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The World Must Never Know	By : fulwiz123 Category: Kim Possible > FemmeSlash - Female/Female Views: 53068 -:- Recommendations : 3 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I don't own Kim Possible, Disney does. I make no money from this story. Real people, places, and events are used in a fictitious manner. The other characters come from my own twisted mind.

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The World Must Never Know

Part One - The Project

Written by fulwiz

Beta by Wirenfeldt Jr

Disclaimer: I don't own Kim Possible, Disney does. I make no money from this story. Real people, places, and events are used in a fictitious manner. The other characters come from my own twisted mind.

Warning: This story contains explicit sexual situations, intense violence, torture, rape, death, incest, and many other mature themes.

Chapter 03: Deception.

(Crissy Field, The Presidio - San Francisco, California - February 3rd, 1944)

Nanette tried to hide her mirth from the pilot trainees stumbling off the plane. Some of them were decidedly green around the gills. “Good job boys. Get some rest. Your second course in advanced aerobatics begins tomorrow at 0700 sharp.”

She could not resist smiling at their groans of dismay as they hurried to get as far away from the plane, and her, as they could. If she couldn't fly combat missions, she could at least take pleasure in showing new recruits what their planes were capable of in the hands of a skilled aviatrix.

Her co-pilot, Mable Mirtz, joined her at the hatch. “Only one of them lost their lunch when you pulled that Immelmann turn over the bay. You're loosing your touch Nana.”

Nanette rolled her eyes at the nickname. She was only twenty-six, certainly no granny, but the younger woman seemed to think it was funny. That, and it was a sort of revenge for the nickname she foisted on the twenty-two year old, due to her popularity with the men on base. “Don't fret about it. I'll get more of them tomorrow... Able Mable.”

The girl chuckled as they watched a maintenance crew approach the plane. “Up for a night out? I hear a Marine fighter squadron from the Solomons just got transferred here while they wait for reassignment.”

Nanette demurred until her friend sweetened the pot.

“Drinks are on me.”

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The base cantina was dark and smoky. Judy Garland's voice rose out of the jukebox. It was barely heard above the loud conversations as she sang about the clang, clang, clang, of her trolly ride.

Nanette was working on her third drink, while Mable flirted with one of the flyboys of the VMF 214, who was sitting with some of his fellow pilots at the next table.

If she had not been already a couple sheets to the wind, she might have noticed the man approaching her and made a quick escape. She only figured out he was there when he sat down beside her at the table.

Randolph Goatte was tall, dark, and handsome. The kind of guy most women swooned over, and he knew it. He was a newspaper reporter by trade and a persistent thorn in her side. As usual, he was dressed to the nines, but the omnipresent notebook in his jacket pocket and camera hanging by a strap from his shoulder stood out.

Ever since he did a story on female pilots last year, which prominently featured her, he'd been trying to get her between the sheets. She rebuffed him constantly, but for some reason, he couldn't seem to take no for an answer.

Nanette blinked through a haze of alcohol at him. “What do you want Randy?”

He sat his drink down on the table and smiled. “The pleasure of your company dollface. Waddya say? Want to cut a rug?”

She could only think of one thing less appealing than dancing with this swaggering oaf, and she wasn't going to do that with him either. Lifting her glass, she drained the last of the whiskey. It burned it's way down her throat, but she barely noticed. It was time she put him in his place. “Listen you lug. How many times do I have to say it? I'm not interested. So why don't you be a good little boy and go find some other gal to pester?”

His face went purple with anger. He bumped the table, spilling Mable's drink, as he stood and glared at her. “That the way you want it? Fine! Turning me down was a big mistake Maiden. I'll make you regret it one day, you just see if I don't!”

With that juvenile parting shot, he stormed away.

As Nanette wiped up the spill with her napkin, she was glad to finally be rid of him.

When Mable turned back to the table, she was oblivious to what just happened. That was how intent she was with the guy she was making eyes at. “What happened to my drink?”

Nanette tossed the sodden napkin into the now empty glass. She really didn't want to talk about it. “It got spilled. Tell you what. I'm not really in the mood for this tonight. I think I'm going to head back to my bunk and get some sleep. It's going to be an early day tomorrow.”

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(Camp Nowhere - April 22nd, 1946)

Nanette heard a woman's voice. It seemed like the the voice of an angel. If so, that would mean she was in heaven. She knew that couldn't be the case. All the Sundays she spent sitting in church with her father, listening to the pastor preach the good book, made one thing abundantly clear. People like her didn't go to heaven.

“She's coming around doctor.”

Nanette opened her eyes and saw who spoke. She was wrong. It was an angel. An angel of mercy. The woman wore the white starched uniform and cap of the Army Nurse Corps.

The rest she was right about. This wasn't heaven. Fortunately, it wasn't hell either. She was in a hospital recovery room.

A question formed in her mind as she saw Dr. Hall approaching her bedside. Why? She remembered, all too well, being attacked by the mob of enraged murderers. At the end, when she felt the sharp kiss of the knife, she was sure it was the very last moment of her life. Why was she still alive?

She tried to ask, but found her mouth and throat too parched to speak. Nothing came out but a wheezing gasp.

The doctor laid his hand on her shoulder. His pleasant, almost jolly, smile eased the tension inside her. “Be still. You have had a very close call. If that homemade knife were only a shade longer, we might not have been able to save you. As it is, there was no major damage done. I want you to rest now. The nurse will give you something for the pain you will be feeling once the anesthesia wears off completely. Do not worry about questions. That can wait for later.”

