SWEDISH LAPLAND
(3 FEBRUARY, 1943)

Jon Amarok was a Dartmouth-educated Inuit from Greenland who had spent a whole year being trained--by British and American army intelligence officers in Allied-occupied Iceland--before being parachuted into northern Sweden as an official agent of the O.S.S.* He had then spent the next eighteen weeks smuggling arms and ammunition to the Norwegian resistance by posing as a Lapp reindeer herder! With the resistance usually returning the favor by giving him updated information on German troop movements and air traffic.

Today, however, they had given him something else. An intercepted radiogram (from the Nazi High Command, in Berlin, to the German embassy in Stockholm) that had already been decoded.

"LIEBENKRAFT:

BARBAROSSA IST KAPUT. BEGINNEN ORDNUNG: UTGARD. SOFORT!

---HIMMLER"

The identity of the sender was reason enough for Amarok to hasten back to his deer herder's hut and remove his wireless telegraph from its hiding place.

* * * * *

SUPREME HEADQUARTERS, ALLIED EXPEDTIONARY FORCE (SHAEF)
LONDON, ENGLAND (4 FEBRUARY, 1943)

Major Percival Throckmorton of the Special Operations Executive answered the knock at his door with verbal permission to come in. And, as anticipated, it was his adjutant...carrying a beige folder under his right arm.

"Well?" demanded the former, rather bluntly.

"According to our embassy in Stockholm, sir, this Liebenkraft chap can only be Gustave Liebenkraft. A Visiting Professor of Archeology, at Uppsala University, who's supposedly been marooned there since the invasion of Poland! Prior to that, however, he also held Visiting Professorships at the University of Istanbul and the American Institute of Classical Studies in Greece. And, most interesting of all; he's been a member of the Thule Society for the last ten years."

"Interesting, indeed," replied the major: "But, what the deuce is this Operation: Utgard?"

The young adjutant could only shrug in apology, adding:

"The best our people could find out, sir, is that--in Norse mythology--it was the stronghold of the ruler of Jotunheim. The Asgardian land of giants!"

* * * * *

CAYENNE, FRENCH GUIANA
(ONE MONTH LATER)

Vasco Gonsalves shook hands with the bespectacled, blond-haired Spaniard before they both sat down and ordered two glasses of madeira. And, after the waitress had brought them their drinks, the man who had introduced himself as "Dr. Jose' Aleman" removed a beige folder from his knapsack.

"Gonsalves, Vasco. Portuguese veteran of El Guerro Mundo Primero. Served two post-war tours of duty with the French Foreign Legion. More recently served with the Galician contingent of the Republican forces during the civil war in Espana. In reprisal for which, the PIDA tried-but-failed to arrest you. Resulting in your flight to Brazil, where you currently work as a bounty hunter! Capturing those wanted by the Vichy government, here in Cayenne, and returning them to same. Have I left anything out, senor?"

The middle-aged bounty hunter wiped some droplets of madeira off his handlebar moustache with his left sleeve.

"Sih!" he replied: "Why do you bore me with a recitation of facts I am already painfully aware of?"

"Because I have need of your tracking skills, Senor Gonsalves. A woman who worked for me as a launderess, in Valparaiso, Chile, has stolen certain papers from me. Academically valuable papers concerning the ruins of Tihuanaco in Peru! From what the local policia were able to ascertain, she has fled to a nitrate mining town in the Atacama Desert. Santa Madre, I believe is the name."

Gonsalves cracked a malicious half-smile: "Sih. But, everyone who lives there prefers to call it 'Santa Mierda!' "

Aleman laughed, politely.

"Esta verdad! And, I am recruiting your help because I understand you are on a first-name basis with the jefe de policia."

Gonsalves shrugged: "We met, once or twice, while I was working there as a payroll guard. But, that is not important. What _is_ important is how much you are willing to pay me for my services."

Aleman did not even blink as he replied: "Double what you made during the last twelve months from bounty hunting alone."

The Portuguese expatriate whistled appreciatively and held out his right hand for a second time.

"Esta bien! De acuerdo!"

tbc

SANTA MADRE, CHILE
(6 MARCH, 1943)

Gonsalves and the archeologist flew down to Valparaiso aboard a Fokker trimotor monoplane that Aleman had privately chartered in Venezuela. From Valparaiso, the two men were then driven northward by a stake truck owner who still owed Gonsalves mucho dinero from a certain game of poker. With the trucker and the bounty hunter ultimately agreeing that the trip would wipe the slate clean.

Upon reaching the ramshackle mining community, Gonsalves led the way to the local police station. And, upon recognizing his old drinking companion, the police chief hugged the bounty hunter like a long-lost brother, before the latter introduced the archeologist and explained their mission.

"We are looking for Marisol Herrera. A mujer of Easter Island descent. About ten or fifteen years younger than me. And approximately...dos y medio meters tall.* "

"Dos y medio?!" echoed the police chief: "If I did not know you better, I would swear you were boracho! But, you never drink when you are on the hunt. And, as it happens, there is such a mujer working in the mine's laundry. Between her height and the color of her dress, even your new amigo here wouldn't be able to miss her!"

The three men shook hands. Then, after re-donning their Panama hats outside (because it was approaching the hottest part of the afternoon), Gonsalves guided Aleman toward their next stop. Sure enough; there she was! A Polynesian beauty, seven feet tall, wearing a short-sleeved dress of purple plaid that fell to her knees.

"Marisol Herrera?" Gonsalves called out when he got within three paces of her back.

The young woman turned about, saw Gonsalves, and started to smile. But, the moment she saw Aleman standing behind him, that smile vanished faster than a re-elected politician's memory. And, even more incredible than that was what happened next.

Her dress tore to pieces as she instantly shot up to thirty feet in height! Causing the bounty hunter to curse under his breath as he quickly drew his 9mm Browning Hi-Power, and began firing at the under side of the canoe-sized right foot descending towards him and Aleman!

Unfortunately, the bullets only seemed to have the same effect on her as a pebble in a shoe might have on a normal-sized person. The stark naked giantess merely hopped up and down on her left foot before deciding to take advantage of a woman's age-old prerogative. More specifically?

She changed her mind about crushing them and ran off into the Atacama Desert.

Everyone else who had witnessed these proceedings were still astounded by what had happened. The men shouting and pointing in the direction of the giantess' escape. The women crying at the top of their lungs and blessing God that only one or two building corners had been crushed in the process of that escape!

Gonsalves, however, just stood there in open-mouthed shock. That is, till Aleman tapped him on his right shoulder.

"Senor Gonsalves? Senor Gonsalves??"

The bounty hunter's initial response was to give the archeologist a left upper-cut. Then, he pointed the Browning Hi-Power downward at Aleman's forehead.

"Pendejo idiota! Give me one good reason I shouldn't kill you for not telling me she could do that."

tbc

Aleman did not even blink in answering.

"Would you honestly have believed me, senor? I think not. You would have thought me mui loco en la cabeza. And that would be the natural first reaction of any man to such a claim! That is why I had to let you see for yourself."

Gonsalves grudgingly re-holstered his Browning.

"We cannot talk here. Venga! Let us go to the local cantina and discuss this further over dos cervezas. Your treat!"

Aleman agreed...and he was as good his word.

"There are many legends, around the world, about a Great Flood that destroyed pre-existing civilizations more advanced than our modern ones. These stories range from the Biblical account of Noah's Ark to the Peruvian legends of Viracocha and the Tihuanaco Giants."

"Hmph!" snorted Gonsalves: "Sounds more like a norteamericano baseball team."

"Heh-heh! Not quite, senor. Some of the megalithic sculptures found at Tihuanaco bear uncanny similarities to those on Easter Island (which are locally called 'moai'). That is why I became convinced, many years ago, that both sets of statuary were built by the same race. An antediluvian race with physical and mental abilities so superhuman...that they were deified by our primitive, superstitious ancestors!"

"And one such ability was being able to grow to tremendous size?" Gonsalves asked(only semi-rhetorically).

"Si! In fact, I believe that this ancient race could not only alter their own size and mass. But, that of the people and things around them, as well. The only thing they could not do, however, was survive the Great Flood intact. Not as a unified culture, at least. So, they went to different corners of their devastated world to start over."

"Hence, all that Argentine folklore about giant indios called Patagones? inquired the bounty hunter by way of example.

"Correcto! And, in Marisol Herrera's case, she is one of the last surviving direct descendants of the Easter Island gigantes. They who wielded a power the Polynesians call 'mana' in alternately shrinking and re-enlarging the moai sculpted in their honor."

Gonsalves persisted in shaking his head in his desperate attempt at accepting the reality of what he had experienced thirty minutes earlier.

"So you want me to help you capture this mujer as proof of your fantastico theory. Esta verdad?"

Aleman nodded. Which made the next question somewhat logical.

"How do you propose to do that when she can break even the strongest pair of handcuffs by simply growing taller?"

"It will require more than just the two of us, I agree," replied the archeologist: "But, that is another reason I sought your expertise, Senor Gonsalves. I know this is not your first time in Chile. In fact, I believe you helped the commandante of the military flying school, near Copiapo, obtain a Cierva autogyro from France! Si...o no?"

Two days later, that autogyro was helping to co-ordinate pursuit of Marisol Herrera from the air. With Gonsalves maintaining communcation with them, via walkie-talkie, from the shotgun seat of the same stake truck that had transported him and Aleman up from Valparaiso in the first place!

Meanwhile, in the rear of the truck was a most unusual cargo. Lashed to the wooden paneling on the left hand side of the compartment was a long roll of canvas sail cloth. The Big Top of a small Chilean circus that had gone bankrupt at the height of the Great Depression! And, standing next to that circus tent? A quartet of Dutch refugees who had recently arrived from Java via Australia (with their ultimate destination being Surinam via Argentina).

This was most fortuitous for Aleman. Because, these men were veteran whalers. So, they knew how to operate the harpoon gun that he had somehow obtained from a Chilean whaling vessel!

tbc

ATACAMA DESERT, CHILE
(8 MARCH, 1943)

She had run, at full size, for the rest of that day and all through that first night. By sunrise the next day, she had reached the geoglyph known as "El Gigante de Atacama." The only one of its kind this far south of the Nazca Plains. And, fully exhausted (emotionally, as well as physically), she fell to the ground, face-first, right beside it.

"Mi pardon, senor," she whispered to the geoglyph: "I only need...to rest here...for a...moment."

She did not wake up until she heard the noise.

With a frightened gasp, she rolled over on to her back, initially disoriented. Then, she remembered where she was, and why. And, finally, she heard it again. A strange rumbling sound coming from high above!

She was vaguely familiar with the concept of aircraft, as she had long since become accustomed to the DC-3 that the norteamericanos used to transport the excavated nitrates back to the United States. This sound, however, was different. And the difference became visible to her pond-sized naked eyes, five minutes later.

It was the Cierva autogyro from Copiapo, searching for her.

At that same moment, the Chilean observer in the rear cockpit was searching the ground below through a pair of binoculars. And it was difficult to tell who spotted whom, first. Marisol or the observer. Yet, there was no disputing the fact that the latter immediately tapped his pilot on the right shoulder to alert him to the discovery!

This, in turn, prompted the pilot to radio Gonsalves in the stake truck.

"Repite', por favor!" the bounty hunter initially replied.

Ten seconds later, he grinned and opened up the sliding rear window of the cab.

"She's less than a hundred meters ahead!"

"Bueno!" exclaimed Dr. Aleman.

