Post by lisawieserman1941 on Apr 22, 2010 16:51:38 GMT
Country: France
TIME: 12:03 October 2, 1943
Weather:
A rather pleasant day for early October. A slight breeze whispering from the north at 7 knots, complimenting a cloudless sky.
Thanks to the Doctor at Fresden prison, Lisa was given proper medical attention for both her illness and bullet wounds. The Doctor thought of it as an experiment for simultaneously treating her leg and infection so that he would be better prepared to administer advanced aid to German soldiers evacuated from the front to the hospital. Taking note the American was practically starved for nutrition, he made sure she was given a well balanced diet and enough water for speedy hydration to smooth the healing process. Wieserman was promptly transferred to a deloused cell where she could mend void of any environmental negatively induced stress. After being deloused herself and given new clothes, he could begin the treatment with a series of penicillin shots. Following a week of bed rest, her illness was cured, but the wounds still lingered. The partisan's bandages were changed frequently to accelerate a once ailing health concern. If it were not for the injections, her leg would had festered, ending up being amputated stemming from the complications of gangrene setting in.
After her two week stay under the heavy scrutiny of the Doctor, she was transferred to Natzweiler-Struthof concentration camp. It was nestled in the Vorges Mountains, near the Alsatian village of Natzweiler, 50 kilometers south west from Strasbourgh. There was a mix up in the paperwork whereas Herr Wolff had promised her a transfer to a POW camp, whilst none existed in France, probably accounting for the mistaken transaction.
Arriving at the camp, the American noticed there were only seven SS women known as supervisors guarding the few 25 female inmates. 600 SS men guarded the male population, at about 35,000 at the time. Some were executed for medical experiments for anatomy classes at the Strasbourgh University.
Presented with a prisoner's uniform of vertical blue and gray stripes, Lisa was alarmed it could in fact be a genuine death camp. Many were worked to their graves because of the lack of sustenance. Dehydration was also serving as a culprit in the multitude of deaths, including dysentery and other diseases commonly found in such camps.
It was the beginning of October, 1943, at high noon, with a vibrant sun adorning the azure sky, brushing its golden tails over the curled barbed wires attached to the zenith of the bordering fences, extending towers housing expert marksmen brandishing 50 caliber machine guns, the trigger happy tower guards wishing some would dare cross the wire of death, which would usually be the case of those gone 'wire happy,' crazed from the strain of harsh prison life. The men and women were separated, so the young resistance fighter had no idea how many were interned. Lisa asked a guard why she was sent there, and was met with a masculine tone of whom simply donated with twisted lips..."To die." Attesting she was sent to the wrong camp only met with deaf ears.
Shaking her head in disgust, Lisa was often observed limping around the yard favoring her right leg which was still healing, picking up bugs and eating them, expecting it would be her only protein. She was in good shape from previously being well fed following her last weeks at Fresden, but worried about her leg getting infected again since the antibiotics and proper food would now be denied to her. The soup consisted of stale cabbage and rotten potatoes, as stagnant water invited bacteria to multiply in those eager to ingest its spoiled contents. They were given their rations only once a day after early morning roll call. She tried to tell the French women to eat the maggots swimming in the disgusting brew, but they picked them out unaware of its benefits ignoring her frantic efforts to speak in French. Their sunken faces and protruding bones etched above dirty skin were littered with blistering sores, serving as the epitome of the dire effects of camp life. Lisa's morale was expiring as she pictured a brief life span with no hopes of an escape attempt, a sure death sentence of a concentration camp rolling over worn out bent backs.
But the American would fight on while blood instructed avenues of revenge throughout her arteries and veins that would now deliver a heated fray by her own doing. While Otto had planned to have her incarcerated in a POW camp, Lisa pledged to take on as many lying Nazis as she could, deducing Herr Wolff had deceived her. As the women were called out for roll call before the afternoon expired, the fed up partisan planned the attack while she was physically able. She would never allow herself to fall prey to the plague of infection while her health was built upon in its finality of reserves by the obsessive Doctor. Playing the part of an injured prisoner had given the guards a blind eye to what was drumming out in the Kamakazi woman's conscious, her subconscious having never lingered far behind the abyss of her liberated cerebration free to wreak utter havoc on the enemy.
