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Willie's War Ch. 01

By: Snurge



Originally posted as 'War:A Love Story' but deleted

*

"Will there be a war, Herr Strasser?"

The room was in shadow, the electric lights had been dowsed and heavy drapes had been drawn across the windows to block out the early evening sunshine of midsummer. On one side of the room atop a small dais stood a slender young woman, her beautiful face framed by a long fall of blond hair. She was completely naked, her breasts swollen, her nipples tight with arousal. Facing forward, she supported her breasts with her hands and lifted them a fraction for appreciation. They had deep pink aureoles, wanton and thrusting.

The room was wide and square with a high ceiling, and paintings decorated the walls while flowers brimming from vases scented the air. Opposite to the podium, seated in chairs of morocco leather, two men and a woman watched as the girl's naked figure slowly began to gyrate, hips rolling, torso undulating. One of the men was young and wore a shooting-suit which included baggy Plus Fours and thick woollen socks; the other man, older, wore an all-over black uniform with silver decoration on the shoulders and collar. It was the man in the uniform who responded to the inquiry. 

"The official communiqué from the German Foreign Office takes the view that war can be avoided, Fraulein Dietz. Despite the problem of Poland, the commonsense of European statesmen can prevail."

The woman, thin and reedy, dressed in the best of 1930s couture, promoted a cynical smile. "That's the official claptrap. What do YOU think?" 

Strasser was a big, beefy man, heavily jowled, with a pugnacious inquisitive look in his eyes, and the eyes never flinched away from the contortions of the girl on the dais when he replied. "I believe the Fuehrer will decide the best course of action for Germany. His judgement in the past has consistently proved infallible."

The girl in front of them was swaying rhythmically as if to music although there was none. She was dancing in slow sensuous movements, her breasts moving in time with her hips. And she was excited, her rapid breathing clearly audible to everyone, then, aware of the lack of true astonishment it would produce she threw back her head as she thrust her pelvis forward to display testicles and a half erect penis. The woman in the chair broadened her smile slightly. "Quite a girl, Herr Strasser, wouldn't you agree?"

"Indeed, Fraulein Dietz. Quite exceptional." answered the man in uniform.

"What is your opinion, Eduard?" the woman asked.

This time the question was intended for the man in the shooting-suit. He was a generation younger than the first one and he looked at her with an element of disapproval. "Your talent for depravity never ceases to amaze me, Celina." he remarked.

Hermann Strasser grinned. He had a dark face with big lips, and one side of his mouth curled up like a sneer when he smiled. "You should try to visit Berlin more often, Eduard. Such decadent creatures are not uncommon in the cabarets along the Kurfurstendamm these days, and they add a little spice to the usual fare on offer."

"What may be acceptable in Berlin often appals the rest of Germany, Herr Strasser." Eduard answered dryly.

The girlish thing before them turned slowly, rolling its hips and smoothing two hands down over bare skin, offering a pair of trim buttocks for their inspection.

Getting to her feet Fraulein Dietz stepped across to the dais, her mouth still conveying the hint of a smile as she observed the serpentine undulations of the man-girl creature. "You're a shameless hussy, Rosalyn. You enjoy showing yourself off, don't you?"

Above her the models eyes held the sheen of sunshine faraway and the heat of sex. A breathless, "Mmm, mmm" was the only response she received.

"Naughty girl. Wanting to please a man. Wanting to give pleasure to a cock." the woman simpered while delighting in the control she had over such people. She turned the girly body slightly, angling it so that the two men across the room would have the best possible view of the up risen penis and its bulbous watering tip. As her hands circled the effeminates ankles and began to slide upwards Rosalyn ceased moving and seemed to be waiting for something, then as the rising fingers brought an insidiously arousing caress to his smooth thighs, he shivered. Brushing aside the raunchy thrust of a penis with the back of her hand Fraulein Dietz slotted her fingertips behind a hang of well formed testicles and stroked lightly.

"Oh, ooh, oooh!" gasped Rosalyn.

"A good pair at both top and bottom!" the woman grinned demonically. "And ah, yes, I do believe you are ready, my Leibling. Herr Strasser will wish you to amuse him for a while, so go up the stairs and prepare yourself."

The transvestite immediately stepped down from his perch and skipped out through the door, while the man in the black uniform stood up, straightened the front of his trousers and followed without a word. When he'd disappeared Eduard Dietz openly sneered. "I don't know why you invite that man here. He's an animal."

His sister answered with as much diplomacy as she could muster. "Hermann is an influential officer in the Sicherheitsdienst, the security branch of the SS. It's useful for me to maintain a cordial relationship with such people."

"Thank goodness I never have to spend more than a few hours in his company. I must get changed and be off. I'm expected to report back in uniform in the morning."

"You could at least pretend some friendliness towards him." complained the woman, "And why must you hurry, Eduard darling? You should relax and enjoy some of the pleasures that are free for the taking here. I could have Loti ready for you in five minutes."

"I'll forgo what you have on offer, Celina. My passion at the moment is for flying, and when I do come down to earth I prefer a more conventional kind of female company. I only attended your questionable little show this afternoon out of curiosity, and now having seen it I won't be tempted again."

Beyond being an adolescent the woman nevertheless pouted sulkily. "You've done your compulsory military service. I don't understand why you haven't left the air force and entered into commerce. This house needs someone earning a decent salary to help it along."

"I've told you before Celina, I enjoy flying. I'd die of boredom if I were confined to an office. If you would only agree to sell this place we could find you a fine little house in Breslau, and in such a place you would have no worries about money."

Celina Dietz stepped back in horror and looked affronted. "Sell up! Abandon Ravenskopf? Never. I am not a common hausfrau who would be content to live in a city street. I am a lady, and this is where I live."

***

Willie Froehlich climbed from the train and found himself standing in Glerwitz, a poky little town on the eastern fringe of Germany, a place whose isolation was emphasised by the thickly wooded hills that surround it. Using the last of the money given to him by his mother he hired a taxi cab and asked the driver if he knew the whereabouts of Ravenskopf. 

"Get in. Everyone knows where that place is." the man said.

The journey was short but the going was difficult and Willie became increasingly depressed by the surroundings. A glance at a map had told him that the Polish frontier lay not far away, and having passed through the town of Frankenstein on the train earlier he didn't need to wonder what had inspired Mary Shelley in writing her famous novel -- the steaming pinewoods that stank of punk and resin, the muddy hollows, the bestial looking peasants he passed along the way, the barbaric place names and wayside religious shrines, all must have been much the same when she had visited the region.

He couldn't imagine what Ravenskopf would look like, but he caught a glimpse of the house through the trees shortly before he arrived. From a distance the high walls and turrets and the small dome that wouldn't have been out of place on a cathedral looked decorative and gave it a picture-book charm. 

Shortly afterwards, where the road began to curve uphill to the right, he was confronted by an obelisk etched with Egyptian hieroglyphs which signified the entrance to a small park copiously adorned with ancient statuary. Most of the pieces depicted maidens writhing in the grasp of bearded, muscular demi-gods, and only when he was beyond them did the walls of Ravenskopf loom above him like the ramparts of a medieval fortress. 

"This is the door I'm told to deliver people to whenever I bring 'em here." the taxi driver told him as he drew up to the side of the building. "The front of the house is prettier, but we ordinary folk have to do what we're told around here."

A maid answered his knock to a side entrance; a young woman, dressed in black, wearing a small white organdie apron and a faint smile. As their footsteps echoed in the vaulted hall inside the building his gaze followed the wide sweep of a staircase as it climbed beyond an imposing chandelier, then while the maid went away to find someone to greet him he studied the rest of the room. On the walls inset paintings alternated most effectively with mirrors and panelling, and the ceiling was decorated with tendrils of vines spreading over a gilded pergola.

He turned to see a tall woman enter the room. He had expected someone older, but she was much younger than his mother, very striking, with luminous blue eyes and straight blond hair cropped just below her ears. Her lush figure was set off by a clinging, deep purple skirt and blouse, and above the pronounced dip of décolletage arose a marble-white neck and a face that mingled soft curves and angles to striking effect. 

Imposing rather than beautiful her deep set eyes ringed with mascara seemed to penetrate right through him. "I am Celina Dietz. You must be Wilhelm Froehlich."

"Yes, Frau Dietz."

"Do not call me Frau. I'm twenty-eight and you may think I should be married, but I'm not. I've yet to meet a man worthy of me."

"I apologise. I'll try to remember."

"What do you think of the house?"

"It's a very fine house. Much larger than I imagined it to be."

"Yes, it is large. My family had it built two hundred years ago when Silesia was first ceded to Prussia. We were important then, but unfortunately we are important no longer. My brother Eduard is a Luftwaffe officer and thinks more of dive-bombers than houses, so I live here alone most of the time. For that reason a great portion of it is not in use." Her eyes flashed, hinting at a sharp temper that could erupt at any moment. "Do you know why you're here?"

He nodded. He could see those eyes scrutinising him closely, absorbing the hank of blond hair that hung down the side of his face which he constantly needed to brush back, and observing his narrow shoulders and the spindly wrists that poked down beyond the cuffs of his jacket. "It's to do with conscription." he said, "I'm at the age for compulsory military service, and my mother doesn't think I'd do well in the army."

The mouth of Fraulein Dietz curled slightly in the semblance of a condescending smile. She was as thin as he was, but taller, and she clearly looked down on him in more ways than one.

"She's probably right." Her tone was derisory, "You certainly don't fit in with my idea of a Panzer Grenadier."

"Mother wants to say she doesn't know where I am when the papers arrive. She says I can't even remain in Heidelberg because they'd find me there."

The woman arched her eyebrows. "You have no brothers or sisters?"

"No."

"And your father is dead?"

"Yes." Wilhelm resented the interrogation, but there was no way he could refuse to answer. For the near future at least he was going to be reliant on her goodwill.

"Are you a National Socialist?"

"No, but mother is. She joined the Nazi Party six years ago."

"I know that, it's the main reason I agreed to help her. It's wrong to cheat the system by hiding you away, but I don't think we're depriving the Wehrmacht of a particularly great asset. What were you studying at Heidelberg?"

"I was reading Classics and Art History. I hope circumstances change soon because I want to go back to it."

The woman nodded, unimpressed. "Well, at least you should be able to string a sentence together when you write, and that I may find a use for. One other thing. While you remain at Ravenskopf you will adopt the guise of a female.

Willie blinked hard and his slender fingers reached down, nervously twisting the bottom of his jacket. "A -- a female, Fraulein Dietz?"

"Yes. It's important. It's the only way. You must look like a girl and try to behave like a girl. You may be secure from the mainstream of German life in this obscure corner of Upper Silesia, but people in small communities can be inquisitive. I have some insulation against such busybodies but it's not limitless, and if a young man like you is seen not to be in military uniform they will become curious and begin asking awkward questions. The transformation shouldn't be too difficult for you. I imagine you've put on stockings in the past to amuse your university friends."

Willie hung his head, quite incapable of offering a quick response.

"I expect most of them called you Willie."

"Yes, Fraulein Dietz."

"The name can remain. Willie is an acceptable abbreviation for Wilhelmina as well as Wilhelm."

She turned away, as far as she was concerned the interview over. "Rosalyn." she called, and the maid who had first admitted him returned and dipped a small curtsy. 

"This is Willie. He will be joining us here. Feed him and find him a place to sleep."

A minute later he was sat at a kitchen table eating sauerkraut and cold sausage while the maid who had escorted him stood silently in the corner of the room. A second maid, dressed identically to the first one came through the door, and only then did the one called Rosalyn speak. "Hi Loti, look what we have here. Fraulein Dietz as found another one."

Loti walked over to him and bent down to study his face closely. "You're cute. You'll do well at Ravenskopf." she purred silkily.

"His name is Willie." said the first maid.

"A good name." grinned the second one.

Willie gazed up at the features examining him and he knew at once that the maid wasn't what she appeared to be at a distance. He could identify a cross-dresser when he saw one, and female clothes and lavish makeup couldn't hide reality. He looked again at the one called Rosalyn. The maids were the same in more ways than just the clothes they wore. They were both young men. Two brunettes, brazen and bra-less. "Are you two in hiding here disguised as women?" he asked.

"Better that than being in the army." said Loti, abruptly moving away. "All that marching around and shooting guns. Ugh!"

"Does anyone else live here?"

"No, it's just Fraulein Dietz and us." replied Rosalyn. "A fat old woman comes in every day to cook a midday meal, but the rest of the time Loti and I are expected to do everything in return for our keep."

"The Fraulein's brother comes here for the weekend sometimes, but mostly he's away serving with the Luftwaffe," put in Loti. "Fraulein Dietz likes to entertain though, especially if her guests have some influence with the Nazi Party. I don't mind that. Some of the old buffers she invites can be quite entertaining themselves." 

He turned and stuck out his backside until it strained against the seat of the black skirt he was wearing, and then he slapped it, pitter-pat, with the flats of his hands and grinned over his shoulder. "Do you know what I mean?"

"Take no notice of Loti. She's always been a slut." remarked Rosalyn with lofty disapproval.

The other maid snorted, fluttering his false eyelashes as he examined his lipstick in a small hand mirror. "I'm no worse slut than you, Rosalyn. You'll drop your pants at the first sign of a man getting hard."

Rosalyn ignored the retort and came over to where Willie was sitting. "You've finished eating. Leave the plate. Loti can wash it while I take you upstairs and show you where you sleep."

The stairs were decorated with small statues cast in bronze set into narrow niches in the walls. Most people wouldn't have studied them closely, rating them as just part of the décor, but Willie had an interest in art and paused to inspect one or two. To the casual eye they depicted Greek goddesses, partially clothed, demure of expression but provocatively posed. Willie noted that they were all different figures in different poses, and a number of them displayed a set of male genitals. There were paintings too, equally explicit, and he realised that the sensuous works of art were a stage setting, there only to induce a pleasing mood. A backdrop to coax depravity.

The room he was given was not impressive and was smaller than the one he'd had in the hall of residence in Heidelberg. The contents consisted of just a bed, a dresser and two hard-back chairs with some walk-in storage set into one wall. The furniture was old and so well worn that the varnish had been rubbed from its edges and corners, while the cracked linoleum on the floor was only cushioned by a couple of threadbare rugs.

"Hardly luxurious, is it?" remarked Rosalyn with a sympathetic sigh. "Unfortunately the lady of the house doesn't spend money on servant's quarters. Frau Klausen, the woman that comes to cook lunch, says the Dietz family were quite well off once, but they lost most of their money during the hyperinflation that followed the last war. Fraulein Dietz still likes to put on airs like an old-time aristocrat though, even when her big house is falling down around her ears."

"Is the house falling down?"

"Take a look at the unused part when you have a chance. The roof leaks like a sieve."

The male maid went to the cupboard in the wall and rummaged around inside. "She'll expect you to wear a dress tomorrow. I think this will fit." he said, pulling out a white item and holding it up to gauge the width of Willie's shoulders. "There's more in the cupboard with shoes and things."

Being measured up to fit a frock made Willie blush slightly. Although Fraulein Dietz had guessed correctly when she'd said he'd probably worn stockings on occasion to please people, he'd never gone all the way to dressing as a girl.

He removed his jacket and remained stock still while he was being fitted out, which allowed Rosalyn's hand to brush against his bare arm with the intimacy of an established relationship. "You're a pretty thing." he remarked playfully while the tip of his tongue circled his lips. "Would you like to do something nice before bedtime?"

The invitation to indulge in carnality was plain, and Willie's reaction was po-faced. "I may like men, but I don't just go with anyone."

Rosalyn shrugged without showing dismay. "Don't you? How sad. Never mind, everyone who comes to this house is a freak in their own way."

***

Willie Froehlich had no illusions about himself. He was attractive enough, with a good figure, and his long blond hair gave him a sweet little-girl look of innocence, but he wasn't sophisticated and a lack of self-confidence became evident the following morning. It was then he discovered that the white dress didn't really fit well at all, and he replaced it with a simple round-necked, ankle-length thing in lilac floral print. Lacking any guidance he compounded that mistake by putting on white ankle socks and flat shoes. 

Fraulein Dietz greeted him at the bottom of the stairs with a grimace that made her dissatisfaction plain. "What on earth do you think you look like? You have a figure with such great possibilities, but you dress it up like a frump."