The archeologist then began speaking in Portuguese to a Dutch whaler named Hans (who had learned it as a second language during periodic shore leaves on the East Indian island of Timor). The latter, in turn, translated Aleman's instructions for his comrades. Whereupon, they all began getting the harpoon gun ready to fire!

Within ten minutes, both hunters and hunted had sighted each other. Marisol, however, would not be forced to run any further. She defiantly stood her ground, arms akimbo. Making her resemble nothing less than a female Colossus of Rhodes!

In all fairness to her, she had good reason to believe their guns would not harm her at this size. After all; the bullets that had been fired by the handsome bounty hunter had done little more than pinch her right sole! But, of course, she had no way of knowing that Gonsalves and Aleman had already taken that into consideration.

That was why they had obtained--from the same circus as the former Big Top--a veterinary elephant syringe with a diamond tip. And that syringe was loaded with enough morphine to overdose an elephant!

Two minutes later, that syringe was tied on to a harpoon.

"Do they have the range and bearing?" demanded Gonsalves.

Aleman nodded. So, Gonsalves gave Hans the order they had all been waiting for.

"Fuego!"

"Feuer!"

BOOM!

The harpoon sailed unerringly upward. The syringe's diamond tip hitting its intended target dead center! That target being...Marisol's shapely right shoulder.

Her ensuing yelp was more from startlement than actual excruciating pain. Consequently, she only had time to pull the syringe-equipped harpoon from her shoulder with her left hand before the morphine started to take effect.

"Que--es...?"

Once more, she fell earthward, face-first. And, once again, she left an imprint that would make archeologists of future generations think the male giant figure had been given two "concubines!"

Within five minutes, however, Marisol was once again only seven feet tall. So, there proved to be plenty of canvas to spare in which to imprison her! The septet of men (Gonsalves, Aleman, and the five Dutch whalers) then loaded her on to the back of the stake truck for the long drive back to Santa Madre.

There, the two Chilean army pilots were compensated for the "aerobatic demonstration" they had given, prior to their return flight to Copiapo. As for Marisol? She was loaded (admittedly, with some slight difficulty) on to the Fokker trimotor. The latter departing right after the autogyro.

They had been airborne for ten minutes when Gonsalves finally noticed something.

"Senor Aleman; why are we not heading southward for Valparaiso?

"A slight change of plans, Senor Gonsalves. We are headed to a certain Red Cross facility in the Bahia Huemul region of Argentina. There, she will be medically examined to see if the morphine had any adverse effects upon her remarkable growing ability."

"And, then what?" inquired the bounty hunter: "You will smuggle her to Nazi Germany?"

Naturally, there was an awkward silence.

"No comprendo," the archeologist finally replied.

Gonsalves laughed: "You may be a brilliant historian, Senhor. But, you are not a very good actor. Por ejemplo; 'Aleman' is the Spanish word for 'German!' Then, there are these 'Dutch' whalers. Hans' order to fire was translated into German. NOT Dutch! Plus, there are certain inflexiones in his use of Portuguese that make me think he more likely learned it on the Tanganyika side of the Rio Rovumba. Perhaps, as a result of being born and raised there!"

Another awkward silence followed. A silence that was broken only when Dr. "Aleman" began to laugh! Sporadically, at first; and, then, uproariously!!

"Sehr gut, Herr Gonsalves," he finally replied (after calming down enough to do so): "Hans did learn Portuguese in the manner you describe. Nor are he and the others from Der Nederlands. They are Afrika Korps tank crewmen! Und, ich bein Herr Doktor Gustave Liebenkraft. Ethno-genetic historian for Der Third Reich!"

tbc

* * * * *


SHAEF, LONDON, ENGLAND
(14 FEBRUARY, 1943)

Major Throckmorton read the document before him. Then, he compared it to what he had been given over a week earlier. Finally, he looked up and angrily glared at his GRU* counterpart.

"How did you get this information?" he demanded

Major Sergei Yerkov's grin could only be described as maddeningly smug.

"Our listening post in Murmansk intercepted the same radio transmission as your Norwegian comrades did. We did not approach you sooner as we wished to ascertain this was not some elaborate attempt at disinformation by the Gestapo."

"It's not," Throckmorton grudgingly assured him: "The Yank SIS in Argentina picked up a nearly identical transmission to the German embassy in Buenos Aires. The only difference was the name of the intended recipient. After that? They began noting a series of weekly flights to and from a certain island in the Bahia Huemul area of Lake Nahuel Huapi."

"Da!" replied Yerkov: "Aircraft in question is a Fokker trimotor currently owned by Aeropostale de Venezuela in Caracas. But, pilot of aircraft is a German expatriate who was conveniently once employed by Dutch Guiana branch of KLM in Paramaibo!"

Throckmorton nodded, before adding: "He's supposedly making cargo runs to a Red Cross refugee camp on that island. And then bringing refugee Dutch nationals up to Surinam."

"But, you highly doubt this. Nyet?"

Yerkov's grin was now mirrored on the British army officer's face.

"If I did, would the GRU be willing to work in concert with the SOE in verifying such doubts as justified?"

Yerkov leaned forward in his seat and offered his right hand.

"Why not?"

Whereupon, Throckmorton leaned forward in his own chair and grasped that right hand with his own.
* * * * *

(8 MARCH, 1943)

The moment that Liebenkraft made that boastful admission, Gonsalves went for his gun. Unfortunately, he was grabbed from behind by two of Hans' men while the other two whipped out nine millimeter Lugers. Only then did Hans, himself, deprive Gonsalves of his Browning. Whereupon, Liebenkraft (in fluent German) instructed the two men holding the bounty hunter to use the latter's own handcuffs in binding their prisoner's arms behind him.

The Portuguese expatriate was naturally somewhat curious as to why he was being spared, and said as much.

Liebenkraft grinned: "We shall wait until we are over Lago Nahuel Huapi. I am told the view of it is quite spectacular from the altitude at which will be flying! You will have just enough time to confirm or deny that before you...deplane."

It was ten o'clock in the evening, local time, when the Fokker's co-pilot exited the cockpit just long enough to announce (again, in fluent German) that they were now over the lake. And that they would be arriving at "Isla Utgard" in less than ten minutes.

Liebenkraft looked at Gonsalves, with a shamelessly sadisitic smile.

"It is almost time, Herr Gonsalves. Any last requests?"

"Sih!" replied the bounty hunter (in his hybridized Spanish): "What are you going to do when Marisol wakes up? Any shackles you bind her with, she will simply break when she regains giant size!"

"That difficulty has already been anticipated, Herr Gonsalves. An old friend of mine is in charge of the research facility on Isla Utgard. A brilliant man who is quite expert in the use of narco-hypnotic drugs like scopolamine. He will see to it that she receives a steady intravenous supply of that drug, while he isolates the secret behind her power of self-gigantism...and duplicates it for the benefit of Der Third Reich!"

"That is assuming, of course," Gonsalves rebutted: "...that she allows you to reach your destination."

He indicated, with his chin, the canvas-enshrouded body occupying the bulk of the floor of the passenger/cargo compartment.

"I do not see how she can do otherwise," Liebenkraft declared: "...when she is obviously still sedated."

Gonsalves grinned: "Have you never heard of the norteamericano game called 'Playing 'Possum?' PRONTO!"

That last part he shouted at the top of his lungs in the direction of the canvas bundle. Whereupon, the latter sat bolt upright and tore the canvas apart by expanding her size to an even ten feet! Which, in turn, increased her mass just enough to make the Fokker begin a right-angled power dive...

...straight towards the surface of the lake.


NEXT: WATER "SPORTS"

LAKE NAHUEL HUAPI, ARGENTINA
8 MARCH, 1943 (10:07 PM/UTC-3)

* * * * *

Two of the tank crewmen serving as Liebenkraft's henchmen fell straight toward Marisol, herself. In so doing, she immediately grabbed them up with her right arm. Thereby pinning them against her breasts until they suffocated!

At the same time, Gonsalves used the first few seconds of downward momentum to leap over the seat in front of him in a capoeira* move that allowed him to bring his handcuffs beneath his feet and up in front of his chest! This, in turn, allowed him to use the back rest as a springboard for making a return leap. One that ended in a left-footed la savate kick to Hans' face...

...and the fatal breaking of his nasal cartilage.

Liebenkraft, seeing this, ordered the surviving tank crewmen to open fire with their Lugers! But, the bounty hunter had already recovered his Browning Hi-power. And, two head shots later, it was just him, the archeologist, and the demi-giantess.

"You've won nothing, Herr Gonsalves," Liebenkraft shouted: "Because, even if I die as a failure, I shall at least be taking both of you with me!"

"That's what you think," Gonsalves shouted back.

He then turned to Marisol and shouted at her: "Ampliaste! Ampliaste, ahora!!"

Marisol instantly discerned what he meant by that...and grew even taller.

"NEIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIN!' screamed Liebenkraft, at the top of his lungs.

But, it was too late. The Fokker trimotor burst apart at the seams like a pinched soap bubble! And, the only person the newly-freed one hundred foot-tall giantess strove to catch was Gonsalves, himself. Liebenkraft and the two pilots, though, she gladly let fall to their deaths.

As for Gonsalves? She cushioned him within her cleavage using her left hand! She then assumed a fetal position with her right arm across the tops of her knees (a diving form more commonly referred to as a "cannonball"). And, it was in that position that the two of them hit the surface of Lago Nahuel Huapi.

The gamble had worked. Marisol's massive mammaries took the brunt of the initial impact. In sinking below the surface of the lake, however, his pocket of air slowly began filling with water. Forcing the bounty hunter to use up some that valuable air by shouting for Marisol to ascend toward the surface. Emphasizing that urgent demand by butting his head against the right-hand wall of her left breast!

He would never know for certain whether it was one, the other, or both actions that succeeded. The fact remained that she finally straightened out of the cannonball shape and swam upwards. Her right arm sweeping downwards with each kick of her giant legs. And when her sleek naked form finally did breach the surface, she immediately turned over on her back and floated.

In this manner, she was able to take a much longer look at this strange man who had helped capture her. And, yet, who had also kept her captors' attention on him after noticing that she had reawakened from her drug-induced slumber.

As she had mentally noted much earlier, he was ruggedly handsome. Yet, now that she was much bigger than him, he looked absolutely cute against her cleavage. Like a pet marmoset she had once seen on the shoulders of one of the DC-3 pilots! Nor was Gonsalves oblivious to this scrutiny.

To break the proverbial ice, he introduced himself.

"Yo soy Vasco Gonsalves! Como te llamos usted?"

"Kaikala," she replied: "Mi llamo 'Marisol.' Pero, mi nombre vera es Kaikala."

"Kaikala," Gonsalves echoed: "Su nombre es mui linda! Y usted, tambien."

The giantess blushed, accordingly.

tbc

* * * * *

SHAEF, LONDON, ENGLAND
(8 FEBRUARY, 1943)

The young American officer saluted as he entered Major Throckmorton's office.

"First Lieutenant Robert H. Phillips. U.S. Army Rangers, reporting as ordered, sir."

"At ease, leftenant," replied the major: "And, please, do sit down."

"Thank you, sir."

The first thing the middle-aged Englishman noted (after they had concluded shaking hands) was the lieutenant's last name.

"I worked with a Howard Ashton Phillips during the last war. Code-breaking, mostly. Any relation?"

"My grandfather, sir!" the lieutenant replied (quite proudly): "But, where Gramps was a devout pacifist, I'm afraid I'm a second-generation black sheep."