"It is now or never," Wieserman mulled over as the navigation of sweat was licking its tense lips over the panicked inmate's drowned shimmering tresses.
Sprinting forward with a snap to the nearest female guard's head, her good left leg led the foundation of a well placed swing kick to the temple that felled the guard knocking her unconscious as the New Yorker rolled in suit, ignoring the nerves on fire pickling from within the turret of her wounds as pure adrenaline gifted her with energy she thought had deserted her union. Whilst ripping the machine pistol out of her enemy's limp arm and wrist, the sling was yanked away violently from its prior owner as she turned it on the others.
Cocking the bolt back and slightly up, squeezing the trigger as if it was her ticket home, Lisa seized the moment as she raked her weapon in a death spray upon the guards taken by surprise at her present proximity, the blood of the immoral spewing out of riddled torsos. Climbing the two meter high fence with a cat-like grace while the wire ripped at her with lust, Lisa was seen darting past expended bullets stinging past her ears from the females' side. A slab of housing which had segregated the women, positioned itself as a drop zone as the fighter landed in the male holding yard in a crouch. The assassin greased herself with mud settling by a soiled pool under the drain of a cracked gutter in a vain attempt to cover the prison colors she had been saddled with, now camouflaged to an earthly hue so it appeared from those yards away it was a universal garb, not the vertical mundane and defeatist design of those seized of their humanity.
Adopting an approach on the offensive, the target of her mission were the officers and any guard who got in her way. She entered the combat world leaving mere sabotage as the subtle remains of her reserved past vowing to never kill. But her life was on the line. The instinctive act of self preservation had never kicked in, hoisting herself blindly into a full fledged suicidal raid. A guard turned to swing his MP-40 at the charging blond woman, his eyes gaping in unbridled disbelief as his forehead received a bullet as a reminder of his deadly hesitation. Taking out others in the split-second assaults like she was quick on the draw in a Western movie, the trampled dirt pledged the fallen with proverbial open arms welcoming unannounced guests.
The rattle of machine gun fire alerted the north tower guard who swung his 50 caliber machine-gun at what he perceived to be a wild woman shooting down guards and a couple officers, falling from the iron curtain of the mighty Third Reich, crumpling into their own form of submission, the Devils' Henchmen.
The sharp shooter allowed himself a grin as he held the American within his sights. A painless demise would not be accorded her as the barricade unfolded before the crazed running woman scrambling to her freedom. As the partisan's left knee was blown out of its socket leaving a bulging pulp, her right knee met his second mark, crippling the woman, toppling her over on her back. Her left hand which was cradling the magazine was left with a stump as it and the machine pistol were blown away from her grasp in a series of shots. Screaming in agony, a squad of guards encircled the vulnerable prisoner as she was shouting for them to shoot her in her native slang. A Sergeant barked out orders as he alone was left to deal with the brazen American. The tower guard then reluctantly stood down.
"What are you waiting for?!! Do it!! But know this...Nazi soldier!! You kill an American partisan...a soldier!! Not a Jew, Gypsy, or any other, but an Amie Soldat!! Verstehen Sie?!!" The fighter spoke her last words bursting in cutting German which interpreted as, American Female Soldier--Do you understand?
A swift merciful burst of rapid machine-gun fire ripped into the Resistance fighter's chest as she gasped once, her face then sliding to the side, the gate looming as a bulkhead in her failing vision. Wieserman then expelled her last breath, her piercing blue eyes locked on the soldier who took her life. Her shoulders were delicately framed by long blond hair spread out like wings, giving her an almost supernatural Angel-like appearance. The non-com had spared her beautiful features and given her a quick death because he understood English and found her Aryan looks too pleasing to break apart in front of the other guards in retribution, finding the irony of it all resulting from a strict background where he was brought up to respect women, unlike others in the war he grew so soberly used to...be it the intrusive odors, horrific sights of combat, blindness suffered by exploding grenades, never to hear a lover's whisper as hearing robbed the musicians of life, solid minds broken into fragments which once served as an unedited human being.