Willie's mind struggled for an excuse. He looked bewildered, brown eyes blinking back at her, and she noticed he still had the habit of flicking a fall of hair out of his eyes. "I put on some of the things I found in the wardrobe. I wasn't sure what to choose." he explained.


Willie's War Ch. 01



"Never mind about that for the moment." the woman snapped, "Come with me. Other people such as yourself I utilise as domestic servants while they're here, but for you I have a different task."

He followed her through into what was clearly an innermost sanctum in a small circular library on the ground floor. Inside a table lamp cast a soft glow on decorations of bronze sitting agreeably on the warm brown of cedar panelling that squeezed between ceiling high sets of shelves crammed with books. It was a comfortable den of a man's room without any softening frills. A solid mahogany door gave it an air of seclusion and an elegant Louis XIV desk piled high with pieces of paper and envelope files stood in front of a casement window.

"My father was Professor Dietz. He was an outstanding anthropologist." the woman announced briskly. "This was his work station when he was at home, and what you see around you are the last five years of his research. Unfortunately he was unable to compile his notes into manuscript before his death, and that is something I wish you to rectify. Everything is scattered about and in a jumble, so something more than a secretary is required."

A lugubrious head on the end of a long neck peered up at her. "Goodness, It sounds like an awesome task, I -- I'm only an undergraduate and I don't know if I'm capable of doing anything as grand as putting together the notes of a learned professor of anthropology."

The woman's features became set with determination. "What nonsense, of course you're capable. Since you've attended university you will be practised in making dissertations, and the youthful, vibrant blood of enthusiasm still flows through your veins. The subject is no concern of yours. All the information you require is here and only requires to be put into sequence. I'll allow you the rest of the week to read things through, then we'll discuss the matter again."

Having settled things to her own contentment she stood back and looked Willy up and down once more. "Now then, we shall go back up the stairs and I shall choose the clothes you should wear, then I shall have Rosalyn and Loti pin back your hair and teach you about makeup. Don't expect this treatment every day. I expect you to be self sufficient in being a girl, and if you don't learn quickly you'll make me angry."

The two male-maids were summoned to his room, but she didn't spare him a great deal of time herself. Having selected some items of clothing from the cupboard she threw them across the bed and left Willie in their care. "Nice fingernails," Rosalyn said, looking at his hands, "You grow them long and look after them. That's always a bonus for someone making a transformation."

Under the watchful eyes of Rosalyn and Loti he slipped into a suspender belt and silk stockings. "Suspender straps are far better than garters," Loti assured him, "Nothing looks worse on a girl than sagging stockings with baggy knees, so I advise you to always choose suspenders when you can."

When other feminine apparel was offered in his direction, he gave out a meek gasp. "A brassier? I can't wear one of those. I don't have a bosom, hardly a very big one anyway."

"We can stuff it with cotton wool." Rosalyn told him. "It will help you look the part, and showing a bosom will help you feel the part."

His hair usually hung thick and straight, sometimes framing his face and sometimes half obscuring it, but Loti skilfully fastened it back to reveal features of haunting Madonna-like purity. "You must wear more makeup." Loti said as he pinned back some rogue tresses. "If you emphasise your eyes you'll become quite beautiful." 

Rosalyn agreed. "Yes, you have wonderful lashes, and a good lathering of mascara will make sure they're noticed. And a cherry-red for your lips, I think. You'll look gorgeous."

It had transpired that both the male-maids had been involved with show business in the past and knew everything about applying powder and paint, but Willie was taken aback by their enthusiasm. "I don't want to look like a painted doll."

Loti tutted. "Of course you don't. The whole point of makeup is to enhance natural beauty with a beguiling radiance. It's what the lady of the house will expect."

"Not Garbo," said Rosalyn, "More Rogers."

Willie looked at him. "What do you mean?"

Loti beamed. "Rosalyn thinks you look like the film-star, Rogers."

"Ginger Rogers, the American. Do you? Do you really think that?" he asked Rosalyn.

Rosalyn said he did, but Willie was hardly placated. "Is he teasing me?" he asked Loti.

"I think he meant it."

"Do you think I look like a film-star?"

"Yes, of course."

"I don't feel glamorous. I must look a sight. I don't think I'll be comfortable going into the town dressed like this."

His two companions glanced at each other and then at him. "Don't worry about that." said Rosalyn, "The lady doesn't allow her house staff to go into the town. She keeps us at a distance from other people in case they guess the truth about us. From now until you leave you'll be expected to stay within sight of the house at all times."

"We're practically prisoner's here." added Loti, "The only compensation is the chance to dress nice."

"Fraulein Dietz isn't a very pleasant person, is she?" grumbled Willie.

Rosalyn responded with a brief, cynical laugh. "She's got less humour than a cow in the rain, and you haven't seen the worst of her yet, my little treasure. Most people wouldn't treat a Cocker Spaniel the way she treats us when she's in a bad mood. The trouble is we're stuck, aren't we? You and us alike. We have nowhere else to go."

Eventually Willie became established as fully dressed and he was able to shoo the others from the room. It took him a while after they had gone to adjust to the strange feelings that now enveloped him. The odd shoes that deformed his feet took some getting used to, as did the tight hose that clung to his legs and a skirt that swirled around his knees. His face was masked with sweet-smelling substances, and most alarming of all, he had a bosom.

He wanted to look at the finished result but the mirror in his room was only ten inches square, and he had to go out onto the bedroom landing to find a full length reflection.

Fraulein Dietz had selected a crisp white blouse to accentuate the creamy texture of his skin, and to accompany it a black skirt, narrow-waisted, hip-hugging and tight in a Chinese cheongsam style, knee-length with daring slashes half way up his thighs. 

The shoes she had chosen for him had incredibly clunky high heels, but when he examined himself in the mirror he noticed that they did promote a rather nice stance of elegance, and with the stockings they did emphasise the smooth slender curve of his legs in an attractive way. 

He had always felt a strong affinity with female clothes. Enthralled with his reflection he swivelled left and right to examine his appearance from every possible angle, grinning, pouting and pulling funny faces. Although he lacked the vanity to consider himself perfection he was small and slim and he did feel like a film-star. The colour scheme, starkly black on white, also emphasised the sooty black of his eyes, and with his hair freshly brushed and feeling silky and lustrous he felt better able to cope with the demands being made of him. 

By the time he was ready to descend the stairs again it was time for lunch. At lunchtime Rosalyn and Loti catered for the needs of Fraulein Dietz who ate alone in a rather grand dining room. It was salad and a poached tranche of fresh salmon for her; boiled salted codfish and potatoes for everyone else, to be consumed at the kitchen table. 

Frau Klausen, the cook, was a large blousy woman and fervent National Socialist who listened to music on the wireless the whole time she was there. Willie was partial to American swing and even enjoyed a good rendition of The Blue Danube, but the woman's taste was limited to martial music of the German kind that never veered from venerating the Fatherland and its Aryan stock. To its accompaniment she would constantly march back and forth, gyrating her spoons and ladles in the manner of a drum-major.

When he had eaten he went to the library and began the mighty task that had been bestowed on him. At once his interest was captured and within minutes he was absorbed.

It soon became apparent that although Fraulein Dietz's father may have been a highly intelligent man, he wasn't an organised one. The professor was in the habit of writing down his thoughts on whatever piece of paper came to hand and in no specific order. There were a number of hard-back journals and leather bound notebooks, but most of his work had been recorded onto loose-leaf sheets of paper that were now stacked in untidy heaps on every flat surface in the room.

Initially Willie had intended to read everything chronologically in date sequence, but then he found that very few of the documents had any date on them. Instead he started to read things randomly and that seemed to work in an odd kind of way, because when he'd become accustomed to the content he found he could compile separate piles for notations that commented upon relevant issues. From the start he knew it was not going to be an easy task. It would require endurance and pain-staking observation, but given the week promised to him he was confident that eventually he would find a common factor to link them all together.

He closed his eyes, and suddenly his head was back in Heidelberg, the place where he really belonged and where he could submerge himself in real study. The time he was compelled to spend at Ravenskopf was merely an interlude, he reassured himself. It wouldn't last long. Soon things would return to how they had been previously.

***

Willie was a little bit wary of Rosalyn and Loti to begin with. Their attitude to sexual matters was to say the least, loose, and they openly admitted they sometimes slept together. He himself was more reserved. Although no angel, he preferred relationships to have some mutual rapport and not to simply serve as an excuse for gratification, but after he had declined their invitation to make up a threesome a few times they got the idea, and left him alone.

The thing that made living with them easier was their good nature, not to mention their actual skill. As housemaids their efficiency was as far above reproach as their morals were beneath it. This was a fact that Fraulein Dietz must have recognised but seldom rewarded. Although she spared them military service she ran the house like a military camp, directing things, throwing out orders and demanding obedience. Her harsh words seemed to accompany everything they did, and it was not an uncommon sight to find them on the verge of tears after she had smacked their hands with a wooden spoon as punishment for some perceived stupidity.

When he went to eat his lunch one day he heard conversation in the room where Fraulein Dietz ate her meals. "Does she have a guest today?" he asked Rosalyn.

"Her brother is here for the weekend."

"Her brother?"

"Her brother, Eduard. He's stationed at an aerodrome near Grottkau but he seems to get way quite often at weekends." Rosalyn told him.

Willie then remembered an earlier mention of Fraulein Dietz's brother. "What's he like?

Rosalyn purred like a cat. "Good looking. Big and strong. Loti caught a glimpse of him in the bathroom once - said he was hung like a cart-horse. But I've never known him show any interest in us kind of girls."

He never saw much of Eduard during his brief visit. Eduard dined with his sister at meal times but spent most of his time out of doors with a twelve-gauge shotgun, a fact verified by the amount of game brought back to hang in the kitchen larder. Willie's only close encounter came when the man was on the point of departing and made an unannounced visit to the library.

"You must excuse me for interrupting you, but I'm off back to my unit this morning and there is a book I want to take with me." His words were polite but abrupt, spoken as employer to staff, to someone he considered somewhat inferior to himself. He stared at the bookshelves on one side of the room and then the other. "I know my father had a copy of Voltaire in his collection, but where to find it is the problem."

Being only 5'6'' Willie had to tilt up his face to study the man closely, and he gazed up beyond a broad sun-tanned face and straight into the eyes of... a god. Not that he was like one of the statuettes of Greek deities that filled the niches on the stairs. Instead he took after the kind of dark warrior who appeared in late Renaissance paintings. 

Quite easy to look at, Willie decided. He was smart and upright in his perfectly tailored air force uniform, and as tall as his sister with thick wavy blond hair clipped short, and with blue eyes shaded by spiky gold lashes. He was not handsome in the conventional sense, his appeal was much more subtle than that, and the faintly mocking twist to his mouth was an enigma. His prominent cheekbones, firm jaw and slightly crooked nose gave him a rugged appearance, but it was the startling blue eyes and high-voltage melt-your-bones smile that made his pulse jump. 

"Voltaire is on the second shelf from the bottom." he said without even thinking hard. "It's on the right hand side, next to the book by Alfred Rosenburg."

The visitor gave him a quizzical look that was tinged with amusement, then his eyes stalked visually along the shelf indicated until he snatched a volume up in his hand. "Quite right. Exactly has you said. It hasn't taken you long to get to know the lay-out of this place."

Eduard was the first attractive man Willie had met since arriving and he suddenly felt very aware of the bra thrusting out the front of his blouse, and of the two buttons unfastened at the top that exposed the hollow of his throat. "I have an interest in books, Herr Dietz, that's all one needs really. I love books, and I love art too." 

"Art!" The man's eyebrows lifted has he paused to consider the word. "Yes, of course. Appreciation of art is said to be a measure of civilisation. Good art can be a joy."

"Examples of bad art are rare, Herr Dietz. Misunderstanding art is far more common."

Such a settled opinion caused the visitor to chuckle. "Holding firm views on things is worthy of respect. You must be the new -- erm - person my sister informed me about. The one she as elected to write-up my fathers notes."

Willie nodded, suddenly becoming quite breathless. Eduard dominated the room. He had tremendous natural charisma and would have dominated a room anywhere. 

The man cast around with his eyes. "Settled in, have you? You'll find this a very pleasant place to work, I'm sure. Sadly the library is in a terrible mess and my father left behind such a lot of correspondence to be dealt with. It'll take you six months to read everything."

Willie peeped up sweetly from under his lashes. "Fraulein Dietz requires me to read everything in a week."

Eduard raised his eyebrows. "A week! It you can do it in a week I'll give you credit for being a top scholar."

"Oh, a week is long enough I think if I start early each day and finish late. The professor's writing is quite legible and I'm a quick reader."

The man grinned at that, an outright humorous grin that unexpectedly struck Willie like a blow to the solar plexus and made his nipples stir inside the cosy confines of his bra. The man was attractive of course, but he had no idea how irresistible his smile might be. Willie had regarded him speculatively at first, wondering if his sister's heartlessness was a family trait that he needed to be wary of, but the cheerful smile dispelled such fear. Now, with the lighter creases beside his eyes deepening to reveal laughter lines and his lips parted to reveal even white teeth, he was devastating.

"You are somehow different to the others I meet here." the man conceded, his eyes warming appreciatively has they rested on Willie's delicate-hewn features. "Not as tall. A little shrimp really. Refined. Not has sexually brash as they, and yet somehow more striking, and more - erm -- more feminine."

Willie felt a blush on his face rising up like a fiery dawn and he smiled awkwardly, unsure how to take the compliment, but he thought about him when he'd gone, remembering his smile. Eduard Dietz was everything he disliked about people in general of course; too self-assured and far too opinionated and over-confident, convinced he knew best about everything and infinitely superior to someone dressed as a girl. Even so, he had been utterly captivated by him, and his eyes glowed against the disturbing paleness of his face at the mere idea that the gorgeous man had noticed him. 

It was important to stop such unsettling thoughts, he decided. He had to sweep them from his mind. A man such as Eduard Dietz was sure to have a girlfriend. He had the kind of looks that probably left broken hearts everywhere. He probably had lots of girlfriends. Real girls.

He slumped down in his chair. Oh, Heidelberg, where are you? he thought. Gone were all those sunny, carefree weekends along the Neckar, laughing and joking with the lean bodied young men who sought to court him. Gone, all those days of being chased along the river bank until they had their arms around him. Naughty boys, kissing him like they did, undressing him like they did, doing the other things that they did.

Eventually his face began to resume its delicate porcelain colour, but then he was startled by a tapping on the casement window. Looking round he saw a man outside gesticulating to speak to him. Getting to his feet he went across and opened the window as if it were a door. "Who are you? What do you want?"

The stranger offered a broad grin. "I'm Günter. I'm Frau Klausen's nephew and I too work for the lady of the house. Three days each week in the flower garden then two in the park. I heard she'd taken on a pretty thing to do some office work, so I thought I'd take a look."

Willie gazed up into a tanned outdoor face under a mop of windblown auburn hair. How handsome he looked. How tall and muscular. His lean aggressively masculine body was wrapped in a white linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and his very masculine arms were matted with a delicate fleece of fine hair. He watched in fascination as the muscles in his arms bunched with each movement they made. He made all the boys he'd known at university seem insignificant, and he was a good substitute for the unattainable air force officer who had so recently captured his thoughts.

Still in some awe Willie watched the visitor push his hands into the pockets of his trousers, and became aware of the strong muscles of his thighs. "You are very cheeky, Günter. Do you want to come in?"

The young man grinned. "No, can't do that. The snooty Fraulein doesn't allow outside workers into the house. But I bet you haven't seen anything outside yet, have you? Would you like me to show you the garden?"

"The garden! But I'm busy."

"You must be allowed a breather. The Fraulein can't expect you to work the whole day without taking a short break now and then."

Willie brought a hand to his mouth and bit a nail, then caught himself and stopped. He found himself acknowledging Günter's undoubted physical attraction. He suited the casual attire of a gardener. His long muscular legs looked good in close fitting trousers, and the tightness of his shirt exploited the flatness of his stomach and the strength of his hips.

Why not? he thought. Why not take a break? He'd worked pretty well none stop for the past few days and never been thanked for doing it, and was it not reasonable to take the opportunity of viewing other aspects of the place where he now lived. 

