“Operation LUSTY”

“Operation LUSTY”

<Advanced Landing Ground ‘R-71’ – formerly Lechfeld Air Base

<Lagenlechfeld, Germany

<May 29^th, 1945

Kenneth Novacek climbed out of the C-47 Skytrain’s cargo bay and down onto the battered tarmac, carefully hefting his aviator’s bag over his shoulder. The War in Europe had officially ended three weeks ago, with the Nazis finally surrendering unconditionally to the Allies on May 8^th. Hitler had blown his twisted brains out while the Soviets pummeled Berlin into the ground, and the entire western half of Germany was firmly occupied by the armies of the United States, Great Britain, Canada and France. Judgment would come to those responsible for perpetrating the deadliest war in history, but Kenneth wouldn’t be part of that messy process. Instead he was part of an operation that he believed was just as crucial: Operation LUSTY – the United States Army Air Forces effort to secure and study German aeronautical advancements and technology.

For most of the war, the Germans had been embarrassingly ahead of the curve in weapons technology, and air power had been the real game changer. Air power had allowed the Wehrmacht to sweep through Poland and France with ease. It had been air power had almost broken the back of the British Islands, and just last month American air power had sank the largest battleship to ever float. Eventually the Allies designed fighters which could fly higher, faster and were more heavily armed and armored than what the Axis could field against them, but Nazi engineers kept cranking out advanced technology even as the Combined Bomber Offensive pounded Germany into submission. Cruise missiles, ballistic missiles, radio-guided bombs, jet and rocket-powered aircraft… Only a lack of fuel due to heavy Allied bombings kept the bulk of them on the ground.

Kenneth looked around at the sprawl of devastation and whistled long and low. There wasn’t much left to call Lechfeld an airfield anymore. Allied bombers had reduced it and the nearby Messerschmitt factory to rubble shortly before the U.S. Army had captured the area at the beginning of May. There were plans to reconstruct the base for American use in the continued invasion of Nazi Germany, but those plans were promptly shelved once the Germans capitulated a few days later. However, the Army Air Forces Intelligence Service was very interested in the discovery that was made at Lechfeld. Within a week of the war’s end, a man had been sent to train pilots and crew chiefs to fly and maintain the apex of the Reich’s aeronautical technology.

Kenneth walked towards what had once been a line of eight hangars. Now only one remained intact. Junked aircraft littered the airfield, with mechanics trying to scrounge together enough unbroken parts to make other aircraft functional. Temporary structures had been built, and the runway patched so that planes could fly in and out, something that was going to be very important in the next couple of weeks. His briefing said that the first pilot that had been sent found thirty-something aircraft on and around the airfield, most of them damaged or rigged for destruction by the retreating Germans. Others had been damaged by approaching U.S. soldiers or by civilians trying to salvage something to sell. But there was one plane that, while not damaged, no one knew how to deal with. Which is why he’d been summoned by Colonel Harold Watson to fly out to Lechfield at once.

Even though Lechfeld been bombed out over a month ago, Kenneth could still smell the cloud of scorched metal and burnt aviation fuel still hanging over the area. He tried to imagine the activity that had taken place here in those last desperate months of the war. The last of the Luftwaffe’s pilots scrambling into their planes to try and cut down a few B-17s, with time and fuel running out, and knowing that their efforts were futile. The thought was somewhat aided by a furious tirade of German echoing from the sole surviving hangar. Some nervous looking G.I.s stood guard in front of the structure, armed with Garand rifles and M3 Grease Guns. Rather less inconspicuous was the pair of M16 MGMC half-tracks with quadmount .50 cal turrets pointed inward towards the hangar doors.

Kenneth angled himself towards them and approached the soldiers standing guard. A tired and unkempt looking Sergeant – one that looked too young to have earned the rank through experience – took a step towards him, but upon seeing the silver 1Lt. bars on his jacket sketched a rough salute that would have left most officers fuming. “Lieutenant.” He offered before going back to holding the submachine gun in his grip. Kenneth quickly returned the salute and took a step back to study the hangar doors, military formality being far from the first thing on his mind. “We found…her…when we were searchin’ the airfield…” He said, pausing for a moment to scratch at a few days of rough stubble. “I gotta be frank with you, El-Tee. I ain’t seen nothin’ like this before. Y’mind tellin’ me just what’s goin’ on here?”