Since he was wounded in Africa at the beginning of the war and could not march resulting from a shattered leg immersed in heavy mortar fire, the young and handsome former Wehrmacht soldier, named Fritz, was transferred to the SS destined to become a Concentration Camp guard, but still retaining his rank of Master Sergeant. He found the duty to be well below his expertise as a combat veteran, but obeyed orders none-the-less, ever hopeful a frontal landing would require his services and reassign him back to the Wehrmacht. Fritz literally grew up with loyalty ingrained in him spelling his indoctrination into the Hitler Youth. He respected Lisa's radical attempt to resist and plan an escape where no other had dared try. He gave her a soldier's death, a honor he would never bestow upon another till the Americans freed the camp and he was sent to the front of his Homeland to receive his own tag of a death of honor.
Resting his black helmet gravitating at his appealing victim, his battle hardened stare was shrouded by the brim. The Sergeant waved over a burial detail salvaging the torn body from the ovens. One guard, also a former Wehrmacht soldier who understood English as well, swore he heard his comrade say..."What a waste," but kept it to himself, knowing his friend would have to deal with sleepless nights from killing a brave and attractive woman. Most SS would never harbor any respect for the enemy, especially a female partisan who had shot down the SS. Yet Fritz breathed a regular soldier's life. Pure Wehrmacht was his passion. He held any soldier who fought far and beyond the call of duty as an accomplished weapon of warfare of his or her own right. His orders were carried out without question. Wieserman was buried in an enlisted grave with other Americans killed in action. Private Wieserman...3rd Infantry Division...KIA 10-2-1943 read her make-shift headstone. He purposely had her first name left out so her remains would not be discovered. When he searched for her in the records, he cursed out loud in pressed anger in the barracks when it was made clear she was destined for a POW not a Concentration camp. He threatened to turn in any SS men involved in the burial who may expose the details to his Uncle of the Waffen SS, a well known and highly decorated Colonel, awarded the iron cross first class. His Uncle had close ties with the SS and the Wehrmacht. According to the rest of the guards and officers, she was just a French Resistance fighter who attempted a daring escape, a pile of ashes and bone adding to a mountain of discarded prisoners.
Lisa's family never knew what had become of her, only the surviving Wehrmacht soldier did, and would visit her resting place paying his respects to her after the war, as he did his comrade, killed in The Battle of the Bulge by an American sniper.
TIME: 12:03 October 2, 1943
Weather:
A rather pleasant day for early October. A slight breeze whispering from the north at 7 knots, complimenting a cloudless sky.
Thanks to the Doctor at Fresden prison, Lisa was given proper medical attention for both her illness and bullet wounds. The Doctor thought of it as an experiment for simultaneously treating her leg and infection so that he would be better prepared to administer advanced aid to German soldiers evacuated from the front to the hospital. Taking note the American was practically starved for nutrition, he made sure she was given a well balanced diet and enough water for speedy hydration to smooth the healing process. Wieserman was promptly transferred to a deloused cell where she could mend void of any environmental negatively induced stress. After being deloused herself and given new clothes, he could begin the treatment with a series of penicillin shots. Following a week of bed rest, her illness was cured, but the wounds still lingered. The partisan's bandages were changed frequently to accelerate a once ailing health concern. If it were not for the injections, her leg would had festered, ending up being amputated stemming from the complications of gangrene setting in.
After her two week stay under the heavy scrutiny of the Doctor, she was transferred to Natzweiler-Struthof concentration camp. It was nestled in the Vorges Mountains, near the Alsatian village of Natzweiler, 50 kilometers south west from Strasbourgh. There was a mix up in the paperwork whereas Herr Wolff had promised her a transfer to a POW camp, whilst none existed in France, probably accounting for the mistaken transaction.
Arriving at the camp, the American noticed there were only seven SS women known as supervisors guarding the few 25 female inmates. 600 SS men guarded the male population, at about 35,000 at the time. Some were executed for medical experiments for anatomy classes at the Strasbourgh University.
Presented with a prisoner's uniform of vertical blue and gray stripes, Lisa was alarmed it could in fact be a genuine death camp. Many were worked to their graves because of the lack of sustenance. Dehydration was also serving as a culprit in the multitude of deaths, including dysentery and other diseases commonly found in such camps.