He opened the window to its full extent. The sill was very low so he was able to step over it quite easily.




Willie's War Ch. 01



Outside the garden was scented with the perfume of late summer and Günter rejoiced in being his guide. Although the hawthorn hedges had lost their blossom other things were in riotous colour; there was broom providing its own splash of golden brilliance, pink and purple pansies, and in the park further on there were acres of buttercups. 

The view to the front of the house extended over a formal garden to the nearby town, but each side of it was terminated by hedges and little grass plots where the family in the past had erected tombstones to their pet animals. At the back of the house orange trees in large tubs were ranged along the terrace.

"It's lovely." Willie said, very conscious of Günter behind him, looking at the close fit of his skirt and the curve of his legs: overtly assessing things that had nothing to do with horticulture.

Günter turned his chiselled features up to the sky. "No rain today. A good day for being out of doors." he said.

"Yes," Willie agreed, "But unfortunately I must return to my work."

"Shame you can't stay out longer. There are so many things a girl and boy could do together on a day such as this."

Willie's cheeks suffused with hectic colour. The handsome gardener was making a pass at him, and he rather enjoyed it. But he wasn't prepared to give in on a first meeting. "I'm afraid you will have to do them alone today." he panted.

Günter leaned forward. "What I have in mind takes two." he growled against the shell-like cavity of Willie's ear.

As they walked back he slipped an arm around Willie's waist and rested his hand on the shelf of his hips, achingly aware of the slender, shapely body he enfolded. "It must be awkward for you here. I expect you're a townie who's used to being around boys a lot."

Willie nodded. "It is different here to what I've been used to in the past."

On reaching the window Willie made to lift himself through, but before he could do it he felt strong, masculine fingers close over his wrist. With no warning Günter touched a finger to unresisting lips that promised the sweet taste of a mountain spring. "Shame you can't linger awhile longer. Perhaps I should offer a sample of what you'll been missing."

The look in the man's eyes became one Willie could easily fathom and he shifted unsteadily under his gaze.

"Günter, don't you dare kiss me." he spluttered in a gush of air. He swallowed, feeling his throat constrict, and he couldn't prevent his face from showing a blush. He knew he should have said more -- he should have protested more fiercely, but further words became stifled at the source when the man's mouth descended onto his own.

Heat. At the touch of his lips, a volcanic shock seemed to flood along Willie's veins, searing him with the intensity of molten fire. His knees buckled beneath the man's probing caress and he clutched at him helplessly. Words were quickly forgotten and his good intentions fled the moment the burly man's arms closed around him, pulling him forward and drawing him in until he was curled into his embrace.

Fingers slid over his skin and tremors rock him, and he was lost, and all the time Günter's mouth writhed against his own in a kiss that demanded everything, and gave everything. When the kiss broke for a moment Willie whimpered softly. "Please -- please let me go."

Slowly they drew apart, and the man stood smiling, making no attempt to hide the arousal in his trousers. "That's a good start." he said, "We must try it again sometime."



Willie's War Ch. 02



Celina Dietz was in love. She loved Ravenskopf. Or at least she loved the status that living in such a fine house gave her. As she walked disconsolately to the window, she stared with fierce possessiveness over the lawns and flowerbeds that bordered the house. This was her home, it was the place she had been born, and she knew every inch of it with the familiarity of long use. How could her brother even suggest that she leave it all to live in a grubby town suburb?

As a small child she had known a time when famous people had enjoyed hospitality beneath its roof; it had been a time when her family had owned estates that stretched back almost to the Oder. There had been picnics and hunts and wonderful parties in those days, but then had come the bleak time of the 1920s when the value of the Deutschmark became virtually worthless, and practically overnight the family fortune had dwindled to nothing. They had to sell most of the land around them simply to maintain a decent standard of living, and keeping such a large building in good repair soon became impossible.

With her father always so detached from everyday life and engrossed in his work it should have been Eduard's responsibility to put things right, but her brother was a boyish devil-may-care adventurer even in maturity and he had no idea how to do it. Instead she had taken upon herself the task of saving everything from falling into ruin. On coming of age she had encouraged a wealthy industrialist to court her, and his promise of marriage seemed to be the answer to everything.

Damn the man, for he had deserted her well before any wedding, and from that time on she had sought to take out her spite on all men in whatever way she could. Having a handful of emasculated males around her was a sop to her vindictiveness. She took pleasure in their humiliation, delighted in bullying them, and revelled in controlling everything they did.

In the library Willie was composed when she entered. The room was a cool place, having the benefit of the northern light, but seldom direct sunshine. Nevertheless the book-lined walls were warming. 

It was the seventh day since his arrival, and fully expecting her visit he leapt to his feet as he'd learnt was expected when she entered a room. By birth and training he was very German: prompt, organised and disciplined, and before him covering the whole tool leathered surface of the desk lay batches of papers; the professor's notes, divided and subdivided into relevant divisions, each neatly clipped together and fronted by a tag for his own guidance. The notes were so profuse that a dozen other piles had been laid out on the floor.

The woman waved him back into his seat. "Have you read everything?"

"Yes, Fraulein Dietz."

"What do you think?"

He drew in a deep breath. "It's an extraordinary study. Your father was truly a diligent and dedicated man."

The woman nodded and without saying another word she walked across the room and opened a cupboard to reveal a typewriter. "Did you learn how to use one of these whilst in Heidelberg?"

He nodded. "Yes, but my speed isn't very good."

"I'm sure it will improve as you go along. There is plenty of paper in the cupboard underneath, so I want you to begin writing-up the notes at once."

Willie slowly sank back into his chair, a slight expression of trepidation on his face. "There is something I've been meaning to speak to you about, Fraulein Dietz."

"About the notes?"

"Yes, Fraulein Dietz."

"Well, go ahead. Spit it out."

"Your father, the professor, from what he's written I believe he was seeking evidence to confirm the existence of a past master-race."

"Yes, I glad you understand that much. He took it upon himself to establish the truth about the racially superior Aryan people of antiquity from whom all true Germans are descended. It is a subject Herr Hitler himself is most passionate about and I believe my father's work will answer all the outstanding questions."

Willie only half-smiled, in fact he almost winced. "Oh, um...er, perhaps you shouldn't expect too much. It would probably be unwise to claim that all the questions have been answered. The Herr Professor clearly worked long and hard on the subject, but I don't think he has provided any real proof that a master-race ever existed."

The woman responded with blank look of dissatisfaction and dismay as pride and indignation warred within her. "You must be mistaken, Willie dear. My father's health was not at its best towards the end of his life, but he was a very learned man who was revered by his peers. He wouldn't have spent his last five years researching something that couldn't be proven." She gave a dismissive wave of her hand. "No, no. Clearly you have skimmed too quickly through his work and missed something important. You'd better read everything again."

Willie was certain that he'd missed nothing. So often bewildered by everyday life a change came over him when placed in front of any kind of text. His brain cleared at once, it came naturally to him. It always had. It was no lucky chance or favour that had won him a place at a university in Heidelberg. He could analyse the written word with such clarity that discrepancies glared out like the headlights on a car. Modest and still lacking self-belief he regarded such a gift as mere common-sense, but it was a kind of common-sense that few others possessed. 

He had quickly observed that contradictions abounded in Professor Dietz's notations, and they were full of theories, assumptions and biased opinions that lacked any evidence. Taken as a whole the notes comprised a mass of wishful-thinking, and he had decided early on that the learned professor must have been descending into dementia when he compiled them. 

"I assure you I've already read everything very thoroughly, Fraulein Dietz." he insisted bravely.

For a moment the woman's facial features froze and only her eyes glared menace. But then a storm broke, her cheeks reddened, her lips twitched and words poured out in an enraged torrent. "Have you indeed? Well perhaps I should remind you, little Willie, that my father held professorships in anthropology and eugenics before you were even a gleam in your father's eye." 

Without warning she grasped the top of his head, wrapped her fingers in his hair and pulled viciously. Willie squawked, but his anguish was ignored. 

"I will accept no truck from effeminate upstarts such as you who think they know better than him." she continued. "The Aryan people did exist. My father proved it and you will record that fact." 

Completely dismissive of Willie's discomfort she bounced his head up and down then rocked it cruelly from side to side. "You will do as I wish and make a good job of it, or I'll inform the police of whom you really are and tell them how you tricked me into employing you. And I'll tell you now, if you don't already know, that wretches who purposely try to avoid military conscription are thrown into a Konzentrationslager where conditions are not pleasant."

At last she released him, and gradually her look of hostility faded. A softness, even a glint of amusement came into her eyes as she smiled her careful tight-lipped smile at him. "Being a conscript-dodger is a crime, and being homosexual is illegal. Do look at everything again, dear, I'm sure you will find the inspiration you need. After all, breaking rocks to make roads and being marched out every day to lay railway lines in the middle of winter would ruin your fingernails. You'd hate that, wouldn't you?" 

Expelling an audible grunt, she strode purposefully toward the door but swung about sharply before departing. "I wish to have my father's work in book form, so by Friday I want to see the outline of an introductory chapter."

When she'd gone Willie collapsed in misery behind the desk. Doing has she demanded was impossible, but the consequences of not doing it were terrifying. How on earth was he to get out of this fix? 

He toyed with the idea of going home, but that wouldn't do either. His mother was a solid Party Member whose main pastime was denigrating those who weren't. If he went home she would despair of him and ensure he enlisted in the army at once, when the only thing he really wanted to do was appreciate art and read well written books, and perhaps one day write a book of his own.

He glanced scornfully at the piles of yellowing papers in front of him. His mother would say that here was his chance to write a book, but how could he make a book from a mass of such inconsistencies and faulty ideas?

It then occurred to him that perhaps he could do something. If he bent the professor's research and twisted the facts a little he may even come up with something that would satisfy his obsessive host. 

He carried the typewriter to the desk and stared at it for a while when he'd inserted some paper, then with a single first finger and his heart heavy with misgiving, he typed the first line.

***

Breakfast was never a thing to look forward to. Slices of bread, scraped over with beef dripping, when dripping was available, was all that was provided. It was a rule impossible to thwart since the lady of the house kept the kitchen larder locked until Frau Klausen arrived, and when the cook had gone she made a personal check of things inside before locking it again. Loti said, only half joking, that she knew every egg inside by number and every potato by name. 

Lunch was little better since Frau Klausen always provided house staff with food that was the cheapest in the town market. Hunger drove Willie Froehlich to eat as it drove everyone, but at Ravenskopf eating was rarely a pleasant experience.

Fraulein Dietz herself lunched with people every alternate day, but few of her guests had any allure. Most in fact reminded Willie Froehlich of the villains that inhabited Grimm's fairytales; a miscellany of witches, ogres and knaves.

One lunchtime he looked on enviously as a silver flat loaded with succulent looking breasts of poultry masked with rich red wine sauce was taken into the dining room, accompanied by a plate of obazdabrot oozing cream cheese and onions.

"Is she entertaining someone today." he asked.

"Yes, Otto Hahn." Rosalyn said. "Otto is her solicitor, and from the snatches of conversation I hear at times like these I have the impression he's a shifty character who's helping her to hang on at Ravenskopf, probably by using the kind of tricks and shady deals only legal minds can understand."

Mildly taken aback Willie expressed his surprise. "But he's a professional man, and professional men should have scruples. Do solicitors do shady deals?"

His innocence caused Rosalyn's mouth to crease with mirth. "Do dentists pull teeth? He gives the Fraulein's difficulties a great deal of attention, and in return she allows him some freedom with people here, if you know what I mean. He fancies himself as some sort of Don Juan with Loti and me."

Willie wrinkled his nose. "That's disgusting."

"No, that's life." Rosalyn replied fatalistically.

By that time Willie was beginning to understand that such arrangements were not unusual at Ravenskopf. As a reward for favours Fraulein Dietz often entered into a conspiracy, and following lunch she would allow her guests freedom to roam about the house and gardens and amuse themselves in whatever way they wished. And what they usually wished for was some time alone with one of the maids. Just two days previously he had noticed a fierce looking old man disappear into the disused part of the house with Rosalyn, reappearing sometime later smiling with contentment, with his white moustache plastered with red lipstick and the front of his trousers unbuttoned.

Willie was wary about being drawn into such cold affairs and always retreated to the library as quickly as he could. But following lunch that day he almost collided outside the kitchen door with Otto Hahn. He was about fifty years old with a fat face and black hair slicked back and plastered down with brilliantine. For several moments he was aware of the man's undressing stare, and his face wasn't a pleasant face. Somehow it seemed all mouth -- mouth and lips -- a big wet mouth and flabby lips, until he smiled, when it became predatory.

Otto Hahn at once became predatory. "Ah! You must be the new one called Willie. Fraulein Dietz mentioned she had fresh meat in her larder. I must make a point of taking lunch here more often in the future." 

Blushing with indignity Willie stared at him. "I doubt we are ever likely to dine together, Herr Hahn."

He leered, his teeth showing in a white line, like those of a rabid animal. To judge by the fixed, uncaring expression in his eyes he was incapable of warm affection and thrived on lust. "You miss my point, sweet poppet," he teased, "Not inexperienced, are you? Not exactly untouched by human hand, I vouch. The buttocks of a sweet tart such as you I would expect to find on the menu."

Willie shuddered with revulsion. Appalled at hearing the man's tittering laughter he could hardly bear to look at him. He felt intimidated, and to avoid further conversation he stepped back into the kitchen and then went through to the garden at the back where he almost collided with Günter.

"Willie, my love, I haven't seen you for a couple of days. Have you been in hiding?"

"No, I've just been busy. I only hide from people I dislike, and you aren't one of them."

The man swung a broad arm around his slender waist. "I've shown you the garden, now allow me to show you the rest of the house."

"I've been told it's in bad repair."

"Sadly, it's almost a ruin." Günter said.

When they walked along the rear elevation it was clear that Ravenskopf had once been a grand house, but impressive as it was Willie could see as they made their way along its exterior that there had never been any attempt to stun the visitor with an expansive stony courtyard as was the case at Versailles and Schonbrunn, instead a simple colonnade faced onto a small stream which framed a view across water to a great zone of resin-scented pinewoods on the far side.

Günter swung him about and walked him up a ramp. The unused part of the house was entered by a neoclassical portico, and a person with time to spare could enjoy taking the air beneath the eyes of long-suffering caryatids that supported its heavy entablature. 

Beyond a rococo decorated vestibule lay the magnificence of a central hall. The vast oval chamber, now devoid of furniture, was floored and walled with Carrara and green Prato marble of the most delicate vein and hue and Corinthian columns stretched up high into a central cupola. This area had obviously been commissioned by a person of exquisite taste long ago and was a room that would have been incredibly impressive in its prime. But now could be whiffed the smell of damp and decay. The walls were in a desperate state, the plaster blistered and brown stained with water spots, the grime laden marks speaking of rain seeping in from the roof over a number of years. The longer he stood in that vast hollow space the more it fitted with the idea of a forsaken cathedral or gigantic elaborately carved cave. 

It was dingy inside, and nervous of encountering spiders amid the gloomy shadows Willie felt along the wall for a light switch, found one, and found it didn't work.

"There are no electrics in this part of the house." said the man with him, gazing down at the youthful girlish form in his arms and pressed her against the wall. She was so fragile he feared he may bruise her. And yet even while that thought flitted through his mind, he drew her even closer, until he could feel the thundering of her heartbeat on his own chest. His hands were all over her, she was letting him touch and feel freely. He was licking her ears and biting her neck, and she was loving it.

Günter's dark, heavy lidded eyes glittered with excitement. He had waited long enough and he could wait no more. He was a man and he had to take her. He would give too, but then he would take her again. He would take her until she was full to the top with him. His fingers encountered the swell of her breast beneath the soft fabric of his blouse and he heard her quick little intake of breath. Instantly his touch gentled, and he moved to the small of her back, stroking, arousing, until he felt her begin to surrender. He was experienced. He could tell when a girl was ready for a good fucking, and this one was as ripe as any he'd ever known.

Willie felt Günter's hot, hard length rub his stomach and he wriggled against it seductively, a feminine ploy that seemed to have developed naturally of its own accord. It was shocking and primitive and exciting, but it made him long for more.

