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VII

The closing months of World War II saw a mass exodus from Nazi Germany like you wouldn’t believe. Hitler’s top henchmen, knowing it was all over but the shouting, began deserting Der Fatherland like mangy rats scurrying from a sinking ship.

Each passing day saw the vise tightening on Germany. Gestapo agents and other barbaric sadists who’d been in charge at concentration camps (Auschwitz, Bergen-Belsen, Buchenwald, etc.Real nice resorts ) had gotten the word. Eisenhower, leading a huge Allied army, was approaching fast from the west. Marshals of the Soviet Union Zhukov and Konev were nearing from the east, behind them a Red Army of 15 million men with hatred and vengeance in their hearts.

Der Fuhrer’s “bad boys” put their collective heads together and formed a unanimous opinion. Loyalty to Germany till the bitter end could mean only one thing…they’d stand before a war crimes tribunal! Such a panel would not be handing down any merciful verdicts, not even one.

Already several thousand nooses had been fashioned, and Hitler’s “supermen” knew they could expect the same vicious treatment (especially from the Russians ) which had been shown to innocent victims in those concentration camps. Podnuh, necks were gonna’ be stretched!

Let’s pause right here for a moment, reflect for a spell and talk about ropes. Brrr…gives me the chills just thinkin’ about ‘em.

The prospect of someday facing a firing squad is not a pleasant thought, yet I’m not overly uncomfortable with that idea. A volley thru ye olde ticker, or a few ounces of lead finding it’s target smack-dab twixt the eyes is a humane way of departing from this earth. Quick, clean…and more’n likely painless.

Lethal injection. Rapid, not one bit messy. Only those poor souls who are afraid of needles might find this a gloomy way of ending it all. But just think…your surroundings will be warm and pleasant. And an added bonus. Your family, friends and neighbors will be there to wish you the best on your journey!

The gas chamber…cyanide gas pellets. These small capsules are dropped on yer noggin while locked inside a sealed chamber. A method showing compassion, 105 percent reliability and, best of all, a lightning-like manner of being dispatched to meet your friends who have gone on before. The heavy mist will be your last memory before being transferred from “here to over yonder.”

The electric chair. A beautifully designed piece of furniture featuring all the latest trappings ( and strappings ), referred to in some circles as “the hotseat.” Now listen neighbor, here’s a jewel fast becoming popular around the country, especially in Florida, Texas and Virginia. Everything comes to a screeching halt in a real big hurry. It’ll leave ya’ lookin’ like a toasted marshmallow, but what the hell? All things must come to an end.

But ropes! Doggone ropes! Hey amigo, listen to what I’m sayin.’ A rope fashioned into a noose has always been a haunting thought to me. The notion of climbing a hangman’s scaffold, having a trapdoor sprung beneath my feet, and falling until the slack in a rope has played out is the most horrible fate I can imagine. A jolting halt to a downward plunge, the sudden snap, bones crunching, an elongation of flimsy neck tissue, Grisly,…gruesome. I make a stringent effort to keep my nose clean when passin’thru states that use ropes as a means of dispensing justice.

Little wonder those Nazi bigwigs decided to hightail it to widely dispersed boondocks and hinterlands around the globe. They left Germany in larger numbers than the Jews who followed Moses out of Egypt. Which proves my point. Everybody is “plumb skeered to death” of ropes!

South America beckoned. The countries of Argentina, Brazil, Paraguay and Uruguay found themselves hosting large numbers of foreign nationals, all displaying large measures of arrogance and speaking German.

But the displaced Europeans hadn’t vamoosed to our southern neighbors merely to seek safety. Their dreams of a Third Reich lived on. There was much unfinished business to accomplish, such as carrying on with, and perfecting, certain “experiments.”

The jungles of South America offered a haven, an ideal laboratory to pursue their favorite goal…becoming “masters of the world.”

Those erstwhile servants of Adolph Hitler ain’t been living a life of leisure down there. They’ve been real, real busy. For a long, long time…

VIII

These last 6 monthly installments of this story have been mailed to the Virginian Leader from south of the border. Way, way south.