It was the beginning of October, 1943, at high noon, with a vibrant sun adorning the azure sky, brushing its golden tails over the curled barbed wires attached to the zenith of the bordering fences, extending towers housing expert marksmen brandishing 50 caliber machine guns, the trigger happy tower guards wishing some would dare cross the wire of death, which would usually be the case of those gone 'wire happy,' crazed from the strain of harsh prison life. The men and women were separated, so the young resistance fighter had no idea how many were interned. Lisa asked a guard why she was sent there, and was met with a masculine tone of whom simply donated with twisted lips..."To die." Attesting she was sent to the wrong camp only met with deaf ears.
Shaking her head in disgust, Lisa was often observed limping around the yard favoring her right leg which was still healing, picking up bugs and eating them, expecting it would be her only protein. She was in good shape from previously being well fed following her last weeks at Fresden, but worried about her leg getting infected again since the antibiotics and proper food would now be denied to her. The soup consisted of stale cabbage and rotten potatoes, as stagnant water invited bacteria to multiply in those eager to ingest its spoiled contents. They were given their rations only once a day after early morning roll call. She tried to tell the French women to eat the maggots swimming in the disgusting brew, but they picked them out unaware of its benefits ignoring her frantic efforts to speak in French. Their sunken faces and protruding bones etched above dirty skin were littered with blistering sores, serving as the epitome of the dire effects of camp life. Lisa's morale was expiring as she pictured a brief life span with no hopes of an escape attempt, a sure death sentence of a concentration camp rolling over worn out bent backs.
But the American would fight on while blood instructed avenues of revenge throughout her arteries and veins that would now deliver a heated fray by her own doing. While Otto had planned to have her incarcerated in a POW camp, Lisa pledged to take on as many lying Nazis as she could, deducing Herr Wolff had deceived her. As the women were called out for roll call before the afternoon expired, the fed up partisan planned the attack while she was physically able. She would never allow herself to fall prey to the plague of infection while her health was built upon in its finality of reserves by the obsessive Doctor. Playing the part of an injured prisoner had given the guards a blind eye to what was drumming out in the Kamakazi woman's conscious, her subconscious having never lingered far behind the abyss of her liberated cerebration free to wreak utter havoc on the enemy.
"It is now or never," Wieserman mulled over as the navigation of sweat was licking its tense lips over the panicked inmate's drowned shimmering tresses.
Sprinting forward with a snap to the nearest female guard's head, her good left leg led the foundation of a well placed swing kick to the temple that felled the guard knocking her unconscious as the New Yorker rolled in suit, ignoring the nerves on fire pickling from within the turret of her wounds as pure adrenaline gifted her with energy she thought had deserted her union. Whilst ripping the machine pistol out of her enemy's limp arm and wrist, the sling was yanked away violently from its prior owner as she turned it on the others.
Cocking the bolt back and slightly up, squeezing the trigger as if it was her ticket home, Lisa seized the moment as she raked her weapon in a death spray upon the guards taken by surprise at her present proximity, the blood of the immoral spewing out of riddled torsos. Climbing the two meter high fence with a cat-like grace while the wire ripped at her with lust, Lisa was seen darting past expended bullets stinging past her ears from the females' side. A slab of housing which had segregated the women, positioned itself as a drop zone as the fighter landed in the male holding yard in a crouch. The assassin greased herself with mud settling by a soiled pool under the drain of a cracked gutter in a vain attempt to cover the prison colors she had been saddled with, now camouflaged to an earthly hue so it appeared from those yards away it was a universal garb, not the vertical mundane and defeatist design of those seized of their humanity.
Adopting an approach on the offensive, the target of her mission were the officers and any guard who got in her way. She entered the combat world leaving mere sabotage as the subtle remains of her reserved past vowing to never kill. But her life was on the line. The instinctive act of self preservation had never kicked in, hoisting herself blindly into a full fledged suicidal raid. A guard turned to swing his MP-40 at the charging blond woman, his eyes gaping in unbridled disbelief as his forehead received a bullet as a reminder of his deadly hesitation. Taking out others in the split-second assaults like she was quick on the draw in a Western movie, the trampled dirt pledged the fallen with proverbial open arms welcoming unannounced guests.
The rattle of machine gun fire alerted the north tower guard who swung his 50 caliber machine-gun at what he perceived to be a wild woman shooting down guards and a couple officers, falling from the iron curtain of the mighty Third Reich, crumpling into their own form of submission, the Devils' Henchmen.
