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Author Topic: Personal Log: Hanging a spy.  (Read 4975 times)

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Offline joyfully

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Personal Log: Hanging a spy.
« on: September 29, 2015, 07:01:07 PM »

Personal Log: Hanging a spy.

"Charlotte Wendell," the Captain's voice barked. "You have been found guilty of murder and are hereby sentenced to, on the morrow, be hanged by the neck from the aft yardarm until you be dead."

Ms. Wendell did not bat an eye. She knew the risks when she came on aboard. We were the proud crew of the CFS Heston, a small fascist blockade runner, trying to run guns and supplies back to Sandrany from Darcassia. We had to hurry as the Communist Navy was about to lay siege to our last southern port city. I still couldn't believe that, after Republica, the Northerners actually put the Socialist Labor Party into power. Our leaders always warned that the Royalists were weak on threats from Communist sympathizers, but I personally never believed that our enemies would actually be so stupid as to put them in power. Now we had such a sympathizer in our midst, and a Roman Catholic at that!

Charlotte Wendell was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen; she had long, brown, curly hair and blue eyes. Her face was perfect, completely smooth, devoid of anything that would make one believe that she was more than a c h i l d. Her breasts were perfectly rounded, not too large, but definitely not small, and all of her dresses were low-cut. I must confess that I found it difficult to look at her face when I spoke to her; though were it not for her breasts, her face itself would have been difficult not to stare at. She had just turned 18 and signed on as a temporary gift for our Darcassian supporters.

Darcassians love their pleasure, and oftentimes our blockade runners found it difficult to trade with them if they didn't bring a handful of "comfort women" along. The Fascist Government and Military, as well as the Reformed Church found it disgusting of course, but these were desperate times, so those whores we did not hang when we took control of the southern government, we turned into comfort women for the Darcassians. Ms. Wendell was raised in the company of whores and comfort women. Her mother was arrested for prostitution when we gained control of the southern government twelve years ago when she was only a c h i l d. It was the sheer luck of the difficulty of trading with the Darcassians that managed to save her mother from the gallows, but this would not save her.

Ms. Wendell always kept a journal, which was odd for a whore as usually they can't read or write. She also refused to please any of the officers (who broke regulations in having their way with the comfort women), usually the comfort women were more than happy to satisfy the secret desires of the Heston's crew. Two nights before her sentence was passed she was caught sneaking into our cargo hold with her journal and taking note of the ship's inventory. When we searched through her journal it was full of information on the ship, its cargo, and its crew; although she denied it all through her trial, there could be only one explanation: she was spying on us! The most damning evidence against her, however, was the rosary we found hidden in one of her dresses. She claimed it was a family heirloom but she knows that possession of rosaries is illegal. The only plausible explanation was that she was a Roman Catholic, and it is almost impossible to imagine a Catholic supporting our Revolution.

The crew was excited; not only were they looking forward to watching such a beautiful young girl dance from the end of a rope, but in the brig, no one would mind if they snuck down and had their way with her. With the comfort women, the officers could stop us, but now we could simply go into her and no one would stop us, and in the two days that she spent in the brig, she had her fair share of sex-whether she wanted it or not. I, as a devout member of the Sandran Reformed Church, avoided this, but I was warned not to protest-not that most of the officers would do anything about it anyways as no one cares about the dignity of traitors and spies. Still, I must confess that I too was secretly looking forward to her hanging. Public Hangings in Sandrany were a common ritual to make examples of criminals, especially traitors and spies. Women being hanged, for some reason, were always attractive to me, but at the same time I could not help but sympathize with them; they were never given much of a drop and it was always a hard death. It was this that finally drove me to go down to the brig and see her. The Captain delegated the task of hanging her to me, and since she was to be hoisted from the deck, there was no need for any measurements, but I guess I wanted to get to know her as a person, not just a prostitute; so I agreed to carry to her the beautiful folded dress which the Captain wanted her to wear.

The brig was in the bowels of the ship where there was no natural source of light and the lantern I carried was barely enough to see a few feet in front of me, but I knew where I was going. I could hear her screams as I walked pass the guard who paid me no attention. Apparently a few of our men were already visiting her. When I came to her cell, my candle illuminated its bars and I could see two of my crewmates in the cell with her, one of them was having sex with her, clearly against her will.

"Mr. Chandler! Mr. Himmelstrauss!" I barked. "I have to see the prisoner, now get back to your duties or I'll report you to Ensign Gabel."