"The central hall must have been a lovely place in the past." he murmured.

"Ja," Günter said cynically, "But now it doesn't even make a good potting-shed." He tugged his arm. "Come with me."

Willie followed him without a murmur. He was curious to discover what this man, who was capable of unsettling him with a mere glance, had yet to show him.

They went towards a battered wooden door with an iron ring for a handle. But it provided no exit; instead it led into a smaller, high-ceilinged salon with a frieze of an old-time hunting scene incorporating bears and deer. A little milky light seeped into the room through small windows high on the wall, and in a dim haze the armoire, some overstuffed worn chairs and a chaise lounge bulked like enormous dozing animals themselves. 

Willie turned to him wide-eyed. "Why are we here? What are you going to do?"

Günter chuckled. "Fraulein Dietz allows her guests to use this place as a play-room. It's a good place for a girl to stretch her legs wide and there is no reason why we can't use it too." He winked. "Do you understand what I mean?"

Willie did understand, but before either of them could make any move to play they heard footsteps approaching on the outside.

"Just our bad luck," bemoaned Günter, "That gruesome lawyer as decided to use the same room today. Get down the other end, screened behind the cupboards and other junk there we'll be able to see everything without being seen ourselves."

Mystified, Willie again followed his man friend. They scuttled to the far end of the room where a motley of disused things had been stored, and there they secreted themselves in the darkness between old cupboards, coils of rope and piles of worn out carpets. Behind him he noticed expensive furniture, now outmoded, and artwork similarly out of style -- some graphics and a lot of abstract stuff.

Within seconds there was a noise at the door, and they both shrank back into the shadows as two people appeared. Otto Hahn was followed by Loti, and Loti was the star of his own show that day; hair pulled softly back, begonia lipstick perfectly in place, still wearing his housemaid dress but looking... just lovely.

Willie gave Günter an urgent glance. "Why are we staying here?" he hissed softly.

The man put a finger to his lips. "Keep quiet and you'll see." he whispered back, "I told you it's a play-room."

"I don't want to watch other people."

"It's only a bit of fun. Crouch down or Otto may see us, and if he sees us he'll throw us out."

At the other end of the room Loti had swung about and was now pressing himself against his own man's obese figure. "You've been keeping me waiting, Herr Hahn." he said, his voice husky and believably feminine.

"You know I always wait until I've had my lunch." the man replied.

"Why is that?"

"It is important to show civility to one's host before pursuing ones own diversions, and anyway, I can never spank a girl on an empty stomach. Not even a girl such as you."

Loti tilted his chin. With the lines of his throat ironed out by that attitude, it was one of his best poses. "You really are cruel and heartless." he said with a weary sigh. Loti stepped forward in his perilously high heels and did a deliberate pirouette in front of the man, fawning before him for his pleasure. Willy felt the tightness of revulsion in his stomach at such a shameless come-on. "How would you like my bottom?" asked Loti.




Willie's War Ch. 02



"Bare, of course."

"I know that," Loti told him, wiggling a pair of lace panties down over his legs, "but do I bend over or do you want me across your knee?"

"You are so forgetful." Otto Hahn retorted as he reached out and took hold of a neat little ear and led Loti over to the armchair. "I smacked you over the chair arm last time I was here, so today it's across my lap." 

Placing himself firmly on a seat a mildly protesting Loti was helped to bend over his lap. Immediately he grasped Loti's skirt at the back and pulled it up over a pair of tense and slightly quivering buttocks. The black fabric complimented the exposed white skin perfectly, and its uplift allowed him to contemplate the smooth white curves at leisure. 

Loti's was at his disposal, poised gracefully over his lap with his bare bottom sticking up beautifully. Suddenly Otto seemed to remember that touching was better than looking and he reached out and stroked the warm, satiny skin. Having enjoyed a prolonged and intimate feel, he rested his hand in the small of the maids back, patted the nearest cheek to get the aim right, then raised his hand and delivered two resounding smacks, one to each buttock.

Loti squeaked and kicked a little, and with an expression of relish the man watched the springy quiver of flesh settle and a pair of pink patches blossom.

"Oh yes. So nice and colourful, and so quickly too."

Willie drew back against an old cupboard, wishing he could melt into its panelling. Feeling a sense of irritation he arched his brows and glanced once more at Günter. What was he trying to do? Was watching other people a way Günter found stimulation? Maybe he believed the person with him would be stimulated by it too.

"Aren't you going to put on some lights?" asked Loti.

Otto Hahn tutted. "You know very well the electrics in here have been cut off, but there is enough light for what we need. I wish to keep you in shadow today. Today I wish to concentrate on the sensation of touching you, feeling you, penetrating you. I find a little darkness quite exciting."

Loti writhed slightly in an alluring manner. "It's not because I'm ugly, is it?"

Otto tutted. "I don't smack ugly girls, you know that. My hand is reserved for the most outstanding and vivacious anatomy. You look like a film-star."

Loti giggled. "I've heard that line before. Am I Garbo or Rogers?

"Neither of those," the man replied. "You're more compelling than Garbo, and your body is far more voluptuous than Ginger Roger's boyish looks. You're Marlene Dietrich by no stretch of the imagination, a German beauty to the tips of your effeminate tits." 

As he spoke he landed two more brisk smacks on Loti's bare rump before beginning to undress him, unbuttoning his dress at the back and peeling it down. Loti was wearing a girdle beneath with suspender straps to hold up his stockings, and Otto was quite content to leave them in place.

"I wish we could have a light on." Loti said.

"Don't be silly, Loti." Otto said calmly, "You've been in this room before. There's nothing to hurt you here."

"Only you." Loti replied, reaching behind to stroke his red blotched bottom.

"That! Oh, that. I do that for you as well as myself. It's not punishment, its sex play. I know you respond to a little bit of smacking. It warms you up and makes you frisky." 

Loti climbed from the man's lap and lounged back of the bulky sofa until its softness enveloped him in its cushioned embrace. His head was resting against the dark green velvet upholstery. Half crushed into a corner his long legs splayed indolently, which allowed his excited penis to swing up and flop onto the girdle that covered his belly. "Like this?" he asked.

Without speaking another word the man peeled off his jacket and unfastened the front of his trousers. Even at the other end of the room Willie could hear his breathing, heavy and hoarse, as he levered out his penis and leaned over Loti.

He stole a sideways look at Günter again. His face was turned a little away from him, offering a perfect view of his profile, with his eyes staring fixedly at the other people in the room, and it was clear that the gardener's imagination was running riot. He was a voyeur who found enjoyment in watching others perform. Willie at least had the grace to flush, the colour deepening beneath the blush of rouge on his cheeks, but with regret he found he was excited by what was happening.

If what had gone before had painted a picture of Loti being some kind of victim what transpired next altered everything. Loti's smile seemed lazily indulgent but he was no less harmless than a sleeping tiger. Quite unshaken by what had gone before the she-male arched his back to show his tiny waist to perfection, but more than anything else it was his face drew the solicitor on. Loti put his hands on the small of the man's back and the man fondling Loti's breasts. Loti's tongue appeared to moisten his lips, then he turned his lips upwards and their mouths fused together. 

Slithering like a snake Loti turned over and raised himself up on his knees, then he slumped forward on his elbows and raised his bottom, waiting in that pose until strong hands parted his sexy-smooth mounds. "Come on, lover-boy." he urged, "You know I like it strong and hard."

"You minx!" Otto groaned as he shunted his thighs against willing buttocks and strived to go deep.

The man and Loti were soon locked together in a ferocious coupling of a kind that made Willie's senses swim. Otto was driving his thighs forward with all his strength, and Loti was responding with undulating and curvaceous movements as fluid and fast as his partner. His head was thrown back; tresses of hair falling away from the nape of his neck, and with his mouth open in a cry of wonderment, his facial expressions were that of unashamed primitive lust.

Willie listened to the sounds of animal rutting as a mixture of pleasure and need engulfing himself. Otto's strangled exultant grunts, Loti's strident girlish sobs, the urgent thumping of bodies on the furniture, they all combined to create a soundtrack of utter debauchery. 

By the time Otto Hahn and Loti had finished and departed through the door Willie was as ripe as a plum for what must follow. He wanted the gardener to take him at once, masterfully and fulsomely, just as Loti had been taken.

Günter seemed to know that. He gave him a roguish smile that started his heart tumbling, and then slowly, lazily, he kissed his nose before following the slope of his cheek to his lips. Willie's mouth moved beneath his, opening for him as their tongues met and tangled.

Günter's fingers were strong and sure as he reached for the buttons on the front of his blouse, undoing them and drawing the garment wide, before slipping his hands around behind to unfasten the bra. "I want you. I want to taste every inch of you." he muttered with his voice thickening. 

He fumbled and struggled with the clasp of the bra, and Willie had to undo it for him. Günter then pressed his fingers into the tender flesh of his breasts. In the gloom of their private hideaway he wasn't put off by their small size and began lifting and kneading and drawing them out, while his mouth clamped to Willie's throat and Willie moaned and arched his neck, inviting his touch. The man's mouth dropped lower to close over a nipple, first one then the other. They were already erect and he delighted in kissing them in turn, rolling his tongue lazily around the aureoles and suckling each tight little peak, making them swell and extend even more. 

Eventually, as was inevitable, a hand slipped up Willie's skirt to caress his thighs and make him burn with desire. A low moan shuddered from between his lips. He could tell Günter was rampant and ready, and he was ready too, ready to accept the firmness of his adoration, ready to enjoy his muscular thighs and his bliss giving thrusts.

But then the gardener suddenly pulled back his hand in horror. "Gott und Himmel! You've got a prick."

Willie glanced up at him with a stricken look. "But, I thought you knew."

"I know about Rosalyn and Loti, but that aunt of mine is having a good laugh at my expense with you. She told me that the Fraulein had brought in a real girl to do her office work. You don't for a moment think I go around chasing faggots, do you?"

Willie's lips became a thin line. He meditated in silence for a moment, then said: "I thought you liked me for myself, whatever I was."

Günter gave him a jaundiced look as he backed away. "That's out of the question now. I could get into trouble by associating with a pervert cross-dresser, and I'm not going to risk ruining my reputation with the real girls in this world by being friendly with a hung hen, either."

As he spoke he was already on his feet, buttoning up his trousers and brushing past on his way to the door.

***

"This won't do." Fraulein Dietz remarked frostily. The woman cut an elegant figure that day. Her pleated skirt of soft blue wool emphasised the slim lines of her figure and the pearls that circled her throat were a family heirloom, and consequently valuable. She looked at ease in her surroundings, fashionable, but not flashy, refined, but not understated. 

She was standing by the window to benefit from good daylight whilst reading one of the pages Willie had typed up, and her finger tapped the paper disparagingly. "The statistics of head-measurements and facial features for blacks and Asians seem right enough but the conclusions you've drawn from them are too vague. People are not interested in reading about likelihoods these days, they demand certainties."

With shoulders hunched and chin on his chest Willie began a meek protest. "But Professor Dietz seemed to think..." 

"There was nothing uncertain about my father," she snapped coldly, quickly bullying him to a standstill, while simultaneously skimming the paper towards him, "Do it again, and this time be more positive."

Willie couldn't hide his anxiety, his long lashes drooped over eyes that revealed uncertainty and his shoulders slumped. She read through his work every day and threw pieces of paper and the same kind of remarks at him constantly. What had begun for him as a crafty exercise in rounding things up and tidying the ragged ends of the professors various assumptions had been forced to develop beyond reason. 

"Fraulein Dietz, perhaps I'm not the best person for doing what you want. Perhaps you should find someone else to finish this work."

The woman's face took on a look of thunder. "Stand up! Stand up straight, you stupid fairy."

Willie pushed himself up at once, and there was no doubt from his hang-dog look that the serious nature of things had struck home.

"It is not your place to offer suggestions to me." The woman glared at him and a certain trace of waspishness entered her tones. "If I didn't think you could do it I would have employed you as a scullery-maid from the start. I find nothing wrong with most of what you do, in fact you are quite competent and have a rather nice way of putting words together in pleasing phraseology. It's just your dedication I question. You really must stir up some enthusiasm for what I demand. If you don't I shall have to begin rapping your knuckles with a wooden spoon as I do with the other lazy, effeminate wretches here. And if that as no effect I'll start smacking your balls." She paused and then added caustically. "Am I making myself clear, Wilhelm Froehlich?" 

"Yes, Fraulein Dietz." he replied, nodding. She was using his proper name, rolling it out slowly and conspicuously to emphasis the power she had over him, reminding him that his safe sanctuary at Ravenskopf could only be had on her terms.

The woman strode towards the door, then almost as an afterthought she paused and turned. "I'm holding a small dinner-party at the week-end and I shall want you to attend."

Willie looked up, astounded. "Me -- attend your dinner-party?"

"Yes. Professor Pohl from Berlin will be one of the guests. He's an old acquaintance of my father's and may ask about his final work. Since you are the only person who as read it in its entirety it makes sense for you to be there. Make certain you look sweet and feminine on the occasion. I don't want anyone referring to you as the bearded she-male."

When she'd gone he sat down again and tried to sort things out in his head. He was being compelled to surrender his own integrity and independence of judgement, that was certain; Fraulein Dietz was demanding that quite consciously and inexorably. So determined was she to have her father's work accepted as a success he had found it necessary to add entire tracts of make-believe to it out of his own head. But even that wasn't considered enough for her. He had been prepared to cheat a good deal to remain in her favour, but the whole thing was getting out of hand.

Like a worm contemplating an apple he paused until the worm began to burrow. The solution was blindingly obvious in the end. He had the skill to make even the heap of rubbish in front of him sound plausible, so he would do that. He would extend doubtful concepts into logical argument and even invent substantiating evidence if it were needed. 

There were whole rows of books in the library that could help him, everything from Darwin's 'Origin of Species' to an Everyman's 'Guide to the Artificial Insemination of Cows'. With their help he would convert foolish ideas into the kind of irrefutable certainties that were sure to please Fraulein Dietz. 

Sitting up straight, his confidence began to blossom. Yes. He would produce a suit made to measure. A fairy story designed to please. 

***

He worked tirelessly for the following two days, the library completely silent but for the incessant clatter of the typewriter. There was only one notable incident. On a rainy Friday afternoon his attention was drawn to a tapping at the casement window, and he peered round to see Günter standing outside owning a smile that was speculative and subtly ingratiating.

Disenchantment showed on Willie's face as he opened the window. "What do you want?"

Günter hesitated for a moment, his mouth taking on a vaguely sardonic twist. "I can tell you're still annoyed with me for what happened the other day, and you've every right to be. I was pretty much a disappointment to you."

Willie scowled. "So?" he said scornfully.

"So, I'd like to make up with you. You know, make a new start."

"What about your reputation with real girls?"

The gardener shrugged. "Girls are pretty scarce in my life at the moment, and I'm feeling horny enough to want to try out a hot-arsed queen. It's a bit of a step back for me, but I know you'll be grateful. O'course we'd have to keep it a secret. I wouldn't want anyone else to know I go with faggots."

Momentarily stunned by surprise Willie stood back. The audacity of the brute - attempting to seduce him with such clumsy words after what had happened earlier - and to satisfy nothing but his own selfish needs. 

He'd been told as a child that when in danger of losing his temper he should count to ten, so he counted in his head, then said flatly: "Fuck off." and closed the window.



Willie's War Ch. 03



As the weekend approached Willie Froehlich began to have apprehensive feelings about sitting down to dinner with Fraulein Dietz and her friends. She seemed to associate with some of the most ugly and uninteresting people in the world and he could predict that none of them would care a dot about reading good books or be interested in art. 

It seemed doomed to be a dismal affair until he heard laughter outside in the hall. It was the first Willie knew of Fraulein Dietz's brother spending the weekend at home, and when he opened the library door a crack to have a peep at his arrival a spider tickle crawled down the back of his neck. 

Eduard had bustled through the door of the house without any prior warning even to his sister, and his laugh was infectious, it was a laugh that was rich and warm and brought a grin to the face of everyone in hearing. In his Luftwaffe uniform with his visor-cap tipped jauntily to the side of his head he exuded vitality. 