"Oh, really? In what way?"

"Well, sir; what would _you_ call the West Point graduate-son of a Quaker who teaches judo at Pennsylvania Military College?* "

Throckmorton grinned: "Touche'! In all seriousness, though, that's why I had you summoned here. There's a mission coming up in Argentina within the month. And it requires someone who can pass for one of the indigenous mestizo class. Now, according to your file, your one-quarter Hawaiian Chinese on your paternal grandmother's side. And, your mother was a full-blooded Red Indian of the Osage Nation. Is that correct?"

"Yes, sir," replied the younger man: "She was educated at the Indian School in Carlisle, Pennsylvania. And, after graduation, she went to work for my great-uncle John, in Oil City, as his secretary. She and Dad first met when he visited Uncle John, during Christmas break, and...well, I guess you could say the rest is family history."

The major nodded: "And I further see, from your file, that you are quite the judoka, yourself. Would you, therefore, be averse to heading up the commando team that gets sent to Argentina?"

"No, sir! Any particular part of Argentina?"

Throckmorton nodded: "A lake called Nahuel Huapi. I have to warn you, though. In addition to the presence of jerries masquerading as a Red Cross unit, there's also supposed to be a distant cousin of Nessie living somewhere in that lake!"

* * * * *

LAKE NAHUEL HUAPI
(ONE MONTH LATER)

The creature glided through the depths looking for food that it could bring back to its mate's nest for regurgitation into the young ones. A gringo paleontologist would have called it a subspecies of Elasmosaurus. The local Mapuche Indians would have referred to it as "El Nahuelito" (although "Los Nahuelitos" would have been more accurate). But, in any event, it had been attracted to this area by the sound of the Fokker trimotor's debris hitting the water. And, its curiosity was rewarded with at least three bodies that it had already brought back to the nest for its mate's own consumption!

Now, it was the male's turn.

Its neck was laterally trawling for fish went its surroundings suddenly became darker than normal. It angled its head in the direction of the surface and, there, it beheld a large shape floating placidly along.

The scent molecules wafting down through the water indicated that this was an adult female organism. Twice the male's size! But, where there were adult females, without a mate, there were usually much smaller offspring nearby. So, the male stealthily went up to the surface and poked its snake-like head above the waves.

Sure enough; this strange-looking female creature had a male offspring that appeared to have just finished suckling. For he was just laying there, on his mother's breast, fast asleep from contentment. And, the mother's eyes were closed, as well!

So the male Nahuelito sank back below the surface. Carefully swimming up to the right hand side of the mother organism's neck. Its plan being to lunge upward out of the water, and to grab the offspring away from his resting spot with the needle-toothed jaws at the end of its snake-like neck.

Unfortunately, for the male, the offspring turned out to only be half-asleep. The spray caused by the Nahuelito's lunge causing some droplets to fall on its target's forehead.

"Hijo de perra!" Gonsalves swore as he narrowly avoided being dragged to his death: "Kaikala! Cuidado!"

The naked giantess' eyes sprang open, and she rolled over in the water to her right. Unintentionally dumping Gonsalves back into the lake! But, managing to get the upper part of the elasmosaur's neck in her right fist. As a result? When the Portuguese expatriate resurfaced, it was to witness a fierce-but-brief battle which ended in a rather stomach-tightening fashion.

Kaikala literally chewed the elasmosaur's head off...before spitting it back out a moment later.

tbc

ISLA UTGARD, ARGENTINA
9 MARCH, 1943
(12:37 A.M./UTC-3)

* * * * *

The plan--in its highly classified totality--was this.

A Fairey Swordfish torpedo bomber would be the first to take off from the HMS REDOUBTABLE II (a modified IMPLACABLE-class aircraft carrier), due to its slower speed. And, after dropping off a Chariot Mark I riding torpedo in the shallows of Bahia Huemul (two miles south of the village of San Carlos de Bariloche), it would head northward toward Lake Traful. Stopping there for a refueling rendezvous with American SIS agents from Buenos Aires.

One hour after the first aircraft's departure, a Grumman Goose flying boat would take off, escorted by a Grumman Bearcat night fighter. And the only passenger aboard that flying boat--aside from Brevet Captain Phillips--would be Sub-lieutenant Alfred ("Just call me 'Alfie' ") Coppersmith. A British naval frogman, of Kalderash gypsy descent, born and raised in the East End of London.

As Major Throckmorton had explained it in their own compartmentalized briefing:

"Sub-leftenant Coppersmith will be driving the Chariot. Once you take off on her, try to travel atop the surface of the lake as long as possible. For, once you're submerged, you'll only have enough nitrox mixture in your breathing apparatus for one hour.* Which is the same duration as the charge in the Chariot's electric motor! Hence, the minimal amount of equipment you can safely tow along with you in your sealskin duffel bags."

At twenty-two hundred hours and forty-five minutes, the night fighter pilot broke radio silence with the pilots of the flying boat.

"Martlet to Barnacle Goose. Martlet to Barnacle Goose. Good news. Repeat: good news! Flying Fish has just informed me that she is finished laying her eggs. She will now grab a bite to eat before returning to the Rookery. Would you care to join her? Over."

"Barnacle Goose to Martlet. Barnacle Goose to Martlet. Would love to! We just have to drop off a couple barnacles first. Over."

"Rodger that, Barnacle Goose. This is Martlet. Over and out.

With that, the Bearcat made a U-turn and headed straight back for the carrier (anchored just outside the Argentine territorial limit). Meanwhile, the flying boat continued on alone to Lake Nahuel Huapi. There, it landed (at twenty-three hundred hours and five minutes) just long enough for Phillips and Coppersmith to quietly slip into the water near the Chariot.

Two minutes afterward, the torpedo-riding commandos were off.

As specified, it took them a full hour to make landfall on the southeastern side of the island code-named "Utgard." Ergo; they abandoned the now-powerless Chariot in five feet of water. Swimming--then wading--ashore through their own efforts. This was immediately followed by usage of the Bowie knives, sheathed to their left hips, to cut open the sewn-shut duffel bags.

By zero hundred hours and seventeen minutes, they were fully dressed in black turtleneck jerseys with matching slacks, boots, watch caps, and burnt cork-smeared faces. Furthermore, they had used foldable spades to bury their wet suits. Then, after inspecting their respective Colt M-1911's (with attachable silencers), they donned their respective backpacks and moved out.

Towards the "Red Cross" facility at the center of the island.

Twenty minutes later, they came to a dead stop when they heard a massive crunching of underbrush from somewhere due west of them. So, naturally, they went to see what it was, as stealthily as possible. This led them toward the right lower corner of an installation surrounded by barbed wire. Making this so-called "refugee relocation center" look more like a prisoner-of-war camp. And when the two men saw what was headed toward the main gate of this installation, their lower jaws dropped like anchors on overly-greased chains!

It was a small army of scantily-clad, blue-eyed blonde giantesses (each about fifty feet tall) carrying a naked, struggling, raven-haired giantess about a hundred feet long.

tbc

* * * * *

LAKE NAHUEL HUAPI, ARGENTINA
(10 FEBRUARY, 1943)

"Willkommen, Herr Keller," said the stocky man with the salt-and-pepper hair and pince-nez spectacles: "Ich bein Herr Professor Klaus Kraus. Und, dies ist Isla Utgard. I trust your journey here was a pleasant one?"

"Nein, Herr Professor," replied the trench-coated younger man: "It was not! I spent five of the last seven days breathing the stale air of a U-boat. After that, I spent eight hours, in a bone-jarring cattle truck, getting to an airfield with an obsolescent Fokker airplane...propelled by three near-deafening engines! So, to describe myself as not being in the best of humors would be an overly charitable under-statement."

"Ach, so?" countered Kraus: "Then, perhaps, you should rest and refresh yourself before we..."

"Nein!" repeated Wolfgang Keller (even more emphatically): "I have been sent here to examine your progress. So, das ist what we shall do. Sofort!* "

Kraus shrugged and nodded, resignedly. Whereupon, he led Keller to the main research building of the complex. The first room of which seemed to contain nothing but cages. And, the occupants of those cages made the newly arrived Gestapo agent livid with rage.

"Donnerwetter! For the past twelve months, we have been sending you badly needed funds, from our Swiss bank accounts, for your biochemical research. Und, dies ist what you have been doing with it? Breeding albino capybaras???!"

"Not quite, mein herr," replied a strangely calm Kraus: "Wacht!"

Kraus nodded to one of the male lab technicians along the far back wall. Whereupon, the latter reached into a small cage and withdrew a pure white guinea pig. Another technican then came along and injected it with the contents of a certain hypodermic needle. Thereby causing it to utter (in momentary pain) the kind of high-pitched squeal partly responsible for this rodent species' common name. The first technician then placed the guinea pig in one of the empty, Welsh pony-sized cages along the nearer wall.

A minute later, that guinea pig had expanded to fill almost every inch of the interior. Stunning the Gestapo agent speechless for twice that long!

"Gott in Himmel!" he muttered upon finally regaining his voice: "How...?"

"I call it 'Der Laestrygon Effect.' After a tribe of man-eating giants in Homer's 'Der Odyssey.' Mein old freund, Gustave Liebenkraft, regards that tribe as not only having existed at one time. But, also, as having been identical to the Jotuns of Norse mythology! Und, I have not only proved that true. I have also discovered the scientific reason for it. Spores from the mycorrhizal fungus called Amanita gemmata! More specifically; a variety of the species that grows in the vicinity of ancient meteor impact crater sites. The most geologically recent of which--the Tunguska River region of Siberia--was also my chief source of supply. Das ist; up until the commencement of the ill-fated Ordnung: Barbarossa!"

Keller's eyebrows arched in sudden realization.

"Is that why you had my people traipsing all through the woods of occupied Norway? To find more mushrooms with this same property?!"

"Ja und nein," the stocky scientist half-corrected him: "I had your people search the forests near the Gardnos Crater area of Norway. You see, most geologists regard that crater to be of volcanic origin due to the legend of it being a portal to the realm of Hela Lokisdottir! But, I believe it to be of...meteoric origin. Just like the crater lake in Siberia, where I first found these wondrous fungi!"

Keller looked back at the cage containing the newly gigantized guinea pig.

"Und, will the solution derived from these spores have the same effect on people?"

Kraus grinned and nodded. Slyly adding:

"All I need is permission to begin human trials."

Keller immediately subjected the scientist to a fixed stare.

"Permission granted."

tbc

* * * * *

LAKE NAHUEL HUAPI
8 MARCH, 1943
(11:00 P.M./UTC-3)

Naturally, it was Kaikala (with her giant-sized eyes) who saw the island, first. Roughly a hundred yards to their east. So, after making sure there were no other Nahuelitos coming to scavenge the corpse of the one she had just beheaded, she tread water with her left arm while putting Gonsalves atop her own head with her right hand. That way, she would have both arms free for dog-paddling to that nearby island.

She crawled ashore, ten minutes later. At which point, she lifted Gonsalves off her head with left hand while bracing herself with her right arm.

"Eres tu bien, mi poquito?* "

The bounty hunter smiled up at her and nodded.

"Sih, obrigado."

He then added that she should shrink back down to her normal size so they could find a nice hiding place in which to get some sleep. But, the soaking wet giantess shook her head. She replied that she was too tired, right at that moment, to go to all that trouble. Whereupon, she put Gonsalves down on the sand, so she could curl up into a fetal position, once more, and...

