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The Nude Nurse and the Master of the Whip.

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Praefectus Praetorio

R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
The Nude Nurse and the Master of the Whip.

[Full Story from Real Men, December 1974]
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Eulalia Burns was a third-year student at The School of Nurse & Health Care at the University of Glasgow, working for a Bachelors of Nursing with Honours. A lineal descendent of the immortal Robert Burns (though by one of his seven children born out of wedlock), she had a strong amateur interest in poetry, but at her core was dedicated to helping people. Shortly after arriving at University, she had become active in the local chapter of Amnesty International.

It was through Amnesty, in late 1973 that she first heard of atrocities being committed against political opponents of the Pinochet regime. Over the winter she followed the stories closely, becoming more and more indignant over the injustices. In February, she could sit on the sidelines no more, and she volunteered to go to Chile for Amnesty as a nurse. She would help families of the political prisoners (referred to as the desapareciendo, the “disappearing” since they seemed to vanish from the earth). Secretly, she also arranged to smuggle out reports of any information she could obtain to incriminate and embarrass the regime. At 25, Eulalia was idealistic, by naïve. She really didn’t think seriously of the risks she was taking.

March 1, 1973, Eulalia Burns, wearing a blue International Red Cross uniform, deplaned in Santiago de Chile. Collecting her bags and hailing a taxi, she was immediately aware of the omni-presence of police and heavily-armed soldiers. Undeterred, she quickly got settled and began visiting the list of families she had been given in London by her Amnesty supervisor. She was able to provide medical help, but mostly, the families needed support and a shoulder to cry on.

Eulalia worked to build trust with the families and soon they began to tentatively talk of the terrors. She used a handheld reorder to tape the information. Within four weeks, she had an extensive library, documenting the human right abuses of the Pinochet Regime. She planned to deliver these to an officer at the British Consulate in a few days. But that never happened.

Continued
 
The Nude Nurse and the Master of the Whip.

Another God-damn fucked-up operation sent my way. Have I really annoyed someone in charge that much. As I read the file, I could only think that someone thought it would be fun to give me a real-life Mission Impossible. They just canceled that; was I next? Do I look like Peter Graves? My hair’s still brown!

Some little Scottish nurse has got herself caught up in the crap in Chile and I’m supposed to save her! I don’t do that anymore. It’s been almost ten years since I crawled through the jungle at the Bay of Pigs to rescue my wet-behind-the-ears partner and carry her ten clicks uphill to the escape road (another really fucked-up operation I was handed). And a fat lot of gratitude from her that got me! Since then, I’ve been in the field twice, Mexico and Vietnam, both mostly supervisory. These days, I ride a desk.

Going to see Wragg, I was determined to let him know that I wasn’t the guy for this! Wragg, Senior Station Chief at Langley and unofficially chief deputy to the Deputy Director of Operations, had the power. I was going to tell him to use it.

As I walked into his office, Wragg was just pouring two glasses from his new bottle of Glenfiddich 25-Year-Old Single Malt Scotch Whisky. Very Bad News!

Following our well-hewn ritual, we sat, clicked glasses and sipped the rare elixir without a word. Damn! It was smooth! Wragg would start the topic when he wanted. Respect for the Scotch precluded any precipitous discussion.

“Regarding this Chilean affair,” Wragg began.

“Dammit, Wragg, you know I’ll do as ordered, but I’m a desk jockey now! What goat-fucking idiot above here insisted on me for a doomed assignment!” As you can see, I was respectful and restrained in my objections.

“I did.”

Well that shut me up!

“You know where I get my Scotch? I’ve an old friend at SIS, we’ve worked together for 25 years now, saving each other’s butts more times than I can remember. He rang me up from London yesterday to ask if I could do a favor. This girl, Eulalia is his niece. He doesn’t have the people or the connections to do anything in Chile. He knew I did.”

Wragg paused and took another sip of the Whisky to let his words sink in.

I also rolled some of that peat and heather scented ambrosia on my tongue before chiming in.