Fraulein Dietz greeted him with gentle annoyance for not giving her notice of his intention, but her reprimands fell away from him like water off a ducks back.

Now the prospect of dinner didn't seem so daunting. Eduard would be there, so at least there would be someone nice to look at. And at least Eduard knew what he was, so there would be no mistakes and no misunderstandings as there had been with Günter.

Excitement bubbled inside him. While he bathed and dressed that evening he hummed a little tune. Eagerness to share the same dinner table as Eduard made him feel flushed all over. He looked at himself in the mirror; too much lipstick he thought, and wiped it off with a handkerchief. Five minutes later it was the way he wanted. 

He applied blush and mascara lightly, stepping back to study himself as he pinned up his hair the way Loti had taught him, and fixed it with a black velvet band. Everyone said it suited him that way. 

From the wardrobe he selected a plain, black silk dress, backless, figure-hugging and sleeveless with a deep V in the front. The skirt draped below his knees in sinuous folds and stretched over the rounded contours of his body to make him feel like a rather sexy vamp. The style precluded the wearing of a brassier, and his breasts were nowhere near as pronounced as Rosalyn's or Loti's, but he fancied they did have a nice girlish jut to them. The boys in Heidelberg had always said they did, anyway.

Rummaging around for accessories he found a pair of gaudy gold-coloured earrings and a dinky black velvet choker that complimented his dress and the hair band, and which also added a beguiling facet to his slender white neck.

When all was done he leaned on the dressing table and studied his face again in the small mirror. He pushed back a stray strand of hair that had fallen over his forehead, turned his head on one side and smiled at himself as he stuck out a vampish tongue. Move over Ginger Rogers, he thought.

Downstairs in the dining area the scene was one of intimacy and richness. It was an elegant place, its beige walls hung with panels of moiré silk, the carpets with their distinctive design, brought many years ago from the Caucasus. Candles flickered on an immaculately set table, lanterns illuminated the terrace outside and the balmy summer air wafting through the open windows was scented with jasmine. 

The ambiance was almost that of a family gathering in which he felt oddly out of place. There were five people taking drinks on the terrace; Otto Hahn the solicitor, Eduard and Hermann Strasser in their uniforms, and the academic from Berlin, Professor Pohl. And Celina Dietz of course, who was magnificently sheathed in a glittering emerald evening gown of metallic lame which was probably a Madeleine Vionnet creation. 

Even when aware of his arrival there was a tendency for most of them there to ignore him. Only Eduard made any effort. He gave a friendly wave as if greeting an old school friend and Willie's heart gave a little flutter as he then walked over to him. "You look enchanting this evening Willy. What would you like to drink?"

Willie wasn't very good with drink and had rarely ventured beyond an occasional glass of beer. Unfortunately he sensed that beer was out of the question in that place on that night. "Um, er. Perhaps a sherry."

"Dry or sweet?"

"Oh, um. Sweet I think."

"Of course. And in a big glass with ice. It makes an excellent aperitif with ice."

"Lovely." Willie agreed, not knowing if it would be lovely or not.

Eduard went to the side of the room and returned baring a goblet of dark liquid that tinkled with ice cubes. "Thank you." said Willie accepting the drink, "You're being very kind, but I don't wish you to neglect your sister's other guests."

The man's mouth curled up in cynical amusement and he replied in a soft, low voice. "Look at the choice Celina has given me; the professor, Herr Strasser and Otto Hahn. An egghead, a thug and a solicitor with the moral values of a second-hand car dealer. You are the only nice person here tonight. How are you doing with all that reading?"

Willie peeped up at his elegant features, feeling as giddy as the young girl he had never been. "I've done with the reading. I've made a start on typing it up."

When they sat down at the table he thought Eduard looked the dashing hero in his air force uniform. Professor Pohl should have been resplendent in his white tuxedo, but he seemed to care little about his appearance. He was thin and wiry and wore heavy framed glasses, a man in his late fifties who didn't seem to care that his dinner jacket was unbuttoned and flapped open and how his bow tie was tied inelegantly loose. During the meal that followed he sat with his chin cupped in his hands, elbows on the table, between each course of food.

For the first part of dinner the conversation centred on trivia. The food was delicious. Fraulein Dietz had persuaded Frau Klausen to provide an evening meal instead of a midday lunch that day, and she had excelled herself. A delicious home-made soup to start followed by veal escallops, and with a mouth-watering fruit sponge to finish. 

Otto Hahn glanced sideways with some amusement as he observed Willie tucking into the schnitzel on his plate with obvious relish. "Your cook should be complimented, Celina. The food is clearly much appreciated. Few other people in Germany will have dined as well as we do this evening."

Celina Dietz reciprocated with a dignified smile. "Other people -- oh, I'm in my let-them-eat-cake mood tonight." she replied lightly.

"Veal is one of my sister's favoured dishes." Eduard put in. "I prefer well hung fowl myself."

"Pheasant hunting," Otto said, "Is it still good around here?"

"Never better. All kind of game. The woods about here are a great joy."

Eduard's sister smiled dreamily. "Not like the shoots in the old days though -- all the people that used to come here when I was a girl -- the parties, the picnics, the good times. Ravenskopf was always full of guests then, often fifteen, twenty all at once."

Rosalyn and Loti were waiting-on-table, and from the slightly startled expression that erupted on Rosalyn's face each time he cleared crockery from before Hermann Strasser it was clear the man was relishing the opportunity to caress the seat of his skirt with his broad hand whenever he could.

Willie found himself sipping wine nervously, his throat a little dry; it had something to do with the way Herr Hahn kept looking at him. It was disconcerting. It was as if he were devouring him with his eyes. Every now and again the solicitor smiled at him and for a brief moment touched his silk-clad knee.

When the meal was over the men lit cigars and sat back in their chairs. "I've noticed you decorate this fine old house in a traditional Teutonic style, Fraulein Dietz," remarked the professor, "You haven't yet been seduced by the trend for Art Deco."

Celina hesitated, loathed to admit she couldn't afford to buy modern works of art even if she wished to, but Hermann Strasser saved her the trouble of a reply. "Art Deco!" He spat the words out. "Art Decadent more like." he snarled.

Stirred by a subject close to his heart Willie spoke for the first time at the table. "Don't you think some of it is quite adventurous and rather exciting?"

The SS man gave him a disenchanted stare. "The Fuehrer despises all that distorted, modern abstract rubbish, and if he despises it so should we all." He turned to his host. "You spoke earlier of the good times, Fraulein Dietz, and I believe the good times are about to return. We have in Adolph Hitler a guide of the first magnitude in everything. I think everyone here will agree with that."

Celina smiled. "You speak of the Fuehrer as if he were a holy man."

"Perhaps he'd not holy, but there are many who label him as the 'New Messiah' and worship him without reservation. After the dismal years of the 1920s -- the crippling war reparations imposed on us, the stripping away of our overseas colonies, the destruction of our economy -- it is he more than anyone else who as given Germany back its self-respect. His decision to reintroduce compulsory military service for young men in defiance of the Great Powers I consider a master-stroke. It at once took the sharp edge off unemployment figures, while the need to equip an enlarged army as given German industry exactly the kind of fillip it required to rise up from its own ashes. "

"He as given us an air force too," Otto Hahn said pointedly to Eduard. "The Luftwaffe now has the most formidable air fleet in the world. Other nation's sit-up and take notice of us now. Being militarily strong accommodated the Anschluss with Austria and won us back the Rhineland. I don't doubt it will also solve the Polish problem."

Celina sighed. "I don't think most people wish for another war. They still remember the terrible cost of the last one."

Hermann Strasser offered a severe look. "Such people are selfish and are not good Germans. The Fuehrer thinks only of the welfare and betterment of the nation, and if necessary he will drag such faint-hearted fairies kicking and screaming into the glorious future he plans by the scruff of their miserable necks."

Testing for a diverse point of view Celina looked to the other side of the table. "You circulate in Berlin society, Professor Pohl. What is everyone saying? Will there be a war?"

The professor shrugged. "Speculation is rife. Herr Hitler as resolved to reunite all German speaking peoples in a Greater Reich. Everyone as their own theory and mine is that the Fuehrer must go further than that and move against Poland. It is the only way to provide Lebensraum -- space for the German nation to expand. Poland can provide a great deal of space. Afterwards other places may also be useful, but first and foremost we must have Poland. 

Hermann nodded agreement. "The security and standing of any country is determined by the size of territory it possesses."

"Very true." Otto said, taking another swig of brandy.

"But Poland as a population of its own." put in Willie rather timorously.

Hermann's dark heavy-lidded eyes glittered with passion as he looked around the table. His expression was one of stone, his face an effigy that wouldn't have looked out of place on Easter Island. "Only beast-like Slavs live there, and Herr Hitler has a profound hatred for them. The Slavs are remnants of the pagan Huns that pillaged Europe centuries ago and most of them will be removed. Those that are left we can use much like the ancient Spartans used the Helots. In the New Reich we shall probably need slaves to till the soil and provide labour for industry whilst the legions of our own vigorous Aryan warriors protect the State."

Professor Pohl sparkled with interest and resting both elbows on the table linked his fingers together. "Ah yes, the Aryan's. A fascinating subject and one that follows the line set down in Mein Kampf. 'Man is a fighting animal and the fighting capacity of a race is determined by its purity'."

Otto Hahn drained his brandy glass and pouted thoughtfully. "I take it you support the theory that the Aryan or Nordic high-browed people are destined to rule over the more primitive low-browed races."

"Yes, it's a much debated, but widely held belief that all true German's originate from that mysterious and superior species of people, and any governing race would of course be under German leadership. Vacher de Lapouge made a very good case for it in his 'L'Aryen'. In some mythologies they are believed to have founded the ancient civilisation of Atlantis. But of course that society was destroyed by a great cataclysm long ago and now no one knows where it lay."

Willie hiccupped and wobbled slightly in his chair. He had consumed a large sherry and two tall glasses of sparkling sekt when even a small glass of beer usually made him feel whoosey, but that night the fortification loosened his inhibitions and encouraged him to speak out. "Professor Dietz believed that Atlantis was a large island in the Baltic."

Pohl gasped in amazement. Eduard chuckled. 

"Willie is collating my father's notes with the aim of putting together a book for me." explained Fraulein Dietz. She had planned to introduce Willie's involvement with her father's work at a time of her own choosing, and a look of severity crossed her face now showing her concern in case her guests should feel embarrassed at the interruption.

Hermann Strasser just looked puzzled. "It would seem incredible. Can it be proven? I mean, that the site of that fabled lost continent is in the chilly Baltic?"

Most of what circulated in Willie's head was a mixture of an effete man's demented ramblings and his own imagination, linked together by what other people had written in their own books. That was exactly the kind of things he was typing out to please Frauline Dietz, and it would probably have been best not to say too much about it. But the ability for conversation, almost dormant since he had sat down, was now revived, and once started he was unable to prevent himself continuing with gusto. 

"There is evidence that antelope, elephants and crocodiles once lived in Europe, so the entire region must have been sub-tropical at one time. Ancient Greek tradition as it that Atlantis lay beyond the Pillars of Hercules -- a reference to the Straits of Gibraltar - but that only means it wasn't in the Mediterranean. It could be anywhere else. Professor Dietz studied everything very carefully, and he was sure that a large stretch of land existed once in the waters to the north of Pomerania. He was certain that a magnificent civilisation once thrived there, and he was convinced it could only have been Atlantis."

At the foot of the table Eduard cradled a brandy balloon with both hands and offered his warmest smile. For him the conversation had taken an opaque turn, and had now become incoherent. "Is any of this credible to the scientific mind, Herr Pohl?" he asked.

Pohl paused to examine the glowing end of his cigar, pale blue eyes myopic behind thick spectacles. "It makes perfect sense and I'm sure the Fuehrer would agree. He is convinced that every manifestation of human culture, every product of art, science and technical skill that we benefit from today is the product of Aryan creative power.

"My friend, the eminent Professor Rosenberg as long maintained that the Nordic people evolved in a legendary, now-lost land mass in north-western Europe. The Greek, Pytheas, called it Thule, but such a place could easily equate with Atlantis. Most of the leadership of the Nazi Party, including Himmler, are members of the Thule-Gesellscaft -- the Thule Society, who believe our Aryan past is closely linked to the antediluvian world beyond the dawn of recorded history." 

His gaze suddenly rose up and settled keenly on Willie. "If Atlantis produced the Aryan race it would obviously be close to Germany. And if dear Professor Dietz can present proof to qualify such a theory his work will be precisely the kind of academic study so many important people are yearning for. Can he do that? Can he provide proof?"

Willie sensed Fraulein Dietz's eyes glaring hard in his direction, almost demanding an affirmative answer. She was smiling but it was the kind of smile that cautioned him against smiling in return. He hid his anxiety, his long lashes drooping over eyes that might have revealed uncertainty. "Erm, oh yes. I'm sure he can." he said.

Throughout the entire evening Otto Hahn had been acutely aware of the smart little morsel seated next to him. He'd admired Willie's girlish profile in the flickering candlelight, noting how elegantly his hair was pinned back except for a few corkscrew tresses that had prised themselves loose to drift about his face and neck. "You're a saucy madam and no mistake. You spoke up very bravely just now." he murmured. 

When the little porcelain princess gave him a watery smile he decided it was time to try for something else, and Willie's attention was suddenly diverted once more by the man's straying hand, which this time moved from his knee to grope beneath his skirt in an attempt to run lecherous fingers along his inner thigh. 

Willie dug his nails dig into the palms of his hands as he swivelled sideways to shake off the lecherous intrusion, but suspected the man wouldn't desist until he made a scene that was certain to bring on Fraulein Dietz's displeasure, which was certain to be displeasure at his own behaviour rather than that of the debauched solicitor.

The tortured expression of discomfort on his face was soon noticed by Eduard, who pushed himself to his feet. "Excuse me everyone, but I need to get outside and take a breath of fresh air." Turning his eyes sideways he added. "Perhaps Willie would like to join me."

"Oh yes. I'd like that." Willie exclaimed pushing back his chair.

Eduard's boots scraped on the paving has he strode onto the terrace. "I hope you don't think I'm taking advantage of you by requesting your company."

"Not at all. I'm only grateful to get away from the table. I was beginning to feel trapped."

"I understand. Some of my sister's acquaintances are not gentlemen."

He received back a trusting look that made his insides tighten. "You're a gentleman, Eduard. I think you probably lark around a lot with your friends, but I sense you are very right and proper about things that really matter."

Eduard nodded solemnly. "I'd feel upset if we beat the Poles in a war and didn't treat them right afterwards. In the past the Reichwehr as always been honourable in its fights, and I resent the likes of Herr Strasser wishing to poison that tradition."

The evening air was warm and sweetly perfumed by the garden and he at once invited Willie to descend from the terrace and take a stroll among the shrubs and stands of flowers. They walked side by side for a while, careful not to touch.

"At the moment my airgruppe is converting from Stuka dive-bombers to the new Messerschmitt fighters. Superb machines. The best in the world. If trouble does come they will prove a real war winner."

"'War is sweet -- to them that know it not.'" replied Willie solemnly. "The philosopher Erasmus wrote those words five hundred years ago, and they are as true today as they were then. I wish everyone would stop talking about war."

Eduard treated him to a slow smile. "I dare say you do. You are a gentle creature, Willie, but unfortunately we are living through times that require forceful measures. The Great Powers suffered political blindness following their success in 1918. In a move to punish our country and keep it weak they granted Poland access to the port of Danzig on the Baltic coast by way of a wide strip of land that cuts through German territory."

"I've heard of it. It's referred to as the Polish Corridor."

"Yes. It separates East Prussia from the rest of Germany; a nonsense you will agree, to split a country into two pieces like that. And it's not just the Corridor either. The Poles have never ceased in their claims to the greater part of Silesia, a province that as been German since the time of Frederick the Great. "This book my sister insists you write -- my fathers concepts -- it's all silliness of course."




Willie's War Ch. 03



Willie gave him a sheepish look. "Herr Professor Pohl was enthusiastic. He seemed to accept it immediately."