...promptly fell fast asleep.

Gonsalves initially smiled at how beautiful she looked like that. It was the on-set of his shivering, however, that drove home the realization that he needed to build some kind of campfire, right away. If only to dry out his own clothes! So, he collected the necessary twigs and branches and arranged them in the proper sequence, Whereupon, he reached up toward his head...

...and removed the toupee he had custom-made of Goan water buffalo hair, ten years earlier!

From this, he removed a set of lock picks with which he similarly removed the handcuffs that would otherwise make it impossible for him to strip down to his boxer shorts. And, once he had accomplished the latter, he removed his Swiss army knife from the right-hand lapel pocket of his shirt. One facet of which he used as a flint for starting the campfire. After that, he used another facet of the pocket knife to field strip his Browning Hi-power in order to make sure there had been no irreparable water damage. Once he had ascertained there was no such damage, he put the semi-automatic pistol back in its holster before placing the whole gun belt just beyond his spread-out clothes (so there would be no accidental detonation of the bullets).

He had no way of knowing when he fell asleep, himself. But, he did know what had awakened him. The sound of underbrush being broken by something heavy. More than one somethings, in fact.

And they were coming straight towards this beach!

He got back into his clothes, and re-fastened his gunbelt, as fast as possible. He then ran back to the beach to wake up Kaikala. Unfortunately, someone had already beaten him to her. And, he skidded to a halt as he saw who that someone was.

There was one barefoot blonde woman wearing a white smock, a black skirt, and steel-rimmed spectacles. Flanking her were two men in brown uniforms toting flame throwers on their backs (and swastika armbands on their sleeves). And, standing between them and Kaikala...

...were fifteen giantesses with blonde hair and blue eyes.

Despite everything he had been through in the last three days, Gonsalves almost could not believe it. Each of those giantesses were just as barefoot as the normal-sized woman. But, they were also only half the size of Kaikala. And, compared to her, they were fully clothed. Although, in truth, their ensembles looked more like pink moth-eaten versions of the outfits worn by female ice skaters during the Winter Olympics!

He was snapped out of this reverie by something the normal-sized woman said.

"Flamenwerfer! Schnell!"

Whereupon, one of the brown-clad guards sprayed a short burst of ignited napalm at Kaikala's right posterial cheek.

The naked giantess instantly sprang to her feet! Both hands instinctively going to the injured spot on her rear end, while she danced around, shrieking in pain. And, the only thing that made her stop dancing was the giggling she heard all around her.

It was the blonde giantesses who were giggling. And, they did not stop giggling until the normal-sized woman barked another command in German. This one, directly upward to them. Whereupon, she looked at Kaikala and said:

"Benevenuto a Isla Utgard, signorina. You are now a prisoner of the Third Reich."

This was followed by a third command in German. Which, in turn, led to Kaikala being tackled to the ground by the blonde giantesses! All of whom dog-piled on top of her, before ultimately lifting her bodily above them. And, it was in this fashion that the whole assorted group began marching inland.

Leaving the guilt-ridden Gonsalves little choice but to follow silently (and helplessly) in their wake.

tbc

* * * * *

ISLA UTGARD, ARGENTINA
9 MARCH, 1943
(1:00 A.M./UTC-3)

"Say again, Nightjar?" requested the British naval intelligence officer aboard the HMS REDOUBTABLE II.

"Repeat," said Bob Phillips: "The Rats' Nest is filled with giant-sized women! Each one approximately fifteen meters tall!! Recommend Operation: Beanstalk be scrubbed in favor of saturation bombing from the air. Over."

"Negative, Nightjar. Repeat: negative! Argentina is still officially neutral. It is therefore imperative that all explosions look like the result of ground-level sabotage by indigenous peoples. Over!"

Phillips clenched right fist shook in frustration.

"Roger that, Rookery," he snarled through gritted teeth: "Any idea on when the Eagle Owls will get here? Over."

"They should be arriving from the Aerie at this same time, tomorrow night. So, it is highly desirous that you get as much recon in as you can before then. This is Rookery; over and out."

Phillips slammed the receiver back down on the radio telephone.

"So, that Gurkha commando team won't be here until oh-one hundred hours tomorrow morning, then?" Coppersmith asked, just to make sure he had heard correctly.

Phillips sighed and nodded, before adding:

"So, here's what we'll do. I'll circle this compound clockwise. You go counter-clockwise. And, we'll meet back here to compare notes. Sound like a plan, Alfie?"

"Aye-aye, skipper."

Whereupon, they attached their silencers to the mouths of each gun barrel before commencing their reconnoiter. Little realizing that Vasco Gonsalves was already engaged in something similar!

It was not difficult following the progress of the giantesses who had captured Kaikala. The latter was putting up quite a fight, both physically and vocally. Indeed, the blonde giantesses had to stop, every so often, to readjust their grips on the naked Easter Islander! Plus, the path that they followed was a well-worn one. And, their normal-sized companions (bringing up the rear, as they were) had to be allowed to catch up.

The Portuguese expatriate had to lag behind, however, when the party reached the main gate of the compound. He watched as they entered through it, taking note of the twenty-five foot-tall fence posts. And, the web-like strands of electrified barbed wire that stretched between them.

As he went northward along that fence, he saw that there was only one spot where there was only a plain wooden wall. It was a barn-like building made of wood that had become charcoal-gray with age and weathering. In fact, from the looks of its left rear corner, a couple of planks had become so softened by wood rot that he might be able to saw through them!

So, he got out the nail file facet of his Swiss army knife and went to work.

It soon became apparent that the sawing would not be as easy as he had initially thought. But, he stuck to it, regardless. Consequently, inside an hour, he had a good-sized square he would be able to crawl on his belly through. The moment he did so, however, something happened he could never have anticipated.

He bumped into the rear end of a rather big specimen of whatever livestock was being kept in this barn. And that specimen was so startled, it immediately cried out in a loud enough manner to awaken the rest of the livestock!

Half-deafened by the cacophony, Gonsalves headed for what looked like the front door, and barged it open with his right shoulder. But, if he had been expecting it to crash to the left or the right, he must have been doubly dumbfounded to see it plunge downward at a ninety-degree angle!

Ergo, he somersaulted out of the barn in a most undignified fashion. Yet, even so, he was able to regain his senses quickly enough that he immediately thought to hide himself beneath the strangely-wide ramp. Which turned out to be a wise move, indeed, as some of the livestock came flying out of the barn right behind him.

Literally flying.

"QUACK! QUACK! QUACK! QUACK!"

Gonsalves found himself gazing, slack-jawed, at a group of white Pekin ducks...that were each twice the size of an African ostrich.

tbc

* * * * *

No sooner had the giant ducks begun their thunderous quacking than two more giantesses seemed to appear from out of nowhere. Each of them with the same blonde hair, blue eyes, and pink garments (with abbreviated skirts) as Kaikala's captors. In this case, however, they were trying to round up the frightened fowl with repeated utterings of...

..."Hier Enten!* "

It was about fifteen minutes, though, before the ducks had sufficiently calmed down that the giantesses' commands had the desired effect. Whereupon, the latter picked up the former (one in each arm) and placed them back in the barn-like building before slamming the ramp-like door shut.

Unfortunately, that led to one of the giantesses spotting Vasco Gonsalves.

"Was ist...?"

Then, she gasped. Both of her hands flying to her mouth in speechless astonishment! The expatriate Portuguese bounty hunter tried to use that to his advantage by immediately attempting to flee. Alas! The other giantess proved too quick for him. Throwing herself down on all fours, before using her right hand to scoop him up off the ground. And, when she sprang back on to her feet, she just as quickly doubled her captive's immobility with her left hand, so she could show him off to the others.

"Schau mal was ich gefunden habe!" she proudly exclaimed: "Eine kleinmann!"

"Was meinst du?" demanded the other giantess: "Ich sah ihm zuerst!"

Consequently, this caused the two giantesses to begin arguing. And it was difficult for Gonsalves to tell which was beginning to torture him more. The decibels of their raised voices; or the inadvertently increasing pressure of the hands currently gripping him! It was, therefore, a mixed blessing in disguise when the normal-sized blonde woman used a bullhorn to finally get a word in edgewise.

"Mein Damen! MEIN DAMEN! Geben ihm zu mir. Schnell!"

The simultaneous pouts that appeared on both faces would have made a Basset hound look like a laughing hyena. But, the normal-sized woman apparently had these giantesses well-trained. Because, Gonsalves was lowered to the ground in front of her. Whereupon, he was instantly surrounded by half a dozen brown-shirted guards armed with Schmeisser sub-machine guns.

"Guten Aben, mein herr," the normal-sized woman began: "Sprechen sie Englisch?"

Gonsalves: "Sih! Y un poco Portunol, tambien."

The normal-sized woman then nodded and smiled as she switched languages.

"I am Signorina Maria-Giuseppina Santapietro from-ah Roma. And, you are now a prisoner of the Axis-ah Powers."

Whereupon, she reverted to German and ordered the guards to take their prisoner toward the main administration building. In the meantime, she would be escorting the blonde giantesses (and Kaikala) in another direction.

Five minutes later, Gonsalves was standing before two men who could not look more different from each other. One was tall and thin, with an unsmiling face and the blond hair and blue eyes that seemed so abundant among Germans these days. The other was older and stockier, with brown eyes, salt-and-pepper hair, and the face of a cheerfully chubby cherub. The latter was evidently given a succinct summary of events, in his left ear, by one of the guards. Because, the stocky one's smile became a full-fledged grin as he bowed and said.

"Buenos noches, senhor! Yo soy Klaus Kraus. Professor of biochemistry, cross-trained in pharmacological botany. Und, dies ist mein Gestapo liaison, Wolfgang Kell..."

"Never mind the pleasantries!" snapped the blond man, drawing a Luger: "Let us just kill him. Now!"

tbc

* * * * *

"Nein-nein-nein-nein-NEIN!" Professor Kraus exclaimed, interposing himself between Keller and Gonsalves: "Do not shoot him! That would be most ungrateful of us."

"Ungrateful?!" echoed the Gestapo agent (not sure he had heard correctly).

"Ja!" nodded the biochemist: "After all, Liebenkraft did hire him to help us find the girl. And, though mein old freund must now be presumed dead, Herr Gonsalves did bring her right to our front doorstep, just the same (however unwittingly). So, we must repay him by keeping him alive. If only to exploit him as a source of leverage in persuading her to help us...further our research."

Keller reholstered his Luger.

"Very well! I shall update Berlin, immediately. I will also request specific instructions as to what we are to do with him. Until then, he is _your_ personal responsibility!"

Kraus clicked his heels together, and bowed his head, accordingly. He then ordered two of the Waffen-SS guards (for that was the branch of the German war machine the brown-shirted guards belonged to) to disarm Gonsalves of his Browning Hi-power. Gun belt and all!

Only then did Kraus permit himself a grin worthy of a Cheshire cat...with rabies.

"Come, Herr Gonsalves. I will take you on a guided tour of our humble facility."

With the Schmeissers of his guards giving him no other choice in the matter, the expatriate Portuguese bounty hunter acquiesced. As a result, he learned all about the "magic mushrooms" from Tunguska and Gardnos. About the incredible effects the spores from those mushrooms had on the human body. And, of the experimentation the scientists of Isla Utgard had been carrying out on a hundred members of the Hitler Youth Corps.