"What the hell are you on about Lovelace?" Chandler-who had been raping her-shouted.

"The task of hanging this commie-papist-prostitute has fallen to me, now if you want to see her dance tomorrow, you'll get back to your stations!" There was a short pause. "NOW!"

I was not particularly high in rank, but as a member of the Fascist Party, and a son of a member on the high council, I did command some authority with the men. Chandler and Himmelstrauss quickly obeyed and left the cell. As soon as the bars opened, and the men were out, I entered the cell, hung the lantern to a hook on the ceiling, and sat down on a bench across from where Ms. Wendel was laying uncomfortably on the floor. Her beautiful clothes had turned into rags and were ripped at the chest, exposing her breasts. I placed the dress down on the bench, which was the only thing in the room that was elevated off the ground, she didn't even have a bed to sleep on.

"Have you come to get a little pleasure out of me too?" she asked with a tone of anger.

I merely pointed to the dress, "The Captain orders you to wear this tomorrow for your hanging."

"Why?" she barked. "What's the difference in being hanged in a dress and being hanged mostly naked like I am now?"

"You will follow the captain's orders whore!" I barked at her.

"Or what!" she shouted back. "You'll hang me? I've spent the past two days being r@ped by nearly every member of the crew and even some of the officers, and hanging isn't exactly a pleasant way to die to say the least, so
I'd just love to see what else you can do to me."

I couldn't really say anything to that. She certainly had a point.

"Look," I said more calmly. "You can put the dress on tomorrow, or we can bring you up to the deck and force it on you, but either way, you are going to wear it."

"I suppose you'll want me to wear the bloody diaper thing too," she retorted. "You all don't have any problem watching a girl strangle to death but you sure as hell don't want to see her sh!t herself."

"ENOUGH!" I shouted.

There was silence. I guess she got tired of arguing with me, or she just realized its futility. The rest of her life was futile from here on out. She just looked down and stared at the floor. It may have been relatively dark in the cell but I could tell that she was trying to hold back tears. We remained in awkward silence for a few more minutes before she broke the silence.

"I'm not a prostitute you know."

I was surprised but didn't respond. She continued: "I was actually a virgin before your crew mates." she started to bawl.

"Really?" I couldn't help but respond.

She nodded. "My mother was a prostitute, my grandmother and great grandmother were prostitutes. I just wanted to be a respectable woman, so
I converted to Catholicism."

"Why Catholicism?"

She shrugged. "I don't like the super-misogynistic Reformed Church. I don't like Fascists, and I sure as hell don't like you!"

I wasn't taken back by this, in fact I expected some insults.

"I wanted to be free," she said, and immediately I understood her. She not only wanted freedom from prostitution, from selling her body, she wanted total freedom, intellectual freedom, the kind of rubbish that's sold north of our lines.

"That kind of freedom is an illusion," I simply responded. "Look at you now."

"You honestly think I'm not free?"

"No," I replied. "I don't think you're free. I think you're a whore, even if you've never actually worked as a prostitute. I think you've sold yourself and your country for some illusion; I don't call that freedom. And tomorrow you will die for it."

"Then you will have my dead body," she said. "Not my obedience."

I paused; she was quite intelligent. I could not argue with her using words, but I thought at the same time that the fact that she was behind bars, with her clothes in shreds, subject to the whim of the Heston's crew was argument enough.

"If you're Catholic, and so proud of your virginity, how in the hell did you get around having sex with the Darcassian merchants?"

"Let's just say that I met the right Darcassian merchant."

The bitch! She met with Communist spies in Darcassia. Now I was really looking forward to hanging her.

"I'll see you in the morning miss," I said as I stood up to leave, grabbing the lantern from the ceiling.

"Aren't you going to r@pe me too?"

I didn't even have to consider my response, it was instant: "No, I don't do that sort of thing."

Flouting my moral superiority over the rest of the crew felt good. I couldn't believe her nerve, her damned since of freedom. Soon she would be burning in hell, forever enslaved to its fires will all her fellow Catholics [A/N: I don't really think that way about Catholics, and my sympathies are definitely not with the fascists in this story]. That next morning I got up before dawn in order to prepare the aft yardarm. I tied a noose using relatively thick rope, tested it with a sandbag, and then set it to rest at my face level. By sunrise, the entire crew had gathered on the aft deck to watch Ms. Wendell swing. I only hoped that I could make sure that she would give them an extra long performance. The hatch leading below decks opened and Ms. Wendell emerged flanked by Chandler and Himmelstauss. She was wearing the dress the Captain sent to her, and she looked more beautiful than I had ever seen.