I’ve just recently returned to this area following an extended visit to Asuncion and Montevideo, the respective Capital cities of Paraguay and Uruguay. I was fascinated by the amount of beef being corned in those two nations ( any reader tired of the silliness can lay this written work aside now, or when your endurance has reached it’s breaking point ).

While in the southern hemisphere I also called on Argentina and Brazil. This pair of nations are beehives of activity, oodles of stuff goin’ on.

In Brazil I stood mesmerized by the rhythmic beat of drums, looked on with envy as dancers sashayed around the ballroom doin’ the Conga, and Samba too. Both required a whole helluva’ lot of hip motion. That’s why I remained in the background, content with my role as spectator.

Brazil being a diversified land, there was more than dancing. Much, much more. Along the headwaters of a raging Amazon I met up with a tribe of Jivaros. These wild Indians have two very nasty habits which they can’t seem to kick. They’re headhunters who just happen to be ravenous cannibals!

My first two days with them thar primitive dudes passed in a serene, uneventful manner. Then on the morning of the third day I overheard a very interesting conversation. Seems a tribal feast was scheduled for the night of that third day.

A big pot of jungle rootstock and palm leaves, with an exotic assortment of other “erbs” mixed in , would highlight the menu. All great chefs will tell you that a good seasoning is an absolute must for leafy green vegetables. Pork sidemeat is in short supply down there, so guess what them durned Jivaros planned as a substitute. Your guess is teetotally correct pal…me! On the afternoon of the third day I wuz gone, made a hasty departure without even sayin’ goodbye.

So on to Argentina. A truly remarkable place. In just 4 days I witnessed 18 revolutions by the masses against military juntas. One dictator would get pushed out, another would step in to sit at the desk for3 hours. At which time a barrage of bricks came crashing through the window behind his head, leaving dangerous shards of glass all over the plush carpet. The political career of yet another tyrant had just ended!

Yessir, Argentina is somethin’ else. I stood transfixed while seeing bulls run wild across the Pampas .

( Hey, wait a minute. A fascination with corned beef? Mesmerized by drums? Transfixed by bulls? Folks, we need to get down on our knees and ask the Good Lord to show mercy. Toward me for involvement with a junky work…toward you for wasting time reading it ).

But the entertaining moments in Argentina were mere diversions, certainly not the true purpose for my visit to South America. You see, I’d been led to believe that a cadre of hardcore Nazis, still loyal to a long-dead Adolph Hitler (but…was that assumption really true. Read on ) have survived to this day.

It’s long been hinted, almost universally accepted as fact, that the forbidden jungles of South America are a refuge for former S.S. men and goose-stepping members of the Wermacht who absolutely refuse to admit defeat. Such information is what prompted my going south.

I don’t like being called a “harbinger of bad news.” And yet I feel it’s my duty to sound the alarm about what’s happenin’ down yonder under the canopy of that rainforest.

Two words come instantly to mind. Disturbing, horrendous…

My arrival in South America was cursed by a series of bumbling, botches, boners, bloopers and other acts of downright stupidity. Inexcusable, for my mission demanded a cool head.

I was searching for “Nazis in hiding”, sadistic brutes who 50 years ago had committed atrocious crimes against humanity in the name of Adolph Hitler. Quite naturally I thought of men who were now 80, 90, maybe had even reached the century mark in years. A reasonable assumption, but a wrong one. Dead wrong!

I found myself bogged in a quagmire, meeting with little or no success. And then from out of the blue it came, exactly what I needed…a turning point. All the while it had been right before me…big as life. Why had I not realized sooner?

My thoughts drifted back to a warning Daniel had issued several weeks previously ( as later events would prove, his was a prophetic view into the future). Daniel had urged caution for anyone engaged in “Nazi hunting,” telling how assumptions in this field might be misleading, and have dire consequences. His thinking ran along these lines: For centuries Germans have held the reputation as being “the smartest people on earth.” Indeed, there is sound reason for that reputation. The great inventions credited to “German know-how” are legion…a matter of record.