"Now, in ancient India, our Aryan ancestors had discovered that soma--the psychedelic compound within the more conventional specimens of Amanita--was not water-soluble. Indeed; the members of some religious sects used to drink each others' urine to share the experience! But, naturally, we are more sophisticated than that. Let me show you."

The eight-man group entered a building parallel to the main research center. They went half-way down the front hall, therein, and stopped before a large window with a double-thick pane of glass. Looking through that window, Gonsalves beheld a dimly-lit simulation of a limestone cave. Complete with stalagmites made of cement coated with orange stucco paint. And, hanging from those stalagmites...

...were Brazilian vampire bats the size of Andean condors.

"Nombres de Todos Santos!" muttered Gonsalves as he crossed himself.

Kraus chuckled with shameless glee.

"This is the result of their sucking the blood of the guinea pigs we gigantized in Phase I of our research. Und the blood they cannot metabolize, for their own needs, is subsequently urinated into that pool of water beneath them!"

The biochemist pointed to a cement-lined simulation of an underground spring. And, milling about within its waters were leeches the size of half-grown anacondas!!

"When its time for a fresh supply of plasma," Kraus continued: "...we drain the pool, so our technicians can collect one of the leeches. After which, we pump its stomach und centrifugally filter the extracted contents before injecting the liquid into our young Prussian volunteers. Fifty boys und fifty girls!"

It was here they resumed the tour. Exiting the building at the other end of the hall, and going over to a pair of huge warehouses. The kind that looked like they might be harboring zeppelins left over from World War One! But, to his initial shock (which quickly turned to simmering anger), it actually housed all the blue-eyed blonde giantesses Kraus had been bragging about. Plus, one other.

Kaikala; her nakedness now camouflaged by a sailcloth straight jacket that bound-and-gagged her like an Egyptian mummy.

Surprisingly, though, the biochemist was no longer smiling. He was, in fact, now wearing a most somber frown. Noting that Gonsalves had observed this, Kraus explained.

"As successful as the injections have been, on these lovely young women, they have been proportionate failures mit the young men. Oh, they have grown to the same height, physically! Yet, within twenty-four hours of achieving that height, the young men become cataleptic. Lying there, drooling, like comatose idiots! That is why Liebenkraft was so desperately seeking Fraulein Herrera und her brother. Because they can attain twice the height of our Prussian youngsters, over and over and over again, with no ill-effect whatsoever! A capability we naturally wish to isolate...und duplicate."

"Unfortunately, for us, her brother recently disappeared from his longshoreman's job in Valparaiso. So, if our holding Fraulein Herrera hostage does not draw him out? Then, we shall start examining her."

tbc

* * * * *

ISLA UTGARD, ARGENTINA
9 MARCH, 1943
(2:11 A.M./UTC-3)

"How do you intend to do that Senhor Profesor," Gonsalves mockingly inquired: "...when you cannot even pierce her skin at giant-size?"

Kraus' grin was equally smug.

"Gustave radioed me, yesterday afternoon, how the two of you affected her capture, Herr Gonsalves. So, we shall transport her into our main laboratory the same way. By using a diamond-tipped elephant syringe to inject her with scopolamine! Nor will she give us any resistance at the time of injection as her sailcloth bindings have been well-sprayed with copious amounts of...chloroform."

Gonsalves shook his head: "You are biting off more than you can chew, pendejo."

The last part of that utterance caused the biochemist to stiffen his posture.

"Und you are greatly underestimating me, schweinhund! Giants shall, indeed, walk the Earth, once more...in service to Der Third Reich. Hei...!"

Before Kraus could complete that damnable salute, the expatriate Portuguese bounty hunter lunged forward. Driving Kraus to the ground, flat on his back, with Gonsalves' bare hands clutched tightly around his throat! Unfortunately, his Waffen-SS guards recovered from their momentary surprise, just as swiftly.

The nearest two of them using the butts of their Schmeissers against the back of Gonsalves' head. And, once they had helped Kraus back on to his feet, the biochemist glared at the unconscious Gonsalves.

"Lock him up with the giantesses. But, first; have Fraulein Santapietro bring the Easter Islander, here. We do not want to arouse Fraulein Herrera's jealousy...just yet."

* * * * *

Kaikala was having a dream, and she knew it. Yet, it was the strangest one she had ever had. For one thing, she was still in the huge warehouse. But, the blonde Prussian giantesses who had been guarding her were nowhere to be seen. Furthermore...

...her bindings were gone!

She was now standing on her own two feet, again. Still naked; but, also, still one hundred feet tall. Then, she noticed the air. It seemed to have become suffused with a translucent blue mist! Before she could ponder that any further, however, she heard a voice softly utter her name.

"Kaikala."

The raven-haired giantess spun about and confronted...another raven-haired giantess. One just as tall as Kaikala. And, almost just as naked. A long cloak of black feathers being the only article of clothing the former seemed to have.

"Q-Q-Quien...?" Kaikala stammered.

The voice that replied did so in perfect English. But, Kaikala somehow sensed that she was hearing it in her mind, rather than with her ears!

"I am Ina, goddess of light. And, you and your brother are the sole surviving descendants of myself and my consort; Alika of the Marama Clan."

Kaikala could not help gasping.

"Alika is my brother's name!!"

Ina nodded: "When my people, the Hanau epe, ruled Rapa Nui, they prevented inbreeding by having the menehunes of the Eight Clans perform a great feat, once a year. All the able-bodied young adult men of the clans would swim the shark-infested channel between Rapa Nui and the neighboring islet of Moto Nui. There, they would each grab up the first-laid egg of each of the nesting manu taras. Then, they would swim back across the channel to the cliff of Rano Kau. The first one to scale that cliff, with his egg unbroken, would win stewardship of the island's sacred palm trees, for himself and his clan, for the next twelve months. And, the winner, himself, would become the consort of the eldest daughter of the Hanau epe's high chief. Thereby fathering her children!"

"But, I fell in love with my consort. So much so, that I willingly helped Alika and the kahunas of the Eight Clans rise up in successful revolt against my people! Unfortunately, they would not allow us to remain a couple. I was driven into exile, by the magic of the kahunas, along with the rest of my people. Which is how the Tangata Manu came to rule Rapa Nui in our stead."

"And they abused their rule more than the Hanau epe ever did. Exhausting almost all of the island's natural resources by the time the Chileans enslaved their descendants! A fate that will befall the rest of the world if this other race of white men learn the secret of your mana, my child."

"What must I do, My Goddess?" Kaikala was now able to ask without stuttering.

"Wait for the sign I will send you. Then, strike! Strike against these evil haoles with all your might. And, of course, with the help of your chosen menehune."

Kaikala felt herself blushing at Ina's knowing wink, just before the dream-vision ended.


tbc

LAKE NAHUEL HUAPI, ARGENTINA
9 MARCH, 1943 (10:45 P.M./UTC-3)

* * * * *

Jean-Jacques DeCoteau was a French-Canadian metis who had first flown Sopwith biplanes, for the British Royal Naval Air Service, during World War I. And, following the Armistice, he had become a bush pilot. Purchasing and modifying a war-surplus F.E. 2 night bomber for use as a cargo plane.

Of course, with Prohibition having been enacted in the United States, back then, most of his flights had involved the delivery of contraband whiskey south of the border. And half those flights had entailed his cutting his engines, while still airborne, so he could glide in for a nocturnal landing! But, with the repeal of Prohibition in 1933, he had to find another way to recapture the adrenaline rush of such landings. So, he learned to pilot sailplanes as a member of the American Soaring Society.

Then, came World War II...and the blitzkrieg of London by the Luftwaffe based in Nazi-occupied France.

DeCoteau enlisted in the Royal Canadian Air Force, almost immediately. But, as only commissioned officers could be pilots, the best position the RCAF could offer him was that of crew chief aboard American lend-lease bombers being ferried to England. In mid-1941, however, he was seconded to the RAF as a combination interpreter and drill instructor for their Free French squadrons.

Now, he was on a top-secret mission for SHAEF! Chosen for it partly because of his gliding experience (as a consequence of which he had been given a brevet promotion from sergeant major to flying officer*). And partly because of his fluency in Russian as a third language (which was a consequence of having a Doukhobor wife back home in British Columbia, Canada).

The second requirement had been necessitated by his co-pilot being Senior Lt. Vassily Alexandrov of the Soviet "People's" Air Force.

A Eurasian (Chinese mother/Russian father), who had been born and raised in Vladivostok, he had ironically been trained by the German Luftwaffe in the handling of their DSF-230 glider, prior to Operation: Barbarossa. That training later came in handy when he and other Russian pilots used Antonov A-7 gliders to smuggle badly-needed gasoline to the Soviet tanks defending besieged Stalingrad.

What they were piloting now was an American-built Waco glider. Although, not one of the CG-4's that were soon to prove so crucial in the invasion of Sicily. Rather, it was a modified CG-3 that had been towed from England to Brazil by a Curtis C-46 cargo plane. The same type of aircraft, in fact, that was now serving as their tow plane, after having first flown a certain team of Gurkha commandos from India to Brazil via Liberia, West Africa!

At seventeen minutes of eleven, the American pilot of the C-46 contacted DeCoteau, one last time.

"Mama Bird to Empty Nestling. Mama Bird to Empty Nestling. Approaching point of separation in two minutes. Repeat: point of separation? Two minutes! Over."

"Acknowledged, Mama Bird," DeCoteau replied (via the walkie-talkie he had picked up off the floor): "This is Empty Nestling; over and out."

A moment later, he turned to the younger officer and muttered:

"About bloody time. Nyet, tovarsich lieutenant?"

Alexandrov grinned and nodded: "Da!"

Two minutes later, the tow rope was disengaged. Following which, the C-46 banked into a one hundred eighty degree turn as she flew back to the Brazilian town of Pernambuco. Meanwhile, the Waco CG-3.5 began its descent from a height of thirty thousand feet. And, with a sink rate of four hundred feet per minute, that gave them roughly an hour and a quarter in which to locate the targeted island; circle it in ever-lower and narrower spirals; and then be guided into a (hopefully safe) landing by their two pathfinders.

* * * * *

ISLA UTGARD,
10 MARCH, 1943
(12:00 A.M./UTC-3)

Alfie had spotted the glider, first, courtesy of his infra-red snooperscope. He promptly said as much to Brevet Captain Phillips, who then began clicking his flashlight skyward, in the Morse Code pattern for the letters "C" and "Q." That signal was, in turn, spotted by DeCoteau, who promptly informed Alexandrov. The latter then ordered the former to tell the Gurkhas to make sure they were all strapped in. Because they were about to start their final approach!

Five minutes later, the CG-3.5 (which had been modified to resemble an old Consolidated Commodore flying boat minus the engines) briefly splashed through the shallows of the target island's western shore...before coming to a stop on the muddy sand.

Whereupon, Alexandrov looked at DeCoteau, gave a thumb's up, and quipped (in one of the few English phrases he knew):

"All ashore that is go-ink ashore."

tbc

* * * * *

In carrying out Professor Kraus' orders, a contingent of Waffen SS guards injected Kaikala's left heel with scopolamine!

As Kraus had explained it to Keller, shortly after Gonsalves had been more violently rendered unconscious: "That drug is well established as a means of counteracting the normal effects of muscarinic acid. The fact that it shrank Frau Herrera, after it first knocked her out, confirms my growing belief that the supra-normal gigantism, induced by the spores of our mushrooms, is part and parcel of the muscarine within them!"