Unlike the shabbiness of her appearance the previous day, her hair was neat, it maintained her natural curliness but it was not unkempt, her face looked as smooth as ever, her eyes sparkled, reflecting the morning sun. The dress was red and gold, it was not large, but still very ordinate with a low neckline revealing a degree of cleavage; though it had shoulder straps it left most of her arms bare and it was high enough to reveal her ankles and bare feet; needless to say she looked gorgeous. While she may have looked gorgeous, she certainly did not look nervous, just as at her sentencing she did not bat an eye as she approached the noose by which I stood.

When she arrived at the noose she shot a penetrating glance at me before I took her by the arms and turned her to face the bow of the ship where most of the crew was standing. I then produced a thin piece of rope and bound her hands behind her tightly. I wanted the binding to hurt, I wanted her to be in pain for betraying our country. I could not tell what she was looking at as I was behind her, but her head was held high as I took hold of the noose and slid it over her head and around her neck. I fit it tightly around her neck, I wanted her to feel the rope that would soon strangle her. I then went around to look her in the eye, I wanted to know whether or not the reality of her imminent death had broken her, but it did not. She didn't give me the satisfaction of looking me in the eye, she merely stared straight ahead with her head held high and the noose around her neck.

I then walked around behind her and took my station in front of four of my ship mates; together we were to hoist her into the air and then tie the slack off to the aft flag pole. I thought it ironic that it was the flag of our glorious Fascist Republic that would hold her dancing off the deck. The Captain his station in front of her, facing the crew.

"My fellow citizens, this woman has betrayed her country, betrayed us, and our Christian ideals to the Papists, the Mormons, the Jews, the Muslims, and the Communists who govern them. She does not deserve our mercy, or our compassion. She is an affront to everything that is good and holy and that, my friends, makes her less than human [A/N: Like I said, my sympathies are definitely not with the fascists in this story]. We must not show compassion to the enemies of Christian Fascism, we must make examples of them so that others will not follow in their footsteps and we must send them to the waiting arms of a vengeful God." He then turned to face her. "And so, Charlotte Wendell, you shall now hang until you are dead, and may you burn in hell!" He then turned. "Hang the traitor!"

The five of us at the slack of the rope pulled and Ms. Wendell's bare feet were lifted off the deck. We kept pulling, and pulling until we saw her dancing feet a good five feet in the air. While the other men held the slack, I ran back and tied the rope to the flagpole. When the others finally let go, she dropped a few inches but the rope held high her in the air. I quickly ran around toward the bow so that I could see her face as she struggled. The resolve look had been washed away, her feet were flailing below her body. She twisted with the rope and swayed with a few gusts of wind as her bare feet danced almost rhythmically in the air. Her still beautiful face had a look of struggle on it, as if it reflected her futile attempts at reaching to the deck with her bare feet. Her eyes were wide open and while her mouth opened ever-so-slightly, her teeth were clenched, forcing back her tongue-much to the disappointment of some of the men.

My efforts to give the men a good show paid off. She struggled, and struggled, and struggled. Her beautiful dance lasted nearly ten minutes, before her feet went from looking as if she was running in mid air to merely kicking softly, to the occasional kick, to the occasional jerk. Her face now looked more relaxed; her mouth and her eyes had closed and she looked almost peaceful. After a few more minutes her feet were perfectly still and the only movements she made were when she simply swayed in the wind.

I received a commendation for a job-well-done. The Captain left her hanging for the rest of the day before she was taken down and simply cast into the sea with a cannon ball tied to her. Although I did enjoy hanging her, and was certainly angry with her as she was an affront to my own principles, as time went on I couldn't help but think about the kind of freedom she told me about. When our enemies finally triumphed and Fascism died in Sandrany, I finally came to love, with my own experience of political freedom, the kind of freedom she cherished so dearly. Many years later I set out to sea with a sailboat of my own, and came to the position the Heston was at when she was hanged. There I placed flowers in the sea in a vain attempt to honor the poor woman I had murdered; but I knew that was not enough. I knew that I could not live with myself for having killed someone so pure and lovely as Charlotte Wendell, and so I choose to end my life and this memoir as Ms. Wendell's life was forcibly ended, fare well.



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