcer, though i feel as if i'm forgetting something..."
amy closed the journal and placed it in her bag with a soft snap.
Amy waited for a **** private to open the car door and let her out, tapping her foot impatiently. when he finally came, she had a luger pointed at his chest. "you're late. she got out of the car and shot him, holstering the pistol as he crumpled to the ground. the colonel in charge rushed towards her, "what is the meaning of this?!"
"your man on watch was late, and now he'll never be late again. and also, colonel, as i am a captain in the SS, i am your superior officer and you WILL adjust yourself accordingly or i will replace you with someone who will."
his expression was that of shock, "y-yes, heir captain, please follow me." he escorted her quickly to the main building. amy glanced around at the peering POWs, glaring at them with distaste as they whistled at her. "who's the kitty?" "what the hell is that?"
her hands fell to her lugers and she was ready to fire when she was beckoned inside by the colonel and she followed behind him reluctantly. "you should control your prisoners.
i find an overall lack of order in this camp. you're lucky i'm in a good mood, or i'd have you strung up for incompetence. lets hope my further evaluation of this... facility... does not make me any more inclined to do so."
the colonel stuttered again and dipped his head, "y-yes heir captain."
she stepped outside unopposed by any. she snapped her fingers and a sergeant rushed to her side and saluted. she handed him a journal logbook and he opened it to the page marked with the Stalag number. she entered the closed off areas of the stalag to inspect the barracks.
*
amy's fists were clenched with rag, a prisoner mocked her from within his confines. his fellow prisoners pleaded with him to stop. "she's lethal!" "she killed eight SS sergeants and corporals singelhandedly her first day!"
the prisoner ignored them and began gesturing at her. she snapped her head up and their eyes met for an instant, she growled through a gritted snarl and was over the fence in mere moments. once over,
the prisoner that mocked her was now on the ground, his throat between her fangs. he cried out once and then gurgled blood as she tore out his throat. she spat the flesh onto the dirt and stood, brushing the dusty particles from her uniform. the men around her backed away when she approached them, and watched her cautiously as she stepped back out of the fenceline. amy picked up her cap from the ground and brushed it off. one of the prisoners called for a doctor, and when one of the guards began to look for one, she merely said, "no, he wont survive. leave him be."
the soldier saluted and went back to his post. she walked up to the colonel and said, "your prisoner annoyed me, as do you, colonel. you have three days to turn this place around or you'll end up worse off then your prisoner over there."
the colonel had turned a pale white and whispered, "understood, captain."
she returned to her quarters and listened for a moment as the colonel shouted orders. "that was fun." she remarked.

Amy was asleep in one of the larger rooms in the main  building, her uniform folded neatly on the table near the bed. she kep one luger on her bedside table and the mauser under her pilllow. her other luger, her sword and her whip were next to her clothes. she was clad only in her fur, as she'd found that the most comfortable way to sleep.
she was woken up by a knock at the door. she blinked her eyes a few times. clutching the mauser handle with one hand and holding the blanket to her chest with the other, she said, "what is it?"
"the colonel wishes to speak to you, heir frauline."
she growled, "grrr... fine. tell him to make it quick." she clutched the blanket closer as he opened the door. she held the mauser aimed at him and said, "turn." he did so without hesitation. she slipped cautiously out of the bed and began to dress. "what is it you wished to speak with me about, colonel?" amy put on her undergarments and then pulled her trousers up to her waist, fastening the belt comfortably.
"there is an important telegram for you, heir captain." she pulled on the jacket over her simple shirt, tugging out any wrinkles. "oh? from who?" next came the holster belts, each hanging slightly lower than her first belt. her sword was another belt, and there was a custom clip there for her whip as well.
"Himler, he has special orders for you." her messenger bag was next to last, slung over her shoulder before she slipped into her boots. ""You can turn now. hand them here." she stepped closer to him and took the envelope with her name scrawled on the front. the colonel excused himself so she could read the orders, "captain amelia weissmuler, once you have completed your assignment at Stalag 14, please make haste to stalingrad as there has been a number of our own turning against the *****. see to it that they cause no more problems. -heinrich himler"
she read it through three more times before folding it and placing it in her bag. she hurried outside, grabbing her hat
From the dresser.
* *
amy went about her inspection, seeing nothing wrong today. "the condition of stalag 16 has improved, heir colonel. well done. now send my car around." the colonel grinned and motioned for the car.
the black car adorned with swastikas roared to life, coming up beside her. the d
Drummed their boots on the camion floor,
Hob-nailed boots on the camion floor.
Sergeants stiff,
Corporals sore.
Lieutenant thought of a Mestre ***** —
Warm and soft and sleepy *****,
Cozy, warm and lovely *****;
****** cold, bitter, rotten ride,
Winding road up the Grappa side.
Arditi on benches stiff and cold,
Pride of their country stiff and cold,
Bristly faces, ***** hides —
Infantry marches, Arditi rides.
Grey, cold, bitter, sullen ride —
To splintered pines on the Grappa side
At Asalone, where the truck-load died.
Overwhelmed Mar 2011
the murderer is a man who
makes a living doing what
everyone jokes about but
who deep down in their so
simple minds refuse to do
the deed for fear of some
shadow conjured up as a
means to control them in
their weakest moments