Eduard scuffed the toe of his boot against the gravel path. "My father was ill prior to his death and probably deranged, moreover he was consumed by a fanatical desire to please Hitler, just like so many others these days. The eminent professor from Berlin is a perfect example. He is willing to sacrifice his professional commonsense and believe anything that fits in with the notion of a master race, no matter how absurd it may be, while the Fuehrer himself is influenced by Himmler's fascination with mumbo-jumbo." 

He sighed. "The Thule Society indeed. 'The fault dear Brutus, is not in our stars but in ourselves.'"

Willie grinned. "You surprise me. You're quoting William Shakespeare."

Eduard smiled. "I'm not a complete warmonger. I have been educated, Willie. And just for the record, I rather like Art Deco."

They passed through the small formal garden and followed the curve of a gravel path into open parkland. "I used to take an interest in weeding and pruning when I was young." Eduard said. And he proceeded to confound Willie by explaining to him the various problems encountered in growing greenhouse tomatoes with all the smoothness of an expert. 

It was not yet fully dark and the open ground smelled heavily, deliciously of sweet grass. The distance from the house incited a relaxed mood and an atmosphere that was erotic embraced the air force officer. It was persuasive, seducing all his senses. The good food and wine he had consumed and now the flower-perfumed air and the soft lantern light had combined to give the illusion of a wonderland where he found himself lost in admiration of Willie's unsettling appearance. He drew to a halt and raised a broad finger to stroke beneath Willie's chin and lift his face. "Are you familiar with Shakespeare's Sonnet 18?"

Willie's pulse galloped. "Um, er. Yes, I think so."

Eduard placed a hand on each side of his face and looked deep into his eyes. "Doesn't it begin with something like: 'Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate...'?" he murmured. 

He was looking intensely at Willie as he said it, heated eyes lingering on his face, and Willie immediately turned to mush. "Yes, it does... Herr Dietz, I -- I ..."

"Let slip the formality. You must call me Eduard. In the past I have never approved of my sister's interests and I've certainly never indulged in what she offers. But you are different to the others she keeps here. More delicate. More feminine. More beautiful."

Eduard inhaled deeply, chest expanding as he tried to retain control of his emotions and his body. It was one thing to have a soft spot for this winsome youth dressed in women's clothing, but quite another to feel sexual longing for him. It was forbidden, immoral, and it was unnatural to be attracted to someone such as Willie, he tried to remind himself. It was perverted. It mustn't escalate further. It did no good; his thoughts remained syrupy and dim from a heady rush of sensation. 

Willie watched keenly as his handsome face hovered in front of his own, and their eyes locked. He watched fascinated as his mouth came closer. Eduard was going to kiss him, he just knew it. His small breasts ached and the teats of his nipples stood out. And then his eyes somehow closed all by themselves and their mouths were linked, and he was dying of love.

Leaning over, Eduard's mouth went down on Willie's, and in response Willie readily opened his lips. The moment Eduard's tongue touched his own he trembled and his knees turned to jelly, his heart lurched and every molecule of his body reacted to mould against the fabric of his uniform. He clung to him, softness against hardness, a perfect fit, a fit to heighten desire. His arms looped around Eduard's neck, his fingers coiled in his silky hair. He smelled so good, he thought, a mingling of shaving cream, body heat and musky male odour. It made him weak with longings he didn't know how to avoid. He only knew his breasts were hard where they crushed against his muscular manly chest and he could feel an aching sensation lower down.

Indulging, savouring, Eduard's hands became clamped behind Willie's back, but after just a few moments they began shifting, moving, running over his bottom and around his waist. Willie felt a thumb stroke over his hipbone and then across his stomach, then the hand cruised higher, over his ribcage and up to his chest to push aside the flimsiness of his dress at the front and unfurl the ribbon of sensation that linked his upper body with his groin.

"Mmm." The hands continued moving. Eduard's palms pressed forward and big, manly hands were on his bare skin, pumping, caressing and lifting his miniscule breasts. Willie felt like he was melting, but despite that he was all too aware of the man's mouth and hands, his broad shoulders, his hard body -- and his hard...

Abruptly Eduard's shoulders flexed as the weight of the situation settled in his mind and with a muffled oath he eased himself away. "I don't think we can go any further with this." he murmured with a wry grimace.

Willie caught his lower lip between his teeth. "Really?" he murmured chokily, "So, what happens now?"

"You're sweet both in mind and body, so we can be friends. But friends are all we can ever be." 

Willie's hands fell to his sides and his eyes mirrored his disappointment, but he simply shrugged and adopted a casual manner he was far from feeling. He had surrendered to the handsome Luftwaffe officer; he had put aside his shyness and reserve and had been prepared to be ravished by him, only to be cast aside at the final moment. Another mistake, exactly as it had been with Günter.

Eduard's apology had been sincere, he knew that. But that didn't compensate for what may have been. Chastened by his rejection they walked back to the house in silence, and just before they arrived on the terrace the anger that comes with rejection overcame him and he stormed off ahead.

When he entered the dining-room Celina, Herr Strasser and Professor Pohl were standing up taking coffee and talking while Loti and Rosalyn scurried back and forth clearing the table.

Almost at once he felt an arm slip possessively around his waist. "Nice," said a voice that accompanied a hand appreciatively running up and down the skimpy fabric of his dress. "I can't imagine what Celina is thinking of, letting you off the leash to roam around with Eduard. That boy doesn't appreciate people like you the way I do."

Willie's gold-coloured earrings clinked as he swung round with a start. Otto Hahn was standing beside him and at once he noticed the forward drop of the man's head, the eyes, bloodshot from the amount of alcohol he had consumed, and the large salivating mouth with its leering grin.

"He's clearly finished with you, so perhaps you would take a turn in the garden with me next." the man remarked, "Sexy little fruitcakes such as you will be well used to spreading their buns for more than one man in an evening I would think."

Willie tried to move away but the man's arm held him firmly in place. "I'm not a slut, Herr Hahn" he protested.

Unimpressed the solicitor's hand moved up from the small of his back, sliding against bare skin to probe the line of his spine. "People like you can't afford to be choosey, sweetheart." he replied thickly, burying his face in the hollow of his neck. "In this place you will be reasonably safe as long as you behave yourself, but if you're compelled to join the army you'll be the regimental bike -- everybody will ride you."

Distraught and feeling vulnerable Willie felt his lower belly tighten, a tightness borne out of knowing the man's expectations. He hated the man for what he was doing, hated his voice, hated his greasy hair and his fingers probing up and down his back.

Just at that moment Eduard came through the French windows, his mouth taking on a vaguely sardonic twist at the sight of his distress. At once his voice cut through the tension. "Otto, may I have a word with you in confidence outside on the terrace?"

The solicitor was obviously displeased at being interrupted and didn't hide the fact. "For goodness sake, what is it now?" he grumbled irritably as he released his grip on Willie and followed Eduard out through the French doors. 

After no more than a few seconds Otto staggered back into the room, groaning sorrowfully and clutching both hands to his face. Eduard came in behind him and beckoned to one of the maids. "Loti, would you look after Herr Hahn? He took a tumble just now and banged his nose on the masonry outside. I think he's bleeding."

Willie sidled up to him as Otto was led away. "Eduard, did you hit Herr Hahn?"

The man shook his head. "No, no. Truly he banged his nose on the wall, although I will admit my hand assisted in propelling his face towards it." He smiled grimly. "A relationship between you and I may be impossible, but I couldn't stand back and allow him to maul you in such a ghastly way. One thing is certain. The odious creature will not bother you again. That much I have established."

Willie felt slightly ashamed of the way he had indignantly strutted off and left him earlier. "You are indeed a friend, Eduard. I'm lucky to have you as a friend."

Celina Dietz was astute enough to guess what had just happened and was infuriated that one of her most useful allies had been subject to such treatment. While Eduard was replenishing his drink she deftly slid up beside Willie and whispered in his ear. "The party is over for you, you little trouble-maker. Get up the stairs."

***

The evening ended soon after Willie had departed, Otto Hahn consoled his discomfort by taking Loti up to bed and after a brief pause Hermann Strasser made a similar arrangement with Rosalyn. 

Celina and the professor chatted for a while longer then went to separate rooms. "If you are to return to Grottkau tomorrow it would be unwise to stay up too long." the woman advised her brother. 

Eduard watched the door close behind her then slowly walked to the window, his dispassionate gaze tracing the paved path that he had so recently walked with Willie.

He had never invested much time or effort in relationships with the opposite sex. Men and women were different. Men did things one-two-three, and when it came to practical stuff a man had to take into account that the heads of females were on upside down. Throughout his adult life he had found women unpredictable and illogical, but although he gave them no encouragement they seemed strangely attracted to him.

He switched on the wireless and listened to the end of the late night news. There was an item about brutish Polish vagrants raping virtuous young German maidens in the land corridor to Danzig. He'd heard similar things before and recognised them as scurrilous propaganda-babble designed to stir up loathing and hatred of the Poles.

He turned the wireless off and prowled the room, pacing in circles, achingly aware of the person he most wished to be with. Unbuttoning his tunic he removed it and threw it across a chair. 

A shiver ran through him, but it was not caused by the lack of a coat or by a ghost walking over his grave. It was Willie Froehlich, fragile and radiant, projecting both childlike and feminine qualities. His mind was suddenly full of him; his scent, the way his skin had felt under his hands, the little lift at the corner of his mouth. A smiling mouth, he remembered, smiling himself. 

That strangely naïve, rather scatter-brained young transvestite brought out a streak of tenderness in him he had not known he possessed. He had a wonderful instinctive sexuality that he'd never needed to learn. He enjoyed himself, enjoyed his body. No guilt. No play-acting.

He raked through his hair with unsteady fingers, remembering the forbidden joy he had known with Willie in the garden, his lust made him hard. Sometimes a woman may be not quite a female, he thought. It was a dangerous thought, he warned himself sternly. There was no room in his life for someone like Willie.

In his room Willie Froehlich slipped off the black dress and heels and the lacy underwear and left them in a little heap on the floor while he slipped into a pale yellow silk nightdress that felt like flowing water against his bare skin. Maybe it wasn't silk, he thought, maybe it was that cheaper rayon-stuff that looked like silk, but it didn't matter, it felt like silk. 

He lay in his little bed and drew the sheet up to his chin, but sleep didn't come. There were too many thoughts in his head, too many memories that were almost painful. What was it about Eduard Dietz that teased him so much? It wasn't just his fine looks, which he had in plenty. Perhaps it was the way he carried himself so easily, as if nothing could shake his quiet strength. And yet he was not arrogant. His confidence was born of honour. Eduard had defended him so stoutly earlier in the evening, but unfortunately nothing could come of it, that was certain. A man like him could never give himself over to a close relationship with a cross-dresser, and a cross-dresser Willie Froehlich was, there was no doubt about it. He had found his place in life by being feminine. 

His reverie was disturbed by a tapping on the door of his room, and he climbed out from under his sheet. Barefoot and slender in silk that drifted around bare legs he stood at the closed portal. "Who is it?"

"It's me. Eduard," came a reply, "Can I speak to you for a moment."

Willie fussed with his appearance, draped in clinging yellow and with a halo of golden hair, he felt like a Botticelli angel. But an angel of course he was not. He certainly wasn't feeling like an angel that night. Far from it.

When he opened the door the tall Luftwaffe officer the man was in his shirt sleeves looking slightly confused and apprehensive. "Can I come in?" he asked. Willie allowed him into the room then leaned back against the door as he closed it.

"Willie," the man whispered his vice disturbingly low and gentle. "I erm... I have to apologise. I'm not used to women, and much less used to beautiful boys dressed up as women." Then suddenly he faltered. Eduard Dietz was a man rarely stuck for words, but this occasion had caught him out.

A breathless Willy shook his head and recklessly raised himself up on his toes in order to touch his mouth against his. "That's okay. It's alright."

Few words were spoken because few were needed. Instinctively they both knew why he was there, and neither regretted it. Their thoughts were as in tune as any two peoples thoughts could be. It was something Willie Froehlich had hoped for but hadn't dare think possible.

The man stepped closer, put his hand on his shoulders. He could feel delicate bones beneath his fingers, could see the flickering of a pulse in the transvestite's throat. Willie's anxious eyes sought his, and what he saw in them melted any resistance he may have had left. Almost hypnotically he allowed himself to be drawn into the man's arms. 

Eduard pressed his chin against his temple and enveloped him with his embrace, putting a hand on the nape of the girl-things neck he eased his fingers into his soft blond hair, felt the moist heat there. He pulled him close and saw Willy's mouth open in a soft oh of surprise as he kissed the corner of his mouth, his eyelashes, his brows and the line of his jaw. 

Willie wasn't sure how he ended up in his arms or whether Eduard said anything more. All he was aware of was that he had thrown his arms around the man's waist and anchored himself to his strength, and things he knew he should have said dissolved in his throat, demolished by the man's touch and taste and by his incredibly heady scent.

It all seemed like a dream as he pressed against Eduard's long, lean body, a hazy cloud of romance, a fantasy come true. His skin tingled beneath the silk of his negligee, the garment drawing in the heat from two manly hands. Now he understood the appeal of silk. Such fabric seemed to intensify every touch.

Eduard leaned into him, outlining the shape of his mouth with his tongue, biting his lower lip, running his tongue along the smooth ridge of his teeth or order to sample the taste of his mouth. In return Willie wrapped his arms around him and threw himself into the kiss, his mouth pressing hungrily upwards, parting his lips, drinking him in until he was breathless and dizzy. 

He felt the man's hands slide down his back onto his hips, could feel the tautness of strong biceps as arms made his thighs arch forward. The man's breath caressed the side of his face and there was the sweetness of his lips against his own. Mmm, he thought, Mmm, as he tasted tongue, sweet, smooth, slippery. Just how it should be. 

The kiss went on and on and passion rose between them. As tension began to build Willie pulled him closer, wanting more, and suddenly a fantasy wasn't good enough for him. He wanted a real flesh and blood man with hard muscle and smooth skin. He wanted a man driven by lust and desire to take him.

He drew back and looked into Eduard's eyes, and for a moment he was surprised by the vulnerability he saw there. It was as if he were looking at a different man to the carefree one he had come to know.

With a low laugh Willie swung forward and playfully bit him on the earlobe, then traced the contours of his ear with his tongue. "I'm yours to do what you want with." he whispered.

He heard Eduard's breath quicken and a moan rumble in his chest as he gripped Willie with both hands, his fingers as elegant and forceful as the rest of him. "Let me look at you," he insisted, pushing the straps of the negligee from his shoulders. 

As the garment slipped to the floor hands exploring his body and Willie gasped out his name low and urgent as spasms of pleasure began to engulf him. He turned towards him and unfastened the top button of his shirt, then working systematically down as far as his belt, unbuckled it, unzipped his fly and pressed his hand against him, arousing him with the warmth of his palm. Loti had once said Eduard Dietz was hung like a cart horse, but at that moment Willie thought he was massaging the shaft of the cart itself. 

Nibble fingers quickly exposed everything and Eduard's penis was then standing out, raised up from the horizontal in a flattering Hitler salute. Slowly Willie sank to his knees and his mouth and wet tongue briefly caressed the fleshy sacs of the man's testicles before paying full attention to the main event. His hand flirted with it, appreciative fingers wrapping around its impressive contours to feel its strength, then after lapping at the juices flowing from its broad tip he took it in his mouth to adore it.

Just a few hours ago, Eduard would have been horrified by the kind of scene he was now a party to, but his blood was running too fiercely to hesitate now. Willie wanted more than sweet kisses and tender caresses, and he did too. In a rush of commitment he swept Willie up in his arms as if he were a new bride and carried him across to the bed, where he laid him down on the soft covers and lowered himself, hard and ready, beside him.

Lying on his back across the mattress Willie yielded immediately, looking at the man who dominated him, eyes wide, pupils dilated. Consumed by desire, his body began to twitch with impatience. 

Eduard watched for a moment and then slid between his thighs. The fires of love were all ignited and an aching longing to please swept over both of them. There was no restrictions, no coyness, no haggling. Willie raised his legs, and grasping the man's penis like the handle of a tennis racket he tugged it forward to the place of his desire. Eduard lined himself up and screwed forward, and seizing Willie by the hips he drove down in an act of wondrous carnal delight, deep into his pulsing centre. 