Nanette gave him a small nod as he turned to leave the room. She relaxed back into the soft hospital bed. As if his words summoned it, she began to feel a throbbing ache in her chest. It was soon followed by other pains in the rest of her heavily bandaged body. She knew they were from the places she'd been hit and kicked by her attackers.

Her hands shook as she gratefully accepted the small pill and cup of water the nurse handed her. She washed the pill down and finally found herself capable of speaking clearly.

“Thank you.”

The look of calm professionalism left the face of the nurse as she took the cup from Nanette’s hand. “Don't you dare thank me. If it were up to me, I'd have let them tear you limb from limb.” She turned and headed for the door. “The only thing you should be thankful for is that Dr. Hall needs you for his research.”

Nanette lay in the silent and empty room. A single tear streaked down her bruised cheek. There were no such things as angels, just devils sent to make her life a living hell. For a brief moment, before she fell into a fitful sleep, she silently wished she had died.

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(The Pentagon - April 23rd, 1946)

General Stoppable held the phone to his ear. He was not happy with what he was hearing. “Yes Dr. Hall, I understand it was unforeseen and unavoidable. No, I don't see the need for an investigation at this time. Let me impress upon you the need for stronger security measures in the future. I don't want there to be another incident like this again. Yes, yes, well you see to that. Goodbye.”

He slammed the phone down into it's cradle. His frustration grew as he reached for the project file and began adding a handwritten addendum to the page listing volunteer status.

As he worked, he began to mumble aloud. “Of all the stupid blunders. Didn't any of them even think about checking a bunch of convicted murderers for hidden weapons?”

He sat his pen down and pushed the file aside. From a cabinet behind him, he pulled out another, thicker, file and sat it on his desk. He stared at it as he tried to damp down his irritation. Knowing it was focused, not just on those in the project, but himself too. In a way, he was partially responsible for what happened.

When Dr. Hall first proposed the project, he was leery of the risk it entailed. So much so, that when the general staff approved it, he added his own stipulation. Only those people convicted of heinous crimes could be used as research subjects.

With most all of the convicts selected, he went over their files meticulously. He made sure none of them ever stood a chance of being released from prison again before he gave his final approval.

He was a soldier, a fighter. He understood making life or death decisions. With a projected mortality rate of fifty percent for the project, he knew he was sending some of those people to their deaths. His conscious was salved by the knowledge their deaths would be for a good cause.

Opening Nanette Maiden's file, he shook his head. This was different. Something like this should never have happened. He began browsing through the file again. It was one of the few he didn't read cover to cover. Like most of the people in the United States, he knew more about her than he ever wanted to. For a while her story threatened to dislodge the war from the front pages of every major newspaper.

Unlike most though, he was privy to certain bits of undisclosed information. What the public didn't know about her trial, and the media circus that surrounded it, was something best kept under wraps. The government could ill afford for it to be found out they tried to coverup certain salacious aspects of the case. Specifically by putting pressure on the court to have her railroaded through the trail on just the murder charge alone.

He sighed as he flipped through the pages of the file. All that just to keep from having the reputation of the military services, and by extension the government, tarnished by a person like her.

Unfortunately, the media got wind of too many details about the case. Their attempts to keep it quiet failed in a storm of public outage.

General Stoppable leaned back and began digging through his desk drawer. It took him a few moments, but he finally found the stamp he was looking for. He closed the cover of the folder as he inked the stamp. With a thud, he marked the cover.

He put away his stamp, sparing only one last thought on the matter, before turning his attention toward other things. If it had to happen, at least it couldn't have happened to a nicer person.

The bright red ink on the file was the final word on the matter. The word was DECEASED.

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(Camp Nowhere)

Dietrich Hall sat down the phone. The smile on his face looked anything but jolly. It was the kind of smile that frightened small children. The kind that sent them running away crying, to hide behind their mother's skirts.

Barkin looked across the private office at him. He wasn't one to be frightened easily. “What happened?”

The doctor opened a decanter and poured a couple glasses of Schnapps. “As I predicted, his feeble Jew mind caused him to accept the lie without question.”

The younger man took a sip of his drink. He wanted to remind him that, if such statements as the one he just made were to be overheard, it could jeopardize everything. Not that he disagreed. He'd been raised to believe the same way. Which is why he knew it would do no good to remind him again. He let it pass, in favor of more pleasant conversation.

“So, Uncle, she is now ours to do with as we wish?”

Dietrich gave his nephew a knowing look. He knew exactly the kind of things his sister's child meant. His idea of a good time was extreme, to say the least. He would let the boy have his fun, but research had to come first.

“Yes. I will begin my experiments on her as soon as her body has healed. Until then, though I despise the need, we must keep her unaware of our purpose.”

“But I want to...”

“I know what you want, but remember this. She will be much more cooperative during the testing phase if she still believes she will be rewarded. Once she is undergoing the actual experiments, you may do with her as you desire.”

Barkin could see the point in that, but was still disappointed. “What of the other women?”

Dietrich refilled their glasses. “Until I can arrange for their supposed demise during the experiments, all the other test subjects must also be kept unaware. Do not despair, soon enough we will both get what we want from them all.”
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The World Must Never Know