“That’s all well and good, Wragg, but it still is a crazy idea. Yes, I have some contacts in Chilean Intelligence and they owe me some favors. But those contacts are old, and I don’t know if any might be positioned to help me now. You know better than I, that the Operations side has had nothing to do with the military there and especially Pinochet, since early ’71. It’s those Intelligence nerds who supported the whole coup thing with money and information. Can’t they help?”

“They have politely declined to help. They don’t want to offend their ‘valuable sources’ there.”

“Valuable sources! Evil, sadist, megalomaniac thugs! You know what they are!”

“Some here don’t care.” He took a bigger sip and refilled his glass. “Operations can’t dictate to Intelligence. And the Director doesn’t want to be involved.”

“What’s new about that?” I almost spat. “Anyway, how long has Miss Burns been missing? Four days now? If I move at light speed, it’ll been several days before I could hope to get to her. Do you have any idea what they might do to her in a week or more? Do we even have any reason to believe she will still be alive when I get there, and not have died under their ‘gentle attention’?”

“No.”

The room was silent as we both tried to deal with the horrible injustice of the young Scottish nurse’s fate. The Whisky helped, but not enough!

“You are not ordered to do this,” Wragg said softly.

“You bastard!” We both smiled. We both knew I had agreed.

Continued
 
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Wragg, Senior Station Chief at Langley and unofficially chief deputy to the Deputy Director of Operations, had the power.
If you don't keep your head down, you end up getting promoted! :rolleyes:
 
Yea! Our favorite reluctant Agent is back! And this time, on a really, really important mission, not like the assassination of a President or the War in Vietnam, but Save Eulalia! You know, I'm of two minds about that. Yes, of course I really hope the Agent saves Eulalia, but on the other hand, I hope he's not in a real big hurry to rescue her from the of the evil, thuggish hands of the torturerados (or however you say "torturer" in Spanish.)

Something tells me that I don't need to be too concerned about that.
 
Eulalia is the master storyteller of the art of ‘gentle attention’ , if you PrPr are half as good, she'll have delightfully suffered before any help gets within a binocular-distance of her broken body.
 
Eulalia is the master storyteller of the art of ‘gentle attention’ , if you PrPr are half as good, she'll have delightfully suffered before any help gets within a binocular-distance of her broken body.
I can only hope to be worthy of inferior comparison to Eul's standards and your expectations. I think both the Colonel and Jewels will end up dragging this out a while.
As Eulalia has said, what a wonderful opportunity to turn her to Pulp!
 
The Nude Nurse and the Master of the Whip.

Número Tres March 27, 1974 - The First Day

Eulalia was doing a house call on Gabriella Sanchez, wife of Ramon, who had “disappeared three weeks earlier. Gabby, as she was known, was normally a vivacious blond (rare but not unknown in Chile), 21, very pretty with a 15 month-old son. Eulalia was giving the boy a wellness check-up (he wasn’t doing well) and chatting with his mother. Gabby was incredibly brave and calm under the circumstances and had given Eulalia more dirt on the police and army thugs than anyone else.

Suddenly the front door crashed open under a police battering ram. Seven or eight heavily-armed police stormed into the room shouting for the occupants to lie on the floor, no talking! The women did so, Gabby holding her boy under her. Eulalia started to ask why this was happening, only to get a hard kick in the side.

Their arms were pulled behind their back and handcuffed tightly and gagged with bandanas, while other roamed the small flat searching for weapons and papers. After a few minutes, the man in charge ordered the women to be taken to the van out front. As they were leaving, one of the men asked the officer about the boy. He replied that he had no orders to babysit children and he would take care of it. Gabby went ballistic, but handcuffed and gagged, there was little she could do. It still took two big soldiers to get her outside.

Eulalia and Gaby were thrown into a police van with four other similarly bound women. As the door slammed shut and the motor sprang noisily to life, they heard what sounded like a gunshot from somewhere outside. Gabby’s eyes went wide and a pitiful groan partially escaped her gag. Eulalia could only cry.

Eulalia’s mind raced as the windowless van hurried through the streets, tossing the women. Yes, she had her ID in her uniform pocket. Why hadn’t they even asked who she was? She hadn’t committed a crime and was under the protection of the International Red Cross. Had they shot the little boy? They couldn’t have! It must have been something else.