In any event, she was merely her "normal" height, of seven feet, when most of the guards carried her off to the lab. Whereupon, the remaining two guards dragged Gonsalves into the warehouse. His wrists and ankles bound with black electrician's tape, and his mouth similarly gagged. It was only after they left, that some of the blonde Prussian giantesses shyly crawled forward on their hands and knees.

This was understandable when one stops to consider that not only were most of these girls still virgins, at the time they were first recruited from the Hitler Youth Movement for this research project. They had also been kept sexually segregated from their male counterparts on purpose!

In other words; practically all of these giantesses had never seen a "little" man so up close before. Let alone, one that had been left in their (hopefully) tender care.

The one called Ilsa was the first to pick him up...by his feet.

["Look at him, girls. Doesn't he look like a sausage, hanging like this?"]

Her twin sister, Helga, giggled.

["Yes! The kind of sausage I wish we could see in the boys' dormitory."]

The other forty-eight giantesses tittered at the half-serious shock that appeared on Ilsa's face.

["Shame on you. You little hussy!"]

["Oh, stop being such a prude, Ilsa. You are just as anxious as the rest of us for Herr Professor to find a cure for the boys' comas! If only because we could finally ease our 'tension,' while simultaneously helping him to test the...limits...of our enhanced bodies."]

["I don't know, Helga. For a non-Prussian, this little one is kind of cute! Which makes me wonder about his 'sausage?' "]

Now, it was Helga's turn to half-seriously gasp.

["And you called ME a hussy!"]

["Well, you did just tell me to stop being a prude. What better way for me to do that than to conduct some 'research' with this man?"]

Whereupon, she dropped him into the palm of her left hand. Thereby freeing her right hand to delicately finger the belt of his trousers. Though, of course, at her present size, that adverb was a relative term. As her right index fingernail was now of such strength and density that it caught on his belt buckle!

Thereby dragging his trousers down to his knees, as a result.

That, in turn, increased the tittering of the other forty-nine giantesses to such a volume that they had to cover each of their mouths with both hands. Thereby emboldening Ilsa into deliberately using the same technique on Gonsalves' shirt. And, once she had exposed his swarthy hairy chest, she pursed her lips together; bent her head forward; and...

...simulated what Americans called a "Bronx cheer" upon it.*

tbc

* * * * *

"FOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOF!"

Needless to say, all the other German giantesses laughed at that sound effect. And their laughter only intensified when they saw how Vasco Gonsalves reacted to it.

"MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMF!"

His upper torso had jerked bolt upright, as if he had been electric shocked! This, of course, only served to encourage Ilsa to do it a second time. Although, for slightly longer.

"FOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOF!"

"MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMF!""

This time, his muffled vocal reaction had been reinforced with one or two minor gyrations. Leading Ilsa to come to one inescapable conclusion.

["This little man is obviously ticklish. But, how much so?"]

Whereupon, she repositioned him so that, now, she was holding him by his ankles between her right thumb and index finger. While, at the same time, she began using her left index finger to...

...tickle the soles of his feet.

[Kitchie-kitchie-kitchie-koo! Kitchie-kitchie-kitchie-koo!"]

Unfortunately, for Gonsalves, his feet proved even more ticklish than his bare chest. As a result of which, he began to wriggle violently about, like a worm on a freshwater fisherman's hook!

"HHHHMF-HMMMMF! HHHHMF-HMMMMF! MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMF! HHHHHHMF-HHHHHMF!"

Most of the girls laughed at these movements, of course. But, some of them (including Ilsa's twin sister) became a little concerned over the sounds coming from behind his gag.

["Is he laughing, or crying?"]

["Honestly? I cannot tell. Let me remove the duct tape, and we shall see.]

She proceeded very carefully. Yet, once she had him un-gagged, she resumed tickling his feet with her left forefinger.

"Hahaha! Please...hahaha! S-Stop...hahahaha! Stop that! Hahahahahahahahahaha! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

Well, that did it. Now, all the other giantesses wanted their turn with Little Vasco. But, it turned out to be a mixed blessing when they were interrupted by Fraulein Santapietro (bullhorn and all)!

["Alright, ladies! Enough is enough. It is morning, now. Which means it is time for your chores. So, put the little man down.] Schnell!"

"Jawohl, fraulein," they chorused.

They rose to their tremendous feet, as one, to do as they were told. Ilsa, in particular, did as instructed. She put the expatriate Portuguese bounty hunter...

...straight down her cleavage!

There was instantly a cborus of protest from the other forty-nine giantesses. But, Santapietro was in no mood for it.

["Chores! NOW!"]

So off they sullenly went.

The first chore, of course, involved feeding the ducks. As the island could not support a herd of cattle, to feed these gigantized young ladies, it had been decided that it would be more practical to import a flock of white Pekin ducks. Gigantizing the latter, on site, if only to preserve the facility's secrecy.

Of course, once the ducks had been fed, one or two of them would be chosen to return the favor. That pair being taken away, to a sound-proofed warehouse, so that their ensuing quacks of fright would not reach back to the rest of the flock. These ill-fated fowl would then be plucked and roasted. With every nourishing morsel of their bodies doled out to the giantesses for their dining pleasure. Although, if any of them had sincerely been asked their opinion, they would have replied (without the slightest hesitation) that they were getting a little bored with roast duck meat, three times a day!

Little did they know that it was some of that duck meat that was responsible for the comatose state of their male counterparts.

tbc

* * * * *

One of the first vampire bats smuggled into Argentina, by the Nazis working for Kraus, had actually been the shape-shifting sorceress calling herself "Ina!" But, of course, nobody had any reason to suspect such a thing as that, at the time. So, nobody had noticed that the listed quantity of one such shipment had been one bat over.

Hence, each of the giant Prussian boys being rendered comatose by her "lavish affections." One by one by one. After which, she had transformed into a giant female chigoe flea and burrowed into each one of the boys' navels. Using those as her egg chambers!

The carnage began when one of the two Waffen-SS guards, outside the warehouse dormitory, began to hear strange noises from within. So, in complete puzzlement, he unlocked the small door within the main sliding door and entered. His K-98k at the ready. Unfortunately, for him, there was no way he could have been prepared for the horrifying sight that met his eyes when he turned on his flashlight.

Ina's larvae had hatched...and they were thirsty.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

The second guard, hearing that yell, had just enough time to see the fate of the first one--and give the alarm over the intercom--before he, too, became a quencher of thirst. Thirty seconds after that, klaxons began blaring all over the base.

"Achtung! Achtung!" thundered a voice over the PA system: "[Biological hazard outbreak. Repeat: biological hazard outbreak. All units respond. This is not a drill. Repeat: this is _not_ a drill!"]

Among those compelled to respond were the two guards outside Vasco Gonsalves' cell (to which he had been returned after the giantesses had gotten through feeding the ducks). This left the expatriate Portuguese bounty hunter free to resort to the same trick he had used aboard the Fokker trimotor. He used his capoiera training to once more leap just high enough to bring his handcuffed wrists in front of him. Whereupon, he removed the lock picks hidden in his water buffalo-hair toupee!

Once he was out of the cuffs, he similarly picked the lock of his cell door. Just as he was about to exit, however, he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. So, he quietly slipped back into his cell. And, when the two Waffen-SS troopers got close enough,...

...he slammed the cell door open into the nearest of the pair.

The latter was instantly rendered unconscious by the impact. His comrade in arms was likewise taken by surprise. Hesitating just long enough for Gonsalves to somersault into a la savate jump. One that connected the sole of his right shoe with the storm trooper's nose. Fatally breaking its cartilage!

All of this occurring in less time than it takes to tell.

He then armed himself with their MP-40 submachine guns and potato masher bandoliers before remarking:

"Obrigado, senhores! I will see that these are put to good use."

While all that was going on, the rest of the Waffen-SS garrison had formed three ranks. The first rank was composed of two-man teams operating Mg-42 belt-fed machine guns. These mowed down the first wave of advancing chigoe mutants. Those of the second wave, who leaped over the corpses of their fellows, succumbed to the bullets of sharpshooters in the third rank. Their bayonet-tipped K-98k's pointed skyward. And, when the wounded monstrosities fell to the ground, they were finished off by close-up fire from the MP-40's of the storm troopers in the second rank.

The chigoes who tried to escape by retreating were subsequently incinerated by storm troopers, in aluminized asbestos suits, using flamethrowers.

* * * * *

ONE HOUR/TEN MINUTES EARLIER

Brevet Captain Bob Phillips used his Bowie knife to draw a diagram of the compound in the beach sand near the tree line.

"There are two gas-powered generators for the electricity. One is about a hundred yards down from the giant duck coop, just inside the fence! That one, we can take care of with a well-tossed hand grenade or two. Unfortunately, it only controls the outdoor lighting and the electric fence. The other one--the one that controls the indoor lighting--is located at the rear of the main administration building. But, the good news is, we can use wire cutters on the fence once the current is down. After which, we plant a satchel charge on Genny #2."

Brevet Flying Officer DeCoteau translated this for Senior Lt. Alexandrov, while Corporal Singh did the same thing for the Gurkhas. One of the latter then asked a question which the corporal translated for Bob.

"Harish wish to know what we do if there are outside-of-wire patrols?"

Phillips looked at Alfie Coppersmith: "Sub-leftenant?"

"Tell Harish we're planning to draw those here...with the diversionary self-destruction of the Waco!"

Thirty minutes later, they were all near the aforementioned duck coop. And Bob could not help smirking with vindication as he saw the looks on the rest of the commando team's faces as they saw the blonde, blue-eyed giantesses feeding the slightly smaller ducks while chanting:

"Hier, Enten.* Essen-zeit!"

Everyone snapped out of it, however, when the Waco's time bomb blew up on schedule. Resulting in a squad of Waffen-SS troopers being dispatched to investigate the explosion. While the giantesses (minus their no-longer bound-and-gagged man-toy)) were shepherded back to their warehouse dormitory by Dr. Santapietro.

"Beautiful!" exulted Bob (in as loud a whisper as he could risk): "All right, then. Alfie? You take Alexandrov, DeCoteau, and half the Gurkhas with you to the rear fence line. When you hear Genny #1 blow, half an hour from now? You apply the wire cutters and go for Genny #2. Got it?"

"Aye-aye, skipper."

tbc

* * * * *

Wolfgang Keller looked at the on-going battle, through a pair of high-powered binoculars, from the roof top of the main administration building.

"I thought you checked every incoming shipment of ducks und lab animals for parasites," he demanded (in an accusatory tone).

"W-W-We do," sputtered Professor Kraus: "Und we check them every two months, thereafter! I have no idea how this could have happened."

"There are many rufous-ah-collared sparrows in the nearby ah-woods," Dr. Santapietro interjected: "Some of them might have-ah been infested with chigoes by exposure to house-ah sparrows in Buenos Aires! Subsequently doing like-ah-wise to the native waterfowl, here, who then infested our ducks-ah."

"If such is the case," replied the portly professor: "...you are to personally examine every single duck in the coop. Und, if even one of them shows signs of infestation? Euthanize the whole flock. Sofort!* "

"Si, Signor Profesore."

The blonde Italian research assistant was only half-right, however. Ina the sorceress had used her giant female chigoe form to infect at least two or three of the gigantized ducks! Each one of which wound up being consumed by the male Prussian giants. Thereby half-weakening their bodies to the extent that there was no way to prevent their _minds_ from being similarly weakened by her "lavish affections." In any event, all Axis hypotheses for the presence of these insect monstrosities were put on hold by the first of three explosions.