Willie's War Ch. 03



The two of them groaned in unison, establishing a rapport of pleasure given and pleasure received which transcended everything else. Suddenly Willie's insides felt full, and his whole body blazed in reaction. When he felt his flesh compelled to stretch his head snapped up and he gasped. "Oh, Eduard, you're such a big... man."

"Am I hurting you?"

"No, it's alright. Don't stop. I want you to finish properly. Eduard collapsed between his thighs and the transvestite's long legs parted and wrapped around his muscular trunk, the calves becoming ever shapelier. 

As Eduard began to move Willie expelled a tightly held sigh as his grip on reality slackened and they copulated in a man and woman fashion. Eduard bit his neck, pulled his breasts and possessed him, moving slowly at first and stroking inside against places that would have made any girl groan with joy. Willie became transported into a neverworld of pure sensation has he twisted sensuously beneath him, loving every movement of the powerful body against and inside his own, absorbing every thrust, feeling the room spiralling around until at last the man's body tensed. 

Eduard froze for a moment, his muscles taut his eyes squeezed tightly shut, and then he moved once more, rapidly and ferociously this time, moaning out loud, his thighs convulsing several times to indicate that his orgasm was intense and probably very copious. 

At last they lay together, their bodies damp and tangled, still joined as one, neither of them willing to break their fragile bond. Eventually Eduard whispered softly in Willie's ear. "I have to return to Grottkau in the morning. Something is brewing that may entail active service, and I don't know how soon I'll be able to visit again. Can I stay here for a while tonight?"

"It's only a single bed." Willie explained apologetically.

"You mean it's too big?" Eduard murmured huskily. And he smiled his beaming smile.

***

Hermann Strasser found Berlin sweltering beneath a hot summer sun. The cafes on the Kurfurstendamm were crowded, girls wore gaily flowers dresses and businessmen took off their ties, while the beaches along the Havel See and the Spree were packed with bathers.

Alfred Helmut Naujocks, Head of the Sicherheitsdienst (SD) stood behind his desk in his office on the Wilhelmstrasse wearing an immaculately tailored black uniform. Behind him the wall was hung with red, white and black banners and a giant portrait of Hitler. Hermann Strasser stood in the centre of the room.

"I was summoned before Heydrich yesterday directly after his meeting with Reichsfuhrer SS Himmler." Naujocks began. "It seems the Fuhrer wishes to be furnished with a palpable reason for crossing the Polish frontier in force, and we have to provide it."

Hermann was suitably shocked, but the shock quickly settled into dour satisfaction and he glowed. "An invasion? At last! I was beginning to think it would never happen."

"Well, it is to happen. We have been given the task of creating an incident -- an acte provocateur, as the French would say, that will enrage the German people and illicit sympathy from other nations. It must be a good enough reason to warrant an all out attack. The Fuehrer as always maintained that Poland should not exist as a country, and a small war should settle the matter to his satisfaction."

Naujocks moved from behind his desk. "In the past we have manufactured a number of incidents along the German-Polish border at the behest of the Party, all minor trifling affairs designed to stir up anti-Polish feelings. This time it must be something more substantial. Something that will provide a good headline. To restore our nation to its rightful status everyone must be convinced that freedom by force of arms is possible, and the German population must be more frightened of the Poles than of going to war with them."

He walked to a wall map, and with a red pencil he circled a place name at the tip of the finger-like salient of Silesia that jabbed like a dagger into the belly of Poland. Strasser blinked. "Gleiwitz! I know that place. It's in my Wehrkreise -- my military district. I was there recently. American cowboys would call it a one horse town, but I know people who live in the vicinity."

"Good. Then you will know that it's close to the Polish border. It is of no importance but for the fact it has a radio transmitter linked to the Deutchlandsender." 

Naujocks turned slowly and tapped his knuckles thoughtfully with his pencil. "Now let us suppose that a party of Polish troops stormed the radio station one evening in an act of misplaced bravado, and let us suppose they broadcast a message insulting and threatening both the Fuehrer and the German people. We would have to consider that a serious provocation and deal out a stern reply."

For all his usual warlike bluster Hermann looked slightly shocked. "Yes... but invasion? It would mean a big war; the Poles are in alliance with the French and British."

"Mere pieces of paper, dear Hermann." Naujocks assured him with a wave of his hand. "They are paper treaties that will dissolve with the first real hint of hostilities." 

Crossing to a table he poured out a shot of schnapps but neglected to offer any to Hermann. "And if the allies of the Poles do put up their fists, what can they do? France hides behind its Maginot Line of fortresses which a simple thrust through Belgium can outflank, while the British government -- so long the advocates of world disarmament - maintain an army that is small and weak and have an air force that is still under reconstruction after twenty years of neglect." 

He paused only to throw the shot of corn liquor down his throat. "They are both bluffers, those two. They will stand back in regard to Poland just as they did with Czechoslovakia last year, and since Herr Ribbentrop as provided us with a friendship pact with Russia we can expect co-operation rather than interference from the Soviets."

"There are still the Americans to take into account. What about America?"

Naujocks smiled complacently. "The Americans pursue a policy of isolation and are turned inward on themselves. The rest of the planet can fry in hell for all they care. No. No need to fret about them. And anyway, when all is said and done, we are not threatening Western Europe. Hitler has his eyes focused on the east. He wants land, large stretches of it, and it's to the east where the land is."

"Everything seems to have been studied very rigorously, but then the Fuehrer is a genius and calculates every move he makes extremely well."

The other man smiled. "Yes, and it's advisable to leave the creation of ideas to those who know best. We do not make policy; we merely carry through the orders given to us. Come now my friend, this is serious business and we are serious-minded men. Anti-Polish feelings gives the German nation something to bind them together, and eventually Hitler can use that adhesion to dominate all of Western Europe while he completes what he has decided to do in the east. The Gestapo are committed to helping us in this business. The army as been warned and the generals are ready to move next week, so we must not let them down." 

Moving forward Naujocks placed a hand on Hermann's shoulder in a comradely gesture. "I shouldn't need to draw pictures for you. The culprits -- the Polish troops involved in this little escapade - will a SD Sonderkommando of our own men."

***

Bratwurst and boiled potatoes was lunch. Just about every other meal provided for the house staff at Ravenskopf consisted of sausage of some kind, but Frau Klausen remained unimpressed by any complaint.

She switched off the sound of a German marching band that was playing on the wireless. "Don't moan about the food, at least you usually get meat. There's plenty of people in Germany these days who still exist on eating cabbage."

Pulling on the lamb's wool coat she wore constantly, winter and summer, she added vindictively. "There's a special police detachment visiting the town today. They're checking identity papers, looking for army deserters and shirkers trying to avoid military service."

No one at the table made a reply. She had finished her lunch duty and they watched her leave. They all knew she had been amusing herself by trying to sow a seed of alarm.

When she'd gone Loti gave Willie a nudge. "Don't worry about those policemen. Glerwitz is such a small place they'll be gone in a few hours, and they'll never come to Ravenskopf while Fraulein Dietz keeps in thick with Herr Strasser. He protects her from them."

"I'm fed-up with sausage and I'm fed-up with hiding. I wish I could go back to my studies." Willie said glumly.

The cook always left the kitchen pots to be cleaned by Loti and Rosalyn, which allowed Loti to scoop up some gravy from the dish served to Fraulein Dietz to put over his potatoes. "Where do you come from, Willie?"

"Leipzig is where my mother lives, but I'm much more at home in Heidelberg."

Loti slumped down at the table with his plate in front of him and expelled breath in a long sigh. "I'm a Berliner myself. I miss the hustle and bustle of that dirty, smelly old place and I wish I could go back there and sit in front of a big dish of kasespatzle. Have you ever been to Berlin?"

"Once when I was little I was taken there to visit a relative. I remember the Friedrichstrasse station and the tramways around the Potsdamer Platz, and of course the famous traffic tower."

"I lived not far from there." Loti told him, "I had lodgings on the Saarlandstrasse when I was in cabaret. Those were the good times. The adoring audiences, the applause, the Stage-Door Johnnies queuing for kisses and begging for a date. I knew Ernst Roehm, you know. I was one of his favourites. Do you know who I'm talking about?"

Willie moved his shoulders in an offhand gesture. "I think I do."

"Herr Roehm was the leader of the Sturm Abteilung, the Brownshirt storm troops. He was very high-up, very important. But then he fell out with the Fuehrer, and Hitler had him shot. The Night of the Long Knives, they called it. Hitler had hundreds of people shot that night, although some of them were allowed to drink poison if they preferred." He gave a small dismal shrug. "And then my conscription papers arrived and I had to come and hide here."

Rosalyn joined them having just completed serving Fraulein Dietz her coffee. "How is the Professor's book coming along, Willie?"

"I've completed a good portion of it. Fraulein Dietz is very pleased with what she's seen so far."

"She was very pleased with the impression it created with that professor from Berlin when he was here, and Herr Strasser reckons that if it is everything it promises to be it will stand shoulder to shoulder with Mein Kampf on every good German's bookshelf. I have the idea that Fraulein Dietz is relying on the sale of it to finance the refurbishment of this old house."

"Having put together such a fine thing will probably make you famous, Willie."

Willie chewed his sausage absently. "I didn't do much. I just wrote up Professor Dietz's notes and added a few bits."

Rosalyn put down his knife and fork and his face suddenly screwed up with alarm. "You added bits? What bits?"

"Well, the professor's notes are all rather fuddled and cranky, so I've had to put in a few bits of my own to make things sound more reasonable."

Loti's face clouded in concern. "Just how many bits of your own have you put in?"

Willie shuffled uncomfortably in his seat. "Quite a lot actually. Some basic information and some conclusions that were needed. It would have been impossible to make everything fit together and make sense otherwise."

Loti frowned. "You're a silly bitch, Willie. Fraulein Dietz will send copies of her father's work to all kinds of important people when it's done. Perhaps even to the Fuehrer. If just one of them becomes curious and demands to see the original notes, then where will you be? Those lofty self-important kinds of people don't like being hoodwinked."

Rosalyn agreed. "No, they've got no sense of humour at all, so you'd better do something to delay finishing that book or Fraulein Dietz could find herself chucked into a Konzentrationslager, and you poor Willie, you will be sliced up and put through a meat-mincing machine."

Suddenly Willie Froehlich didn't feel like eating any more. He put down his knife and fork and pushed away his plate, a worried frown coming and going on his smooth cheeks. Placing a coffee cup between his bare elbows he crouched over it. When he looked into the sympathetic blue-shadowed eyes of his companions and knew they were right. In trying so hard to please Fraulein Dietz he was probably digging his own grave.

***

Late on a summer evening, Sonderkommando Naujocks - six men dressed in civilian clothes and travelling in two black Opal saloon cars - arrived in the town of Gleiwitz. They stayed overnight in the Hotel Oberschlesischer Hof and the next morning in the guise of a geological research team they spent time digging around ostensibly collecting earth samples from various places in the town. 

No one found it odd that they hovered most of the time in the vicinity of the soot-stained building of the radio station, so during this reconnaissance it was quickly established that the easiest way into the building was at the front. At the top of a short flight of stone steps the double doors of the front entrance seemed to be perpetually pinned back to allow access.

While the others made their observations Hermann Strasser visited Fraulein Dietz to enlist her co-operation -- for the good of the German nation and the glory of the National Socialist Party, he told her - and later that afternoon the entire team drove to Ravenskopf where they changed into brown Polish army uniforms. 

The air was thick with cigarette smoke in the small, long disused salon where Naujock assembled his team. He noticed that their clothes fitted badly, but that didn't matter for a one-off, one-act play.

His men were joking about with a pair of lace panties they'd found under one of the cushions, and he smiled with them. "No flirting with the skirts in this place while we are here." he told them. "Stay anonymous and keep focused on the job we have to do."

He checked his watch. "We'll return to the town at nineteen-thirty and go into the radio station by the front entrance, slick and quick. The daytime office staff there will have gone by then, so there will be fewer people to worry about. Remember that the Gestapo are in this with us, but the local police aren't, so if any of them get in the way play out the role of a Polish terrorist and shoot them."

He half-turned and then turned back, and with a grim smile added. "I'll remind you now that this is top-secret business and if you're disabled and get left behind you'll have to shoot yourself. If you don't kill yourself the Gestapo clean-up squad will certainly do it for you. Verstanden?"

There was a unified chorus of "Jawohl" from everyone present, after which he drew Hermann Strasser to one side. 

"Hermann, make sure you know the text you have to read, there won't be time for rehearsals later. And I hope you know your stuff. This country-bumpkin Radiohaus we're attacking will be operating on a local waveband and we must broadcast on a national one, and there is always a possibility that the people there will refuse to co-operate with us."

"I don't have a problem with that. Whilst I was in Berlin I spent some time at the radio studio's to familiarise myself with the switch-over procedure."

"That's good. Now, one last thing. The girl's from this place never go into the town, do they?"

"No. Fraulein Dietz keeps them tied to the house and watches over them like they were prize brood mares."

"Which is ideal for our plans. It means they won't be recognised, so choose one of them to accompany us. I want her to go in first."

"A girl?"

"Yes. We need to provide a distraction. When we were in the town earlier I noticed a security guard sits inside the door at the Radio Station, and if he's alert and sees Polish soldiers running up the steps this evening he may well slam the doors in our face and lock them. That would be an inauspicious start to our adventure, wouldn't it?"

Hermann Strasser's eyes opened wide. "It would be a disaster. That place is built like a blockhouse; we'd need a tank to get in."

The other man nodded. "That would be hardly slick and quick, would it? That's why we need a girl to engage the guard in conversation and get him to turn his back to the street if possible, until we're all inside. Choose one. No, tell that beguiling little thing that acts as the Fraulein's secretary to come with us. She's got good legs and an arse to make eyeballs explode."

***

They had timed it precisely. The dark building of the radio station loomed before them as the two Opal saloons pulled into the kerb at the roadside no more than a hundred yards from their destination. It was only early evening but there was no one about. The street was empty. Gleiwitz was a small market town and everyone would be having a meal at that time. The whole place was dreaming in evening sunshine and not even a stray dog was moving within their vision. 

"I don't like this. I don't like being here." bemoaned Willie from the back seat of the first car.

Hermann Strasser swung round from his place beside the driver. "Shut up for goodness sake. All you have to do is talk to the man on the door. You won't be in any danger. Just hold his attention until we all get inside."

Willie climbed from the car and walked unhappily towards the front of the radio station. He'd been told nothing about the reason he was there; just talk nicely to the man on the door was all he'd been told. The men in the cars could have been a gang of robbers, except that he knew the ugly building in front of him wasn't a bank.

Life had become so terribly complicated lately. The wretched book he had been compelled to write had put him in a dilemma. His original idea was simply to do something to please Fraulein Dietz, but the silly woman had become ambitious for what he'd made of it. The snag was that although the preposterous make-believe he'd created was good enough to fool her it was unlikely to fool everyone, and if he did completed it -- a book almost wholly strung together by imaginative fabrication - they would both probably end up in a prison camp.

He was trapped by it. How was he to get out of the hole into which he had dug himself? Maybe if he had explained the problem to Eduard he would have been able to bring his sister to her senses. He felt strong when Eduard was near and so weak when he wasn't. But it was too late for that now. Eduard had returned to his unit and he had no idea when he would see him again.

The building loomed before him, a square, soot-encrusted place with rows of small unwashed windows and a heavy entrance door standing wide to admit the maximum amount of air on a sultry evening. When he saw the set of steps leading up to the door he had a strong urge to turn and run, but in the end he was more fearful of the men in the cars than the steps.

He hung back for a moment like a lion-tamers apprentice, then taking a deep breath he trip-trapped lightly up to the entrance. 

Sat to the left, just inside the open door in a sort of foyer area sat an elderly blue-suited guard who was just about to bite into a sandwich. Willie gave him a winning smile. "Oh, hello. I'm new around here, just visiting the town. This is a nice building. Is it... erm...is it the Town Hall?"

Swamped by the attention of a pretty girl, the guard put his sandwich back into the tin he'd taken it from and stood up smiling. "This place is more important than the average Rathaus, little Fraulein."

Willie stepped further into the building, wiggling his bottom alluringly, and the man's eyes followed his every move. At last he turned towards him. Distract the man, had been his instructions. Hold his attention. He wet his lips with the tip of his tongue and conjured up a vampish smile. "I'm intrigued. Tell me more..."