She looked around the van with pity for these women. Most were young and pretty like Gabby. This new regime had no respect for their rights. She knew that might be incarcerated with no trial indefinitely. Eulalia had heard stories of torture, but mostly the men, active resisters to the coup. But she could believe that some of these women might be engaged in opposition and be subject to harsh interrogation. She looked at Gabby, eyes shut, rocking back and forth, groaning constantly. The poor woman. Her husband taken, her child snatched away from her, and now being taken somewhere. Gabby wasn’t involved in anything political, Eulalia knew, so she was probably just swept up by mistake and would be released soon and find her boy. In the meantime, she was in torment.

Then the van seemed to be on some kind of a cobblestone driveway. Things seems darker and then it came to a stop. The rear doors opened and the guards were shouting at the women to get out. Trying to get down from a van's high floor with your hands bound behind you is not easy. As the women struggled to obey, the guards yelled more, poked and hit them with their guns. They were in a courtyard surrounded by stone walls and a iron-barred gateway to the drive. The guards herded them into a line against one wall and ordered them to be silent.

A tall, thin man came out a doorway and walked slowly toward them. He walked and carried himself with an erect, disciplined military air. Eulalia, having studied the Chilean military before leaving Glasgow, recognized the uniform (complete with jodhpurs and hobnailed jackboots) of a full colonel (coronel in Chilean) in the regular army. 75px-SS.OO.5.EJER.SUR.CORONEL.svg.png He carried an officer’s swagger stick. The girl next to her mumbled through her gag something that sounded like “El Demonio,” the demon. He stopped and stood in front of the line, a slight smile on his lips.

Bienvenido a Villa Grimaldi. I am Coronel Manuel Rodrigues, of the Dirección de Inteligencia Nacional (National Intelligence Directorate, DINA) and Comandante of this service facility.”
 
I hate to think of it, but on rare occasions, these South American Military Dictatorships can slip and mistreat a prisoner:
View attachment 644073View attachment 644072
Even more rarely they might use enhanced interrogation:
View attachment 644071View attachment 644074
just softening us up ... :devil:

great start PrPr, you're tuning into some of my scariest fantasies -
I've a nasty feeling I'm going to learn a lot about human nature in general,
and Latin American males in particular when let loose on a troublesome young female
before you manage to extract me - or at least my pulp!
 
just softening us up ... :devil:

great start PrPr, you're tuning into some of my scariest fantasies -
I've a nasty feeling I'm going to learn a lot about human nature in general,
and Latin American males in particular when let loose on a troublesome young female
before you manage to extract me - or at least my pulp!
I fear when he gets there, he might be faced with the question of whether it is still worthwhile.:eek:
 
The Nude Nurse and the Master of the Whip.

Número Cuatro March 27, 1974 - The First Day

Bienvenido a Villa Grimaldi. I am Coronel Manuel Rodrigues, of the Dirección de Inteligencia Nacional (National Intelligence Directorate DINA) and Comandante of this service facility.”

Eulalia had a talent for languages and was able to pick up a lot of what he said.

“I am about to have the guards remove your gags. But first I should point out that we enforce here a rule of silence. Prisoners must never speak unless at the express instruction of a guard or officer. Is that understood?”

Several women nodded, some just stared in fear.

“This is an important rule for you to understand. Since I am generous and wish you to fit in here, we will have a demonstration to help you learn. Sargento Primero!”

A big man in a Sergeant’s uniform stepped forward.Sargento Primero.jpg At least 6’3” and over 200 pounds, he was built very solid and looked like a weight-lifter or a boxer. Without warning he made a fist with his right hand and drove it hard into the belly of the girl on the far right of the line. She collapsed on the ground, doubled up, gasping and retching behind her gag. Two other soldiers came, grabbed her by the arms and pulled her upright, her shoulders back, her belly stretched out toward the Sergeant.

Eulali saw a smile creep across the big man’s face. He was enjoying this!

Methodically, the Sergeant began to beat the poor girl’s belly. Three, four, five times he drove his powerful fists into her exposed abdomen as the guards held her upright and defenseless. After the sixth vicious blow, they released her. She lay retching on the ground.