‘No, I’ll bet you haven’t…’ Was Kenneth’s unspoken thought. He took off his garrison cap and tucked it under his arm. “Who found her first, Sergeant?” He asked, ignoring the man’s question. As far as this was concerned, whatever was in this hangar was classified Top Secret. He looked among the faces of the other soldiers to see if the man was amongst them. The Sergeant, slightly annoyed that his inquiry had been brushed off, shook his head and gestured somewhere beyond the airfield.

“That’d be Corporal Schuyler, and he ain’t here, he’s uhh…restin’ and recuperatin’, Sir.” The man snorted, knowing exactly what the young Corporal was likely getting up to. There were a lot of desperate fräuleins around these parts who’d do anything you wanted in exchange for a pack of Luckies or a chocolate bar. But at Kenneth’s nonplussed expression the Sergeant’s smirk quickly faded and he explained. “We were expectin’ Germans to be in the hangar, but nothin’ like this.” He gestured briefly to a cluster of large caliber holes in the hangar door. “She tried shootin’ her way out when we got close, but the Krauts musta fucked off without reloadin’ her all the way. She only had like a second’s worth of fire…” He snapped his fingers. “Schuyler was right there when she opened up, though. Straight up pissed himself, he was shakin’ so bad.” The young Sergeant shrugged. “And it ain’t like we’re fightin’ no more. We’re just doin’ occupation duty now that the war’s over. So we sent Schuyler out to get his wits back.” The man didn’t say ‘And if you got a problem with it, then fuck you, Sir.’, but the look in his eyes said that he meant it.

Kenneth shrugged off the G.I.’s unspoken insubordination. If Corporal Schuyler was off somewhere getting his ashes hauled, it wasn’t really a concern of his now, was it? Besides, he had more important things to focus on at the moment. The hangar looked like it had been partially damaged from the bomb hits that had leveled the base around it, every window had been blown out, and the entire structure seemed to sag to the side. “Is she safe?”

The Sergeant looked at the Army Air Force officer like he had grown a second head for a moment. Was she safe? Finally, the man shook his head and looked back at the hangar. “Hell if I know, Lieutenant. We ain’t been in there since we secured the airfield. She ain’t fired off any more cannon rounds, and either she’s got no rockets or is smart enough to not use ’em.” He gestured to the pair of half-tracks. “And we told her that there’s enough firepower out here to shred a Panzer. So now she just screams her head off all damn day, which ain’t no real treat either.” The Sergeant scowled openly now. “And as much as you flyboys are all over this Buck Rogers stuff, I’m more concerned about keeping my men alive.”

“Thank you, Sergeant. You’ve been most helpful.” Kenneth said quickly, cutting off anything else that the rankled G.I. might have been planning to say. “I would like to ask Corporal Schuyler a few questions when he is finished…recovering from his ordeal. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” He stepped past the Sergeant and walked towards the looming hangar, briefly inspecting the cluster of cannon holes in the door before he opened the smaller, man-sized door and stepped inside. As he turned around to pull the door closed, a woman’s voice growled behind him.

“So haben die Amerikaner schließlich schickten ihre Lakaien.” Turning back, Kenneth laid his eyes on the most beautiful aircraft he’d ever seen. The overhead lamps were off due to lack of power, but the daylight streaming in through the shattered windows caught swirling motes of dust, creating an almost ethereal effect inside the hangar. The diffused light played across her sleek fuselage in a shape that appropriately reminded him of a shark. The leading edges of her wings angled back like a knife blade, perfect for cutting through the air, and from beneath each wing hung an engine nacelle. But these engines lacked propellers – they were jets. This was the first operational jet fighter: the Messerschmitt Me 262. And by God, she was beautiful. Even the hated swastika emblazoned high up on her tail couldn’t detract from the allure of such a machine.