Every diesel-powered vehicle comes your way courtesy of a German, Mr. Diesel. Give thanks to Mr. Benz for your automobile. Shucks man, Henry Ford didn’t discover cars…a German did!

Smokeless powder, mercury thermometers,hardwater soap, jet engines… all that stuff originated in Germany. Seems there’s no end to their ingenuity.

Thus Daniel was on firm ground when he said: “Uh, uh, uh…them Nazis have more’n likely discovered an elixir of youth by now.” Good golly, the fabled fountain at last!!

And the man who has sold more apples than are currently hanging on fruit trees continued his timely advice: “Yu, yu, you might not want to look exclusively for white-haired old geezers walkin’ with canes. Better check them young whipplesnappers too.”

Doggone it, Daniel was right. Sure as shootin’ he’d convinced me. If apes can be crossed with humans, and if an elixir is out there that can guarantee eternal youth…well, I’d be willing to bet Germans will play a trail-blazing role ( I was unaware at the time, but they already had ).

Immediately my search had taken a dramatic new twist. Maybe that “juice of youth”had regressed the Hitler stooges back to their teen years. Or even the kindergarten days. Now every sandy-haired male with fair complexion living in South America became suspect.

Ladies and gentlemen, I gotta’ spell it out, no need beating around the bush. Once again those so-called “great scientific breakthroughs” are causing problems. Nazi smart-boys have realized success beyond their wildest dreams. As a result, we’re in big, big trouble.

Today in South America are men 100 years old who can pass for 14. And the rainforests are crawlin’ alive with beastly creatures numbering in the millions. Critters 8 feet tall, dark-skinned with a sparse coating of coarse hair. Ugly as homemade sin they are, unable to communicate. These THINGS just stare into your eyes and grunt.

A really terrifying situation seems imminent for Earth and it’s human inhabitants. Controlled by evil men who vow to conquer the world…

Only from the inside could I gather the facts to either confirm, or lay to rest, my suspicions about Nazis on the loose in South America, and their alleged continued work with the reproductive genes of both humans and simians. Reportedly, the Nazis, even to this day, are determined on a “fusing of the two.” Rumor has it that a huge army of man-apes, several million in number, have resulted from the blasphemous “experiments”, and are even now in rigorous training neath the protective canopy of an impregnable rainforest. Supposedly these monstrous mutants are under the watchful eye aqnd careful control of Hitler faithful still intending to grind an entire planet beneath their jackboots.

Having much work to accomplish, I became very busy with the issues at hand. I dyed my hair a glaring blond tint, spent 3 minutes practicing the very latest in goose-stepping, and a like amount of time brushing up on the pronunciation of two German words… Achtung, and Sieg Heil ( the former means Attention!, the latter a diehard salute to Adolph and his Third Reich ).

And really, I got that Prussian accent down pretty good, rather convincingly ( when in Rome do as the Romans do. And when in company with Nordic Nazis ya’ gotta’ know how to converse with ‘em, if only a couple of words ).

I infiltrated their organization without one iota of trouble, accepted as a brother with surprising ease. Many Aryan “supermen”shook my hand, all the while uttering something I didn’t quite catch ( I later learned their greeting translated roughly to : “We’ll place this dummy with the most dangerous of our experiments.” ).

One high-ranking officer, already selected to rule from Washington once the man-gorillas had crushed the world, walked over and wanted to practice his English. Which, by the way, was far better than my own. This dude had everything meticulously planned: “When we conquer the world you’ll be our ruling governor over the Ross ice-shelf in Antarctica.” Just what I’d always dreamed of, and needed…a chunk of ice and a rookery of penguins to bark orders to!

This particular German exuded vim and vigor, spry as a chicken he was, agile as a deer. I would’ve guessed him to be about 24 years of age. But hold on ! This chap had been drinking elixir for 6 months, that miraculous “fountain of youth liquid” discovered at last by, you guessed it, Germans. He’d gulped down several shots of the stuff in the minutes leading up to our meeting. I needed constantly to remind myself that his youthful appearance was deceiving as hell…he was actually a man of 118!