“Take her to intake 3,” said the colonel, in a cold emotionless voice. “I’ll give her special attention later.” The guards picked her up by the arms and dragged her away, her legs still pulled to her middle.

Eulalia was stunned beyond words. She had never imagined such random wanton brutality without mercy! This wasn’t interrogation; this was just sadism!

The colonel ordered the gags removed and the remaining women remained totally silent. He went down the line, having the Sergeant tell him the name and story of each girl. They came to Gabby, standing beside Eul.

“Ramon Sanchez’s wife?” said the colonel as he lifted her chin with his hand and stared in her tears filled eyes. “Such a pretty young thing. We are sure to enjoy your stay with us, Gabby. That’s what you’re called, isn’t it?” She nodded yes. “And I promise that you and your husband will be re-united, very soon.” Turning to the next guard, “No need for intake for her. Take her straight to a cell in D. Tell the guards there to enjoy themselves.” The guard lead Gabby away, still crying hard.

The colonel came to Eulalia. The sergeant spoke, “Miss Eulalia Burns, Ciudadano Inglés (English Citizen), papers from International Red Cross, we arrested her with Mrs. Sanchez.”

Langley Virginia, CIA Headquarters April 1, 1974 The Sixth Day

In the twelve hours since I’d met with Wragg and accepted the insane assignment, I’d accomplished a lot. I’d set my team on doing all the research possible in a short time. I had personally reached out to my old contacts in Chile. Amazingly, I was able to contact 5 in this time and have a friendly conversation with each. However, as I had suspected, most were now in no position to help beyond some greasing of the wheels for visas and fake identities. Only one held any hope of providing real assistance, Jose Calderon. We agreed to talk first thing in the morning after he had made some discrete inquiries.

My team had determined one fact, Miss Burns had not been seen for five days now, I guess six, since its past midnight, though she was only reported missing four (five) days ago. This was not good.

I’m not as young as I used to be. At two in the morning, I’m falling asleep. I’ll have to catch some sleep before I can do anything useful more. I hope I can stop thinking about what they might be doing to Miss. Burns after five, I mean six days! I need some sleep!
 
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The Nude Nurse and the Master of the Whip.

Número Cinco March 27, 1974 - The First Day

The colonel came to Eulalia. The sergeant spoke, “Miss Eulalia Burns, Ciudadana Británicos, papers from International Red Cross, we arrested her with Mrs. Sanchez.”

“You may speak, Miss Burns. What are you doing in Chile with a known terrorist?”

Eulalia was taken aback by the colonel’s flawless British English. From her linguistic hobby, she guessed a South East accent with tones of Oxford!

“Miss Burns?” The colonel was being totally polite.

“Sorry. I came with the Red Cross as a nurse. I’m just helping the sick.”

“But how do I know you are really a nurse? Anyone can sew that cross on your sleeve. And false papers are very easy to get from the political criminals in our country. Martinez!” He turned away and spoke softly to a Subteniente.Subteniente.jpg The officer saluted and went off to get in a car and drive away.

“I have sent my aide to personally confirm your identity, Miss Burns. But this will take some time. You will be our guest here tonight. I’m sure it will be cleared up by morning. Now you must again remain silent.”

“Sergeant. Please take Miss Burns to a holding cell in Block A. She is not to be processed; she is to be treated with all courtesy and care.”

The sergeant took Eul gently by the arm and led her into one of the doors. They went down a corridor and into a small office with two guards. The sergeant passed on his orders and left her. The guards removed Eulalia’s handcuffs for the first time in several hours. It felt so good. She rubbed her wrists as they went through a barred door and past a set of doors with barred windows. She had a shiver as the reality of being deep in a Chilean prison sank in. But she was being treated gently with courtesy and she should get out in the morning, according to the colonel.

They came to a door ajar and they waved her in. The cell was fairly large, 3 by 9 meters, with a small, dirty, barred window high on the wall. There was a commode and a washstand, not too dirty and a folding bed suspended on two diagonal cables from the wall. The door shut and locked behind her and Eul was alone in her cell. It was a very lonely place!