A pair of eyes glared daggers at him from beneath the leading edge of her canopy and her mouth, set just behind her forward landing gear, was an angry snarl of razor sharp teeth. A quick check confirmed that she had no rockets mounted under her wings, but that didn’t mean that she still wasn’t dangerous. Any cornered creature could lash out and do damage. “I am not afraid of you, American.” She boasted in German, not aware that Kenneth was relatively fluent in the Deutsch language. “I have shot down several of your so-called ‘Flying Fortresses’ over the Fatherland. I watched them burst into flames and plummet to the ground below! And your Mustang fighters,” She laughed defiantly, “They were so slow! They could not even touch me. And if they could not harm me, American pig, just what can you do?”

Kenneth let her boast as much as she wanted. All the Germanic pride in the world wouldn’t change the fact that her side had lost the war. ‘And to the winners, go the spoils.’ He thought to himself. And what a spoil she was! Reports of the Nazi jet fighter had emerged in April of the previous year, a plane so fast that piston-engined aircraft might as well have been nailed in place. A plane that had come right out of a science fiction serial. It was only in the last few months of the war that the Luftwaffe had really turned the Me 262s loose, and in that time they had managed to damage or shoot down several hundred aircraft. There was nothing in the Allied arsenal that could keep up with them. If the Nazis had more of them sooner, then the war might have gone rather differently. Thank God for that. He also didn’t point out to her that most of the Me 262s destroyed during the war were done so when they were the most vulnerable – on the ground.

Kenneth took off his leather flight jacket and set it onto a nearby tool cart, ignoring the faint twinge in his shoulder. He looked up to meet her eyes and shrugged.“Just what do you expect me to do, hmm?” He asked back with a grin, savoring the split second of surprise that registered on the Me 262’s face when she realized that he could speak German too. To her credit, she recovered quickly and glowered at him again. “I am only here to talk to you, nothing more.”

“Do not speak lies to me, American! I may be your prisoner, but do not expect me to cooperate.”The Messerschmitt jet spoke defiantly, watching him closely as he walked around to view her from the side. Her body was painted a soft blue-gray on the undersides of her wings, engine nacelles and fuselage, while the top half was varying shades of feldgrau camouflage. A white Balkenkreuz was painted boldly on both sides of her fuselage just behind her wings.

“This isn’t an interrogation,” Kenneth said calmly, moving behind the jet to inspect her tail. “The war is over now, and we don’t expect you to know where the Luftwaffe was developing aircraft. You are just a soldier, after a-” The Messerschmitt abruptly slammed her tail end against the ground, a sharp bang of metal against concrete that made Kenneth wince. Not because of the volume, but because she might damage herself.

“You get away from there!” She screamed. “Right now!” Beneath the rage, Kenneth caught the edge of fear in her voice and backed away from her tail, understanding some of her defensiveness now. “I am not one of those human women, whoring themselves to you in exchange for a sweet word and some food!” The jet shouted at him, her voice almost painfully loud inside the confines of the hangar. “They may betray their oath to the Fatherland for candies or cigarettes, American, but I will not!”

Kenneth walked slowly back in front of the enraged aircraft, making sure that his hands were clearly visible to her. “I am not going to hurt you, okay? I promise.” He made sure to keep his motions nonthreatening as he walked over and picked up a stool, moving it front of her and sitting down on it. “My name is Kenneth. All I would like is to know your name…”

The Messerschmitt continued to stare at him with anger and suspicion but finally, and it seemed with great reluctance, she offered. “Petra.”

Kenneth smiled faintly and nodded. Petra. It was a nice name, and a start. He reached over and grabbed his jacket, pulling out the slightly crumpled box of Lucky Strikes and tapped one into his palm. He slipped the unfiltered cigarette into his mouth, but decided against lighting it. There were too many things in an airplane hangar that could burn with just a few cinders. Instead he just let the cigarette hang there. “What happened to your pilot?” He asked her, and watched a new spark of anger flare in her eyes.