“Is there anything I can do to make your stay among us more comfortable?” he wanted to know.

“I sure as hell wish you’d get me a 32 ounce bottle of that there elixir,” I replied.

The former Gestapo man sorta’ smiled and said: “In due time. It’s carefully rationed until we get our stockpiles built up.”

Seeing the dejected look on my face, he hastily added: “I’ll swipe a bottle after dark, sneak it over here to you.”

“Hey Cap, steal a whole case of the stuff if you can. I need it.” I stated it in a sad, almost pleading manner.

Sizing me up from head to foot, the smartly uniformed officer nodded his head in agreement: “Ja, ja…two cases.”

And then it happened. I can’t explain the sense of foreboding I felt at that precise moment. Even before the long dark shadow closed in I was hit by unimaginable dread. The German officer whispered nervously: “Don’t make any sudden moves.”

Looking up, I got my first glimpse of THEM! Ladies and gentlemen, towering above me stood the result of an unholy pact between evil forces on Earth, and Satan himself.

And I put nigh fainted…

This person has been nearby to ugliness all his life, is closely associated and very familiar with the cotton-pickin’ stuff.

That’s why I have huge amounts of trouble relating to this modern world. People like myself (who really belong to the 1800’s ) find it most difficult to co-exist with the “flower children and beautiful people” who are the population in today’s “enlightened world???”

Across these many years I’ve looked at unmentionable horrors that defy all descriptive words known to man, watched helplessly as terribly mis-shapened forms emerged from a dark and gloomy mist to bedevil me thru yet another unending night of revulsion.

From the ground ugly things come, and the sky above. The turbulent seas send unspeakable monstrosities washing ashore , leaving them beached to wreak havoc in the minds of men.

Behind doors devious demons are deployed, decidedly deceitful and designing while doin’ dastardly depraved deeds of debauchery.

Every rock hides wantonly wretched warlocks, wily wicked witches watch from weird weed patches ( really folks, the last 2 sentences are reason enough for imposing a 65 year prison stretch ).

Belfrys are beset with bad beastly bats, while “haints” hunker hidden in horrendously haunted houses.

Grotesquely gnarled gnomes are comin’ from everywhere, galavanting around in gaudy get-up. Same for garishly garbed ghouls.

Really, the situation has gotten completely out of hand, has reached the point where no persons, especially those wishing to retain a tad of sanity, are safe.

Some drastic changes must soon occur, else I fear mankind is plunging headlong and irreversibly toward an awful destiny…doomed to the fiery sulfuric pits of Hell itself. We’d better hope a trampoline breaks our fall and bounces us back to a solid footing. Once back from the abyss, I believe we should sit down and think about this thing, talk long and hard…give ‘er some real deep thought!

With the above over and done with, I’d never before seen anything quite so ugly as them hybrid man-things down yonder in South America. Daniel had been oh so correct. They were sure enough tall brutes. Man, them thar mutants stood half as high as those trees in the surrounding jungle!

I’ll not attempt a detailed description, only to say they were damned hideous looking. Think of the ugliest, most frightening thing your eyes have ever gazed upon. Now multiply by ninety and you’re maybe close.

Even now with several thousand miles separating me from those stinking jungles, I still leave all lights burning in my home at night. And yet can’t fall asleep.

No, a description won’t be forthcoming; none is needed. A truly horrible plan, dooming our world unless defensive steps are implemented immediately, is in it’s final stages of formulation.

Them Hitler goons are about to unleash 20 million apemen, maybe twice that number, and turn ‘em loose on a world unprepared for such an onslaught. You’ll meet these “born of evil” creatures soon enough. Face to face, and at close range…

XII

There are many instances when greatly exaggerated stories need a considerable abbreviation; shorter would definitely be a big improvement. If you will, a “lopping off of many paragraphs.”

