Putting the PP in Gruppenführer draft 1

[Should be obvious, but don't argue about politics on an underwater Bhutanese basket weaving forum, this is just a fapfic.]
[Also keep in mind I'm not a history geek, I've just done some basic research (blame Man in the High Castle) so not everything is going to be accurate]

The annoying ticking of a grandfather clock rang in the cramped room, the decorated soldier standing alone dusting off his uniform as he stared blankly into his figure in the mirror. Without as much of a thought, the man almost gave in and smashed the antique mirror resting against the wall; his cowardly move met with fierce backlash from his colleagues in the Army. He blinked, flashbacks of the day he boarded the train to Zurich flashing in his head - a crowd of fellow soldiers booing him as he watched stoically through the window.

The clock's chime rang, snapping the tall soldier out of his daydream, he turned to face the old, wooden door in the middle of the room as the stomping of feet outside signalled the beginning of his transition.
As the doors slowly swung open, the man also stomped his foot and raised his right hand, careful not to make eye contact with the officer about to enter the room. A menacing draft was felt through the room as the SS superior stepped into the room.

A girl, just high enough to reach the man's chest stepped in, her blonde hair tied into twin tails catching the man's gaze. She shut the door behind her, her boots clicking against the wooden floor as she approached the taller soldier - just standing in front of the man with a curious look on her pale face. It took most of his might not to make eye contact with the blonde girl standing inches away from his face, but he could tell she also had blue eyes to complete the Aryan look. Gruppenführer Isolde, one of the very few handpicked woman figures in the SS, now operated the internal espionage mission in the Reich.

Neither said anything for a few seconds, as the girl brushed something off of her shoulder and made way towards the chair - pulling another one across the desk from her, offering it to him. He noticed the girl's unusual dress; the top part was decorated with the usual black Schutzstaffel uniform, while a matching black skirt hung around her hips down to just above her knees and a tall pair of boots wrapped around her small feet.

<"Heil"> She began - her voice grating to the ears, a voice similar to somebody just out of high school.
<"Heil"> The man responded, sitting on the chair offered to him and removing his beret.
<"So, you're interested in joining the Abwehr? Care to explain why?"> The woman raised a brow, unpacking the clipped bundle of papers that the soldier brought for the interview.
<"...I believe my services here will be more useful to the Reich rather than my sacrifices on the field."> The man nodded, tapping his boot against the floor.
<"Nervous?"> The girl smirked, laying the papers across the large desk. <"It's just a job interview, nothing to get too excited about."> She added, her eyes darting across the papers.
<"I'd say I'm more anxious than nervous... I'm glad to be joining a more useful part of the Wehrmacht."> He added, blinking.
<"Oh? And here I thought you were joining because it had a female lead..."> She chuckled.
<"If I said that was the other half of the reason why I'm joining, would you call me a chauvinist?"> He laughed, but his stomach dropped as the officer's face turned sour.

He gulped, shrinking in size as the girl tugged on her red armband, continuing to eye the man's credentials.
<"It says here you're Croatian. I hope you know our policy doesn't allow anybody outside the Reich to join it's more... useful ranks."> She hissed, rolling her eyes at the Independent Croatian flag stamped to his passport. <"I'd hate you if you came here unprepared, wasting both of our precious time.">
<"I'm well aware, however; they told me I could try and join since my mother was born in Austria."> He nodded, passing along another few papers to the girl. She clicked with her tongue, opening the drawer of stamps and picking out one, approving his mother's documents.
<"Your name... It's hard to pronounce, do you have any nicknames?"> She continued, licking the red lipstick glued to her lips.
<"Well... Sighthound, but that was long ago..."> He nodded.
<"Hmm, guess I'll call you Doggy, then."> She raised a brow, stamping more of his papers with approvals. <"Any objections?">
<"None at all..."> He grated his teeth, keeping up his facade with a fake smile. Perhaps this torture was worth more than the hell that was waiting for the soldiers on the field, he glanced at the map of Occupied Europe proudly hanging on the wall, his eyes glaring at the drawn in borders of Nazi Germany approaching Moscow. Of course, his eyes then darted towards the calendar, and with winter approaching dangerously close, he gulped.

<"Well, Doggy, the more I look here the more I realize that, objectively, there's no reason to deny your resume, so - "> She sighed, pulling out another, larger stamp and dipping it in ink, then pressing hard against each piece of paper, her tongue sticking out as she did so.
<"Don't make me regret my decision, then. You'll be starting today, but visit the local tailor tomorrow to get measured for your uniform, ja?"> She continued, leaning back against her chair. <"You better hope I don't catch you wearing that rugged attire around here."> She added.
<"T-Thank you for this opportunity."> The man shot up, raising his hand and stomping before turning towards the door and marching into the offices, his heart pounding in his chest.


The smell of burnt cigarettes was the only thing keeping the newly-employed officer awake, resting his head on the desk, the soldier was the last person to leave, forever waiting for the transmissions from the frontlines in Russia. <"I'll be back soon."> the soldier on the other end of the line said, 2 hours ago, when the bite-sized pastry and coffee lining his desk was still hot.
He sighed, striking another match as he lights another cig, the room filling with a cancerous fog akin to something coming out of an industrial plant. The only noises in the room were the low humming and buzzing of electronic radios and now the slow-burning coming off his cigarette. Rumour says that the guards downstairs hosted poker nights, and seeing as how his comrade from the other side is probably eating Russian artillery, the soldier shoved all the pastries into his helmet and packed his mug of coffee, letting the radio hum on its own into the night.