“Cowards!” Petra raged, “All of them are cowards! They ran! We still had ammunition! We still had fuel! We could have still fought! But instead they abandoned me! They wanted to destroy me!” She lifted her wings like a human throwing their arms up. “Grenades! They wanted to put grenades in my engine nacelles!” She shuddered at the thought of it. Kenneth noticed how she had made this a personal affront, using ‘me’ instead of ‘us’. Petra lowered her wings and frowned. “He is probably in one of your prisoner of war camps or he is dead. Or he is in the hands of the Soviets and that is as good as dead.”

Kenneth had to agree with her there. The commies had been making land grabs all over Eastern Europe. Anywhere that they ‘liberated’ from the Germans seemed to be fast turning into good little Red territories. And he knew that there were more than a few American aircrews being ‘interned’ at Russian camps after crash landing in Soviet territory. One of these days, he was sure, there was going to be a showdown with the Soviet Union. He couldn’t see a way around that. But that was neither here or now, and information that they gleaned from aircraft like Petra and her fellow Me 262s would help put America in the lead in that future, hypothetical conflict. “When was the last time that you flew?”

“Ohh…” Petra’s icy eyes grew distant, almost dreamy as she recalled the pleasant memory. “It was in March…” She said, “One of your bomber swarms, over Berlin. It was at the extreme edge of my combat range, but oh how my engines sang that day!” Her control surfaces moved slightly as she relived the experience in her head. “There were thirty-seven of us, the most jet aircraft ever assembled for a single sortie! We approached the swarm from the side and opened up with a salvo of Orkan rockets, and then closed to use cannons.” Kenneth noticed a faint whistling sound, and realized that Petra’s turbojet engines had spooled up slightly, sucking in air through the intakes. “I did not have long over the battlefield, I would have to return to base to refuel, but I made my attack run on a Flying Fortress. I looped up far behind him,” Her engines whined louder, and Kenneth smelled a faint kerosene-like odor in the air, “Then I swept down past the interceptors until I was below the bomber, and a little over a kilometer behind. I pulled up sharply, and he was there! I could not miss! I-”

Petra stopped her recollection in mid-sentence, suddenly realizing just what side of the war the man she was talking to had been on. To Kenneth’s surprise, Petra looked genuinely embarrassed with herself. Even more surprising was that she apologized. “I’m…sorry. Did you know any of them?” She asked, her breath slightly ragged. Her engines spooled back down, but that faint kerosene smell remained.

For the first time Kenneth noticed the pair of stubby, metallic hands that had emerged from a spot between her landing gear and were wringing together nervously beneath her fuselage. ‘Just like Anne’s.’ He mused, fondly recalling the P-40 Warhawk that had first opened herself up to him over the lonely sands of North Africa. That had been his first encounter with a living machine, but it had not been his last. Somehow, the machines seemed to know of one had bore witness to one of their kind, but Petra was the only one he had seen though that didn’t try and hide it from everybody. He shook his head gently and looked the flustered jet in the eyes. “No, I didn’t know any of them.” He said, “I flew fighters, not bombers. North Africa, Italy, and Normandy campaigns.” And by the time of the raid she had just described – which had claimed twelve bombers and a fighter, the most successful strike by Me 262s to that date – Kenneth had been working with Colonel Watson’s Team One, trying to locate the planes on the elusive ‘Black List’.

“What will happen to me now?” Petra asked him quietly, all arrogance and pride suddenly gone from her voice. This was a woman who was scared of what the future held in store. “I do not want to be a trophy of war…the sky is all I have left!” Petra wavered for a moment, her pride warring against her desires, and then she cast herself over the edge. “Please, Kenneth, I must fly!”