the murderer lives in our
brain but lives in the hands
of very few

so few of you are killers
so few of you are people
who’ve escaped the fear

the killers are the people
who refuse to die without
a fight/the killers are the
people who refuse to keep
living without having things
their way

the murderers are killers
but the killers are creators
creators of terror, fear, and
anger, but also anguish, and
tears in volume of the ocean

the murderers
the musketeers
the marauders
the generals
the corporals
the soldiers
the butchers
the land developers
the tree planters
the kid sitting there
eating an apple

they’re all killers
all the killers are
all of them and
all of them are
all of us
Marshal Gebbie Sep 2011
The Captains and the Kings depart
Conflict’s flag descends the mast,
Skirmishes of battle stilled
Recriminations put to past.

A pageantry is in the air
Banners snap to stiff sea breeze,
White dust stirs as multitudes
Retreat in legions to the seas.

War retreats to motes of peace
Lost and honoured are deceased,
Weary troops are homeward bound
With mortal sins repealed by priest.

A stillness on the fields of mud
Skyward points artillery’s snout,
Cordite’s stink conceals the blood
Of legends made in battle’s route.

A stillness in the ringing ears
As corporals wend their weary way
To embarkation’s khaki fleet
Which wallows short in ocean sway.

A weariness of bone and limb
Bloodshot eyes glaze over now
Trudging to Creation’s Hymn
Juxtaposed by war... somehow?

Whitecaps on the ocean spray
The Captains and the Kings depart,
Repatriation’s cloak descends
To wrap war’s futile, cold, black heart.


Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
9 September 2011
Andrew Kelly Jul 2017
The tension
The tugging
I quarrel with
Myself again.

Perturbed neurotransmitters buzz about
My subarachnoid space,
Leaving a void where
My voice of reason once was.

What was once my cortex,
Is now a coliseum.
Gladiators donned in the Armor of God
Clash with abhorrent avatars of psychedelic malevolence.

This battle ending,
In the stalest of stalemates.
Leaving myself as the only casualty,
The lone survivor.

Parts of me, now gone forever more
I mourn the corporals of my conscience
By carrying on with my day,
As I drag my feet into the horizon.
The guns have fallen silent
Nothing but peace all around
Then the men came marching in
They know they're on familiar ground

Left right left heads held high
Marching onward filled with pride
Commands not sought none were given
Tears in their eyes hard to hide

Officers marched beside their men
Corporals and sergeants marched as well
They marched away from where they died
Marched away from a living hell

Now they will march for ever more
For soldiers they will always be
And on Remembrance Day they'll say
Those people there are remembering me.
Giada Luciano Dec 2013
'13 was a war.
several battles one after another,
each increasingly worse
than the one before it

i was laughed at by the corporals
and disgraced by the lieutenants

every loss was the same despair on repeat

somehow, i managed
to dig my dignity out of the bin
and get enough strength

to kick my enemies
in their already bruised shins

they say a new year,
a new chapter,

but for me,
it's a whole new revolution
and i'm in the lead, this time.
Arcassin B May 2018
By Arcassin Burnham


A weakness is a weakness and mine is peaking into
submission like being sacrificial in whatever this world is,
upper body strength with more flaws than that of a girl who doesn't have
a care in the world weather or not they know that she gets around with high
hopes of a better future way ahead for her and her family,
same basic concept when i aim to be an author in a corrupted society exposing
everything because they poison everything , do you get what I'm saying?
We have all been in some kind of sin engulfing us in flames begging God
to at least loosen the chains of any agony , please set me free,
don't wanna have a sign on my head because of my skin saying roadkill,
don't get whats up with that deal.

A Fight is always a fight even when against the corporals
leaning on the people to just help for confirmation but they're
too busy with  being brainwashed and battered from a force
unseen in a world so ***** but yet so clean summing up the the masses scenes,
We work for a lot and then we die for a lot, did you know Job in Hebrew Means
Prosecute?
She had a baby yesterday and doesn't  worry about today because she has it
in her mind that shes not through,
with all the partying and popping pills in a nightclub that I'm pretty sure is owned
by a gang too,
Have better life choices because you don't know when the devil will be
knocking at the door for you.
©abpoetry2018

http://abpvalley.blogspot.com/2018/05/no-guns-in-valley-lp.html
Tryst Sep 2014
This is the Field Marshall, tall and grand,
Who bellowed at Generals beneath his command,
Who shouted at Brigadiers in fine attire,
Who hollered at Colonels to make them jump higher,
Who screeched at the Majors and caused them to shake,
Who yelled at the Captains to keep them awake,
Who squawked at Lieutenants to keep them in line,
Who wailed at the Sergeants in double quick time,
Who shrieked at the Corporals and made them feel small,
Who screamed at the Privates worth nothing at all,
Who stood in the trenches and will never forget,
When they ran a man through with a fixed bayonet,
And held his hands tightly, as watching him die,
They whispered to no one, *"Oh why, but oh why?"
An idea based on "The House that Jack Built".