The sharp shooter allowed himself a grin as he held the American within his sights. A painless demise would not be accorded her as the barricade unfolded before the crazed running woman scrambling to her freedom. As the partisan's left knee was blown out of its socket leaving a bulging pulp, her right knee met his second mark, crippling the woman, toppling her over on her back. Her left hand which was cradling the magazine was left with a stump as it and the machine pistol were blown away from her grasp in a series of shots. Screaming in agony, a squad of guards encircled the vulnerable prisoner as she was shouting for them to shoot her in her native slang. A Sergeant barked out orders as he alone was left to deal with the brazen American. The tower guard then reluctantly stood down.
"What are you waiting for?!! Do it!! But know this...Nazi soldier!! You kill an American partisan...a soldier!! Not a Jew, Gypsy, or any other, but an Amie Soldat!! Verstehen Sie?!!" The fighter spoke her last words bursting in cutting German which interpreted as, American Female Soldier--Do you understand?
A swift merciful burst of rapid machine-gun fire ripped into the Resistance fighter's chest as she gasped once, her face then sliding to the side, the gate looming as a bulkhead in her failing vision. Wieserman then expelled her last breath, her piercing blue eyes locked on the soldier who took her life. Her shoulders were delicately framed by long blond hair spread out like wings, giving her an almost supernatural Angel-like appearance. The non-com had spared her beautiful features and given her a quick death because he understood English and found her Aryan looks too pleasing to break apart in front of the other guards in retribution, finding the irony of it all resulting from a strict background where he was brought up to respect women, unlike others in the war he grew so soberly used to...be it the intrusive odors, horrific sights of combat, blindness suffered by exploding grenades, never to hear a lover's whisper as hearing robbed the musicians of life, solid minds broken into fragments which once served as an unedited human being.
Since he was wounded in Africa at the beginning of the war and could not march resulting from a shattered leg immersed in heavy mortar fire, the young and handsome former Wehrmacht soldier, named Fritz, was transferred to the SS destined to become a Concentration Camp guard, but still retaining his rank of Master Sergeant. He found the duty to be well below his expertise as a combat veteran, but obeyed orders none-the-less, ever hopeful a frontal landing would require his services and reassign him back to the Wehrmacht. Fritz literally grew up with loyalty ingrained in him spelling his indoctrination into the Hitler Youth. He respected Lisa's radical attempt to resist and plan an escape where no other had dared try. He gave her a soldier's death, a honor he would never bestow upon another till the Americans freed the camp and he was sent to the front of his Homeland to receive his own tag of a death of honor.
Resting his black helmet gravitating at his appealing victim, his battle hardened stare was shrouded by the brim. The Sergeant waved over a burial detail salvaging the torn body from the ovens. One guard, also a former Wehrmacht soldier who understood English as well, swore he heard his comrade say..."What a waste," but kept it to himself, knowing his friend would have to deal with sleepless nights from killing a brave and attractive woman. Most SS would never harbor any respect for the enemy, especially a female partisan who had shot down the SS. Yet Fritz breathed a regular soldier's life. Pure Wehrmacht was his passion. He held any soldier who fought far and beyond the call of duty as an accomplished weapon of warfare of his or her own right. His orders were carried out without question. Wieserman was buried in an enlisted grave with other Americans killed in action. Private Wieserman...3rd Infantry Division...KIA 10-2-1943 read her make-shift headstone. He purposely had her first name left out so her remains would not be discovered. When he searched for her in the records, he cursed out loud in pressed anger in the barracks when it was made clear she was destined for a POW not a Concentration camp. He threatened to turn in any SS men involved in the burial who may expose the details to his Uncle of the Waffen SS, a well known and highly decorated Colonel, awarded the iron cross first class. His Uncle had close ties with the SS and the Wehrmacht. According to the rest of the guards and officers, she was just a French Resistance fighter who attempted a daring escape, a pile of ashes and bone adding to a mountain of discarded prisoners.
Lisa's family never knew what had become of her, only the surviving Wehrmacht soldier did, and would visit her resting place paying his respects to her after the war, as he did his comrade, killed in The Battle of the Bulge by an American sniper.