Kenneth rocked back slightly on the stool, a little stunned by the desperation in her voice. But could he blame her? To be the culmination of years of technological development, able to fly faster than any other plane out there, gifted with the unique feature of sentience and intelligence, and then to be told that you could no longer do what you were built to do…yes, he would be desperate too. He had been that desperate, when the the docs told him that the injuries sustained in his crash landing would prevent him from flying in combat again. He knew that his motivations had been selfish, to make it this close to the finish and be told he was out of the race…but to no longer be able to push himself to those limits? To not feel that kind of freedom…?

To Hell with it…Kenneth grabbed the lighter from his jacket and lit the cigarette still dangling from his lips. He drew in a breath of smooth smoke and exhaled it. “The Army Air Force is going to ship you back to the United States, and there is nothing I could say or do to change that…” He told her honestly, and watched her eyes sink to the floor.

“I guess that is your right as the conquerors…” Petra interrupted with bitter sadness in her voice. Kenneth lifted his hand to tell her there was more to what he had to say.

“But you’re not going to wind up in a museum or on Hap Arnold’s front lawn…at least not for some time.” He continued. “I know for a fact that they’ll want to fly you as much as possible, to see how you perform in flight. They’re also going to want to see how you stack up against the jet fighters that the United States and Great Britain are developing…” Petra’s eyes widened slightly, her gaze sweeping up towards his. “The British have the Gloster Meteor, and the U.S. just put the P-80 Shooting Star into service. I think the Brits even managed to shoot down a couple of Arado jet bombers with theirs…”

Petra was unable to contain the feeling of joy that swelled inside her airframe. To be able to fly again, and better, to fly against other jets, aircraft that could actually prove a challenge in a dogfight… The thought made her turbines spool up again, her eyes fluttering shut as that kerosene smell rose in the air. To push herself to her utter limits again, to feel that thrill of soaring higher than the angels…she let out a slight gasp, her eyes snapping back open as a familiar electric tingle raced through her. A few silvery drops of excitement oozed from a slit on the underside of her fuselage, rolling down the metal and dripping onto the floor. She stared at the American sitting across from her, swallowing dryly. Her engines whined, the exhaust quickly warming the air inside the battered hangar. “A-and you promise that this is what will happen?”

“I promise.” Kenneth nodded, smiling. “That’s why they sent me here, to see if I could explain the situation to you. None of them have seen a living machine before, they didn’t know what to do with you.” He explained, observing her parted lips and her slightly dilated eyes, and knowing what it meant. Even that sharp avgas smell was growing pleasant to his nose…if not slightly overpowering. But it was getting a little stuffy inside the hangar and he reached up and loosened his tie and collar slightly.“So, what do you say, Petra? Will you work with us?”

Petra was a proud aircraft, but even German pride had its limits. She had not flown in months. For her, that was a torture beyond compare. And now the skies were open to her again! She could almost feel the wind under her wings again… Practically drunk with excitement, she saw Kenneth loosening his top and felt a surge of lust well up inside her. “Yes, yes! I will work with you, Kenneth!” She growled, extending a pair of flexible, metallic tendrils from the same port as her ‘hands’. They snaked across the floor towards the American and curled around his legs before literally dragging him towards her.

Kenneth just barely managed to keep his balance as he was dragged bodily towards the Messerschmitt, having to throw out his arms to steady himself. The muscles in his injured shoulder stabbed knifes down his arm and across his back, but he grit his teeth and bore the pain. Petra’s eyes were locked on his as though her were a target in her gunsights, and he felt her hot breath washing over him as she pulled him practically against her nosecone. He grinned and tilted his head back to place a kiss right on the underside of her nose, placing his hands on her fuselage and feeling the heat radiating from the metal. The vibrations of her engines transmitted through her body and into his. “I thought you said you weren’t the kind to sell yourself…” He remarked, but couldn’t help the grin that formed on his face. Petra shot him a glare even as one of her metallic hands began clawing at his uniform.