In lotsa’ cases whole durn chapters oughta’ be eliminated. And then ya’ have the extremes…moronic plots hatched out in the diseased minds of idiots, tales which should’ve never got off the ground. Pondering these facts exactly 6 seconds, I’ve reached the conclusion that this story belongs in every category listed above. This trashy essay should’ve been tossed right over yonder in “file 13”…trash canned!

But once committed ya’ gotta’ finish. So on with this story dealing with the “diluting of the human race.” It can have but one ending, an inevitable conclusion…the end of civilization as we, the combined peoples of planet Earth have come to know it.

Now listen here, creatures with 50 percent ape blood coursing thru their veins just ain’t gonna’ have the knowledge to carry on. I foresee a shambles for the human race, a steady downhill slide to cesspool depths.

Two days ago a certain Narrows female, well-known in local literary circles and a severe critic of 678 essays I’ve written, fired a devastating salvo in my direction concerning this one. The outspoken dame pulled no punches: “You’ve set literature and good reading back 400 years. I’m aghast our local newspaper accepts such tripe for publication.”

I surprised this lady by agreeing with her, completely and wholeheartedly: “Woman, I’m aghast too.I often wonder how anyone can have the audacity to submit such malarkey, and find it equally puzzling that important people, such as yourself, would waste valuable time reading it.”

Of all things! Man-apes…disturbingly distasteful.” Her disbelief caused my irateness to surface. I don’t mind a “panning” by the critics, but being called an out-and-out liar is something else.

“Maam, I beg your pardon. Researching this story required many weeks of torture and pure agony. Lady, I wore out 29 machetes hackin’ thru dense and deadly jungles. I wuz threatened by toothy crocs, imperiled by constricting anacondas, endangered by rampaging jaguars, menaced by hard-charging boars besieged by hungry cannibals, and frightened silly by 22 tribes of wild Indians, all of ‘em equipped with blowguns and shootin’ poisoned darts at my head. It’s most disheartening to arrive back in civilization and find skeptics sowing seeds of doubt about my integrity.”

“Aw, phooey,” she spat out and went walkin’ agitatedly down the street.

Ladies and gentlemen, let there be no doubt. The steaming jungles of South America are astir, teeming with a life-form heretofore unknown on this planet. These unholy creatures are soon to be set free, and will launch an all-out frontal assault against “pure humans.”

Our conventional armies will be powerless to prevent the carnage ( according to the Secretary of Defense, our military has undergone no training whatsoever in this type warfare. A high-ranking official reports these gorilla-men have the strength of 10 ordinary soldiers. How’d you like being ordered into hand-to-hand combat against such a formidable foe? ).

Though the situation seems bleak, don’t despair. A faint glimmer of hope shines thru the darkness, a pinpoint of light penetrates the gloom.

`We need to appoint a committee. These folks would organize a comprehensive search for certain types of individuals who can steer us safely across these turbulent waters.

I have in mind a quartet which can turn the tide in any conflict we pure humans may experience with those ex-Nazis and their evil hordes of apemen.

First, let’s return to the comic-book era of the 1940’s. The more elderly among the readers will certainly remember Kaanga, Lord of the Jungle. A blond Tarzan type, he too was reared by the great apes.

From the same era, Sheena, Queen of the Jungle. Also blonde, her favorite method of travel around her jungle realm was astride a fleet zebra. Kaanga and Sheena, involved in millions of perilous adventures, never lost a fight. Not even one!

We can also enlist the services of Jungle Jim, the fearless Great White Hunter who really knew the boondocks and all the wild beasts, including apes, who dwelt there.

Last but certainly not least…Tarzan of the Apes. Found in the jungle as a baby and adopted by the she-ape Kala, Tarzan is well versed in the habits and moods of the ape society. He’s also fluent in the strange guttural growls and grunts the simians use as a means of communication. Tarzan’s favorite means of travel was an extensive network of grapevines, stretching from one end of his empire to the other.

The goal of our appointed committee is quite simple. They would stress to this quartet why their services are so desperately needed in this darkened hour.

And try to coax ‘em out of retirement. Or as might be the case, resurrect ‘em from the grave…

The End

M. L. Wilkinson

March, 1986