All of them the result of Bob Phillips and two Gurkhas, of Commando Team Able, lobbing hand grenades inside the barbed-wire enclosure housing the first generator. Twenty seconds later, every light throughout the exterior of the whole compound went out! Leaving everything in near-total darkness (except for the burning corpses of flame-thrown chigoes). And, unfortunately for the Waffen-SS troops fighting them?

The still-living chigoes proved quicker at readjusting their eyesight to the darkness.

"Nein! Nein!! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Those and other terrified screams signaled, to Commando Team Baker, that the moment was right for introducing their wire cutters to the now-powerless barbed wire at the rear of the compound. And, in less time than it takes to tell, they were inside!

"Right, lads," said Alfie Coppersmith: "Follow me."

The Cockney sub-lieutenant led the way, using his infra-red snooperscope. The others followed closely behind. Or rather, they followed his behnd closely! In any event, he soon had them gathered around Generator #2. Signalling for DeCoteau to tie a satchel charge around the padlocked gate of the generator's enclosure, Coppersmith then pulled the cord. Thereby activating the charge's timer!

The whole team was hunched behind the back porch of Laboratory Facility Number One when the charge went off, thirty seconds later. Plunging every building in the compound into darkness even blacker than the battleground where some of the brown-shirted storm troopers were now being...exsanguinated...alive.

"Alright, mates," Coppersmith now instructed: "Go in here and search around. Snatch up every piece of paper with the words 'Ordnung: Utgard' on it. The big brass at SHAEF will want to read'em when we get back."

As if telepathy was at work, the two Axis scientists atop the main administration building had roughly similar (and simultaneous) thoughts.

"Santapietro!" barked Kraus: "Go check on the Easter Islander. While I shall check on the specimens in Laboratory B."

"Si, Signor Profesore," replied the lovely young blonde Italian.

Five minutes later, she was inside the operating theater of Lab A. She had hoped to find Marisol "Kaikala" Herrera still sedated and well-secured to the dissecting table. But, in that regard, she was doomed to be half-disappointed. Because while the straps upon her were, indeed, still securely fastened, the Amazonian-sized beauty...

...was now wide-awake.

ISLA UTGARD, ARGENTINA
10 MARCH, 1943
(1:35 A.M./UTC-3)

* * * * *

The Waffen-SS guards, while initially surprised by the blackout, did not remain so for long. Their immediate commanding officers quickly rallied some of the remaining storm troopers into firing Very pistol flares skyward. As a result, total illumination was restored. Or, at least, a sufficient enough amount of it to make killing off the rest of the chigoe mutants much less difficult.

But, while the latter were being cremated by the troopers with the flamethrowers, a new source of peril arose.

Kaikala had reawakened, in the operating theater of Laboratory A, ten minutes earlier. Prior to that, she had been having a dream. Or, more precisely, another dream about the "goddess" Ina!

"It is to awaken, my child. Awaken...and avenge yourself."

Consequently, before Dr. Santapietro could utter one syllable of alarm, the beauteous Easter Islander concentrated on expanding...and did so. Instantly growing to ten feet tall! And, thereby, becoming muscular enough to break free of the steel-buckled leather straps. Ten seconds later, she was thirty feet tall. And, thereby, strong enough to brace her back against the ceiling of the operating theater...and break through it. After that, she burst through the roof of Lab A with a scream of defiance that only someone who was stone-deaf would have been able to ignore.

And she did all this while having achieved her maximum height, of one hundred feet, in less time than it takes to tell.

Wolfgang Keller--who had come down from the roof of the research building to inspect the aftermath of the Battle of the Bugs--took one look at Kaikala's face and knew for certain there would be no recapturing her alive, this time. This time, it was either her or them. So, he quickly turned towards the surviving storm troopers and shouted:

"Open feuer! Schnell! Schnell!"

Meanwhile, in Laboratory B, Vasco Gonsalves came to the window that Kraus had shown off the view through, with such sadistic glee, earlier that night. He then planted one of the confiscated potato-mashers at the base of the window, before going down the hall way a dozen or so paces. Upon doing so, he pulled the detonator cord on a second potato-masher...and threw it back towards the first one.

"Fuego en el hoyo!" he exclaimed, while putting his index fingers in his ears.*

BA-DA-BOOM!

The ensuing explosion not only shattered the window's bulletproof glass and surrounding segments of wall (as he had hoped). It also startled some of the mutated vampire bats into falling off their stalagmite perches and into the pool of leeches below them! The latter quickly--and ironically-exsanguinating the former. Gonsalves then ran back to the hole in the wall. There, he removed all the remaining potato-mashers. Using the leather bandoliers they had been attached to bind them together!

All before removing just one detonator cord and throwing the whole bundle into the pool beyond.

This time, when ran back down the hall a couple dozen paces, he threw himself on the ground, entirely. Face-first, and using his fully-extended hands to cover both ears. And, this time, the vampire bats who had managed to remain aloft (albeit, fluttering around in confusion) did not do so. Those not killed by the second round of grenade explosions fell into the pool, severely wounded. There, the leeches not already dead made short work of them.

Gonsalves saw this for himself when he staggered up to the hole to inspect his handiwork. His ears still ringing from the explosions, despite the protective measures he had taken. Thus, the subsequent shouting of his surname, that made him turn around, sounded more like a half-whisper.

"Gonsalves!!!!!!!!!"

It was Klaus Kraus. His salt-and-pepper hair disheveled. His pince-nez spectacles gone. His face and smock now stained with matching gunpowder burns. And his right hand now occupied by a Luger, pointed right at the Portuguese bounty hunter's head!

"Y-Y-You...have ruined...everything!!! But, you...shall not live...to boast about it. That...I...promAAAAAAGH!"

One of the condor-sized bats from the room beyond the hole suddenly sprang out of the blood-soaked water. A mutated leech virtually riding it piggy-back! And, as the odd coupling landed atop the German biochemist, the bat (half-maddened with pain) sank its fangs into Kraus' jugular vein.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

It was only after first making sure that Kraus was dead that Gonsalves emptied one of the Schmeisser burp-guns into the two mutated lab animals. Thereby putting them out of their misery.


tbc

* * * * *

ISLA UTGARD, ARGENTINA
10 MARCH, 1943
(1:40 A.M./UTC-3)

As before, when Vasco Gonsalves had tried to literally shoot her in her giant foot back in Santa Madre, the bullets being fired at her by the Waffen-SS troops could not penetrate the gigantized density of Kaikala's epidermis. But, they were proving just as distracting as a swarm of mosquitoes. Distracting in the sense that she knew she was being herded towards the soldiers with the flamethrowers. Which, in turn, inspired her to make a desperate gamble.

She started dancing the Cueca!

A Chilean folk dance roughly similar to fandango, it was normally danced by a male/female duo waving white handkerchiefs while pretending to be a barnyard rooster and hen engaged in a courtship dance. The male wearing the traditional clothing of the plainsman (or huaso); and the female, a nearly ankle-length dress with plenty of petticoats between the outer skirt and the hosiery. Kaikala, of course, had no such dress (let alone, a handkerchief)! So, instead, she just clapped her hands over head, in rapid succession. While alternately leaping and stomping her giant bare feet on the ground.

It was the latter the gun-toting troopers now strove so frantically to avoid.

Meanwhile, Commando Team Able (led by Brevet Captain Bob Phillips) had reached the green house where the Nazis were growing the mutant Amanita mushrooms. Up to this point, they had been planting satchel charges. One each in front of the kerosene stove they had found in every single one of the barrack buildings that housed the Waffen-SS troopers. Naturally, those stoves had not been lit during the subequatorial summer! But, now that summer was slowly turning to autumn, the nights were gradually starting to get much cooler.

Ergo, the stoves were now on. And the activating cords on the satchel charges had been pulled. As a result, the time-delay fuses on each charge detonated in almost-perfect sequence. Almost thirty seconds apart!

It was after the first such explosion that Bob and Corporal Singh found and lifted the trap door to the underground furnace room that controlled the green house's interior temperature. Descending the spiral staircase they saw beneath it, they found the furnace itself and planted their last satchel charge right next to it. Corporal Singh then had the honor of pulling on the cord before he and Bob ran back upstairs.

Roughly a minute and a half later, the green house went up like the proverbial Roman candle.

That, in turn, drew the attention of the Waffen-SS troopers still dealing with Kaikala. Including the ones with the flamethrowers! So, the Chilean-born Easter Islander took full advantage of that fact. She immediately stopped dancing and, instead, ran for the giant duck coop. Kicking it to a shambles with one mighty swing of her right foot!

This naturally scared the giant ducks inside. Causing them to run off in all directions, quacking at the top of their lungs in panic. And Wolfgang Keller, seeing things spiraling out of control, immediately gave what was to be his most fateful order.

["You men with the flammenwerfers! What are you waiting for? Burn that giant hure!* And, if those feathered taschen von scheissen get in your way? Burn them, too!"]

"NEIN!" screamed a new voice: "Sie werden nicht unsere Enten toten!"

The Gestapo agent turned around and beheld fifty blue-eyed blonde giantesses angrily glaring at him.

tbc

* * * * *

ISLA UTGARD, ARGENTINA
10 MARCH, 1943
(2:00 A.M./UTC-3)

Wolfgang Keller looked up at the identical twin sisters who had become the leaders of the female contingent of gigantized Prussian volunteers.

"Helga! Ilsa! Return to your dormitory. Sofort! We will deal with this intruder."

"Nein, Herr Keller!' replied Helga: "Not at the expense of our ducks."

"Ja!" added Ilsa: "They are our only source of food. At least, until we return to Germany. Let us deal with dies hure! We overpowered her, once, und we can do so, again."

Keller finally lost what was left of his composure, altogether.

"I have had enough of you disobedient wenches. Flammenwerfers! Zi ihren FuBen zielen...und feuer!* "

The flamethrowing Waffen-SS troopers did not hesitate in the slightest to carry out their orders. Which, of course, resulted in the fifty blonde giantesses shrieking--and jumping backwards--as one. That, in turn, led to the greatest of ironies. Kaikala, having been momentarily forgotten about, saw a chance to aid her recent captors...and took it.

She immediately charged forward, dove into the air, and belly-flopped down upon the flamethrower unit. Crushing them into a bloody pulp beneath her chest and stomach!!

"AIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" she screamed at the brief-but-painful ignition of the napalm in their tanks (prior to the flames being extinguished by lack of oxygen). Helga then looked at Ilsa who nodded. Whereupon the former looked at her fellow giantesses and shouted:

"Sehr gut! If we are no longer allowed to dine on giant ducks, we will make do mit...kleine Manner!"

Whereupon, all fifty of the buxom blonde giantesses charged forward. Jubilantly yelling at the top of their lungs...and with eager grins upon their faces.

Naturally, Keller ordered all the remaining troopers to open fire with their rifles and burp guns. But, as with the much-taller Kaikala, their bullets proved more annoying than lethal. Consequently, the brown-shirted troopers lost all courage and scattered like mice before a titanic cat! Among those not so initially fortunate, however, was the Gestapo agent, himself.

Ilsa grabbed him up in her right hand. Clenching him so tightly, he could barely breathe! Let alone, aim his Luger at either of her tremendous eyes.

"Helga! Was sollen wir mit diesem zu tun?"

Her sister's answering smile was positively chilling.

"Remember how Mama taught us to share the last piece of salt water taffy, every time her batches turned out to be odd-numbered?"