Not for candy and cigarettes, American.” She reminded him breathlessly, “But you offered me my life and my freedom back…so shut up before I change my mind…” Kenneth prudently fell silent, letting his hand come down from her nose and close around hers. He ran his fingers around her metal ones, before reaching up to pull the knot out of his tie, tossing the garment over onto his jacket. Her hand went to his belt and was quickly joined by the second, deftly undoing the buckle. He pulled his shirt free from his slacks and started to unbutton it, feeling his erection rising beneath those dextrous manipulators. Petra fondled the bulge and nodded appreciatively, but she couldn’t help but make a jab at his expense. “Hmm…not as big as Gunther’s, but let’s see if you can’t handle the the Luftwaffe’s best, American.” She teased.

“Oh, I can handle anything you can throw at me.” Kenneth finished unbuttoning his shirt and Petra’s hands left his groin and ran over his abs, spreading his shirt open as she felt the muscles there, moving up to his pecs. She pulled his shirt off and tossed it somewhere as she continued to explore his flesh. The hands lingered for a moment on the rough patch of skin on his shoulder, before they slid down his arms and to his hands again. Kenneth grinned and gently eased out of her grasp, tracing his hand along her airframe as he walked around her again. As before, she watched him closely, but with a different sort of fire burning in her eyes. Her lips were parted as she panted softly, her fuselage creaking slightly as the Messerschmitt practically wriggled with anticipation.

As he approached her tail again, Petra lifted it up and spread her rear tires apart, leaning forward so that her nosecone almost touched the ground, displaying herself for him. She glanced back over her wings and grinned. Kenneth could see the slit that had become noticeable just in front of the Balkenkreuz, a seam in her fuselage about a foot in length, with silvery, mercury-like fluid glistening around the edges. A cluster of those metallic tendrils emerged from beneath her quivering body, curling towards him. “What do you think, hmm?” She asked coyly. “German engineering at its finest.”

Kenneth strongly doubted that engineering had anything to do with it, but he took a few steps forward and placed his hands along the heated edges of the slit. A shudder rolled through Petra’s airframe, her engines coughing lightly. He spread the edges of her slit with his thumbs, and the trickle of fluid increased, starting to drip down onto the floor and puddle beneath her. He started with his fingers, two of them, sliding them into that strange, semi-metallic port, his fingers and hand rapidly becoming soaked with Petra’s fluids as she clamped down on his digits. She seemed to hunch up at the touch, a moan slipping past her lips, the sound almost lost over the sound of her singing turbojets. He grinned and plied a little deeper, sinking his middle and index fingers in down to the knuckles and spreading them apart. The war slogan ‘V for Victory!’ popped into his head and he almost burst out laughing.

Petra’s hands balled up as she tried to lift her tail even higher, the top of it scraping against the rafters. Kenneth slowly withdrew his fingers and looked at the silvery fluid that coated them for a second, before he used his thumbs to spread the entrance to her slit a little more, enough where he was able to lean in and run his tongue through the channel. Petra howled as her engines screamed, the heat radiating from their exhaust making Kenneth’s skin glisten with sweat. Her fluids dripped down his chin and onto his chest as his tongue explored her again. She tasted like gunmetal and kerosene, but for some reason he’d never understand those two unpleasant tastes were intoxicating coming from her. His whole body tingled as he explored, and there was so much to explore…

“Stop…Kenneth…st-” Petra panted, “…Stop teasing, Ameri…American!” Her tendrils wavered as another flush of heat pulsed through her, before she set to work removing his pants. She didn’t bother with delicacy, simply popping the button open and yanking them and his underwear down to his ankles. One of her tendrils curled around his shaft and began stroking it firmly, the tip of another brushed against his balls. His cock, already erect, throbbed eagerly under her touches. He grinned and tilted his chin up to sink his tongue a little deeper into her, loving how the jet fighter trembled. He felt electrified, the tingling reaching down to his toes and the tips of his fingers as he lapped at her as eagerly as a cat lapping up cream. Petra squirmed and gasped and protested feebly, but she continued jerking him off with her tendrils, the smooth linkage slithering back and forth over his turgid flesh. “I…unnh! T-told you…to sto-ahp!…teasing!” She cried, her eyes squeezed shut as she came closer and closer to a climax. Her engines sputtered as she came close to flaming out.