About two hours later, Eulalia heard the door unlocking and stood. A guard carried a tray in with a mug, a metal bowl and a metal spoon. He sat is on the little table that folded out from the wall by her bed. She smelt at the bowl and decided it was some kind of porridge. The mug had water with some flavoring added. She sat down and tasted the porridge. It wasn’t bad. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast and it was now evening. She began to eat and drink. Her hunger made the bland gruel palatable. She thought to herself, “at least they are feeding me decently. Not anything like my Ma’s oatmeal porridge, but what could be?” Then she broke down and cried, hard.

Growing up, Eul had been very close to her mother and distant from her father. Her mother had been killed by a drunk driver when she was twelve. Just when a maturing girl needed a mother to talk to, she had been left alone with a man she hardly knew. Shortly after she had been sent away to school. She later commuted for a foundation degree locally. Then eventually won admittance to nursing school at university. She had been mostly on her own since 13. She had tried to be strong despite her loneliness, and was most of the time. But now, locked in a Chilean military prison, alone, remembering her mother and the warm sweet oatmeal she made for her little girl, all her fears and loneliness came back and Eulalia blubbered like a child.

Eventually she pulled herself together and finished the food and drink. In a while, a guard came and took the tray and the Sergeant came with two others. One had a movie camera of some kind. As the man pointed the camera at her, the Sergeant said, “Prisoner Eulalia Burns, March 28, 1974.” Addressing Eul, he said, “You may speak freely now. Have you been treated satisfactory so far? Have you any complaints about your treatment?”

Eulalia was a little dazed and tried to think. “No, I have no complaints. I have been treated satisfactory as a prisoner. I would like to see my government representative, please.”

He was prepared. “You may be held for 24 hours before you are given counsel or communication with others. You have been here less than ten hours. I am told that in Britain, the same rules would apply.” Eulalia realized he was correct.

“Then I have no complaint at this time.”

“Thank you.” He motioned for the camera man to leave. “The rule of silence is now back on. It is 8 PM. We will be back at 10 for a final inspection.” He and the other left, locking the door.

When she was left alone, Eulalia tried to calm herself. Everything would be OK. The colonel had indicated that he would see her in the morning, presumably to release her. He had instructed gentle treatment and that she had received. And the Sergeant had spoken of her being held temporarily for under 24 hours. Everything would be OK.

After what seemed a several hours, the Sergeant returned with two guards. They were carrying several bags. He instructed Eulalia to remove her clothes. When she hesitated, he said, “We will take them. If you make us to use force, they may be damaged.”

Reluctantly, Eul began to remove her clothes. She unbuttoned the top and peeled it off her shoulders and arms. Then she unzipped the side of the skirt and stepped out of that. Clad in just her bra and panties, the young woman looked around for some sympathy or permission to stop. There was none. At least the guards were not leering or even staring. They seemed to be trying not to look at her (although quick glances were clearly stolen). Eul removed the underwear and handed them along with her uniform to the Sergeant. He placed them in a bag with her name on it and sealed it.

Eulalia waited in vain to be given prison clothes. Instead, she was ordered to face the wall and her arms were pulled back and her wrists handcuffed. She almost protested against this painful repeat, but remembered the girl beaten for no reason as a lesson.

One guard came up behind her with a metal collar with a padded inside surface. He fitted it around her fine neck and latched it in back. She was guided to the far wall where there was a ring on the wall about 6 ½ feet above the floor. The guard attached a chain to her collar and to the ring. It was snug with her standing right at the ring and her heels barely on the floor.first night.jpg

The men turned to leave. The sergeant said “Sorry, standard overnight position for prisoners,” as the door slammed shut and was locked!
 
“Sorry, standard overnight position for prisoners,”

It's starting.

I always think that must be an agonising torture for such a simple device. Physically demanding, overnight, dark, cold. But psychologically...........it would probably break me with worry and terror before morning!!
 
It's starting.

I always think that must be an agonising torture for such a simple device. Physically demanding, overnight, dark, cold. But psychologically...........it would probably break me with worry and terror before morning!!
That porridge almost broke Eul. Stay tuned for the 8 hours till morning!
 
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