Keller, upon hearing this, instantly started screaming as loud as he could. And, he was still screaming right up until the moment he was torn in half at the waist! With Ilsa swallowing his head and upper torso; and Helga, both his legs...without even bothering to pretend they were a wishbone.

Meanwhile, over in Laboratory A, Vasco Gonsalves had decided to add to the confusion already running rampant by flipping the master release switch on all the cages housing the gigantized guinea pigs! He was interrupted, however, by the crashing open of the white double doors...and the brandishing of the silenced grease guns held by Commando Team Able.

tbc

* * * * *



"No dispares!" exclaimeed Vasco: "No dispares!* "

"Suelta el arma!" commanded Phillips: "Y manos arriba!"

The expatriate Portuguese bounty hunter complied; slowly lowering his remaining Schmeisser to the floor before raising both hands.

"Habla ingles?" Phillips then demanded.

"Sih!" Vasco nodded: "And you are American?"

"Yeah. Who are you and what are you doing here?"

"I am a double-crossed prisoner in the middle of retaliating against these bastardos. And I would gladly welcome your help!"

" 'Ask and ye shall receive,' " Phillips quoted with a smile.

Meanwhile, over in Laboratory Facility B, Brevet Flying Officer DeCoteau had split off from Senior Lt. Alexandrov after hearing the suspicious creaking of a floor board in a neighboring room. He carefully eased through the open doorway of that room...and immediately beheld a man-like silhouette spring up from behind a huge office desk and aim something at him.

The French-Canadian beat him to the draw, however. Swerving--and then firing--in one swift, smooth motion. Consequently, when he ceased firing his silenced grease gun, he went over to examine the body. Instantly discerning, in the firelight from the burning buildings outside, that it was a Waffen-SS trooper. When he turned back around, though, he had another nasty surprise waiting for him.

A 1934 Beretta 418 in .250 caliber...held by Dr. Santapietro.

"Who are-ah you? Americano? Inglese?"

"Canadienne," he corrected her: "And behind you is an armed Russian."

"Heh!" she snorted: "That-ah one is older than-ah you are."

"Nyet!" snarled a new, and unmistakably male, voice: "He speaks truth."

Needless to say, the lovely Italian doctor's posture immediately stiffened with caution. She then slowly and carefully recited a certain phrase...in fluent Russian!

["Have you ever heard the old song 'Volga Boatmen?' "]

Now, it was Senior Lt. Vassily Alexandrov's turn to be startled. Yet, even so, he still managed to reply:

"Da! [It should be re-titled 'Vulgar Boatmen.' "]

DeCoteau, who had understood every word they had said, exclaimed:

["What are you two talking about?!"]

Whereupon, Alexandrov swerved and fired his grease gun at the French-Canadian!!! And, it was only after the ill-fated glider pilot had slumped to the floor that Santapietro put her Beretta back into the right-hand pocket of her lab smock.

["You are the double-agent Tovarisch Major Yerkov told me of?"] Alexandrov asked.

She nodded.

["I am Tovarisch Frieda Petermann. Charter member of the German Communist Party. I was recruited into GRU, in Paris, before the war."]

["How may I assist you, Tovarisch Petermann?"]

["Fire this storm trooper's machine pistol into the Canadian's body. When the rest of your allies come running to investigate, tell them the trooper surprised him. But, that you managed to avenge him. Then, get me out of here...at all costs!"]

["But, what of the research data you were sent here to acquire?"]

["Let the Western imperialists take the paperwork! I have memorized the truly relevant material, entirely."]

["Very well, Tovarisch Petermann. It shall be done as you say.']

"Spasibha, Tovarisch Lieutenant."

Two seconds later, the dead trooper's burp gun was emptied into DeCoteau's body.

tbc

* * * * *

It was like a scene out of "Dante's Inferno" illustrated by Hal Foster.*

Flames all around. Waffen-SS troopers, totally out of ammunition, running for their lives. Stark terror etched on their faces...and highly evident in their voices. The reason being the giant half-naked blonde women chasing them! Chasing them, snatching them up, and swallowing them whole, when possible. Crushing them--literally--underfoot, when it wasn't. The isolated handfuls that managed to avoid both fates?

They wound up suffering an even more ignominious fate.

Brevet Captain Phillips and Vasco Gonsalves had tripped the emergency release lever to all the cages housing the gigantized guinea pigs. Whereupon, the two men started making like cattle rustlers in a Western movie. Firing their grease guns over the heads of the albino rodents in order to make them stampede out of the research building!

Consequently, the few terror-stricken storm troopers still surviving wound up getting flattened like freshly poured asphalt beneath a steam roller.

The guinea pigs, themselves, did not outlive their accidental victims for very long, however. Upon reaching the shore of the island, they took to the water like Alaskan lemmings. But, unlike lemmings, these rodents would never get the chance to drown from exhaustion. Not when all their panicky swimming was generating sound waves easily detectable to the female Elasmosaurus...and her brood.

Meanwhile, back within the Nazi compound, the Prussian blonde giantesses reassembled around Kaikala and her newly arrived allies (Vasco and the Allied commando team).

"Look!" exclaimed the twin sister of the group's leader: "More little snacks. Are you nicht still hungry, Helga?"

"Ja, Ilsa," replied the latter: "Und I think these will do just fein."

"NO!" shouted Kaikala (immediately placing her legs on either side of the commando team, so that she straddled them like a nude-yet-maternal Colossus of Rhodes): "No mas muerte anoche! I will not allow it."

Helga openly scoffed: "You may be twice our height, individually, hure. But, collectively? We will still subdue you like we did before. Only this time, we will smother you to death!"

"ALTO!" shouted a new voice (even louder than Kaikala had shouted less than two minutes ago).

The Chilean-born Easter Islander looked to her right and gasped. She had returned! Ina; the goddess of light. Just as Kaikala remembered her from the dream. Long, raven-black hair. A cloak of equally black feathers concealing her otherwise naked body. And extra-long canine teeth, that were more like fangs, protruding from...

Then, it dawned on her.

"You are not a goddess. You are a demoness!"

The latter smiled: "As the gringos say; six of one. Half-dozen of the other. My true name is...Labia. And I will need these young mujeres to restart the Order of the Melissae. The gringo scientist was half-right with regard to one thing. Giants _will_ walk the Earth, once more. But, they will not do as puppets of little men. Rather, the mistresses thereof!"

Kaikala immediately started to move forward, in an instinctive urge to stop the false goddess. Yet, even as she did so, her immediate surroundings suddenly became enveloped in a bluish haze. Almost as if she were swimming underwater through a cloud of translucent India ink!

She was not moving a muscle, however. Neither were Vasco and the Allied commando team. All of the aforementioned were completely paralyzed! Unfortunately, the same could not be said for Labia and the Prussian giantesses. The latter started gathering around the former as if they were walking in their sleep. Labia then placed each of her arms across the shoulders of Helga and Ilsa in a maternal triple hug.

All before sneering at Kaikala.

"Until we meet again, mi hermana."

Whereupon, they disappeared. Blue haze and all.

To Be Concluded.

* * * * *

LANGLEY, VIRGINIA
(MAY 7, 1970)

"The commandos, having accomplished their mission, went (along with Kaikala and Vasco Gonsalves) to retrieve their kayaks. Brevet Captain Phillips and Sub-lieutenant Coppersmith accepting the story offered, by my mother and Lt. Alexandrov, for the death of Flying Officer DeCoteau. En route to the hiding place of the kayaks, they discovered the bodies of the security detail sent to investigate the diversionary explosion of the Waco 3.5. Every single one of them were dead. Completely exsanguinated, in fact! No doubt by the giant empusa."

"Young Capt. Phillips made radiophone contact with the exfiltration aircraft from the American airbase at Pernambuco. The pilot of which said they would be arriving three miles east of the island, with fighter escort, in about thirty minutes. My mother was given DeCoteau's kayak, with Lt. Alexandrov jury-rigging a tow rope to the stern of his own. This quaint-looking flotilla then disembarked from the eastern shore of the island. Kaikala re-enlarging to giantess size so she could dog paddle beside them, with Senhor Gonsalves remaining high and dry atop her head!"

"The fighter escort in question proved to be a DeHavilland Mosquito, which circled in a holding pattern while the exfiltration aircraft (a Consolidated Coronado flying boat with RATO gear*) made a surprisingly graceful landing on the lake for something so massive. Though not as massive as Kaikala, of course! And, naturally, she shrank back to normal human-size in order to board the flying boat."

"When the local radio stations in Buenos Aires announced the destruction of the 'Red Cross facility,' twenty-four hours later, a spokesman for the Peron dictatorship blamed it on Japanese saboteurs smuggled into the country by Manchurian Chinese collaborators (called 'the Bear Eagle Tong') based in the Barrio de Los Chinos section of Buenos Aires."

"As to the fates of the participants of Operation: Beanstalk? I am unaware of what happened to the Gurkhas, save for their group citation for distinguished service during the post-war Malayan Emergency."

"My mother returned to Mother Russia, where she was intensively debriefed concerning all the data she had memorized while posing as Dr. Santapietro (Professor Kraus' research assistant). She then held an equally intensive reunion with my father! The two of them continuing to loyally spy for the Kremlin until their respective deaths--Father predeceasing Mother--a little over ten years ago."

"Deaths, by the way, I was never informed of because it would supposedly interfere with my duties as a double-agent in Switzerland!"

"Lt. Alexandrov eventually left the People's Air Force to work for the KGB in Hong Kong."

"Sub-lt. Coppersmith died in Hungary, during the Russian invasion of 1956, after going AWOL in an ultimately vain attempt to rescue some of his parents' gypsy relatives. Conversely, Brevet Capt. Phillips has remained with U.S. Army Intelligence right up until the present day."

"Kaikala became Senhora Gonsalves a year later. A result of her husband's decision to enlist in the Smoking Cobras. Fortunately, for the both of them, Vasco lived to return to her, in Pernambuco. The couple ultimately moving to the American seaport of Gloucester, Massachusetts (where Vasco joined the Army National Guard after becoming a naturalized citizen)."

"Of their three children, by the way, they have two daughters...who are exceptionally taller than their father."

"Speaking of giantesses; Mother Russia continues to mass produce nolongitol (a.k.a. Solution 62), despite the brazen theft of certain samples from Cuba eight years ago, because of one disquieting fact. To this day, there are stories, from the back country of the Amazon Rain Forest, about a tribe of blue-eyed blonde giantesses who worship a raven-haired goddess with a black-feathered cloak. These rumors remain unconfirmed, however, as every single team the KGB has sent to investigate them...has failed to return."

"I, Pierre LeGrande (nee Helmut Petermann), confirm all of the above as true."

CIA Deputy Director Bryce Paxton finished reading the lengthy deposition. Dropping it on to the top of his desk before massaging his tired eyes with the palms of both hands.

"This thing reads like the screen play for one of those cheesy Hammer Films!" he exclaimed.

"I concur, whole-heartedly," replied Dr. Ezra Long (psychiatric consultant to the M.O.C.): "But, as you know, I conducted the polygraph questioning, myself. And all his answers, pertaining to Operation: Beanstalk, show he's telling the truth! Which means one of two things. Either he's completely insane (sincerely believing all his delusions); or..."

"Or, one day, we might just find ourselves getting paid a visit," Paxton finished for him: "...by a goose-stepping army of thirty foot-tall bimbos. And frankly? I don't know which thought scares me more."

THE END?