Kenneth smirked to himself. She wanted him to stop teasing? Very well, he’d stop teasing…with Petra right on the edge. All at once, he pulled his mouth away from that wonderfully smooth seam, a stream of her silvery arousal oozing from his chin. Petra seemed frozen in place, her eyes wide open and her fuselage trembling as her body tried to cope with the sudden cessation of stimulus. Even her engines fell instantly silent, twin gouts of flame flaring from the exhausts as they were suddenly starved of oxygen. Kenneth reached up and wiped his lips, looking down at the bib of fluid that coated his chest. “Is that better, my dear?” He teased.

Petra quivered for a moment and then screamed in a rage, smashing aside the tool cart he had placed his bag and clothing on. “God damn you, you gutless American bastard!” She shrieked with the fury of a woman denied, launching into a hail of obscenities so vile that even Kenneth’s understanding of the German language couldn’t fully comprehend it. The man door to the hangar opened and one of the G.I.s standing guard outside peered in to see what the commotion had been. He blanched when he saw the Luftwaffe jet with her tail hiked obscenely and the Army Air Force officer standing naked and erect behind her, and Petra directed her fury at the intruder. The stunned G.I. withered under the verbal onslaught and slammed the door behind him in a hurry, likely with one hell of a story to tell the guys outside. With the distraction gone, Petra reared on Kenneth again, the tendrils around his dick had stopped moving, and now coiled like a snake about to strike. “Now stop toying around and fuck me! Fuck me, or suffer the consequences!”

Kenneth was still grinning when he reached up to place his hands on the sides of her fuselage. Despite herself, Petra shuddered again. “Kenneth…” She warned, but slowly began lowering her tail when he pulled down. Kenneth eased down under her fuselage, laying down on his back on the warm hangar floor, his erection pointed up towards her. Petra carefully collapsed her rear landing gear until she had settled down on her engines, her hands and tendrils roaming over his body. As much as they both wanted this moment, she was still four tons of aircraft settling down over him. Her metallic hands gripped his shaft and she positioned her slit over his shaft. As soon as she was in place, she dropped her tail and sank down onto him. His shaft plunged into her, her walls instantly squeezing him like a vice, mercury arousal seeping out around it.

Petra cried out happily, throwing her head back until her fuselage was almost bent like a bow. She lifted her tail and plunged it back down onto him, again and again and again. Kenneth was just along for the ride, and befitting of a jet fighter it was the most intense ride of his life. Her engines shrieked, and Petra, already close to a climax when Kenneth had stopped eating her out, quickly reached that edge again. Her hand found his and squeezed it tightly. This time there was no teasing, no stopping. The Luftwaffe’s last victory over the USAAF. Petra’s flaps extended, her engines strained to pull in more and more air, red-hot exhaust searing the pavement directly behind them. There was a moment where the whole world seemed to hold its breath, and then it exploded like a bomb.

She jerked her tail up, her body twitching, eyes open wide as her head thrashed back and forth. Her tail crashed down again, and Kenneth reached up and clamped his hands against her sides. He thrust his hips up into her, and Petra screamed in rapture, fluid gushing from her as she clenched around him. He kept driving his dick in and out of the climaxing jet, feeling his own climax rapidly building. Her engines flamed out again, and Kenneth smelled his hair singe as he held her body against his, giving a few final thrusts before he groaned and blew his load into her. Even though the hot spurts of cum were nearly overpowered by the gush of her orgasm, her needy slit held his seed inside. Finally spent, Petra slumped, her wingtips drooping towards the ground, her tongue hanging out as she panted for breath. Kenneth felt her walls continuing to clench softly around him as the last echoes of her orgasm faded away.

“I think the whole base knows what we were doing…” Kenneth gasped from beneath her. His waist, stomach, and thighs were a mess of silvery fluid, and he was glad he had brought a change of pants because the pair he had been wearing was now a smoldering lump of burnt fabric that had been caught in the blast of one of her jets. Only then did he notice that a few blisters had formed on his arms and that the sides of his body looked like he’d been sunburned. The entire hangar felt as hot as an oven and it was a miracle that the entire building hadn’t gone up around them.