With his mouth full of croissant, the soldier smugly counted the Reichsmarks he'd conned out of the guards, the bags under his eyes reaching down to his ankles. The radio room was just ahead, and he quickly stuffed the money into his wallet, nodding as he calculated how much beer he could purchase with this. The sun was still hours away from rising, the clock hanging from the wall read 4:27 AM - even a few hours of shut-eye would leave him better off than none.

That's when he heard the stomping of boots echoing behind him - he gulped the pastry in his mouth and quickly ran into the office, leaving the door slightly ajar to view the curfew breaker. To his dismay, a familiar figure appeared - Gruppenführer Isolde quickly making way towards her office, her face a deep red as she paused to unzip a curious satchel. The recruit raised a brow, watching his SO dig through its contents, before zipping it back up and making way towards her offices.

He shrugged off the girl's unusual behaviour, pursuing her wasn't a wise choice, considering that she'd probably have him executed for eavesdropping. Instead, the man continued toward his messy desk. Tonight's transcriptions were piled high, but he quickly folded them up into a single folder, when he noticed the absence of stamps in the room. He let out a long, nervous sigh. The only person in the whole building who, by law, must approve his transcriptions was none other than Isolde. He chuckled to himself, taking another bite out of his pastry before making way towards her office.

That's when he noticed the door to her cramped room was ajar. Light from the other room was seeping into the dark hallway. He gulped, was it wise to knock? Coming in unannounced, surely that wouldn't spell well for him. He peeked into the room, his blue eye scouting the area only to find the room empty of life - just a single lamp moodily lighting the room. Thank God he wouldn't need to confront the annoying officer tonight, not in this shape.

Stepping into the room, he locked his view on the desk; but something in the corner of his eye caught the man's attention. His gaze quickly shot to the corner and he locked eyes with the figure's warm, blue gaze staring back. Of course, the worst had come.

Isolde sat on the floor, the top part of her uniform unbuttoned, revealing her white blouse under the black Hugo Boss uniform; her skirt undone and tucked neatly beside her, with many other miscellaneous things. Around her small hips was what seemed to be an undone white diaper and her nude groin exposed to the cold air in the room. He tried to peel his eyes off the girl, to look away anywhere else and try and ignore the girl's nude groin and the wet diaper underneath. Her diaper was unusual in design, coming from a poor country, the man had only seen cloth, makeshift diapers wrapped around babies. However, Germany was rapidly progressing in industry, so perhaps this new and improved design would soon ship to occupied countries. That question rang in his head for a second, could she be some sort of a beta tester?
Within a second, the smaller SO let out an ear-piercing shriek that evacuated the whole building, the intruder alarm blaring as the soldier ran off into the night, not daring to look back.


The old tailor clicked with his tongue, eyeing the soldier as he ran measuring tape around his shaking arm.
<"Boy, you're as pale as bone, you're shaking like a diabetic in a Swiss chocolate shop - have you seen a ghost?"> He added, rolling the tape back into a circle
<"Only my own..."> The soldier blinked, taking another sip of the sugar water.
Any second now, The Gestapo will break into the room, cuffing the innocent man and sending him to an extended, unpaid holiday in Poland. Perhaps instead of drinking the night away, he should've been writing letters to his parents, sending out one last heartful goodbye to them.

And in barely ten minutes after starting the measuring process, the tailor's bell against the door signalled a new customer. The man gulped, turning his head, expecting the whole Hugo Boss possy to gang up against him. Instead, a certain SO stood with her arms crossed, the SS cap on her blonde head hiding her blue eyes. His heart sank when Isolde dismissed the tailor, who excused himself to the other room, locking the door behind him.

<"Good morning, have you slept well?"> She began, crossing her arms. <"Because I haven't. At all."> The bags under her eyes proved that, and from a few feet away you could smell the musk of a woman who hasn't showered recently.
<"Don't try and soften me up, I know what's coming - and I've sure as hell made my peace."> His voice was more than shaky, as he proudly puffed up his chest.
<"What..? You don't even know my intentions, and you're already choosing death?"> She chuckled, <"I guess what they say about this uniform is true..."> She added, glancing over to the red armband.
<"No, I haven't come to execute you or send you to a camp; frankly, I'd rather you live in fear knowing my secret than to die, perhaps letting it slip out to some guard in some final act of protest."> Her face was starting to blush as she brought her index fingers together.
<"B-Besides, nobody would believe that I... wear..."> Her blush slowly spread from her cheeks, painting her entire face red.

So, this was the SS? There were rumours about the elite being sodomites, but this? Their hypocrisy knows no bounds; the Germans are always so eager to gloat about their superiority when one of their most highest ranking officers wets herself like a child.

<"Don't tell me you're just here to remind me about your infinite power?"> He hissed, taking another sip.
<"Of course not, there's no need to remind you, just look outside!"> The SS girl smirked, sliding the curtains open to reveal many guards outside standing idly, a few vehicles and red flags hanging from the rooftops of the buildings. <"I'm here to explain to you a few things, about myself, about my..."> She paused, clearing her throat <"... my illness, that'll benefit us both.">
"Benefit"? "Us both"? The soldier felt lightheaded, chugging the last of the sugar water.
<"Firstly, I've been very tenacious about covering my trail, nobody's caught me in - well, forever."> The girl puffed up with pride, her smile wide.

<"Secondly, even though I've been enjoying doing everything myself, it's getting tedious to do everything by yourself..."> She added, cooing as she clicked her heels. <"That's why I'd like you to become -"> She snatched the confused man's hands, bringing them to her small chest, chirping excitedly. <"...M-My caretaker! A-And that's an order!"> She added, enjoying his warm grasp, her blue eyes liting up.

Stalingrad sounds good; they say it's to die for during the winter.