First published 19th Sept 2014, 14:25 AEST
Most days its just me against the world...
Most days All i ever get is a cold response...
A cold shoulder.. Your high again.......
A cold house... I can make it warm.....
A cold supper... It was my fault....
But most days everyone asks me for a little extra....
At most the only thing they want will cause my discomfort....
Most days I just agree...        
Because its the same as everyday....
I control an army that is mostly expendable.....
With soldiers called Sanity... Hope... Health.....
They mean nothing to no one....
But every night i nurse the wounds...
Of soldiers who only serve the needs of others.....
And the days they dont have to fight....
They are told not to talk too much...
To never say that they are tired...
That they too are something..
They belong to someone.....
No they are simply a disposable front line...
In a battle they must win for the love of their homeland.....
Oh home... They are forgetting that place...
Sometimes they hide in bars.....
Or in plain sight shellshocked from a continued battle....
Nobody cares its what they signed up for...
When they leave there is no longer a girl.... A family... No that is not the goal....
They are just in trenches against odds not in their favor....
Where the enemy is always getting new weapons.....
They learnt how to hide... To strike and hurt innocents....
After all collaterall damage is part of war.....
But as they look n there wake only burnt bridges that led to hope....
Crying children... Maybe they lost their goal..... Sometimes they shake from fatigue... Fear.....
Then its time to get a jolt from chemical not suited for them....
But its viewed as a want.... Never a need.....
I wish there was another way....
Sometimes a soldier goes AWOL...
The others stand in... A force of maniacs....
They just do what it takes to cover the ones who left....
With little care for anyone but themselves....
I dont control that army...
They call themselves Anger, Pain, sadness....
All under a warlord who neither cares or remembers....
He calls himself Addiction....
My army is able to fight them...
Even tho they are outgunned and wounded....
They are strong and run towards certain death.....
Holding pictures of a better time..
A picture of the woman they loved...
She is now only a memeory.....
A song.... A tune everyone tells them is offensive...
A belief.... That once they are victorious....
They might be taken serious....
And promoted from corporals... To seargeants.....
To lead a peaceful rebellion...
They no longer want war...
They want a truce with an enemy...
They only want to go home if only for a short leave....
To tell the people they love...
They are still here.. Please dont forget them....
But each time the shells fall silent... The cities no longer burn...
A crisis.... an atomic bomb brings them back into battle....
I feel sorry for them.....
My stories of motivation are now tales...
I wouldnt believe me either...
This was always my war....
They are just old friends now...
Gray and weak.. we no longer laugh or visit....
They just do what they have learnt to do.....
A good soldier never questions...
To die for their country is just a fate.....
I can only hope as each one dies...
I can hold them for at least a moment...
To thank them.....
To let them know i remember them....
How glorious they once were...
We thought we would own the world.....
Now each day im writing letters to memories....
Im soory to inform you..... They will be greatly missed....
I am sad these were great soldiers... But at least I know as they are killed....
It wont be long till I go.....
If I lose to the other force.... Heavan help everyone I care for.....
They will destroy them...
But another morning... Another battle....
Maybe today is the day...
When they get to go home... They get to feel loved to be cared for...
But i dust off their helmets and they head back out to battle.....
I dont have the heart to tell them...
I know we are gonna lose...
Its never been a war I believed they could win.....
Lawrence Hall Jan 2021
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

       “FBI vetting Guard troops in DC amid fears of insider attack”

                                         -Associated Press

          “…we need to put all of the mechanisms in place
           to thoroughly vet these men and women…”

                              -Army Secretary Ryan McCarthy

Men of Destiny always make a mess
Of life, of death, of shabby governance
And from the safety of their bunkers
Polish their medals and send in the young

“These men and women” – “these” – he sneers the word
As if privates and corporals try to block votes -
His predecessors, trusting budgets, bullets, and bombs
Didn’t trust us one bit in Viet-Nam

It is the Pentagon’s original sin:
When they ** up they blame the enlisted men


FBI vetting Guard troops in DC amid fears of insider attack (apnews.com)
A poem is itself.
The dance of the vultures o'er frosted red clay ,smoke swirling in the timid valley , ominous vibes in the winter grass alley ....
In the Principality of the Pulpwood Stumps
A wounded , worried lover's psyche tortured
Misty rain , copious memory hound weathered men and brothers
Barking corporals , leathered skin , soggy dens ..                                     Nutcrackers form a line , stand tall , call cadence then break into attention
Tight , bright , impeccably sutured uniforms crackle in the biting breeze , adorned in silver clasp with pink marble buttons securing slingshot munitions ...
With cherry cheeks a bugler splits the silence
The soldiers load their roscoe's
Keepers of the Grass hurl sweet gum cones
high into the orange eve
Locust spears guard fescue forts and hillside -
tunnels
Cracked corn funneled into hollow onion stems
The November battlefield looms dark and silent-
as the autumn bulb dims ...
A spiffy locust then proclaims from a tall tree
War is finished for you and me ..
The pasture of our forefathers shall be -
divided in thirds
A share for every mammal , insect and bird ...
Copyright October 2020 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved

— The End —