“Oh, they can all go hang…” Petra purred, her eyes half-lidded with satisfaction. “If you are half as good a pilot as you are a lover…” She grinned, slowly lifting herself up off him. Her landing gear trembled unsteadily, but she stood proudly, practically beaming with the afterglow. Her manipulator hands and tendrils scooped Kenneth up and helped him to his feet. He wiped as much of her fluids from his skin as possible before looking around the hangar to try and find a towel or something to finish cleaning up. “Where do you think you are going, American?” Petra asked, quirking a brow in amusement. “I did not say I was finished with you yet…” Her hands trailed up his chest and came to rest on his shoulders. Eagerly, she pulled him back towards her, her eyes blazing brightly.

– – –

The sun was noticeably lower in the sky by the time that Kenneth emerged from the hangar, his legs barely able to support his weight. His uniform was as neat as he could make it, but he’d have to shower as soon as possible and brush his teeth, otherwise someone might wonder why his breath smelled like he had been sucking on an exhaust pipe. It was a different group of soldiers guarding the hangar than the ones who had been there when he arrived, but they all stared at him with a mix of disgust and confusion. None of them said anything to him, which was fine with him. What some G.I.s thought of his actions didn’t matter to him, but his getting results did. And he had gotten results.

“Lieutenant.” A gruff voice interrupted him, and Kenneth spun to see Colonel Harold Watson himself standing nearby. Kenneth snapped to attention and saluted the commanding officer of Operation LUSTY. The Colonel was dressed in his signature leather jacket and white scarf, the man’s bushy eyebrows furrowed together slightly. He returned the salute and Kenneth lowered his arm to his side. The Colonel looked over Kenneth’s slightly disheveled appearance and the corners of his mouth pulled down into a frown. “So, did it have any demands?” He asked. Like most, the Colonel wasn’t ready to accept the reality of living machines. Kenneth wasn’t sure if people would ever be ready.

“Just two, sir.” He answered. “The first is that she is not disassembled by our technicians. It would literally kill her, sir.” Watson’s mouth twitched slightly, but he said nothing. “The second is that I be the one to pilot her until the transfer in Cherbourg.” Kenneth couldn’t help but smile a little bit at the thought. He’d be sure to put her through her paces…and she had promised to show him no mercy either. She had also revealed an interesting tidbit to help sweeten the deal in her favor. “Sir, she did have some information to give us, about another plane, she claimed it was even able to outperform her in a mock dogfight…” He chuckled to himself, that particular bit of information was still a bit of a sore spot for her.

That bit of information seemed to improve the Colonel’s demeanor a little. Watson has been…enthusiastic…about the project ever since it’s inception. Though some found the man arrogant, even egotistical, none could deny that the man didn’t get the job done. And if not for this man’s sway, Kenneth would not have been here. “Well, what did she say? Was the information useful?”

Kenneth looked down at the piece of paper folded under his arm, pulling it out and unfolding it for the Colonel to see. Drawn by Petra’s hand was an aircraft that made even the highly advanced Me 262 look outright contemporary. A boomerang-shaped aircraft with no vertical control surfaces of any kind. A flying wing. Kenneth looked down at the paper, and back up to the Colonel. “I think so, sir. She called it the the Horten 229…”

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Here we are! My first entry on this website, with plenty more planned to join it! Sorry that it took longer than I had initially planned, but no plan ever survives first contact with the enemy! (The enemy in this case being everyday life.) During the process of writing I came across more and more information about Operation LUSTY (LUftwaffe Secret TechnologY.) and its efforts in the Lechfeld area, and I realized just how inaccurate the earlier parts of the story were. So that required a rewrite of most of the first three pages. However, it’s done now and open for you all!

I would really appreciate any feedback you have to offer. Comments, critiques, any of it! I’m still new to writing erotica solo, especially involving living machines. So, any help will be immensely appreciated!

Thank you all!

CerebralError