Willie's War Ch. 03



"She's done it." muttered Herr Strasser, squinting through a car windscreen along the street. "The little bitch has the guard's attention and he's turning his back to us. Signal the others that we're going in."

There was a hand signal through the rear window of the first car, and the two black Opals moved off and skidded to an abrupt stop in front of the Radio Station. Six figures leapt out and raced up the steps towards the entrance. Hermann Strasser had no compunction about hitting the guard on the back of the head with the muzzle of his Luger pistol and the old fellow went down hard like a felled tree, but without making a sound. 

Willie shrieked and stepped back. He definitely didn't want to be there. The silent majority inside him wanted to be treated like a weak and defenceless woman and sent somewhere pink and cuddly to sniff Sal Volatile. 

Just at that moment Naujocks entered to take command. "Bring that silly cow upstairs with us; we can't leave her wailing at the door like an air-raid siren." 

Leaving three men to round-up any staff still on the ground floor he led the others up the stairs to where he knew the radio studio was situated. Hermann and another man followed at his heels sweeping a near hyperventilating Willie along between them.

The surprise was total. In an upstairs room a man was found sitting behind a desk, and Hermann pistol-whipped him just as he had done with the guard. The man pitched forward, splashing blood onto the papers he had been studying.

Willie shrieked again but there was no pause in the momentum now. Immediately they dashed into the radio studio where a pale-faced young man pushed his hands in the air at the point of Naujock's gun. "Switch over to a national transmitter." Naujock told him.

The man swallowed hard, his eyes nearly popping. "I don't know how to do that. I'm only the newsreader. You're friend's just brained the technician who does that kind of thing."

Naujock grunted with ill temper and pushed him against a wall. "Herman, you do it." he snapped out briskly.

Hermann Strasser quickly found his way behind the thick glass panel of the transmitting room, confusion showing on his face as he stared at rows of switches. He was clearly unsure of which one would link into the wavelength of the transmitter at Radio Breslau.

"Everything as a different lay-out to what I expected. I can't find it. I can't find the right connection for Breslau." he lamented.

Naujock felt his face drain. After all his careful planning he was going to be let down by an incompetent fool. Failure would bring an end to his career, maybe even an end to his life if certain people were in a nasty enough mood. 

"Damn it man, I thought you knew your job. Can we use a local channel?"

"Yes, but on one will hear it beyond the immediate area."

"Do it. A local broadcast is better than no broadcast at all."

"No, I think it's alright. I think I've found Breslau." Hermann said, and he immediately began to scream into the microphone. "The city of Danzig is Polish forever. The city of Breslau belongs to the Polish nation. Hitler is an evil gangster..." 

Naujock fired a couple of shots from his pistol into the ceiling for effect, which made Willie scream in high-pitched hysterics. That wasn't a problem now. It fitted in exactly with the sound of on-air mayhem Naujock wanted to create at that moment for the listening public. 

Hermann, already at a high pitch of excitement himself, lost track of his script and began repeating what he'd already said while adding new elements of his own. "To Hell with the German Reich. The German people are sluts and thieves and we Poles are going to teach you how to behave."

The young radio newsreader had ducked under a table when the shooting started and Naujock told him to stay there. 

"That's enough," he shouted to the rest of his group, "Let's get out of here before the local yokels wake up to what's happening."

Together everyone bundled back down the stairs and hurried to the entrance. Inside the front foyer they needed to step over a figure dressed as a Polish soldier who was sprawled out beside the stunned security guard. Whilst they had been busy elsewhere the Gestapo had delivered their own contribution to the evening -- the 'Konserve', a callous codename that referred to tinned meat -- but which was really an unfortunate man selected from an internment camp for political dissidents who would remain as evidence of a Polish intrusion. He had been shot through the neck and lay dying.

***

Comparatively few people in Germany heard that brief hate-filled broadcast from the little town of Gleiwitz that night, but the fact it had happened was enough to satisfy Hitler. Within an hour of the raid he had been informed of the encroachment of armed Polish terrorists across the border and of their vicious assault on innocent German civilians. Blandly he had remarked that it was his first good news of the day. 

At 10-o-clock the following morning he addressed the German people on the radio from the Kroll Opera House in Berlin, ensuring that what he said could be relayed around the world by overseas transmitters. Using the impassioned, crowd-stirring eloquence for which he was noted, he magnified what was essentially a minor incident of self-inflicted thuggery into a drama of nation-threatening proportions. 

Ending his speech on a fiery note he declared... "I have now decided to speak with Poland in the same language they have been using with us. For the first time they have used regular soldiers to shoot at us in our own territory, so since 5.45 this morning we are shooting back." 

Things were already in motion. Without any declaration of intent and several hours before his speech on 1 September 1939, German Panzer units had smashed through the Polish frontier posts and the second great war of the twentieth century had begun.

"It will be a quick war." Fraulein Dietz assured everyone at the house later. "Herr Strasser refers to it as a Blitzkrieg -- a lightening war. If it continues for more than a few weeks I'll be tempted to suggest to him that Ravenskopf should serve the Reich as a Recuperation Centre for senior military officers. By doing that I'm sure I'd get some help in restoring parts of the building."

"If Fraulein Dietz turns this place into a kind of hotel we're going to be kept very busy." said Rosalyn, when the woman had gone.

"Hope she brings in some more help," responded Loti, ruefully stroking his bum, "There's a limit as to how much a girl should be expected to take."

Willie stood well back from the others, arms clamped across his chest while he thought of Eduard, who would be in the thick of things. There was no stopping love and, having known it he would hold Eduard in his heart forever, no matter what else happened. 

He thought about how much he himself had changed recently, despite Fraulein Dietz's constant harassment. He had arrived at Ravenskopf as a slightly introvert student and become a rather happy girl. He still looked mostly the same, and he was still a bit of a disaster area when it came to organising himself. But he had changed inside. No regrets about that. No sadness. He had made the decision to take happiness where he found it and hold it for as long as it lasted.

The trauma of the previous evening had shaken him badly, but surviving it had brought on a curious effect. Rather than cowing him it had proved to be a rite of passage that had shocked him into mental maturity, and on a new day he felt strangely confident in his own ability to look after himself. 

He believed that entering into any war, however brief, was a tragedy, and the tragedies were not yet over. In the middle of the coming night there would be an inexplicable misfortune when Fraulein Dietz's library together with all her father's irreplaceable notes and the manuscript he had unwillingly laboured over for so long, would all be destroyed by fire. 

It was an awful thing to predict, but there was no doubt it would happen. Willie was sure of it, because he'd already taken a box of matches from the kitchen cupboard.



Willie's War Ch. 04



Fraulein Dietz was inconsolable for days about the fire that had gutted the library, but no look of suspicion settled on Willie Froehlich. The cause was clear, she said. The electrical wiring in the building had not been renewed since it was installed at the turn of the century, and it was just one more reason why it was so important to have everything at Ravenskopf renovated.

With no more of Professor Dietz's notes to write up, Willie was assigned as Celina's personal assistant and secretary and stuffed into a small, bare closet room behind a table littered with papers, files and the Fraulein's unwashed coffee cups. He was given the household accounts to manage and he fretted a good deal about that for a while, because he couldn't make them balance properly. But after some careful investigation the reason became apparent. Fraulein Dietz had been clumsily manipulating the figures for months to try and make her deficits look smaller. When he eventually presented them to her with honest totals, she scowled and grunted, but said nothing.

Impatiently Willie waited for Eduard Dietz to return to Ravenskopf, but events in the outside world seemed to conspire against that. The war in Poland had been brought to a satisfactory conclusion within a few weeks, but it did not bring an end to hostilities. New dangers reared up when France and Britain declared war on Germany, and the newspapers said that the new enemies were already massing on the frontier. 

His only companionship during that uncertain time came by way of Rosalyn and Loti. They were pretty and flirtatious and they made a lively pair who, despite Fraulein Dietz callous treatment, were always full of playful fun. But Willy had always felt different to them, set apart by his thoughtful ways and his passion for learning. 

Literature and art meant everything to him and in a perfect world he would happily have spent his life studying such things, or perhaps even teaching others about them. Nevertheless, when he felt restless he often visited the room they shared for some company, and sometimes when the others found him mooning around like a lovelorn schoolgirl they took him there.

The two transvestites were so beautiful and glamorous that Willie always felt like a mouse in their company, and he hated the way their hair always looked so good. He didn't resent them in any way; he just wished he could look more like they did. Their figures were far more voluptuous than his own, and next to them he felt he always looked like a little girl. And they seemed far wiser in the ways of men too. They talked to them far more often than he did and they relished teasing them and driving them insane.

Willie was more modest both in looks and in character than either of them, and he made comparisons redundant. Completely feminised by then, he always entered a room with a helpless suppliant air, as if seeking a pair of broad shoulders with strong arms to which he could entrust his evident womanliness. This attribute was unpractised and imprecise, but quite devastating to certain types of men, and it always amazed those around him that he didn't make more use of it. It certainly infuriated Fraulein Dietz who could make profit from such charm, but she was held in check by Willie's association with her brother.

As he so often did when Willie had joined them, Loti turned on the wireless and carefully tuned it until it produced some American dance music. Noticing Rosalyn was fixing the hem of one of Fraulein Dietz's skirts he glanced sideways. "Can you dance, Willie?"

"A little. I'm not very good." he said, bashfully.

"Make up a couple with me. I'll coach you how to dance backwards, like a girl is expected to do."

They began awkwardly, Willie watching Loti's feet as well as watching his own. Loti wore only his underwear, lacy French pants and a bra, but everyone understood Willie never became amorous with other 'girls', and that was doubly the case since he had become so badly smitten with Eduard Dietz. 

Before too long they were gliding around the room in a graceful two-step, and Willie rolled his eyes wistfully and began to put words to the music: 

"...Must you dance... every dance... with the same fortunate man...?" 

His voice was unselfconscious, slightly squeaky, slightly off-key, but quite sincere and charming. It made Loti smile. "You sing in English, Willie." he said, "Do you speak English?"

"A little bit. Enough to sing along with some American tunes anyway. And he continued: "...You've been dancing with him since the music began. Won't you change partners, and dance with me?" 

Suddenly he stopped. "Oh, Loti, I'm so sad. Do you really think Eduard loves me?"

"Of course he does. He writes you letters all the time."

"Yes, but when I first met him he practically ignored me."

Loti laughed. "Oh, Willie, you're so innocent and you know nothing about men. Eduard thinks you're gorgeous and he's totally in love with you. When men act like you mean nothing to them, it means they are madly in love. And when they make a big fuss and say they love you wildly, they're usually lying."

Willie laughed himself at such worldly wise observation, but took it to heart and hoped it was true. It could be true. He knew Loti was far more sophisticated than he was, and he had good instincts about such things. He was fearlessly flirtatious and painfully adept in understanding the ways of men.

Rosalyn looked at him strangely. "You get on so easily with Eduard, but I've always been a little afraid of him."

Willie considered that in amazement. "Afraid of Eduard? He is not the sort of person one should fear. Admiration and respect I understand, but not fear. That's impossible. Never that." Finding nowhere to turn he gazed unhappily at his hands. "He will be flying in the sky somewhere. He will be in his aeroplane trying to shoot people down, and they will be trying to shoot him down. And if he dies it will be unbearable."

Loti placed a consoling arm about his shoulders. "Everything will be fine, you'll see. Fraulein Dietz says he may be home soon on a furlough."

"Oh, I do hope that's true. I really do."

Eduard did come home on furlough eventually, and there was an agonising delay in meeting him for Willie, because although Fraulein Dietz was aware of his relationship with her brother, she still regarded Willie Froehlich as house staff, and he knew she would be violently indignant if her rushed forward to greet him.

Standing several yards away, he was transfixed when he came through the door. And every kind of hormone in his body became focused on him with eager interest. He had an unexpected and dangerous urge to ignore everything and have him acknowledge his presence, talk to him, ask him that he was experiencing the same heart-wrenching, familiar needs that he was feeling. 

His heart gave a painful jerk. The sight of him released all the anguish he had fought to ignore. For an awful heart-stopping few moments he thought Eduard was ignoring him purposely, but his patience was eventually rewarded. The agony did end when Eduard winked and smiled. But he had to contain his impatience and watch from a distance while Celina met him in the hall, and took him in for tea.

"Eduard!" Willie's heart leapt when at last they were permitted to greet each other alone in a downstairs room. Eduard looked almost unbearably handsome in his uniform, and he knew there was real muscle beneath the tailoring too, eager, dangerous and aroused. 

At the exclamation of his name Eduard's head snapped up, almost like a meddlesome charger. Tall, winsome and Aryan went nowhere to describing his full male magnificence. He was more than that, much, much more! Willie could feel his body responding to the sexiest man he had ever seen or was ever likely to see.

"I'm so pleased to be home again, Willie." he said has he settled into an armchair and offered an exasperated look. "It often seems to me you and I are the only gentle people in the world. Celina can be so abrasive at times. Hurting people if you know what I mean, keeping them apart. But then, my own nature has always verged on meek."

"Meek?" Willie laughed; it was a sweet and engaging sound. He was aware of the shiny new medal on the man's chest, and how quick Eduard had once been to deliver him from the clutches of Herr Hahn. 

He gave him a lovely, spontaneous smile. Even though he knew him well he was always dazzled by how manly he was, and how kind. "Are you sure you are meek?"

"Of course I'm sure."

"I disagree. You are just excessively polite to your sister, that's all." 

"Then I must apologise to you for being excessively polite."

Willie grinned. "And naturally I will enjoy your apology."

"And you're going to get it!" Eduard replied, reaching up with an expression that verged on lust and hauling Willie down onto his lap.

His movements were so swift and supple, so masterful and so intent, Willie had the sensation of loosing his balance as he went down. But he was glad to be so close because he was starving for the taste and feel of him. "What have you been getting up to whilst I've been away?" Eduard demanded.

"I've been a good girl. I've been saving myself for you."

Eduard clutched at him while his hand circled his chin. "Many pretty girls have crossed my path in my travels, but there have been none to match you. Your mouth is the colour of vermillion." he murmured hypnotically, his thumb moving up to slide over it.

Willie's heart shook with desperate passion. "You once loved it." 

"Yes, I did! And I still do." 

Time seemed to stop. He drew Willie's head down and took possession of his mouth in a kiss so brief, brief yet so deep and urgent that Willie's body flowed towards it. Then he kissed him again, longer this time. Kissing him was like tasting a freshly picked peach, each taste making him yearn for another and another, so he could forever remember his unique sweet juiciness.

Willie completely forgot about propriety. His heart, his mind his body – all filled with pure unmitigated pleasure as the man's tongue slowly caressed his cheek. He could feel a dangerous ache inside, in his breasts and everywhere. 

For a moment Eduard paused. Perhaps the unrequested celibacy of his life over the past few months will have had some effect on his behaviour to Willie Froehlich.

Like hell it did! The sudden tension in his groin told a different story. The slick, warm wetness on feminine-like skin on his tongue caused images of shocking sensuality to burst in his head. He smoothed his hand over Willie's hip to remind himself of the she-boys shape, then a hand tracked down to his knee and slipped beneath the skirt before ranging high again, beyond the woollen stockings to savour bare skin and pluck at the lacy trim of panties that encased a delectable she-boy bottom.

Their mouths separated and they looked at each other with hope and with fondness. "We must remember where we are." Willie admonished him, his warm breath mingling with his. "People can just walk in and see us here."

Eduard cupped his face in his hands and kissed each of his eyelids lightly. "You started it." he whispered. "And I intend to finish it. Upstairs, my girl. Right now."

He reached out and took hold of Willie's arm, his grip firm and compelling. Willie felt his blood beating up around his encircling fingers as his body reacted to his hand, and he giggled wildly and felt jubilant as Eduard chased him up the stairs and shepherded him to the master bedroom, where facilities were grander than those in the servants' quarters. 

They undressed quickly, breathlessly tugging at each others clothes, and Eduard felt Willie's body move against his own, heard the soft, hot sound of excitement he made against his own aroused body. He raised his hands to cover Willie's naked breasts and he enjoyed the taut nubs pushing eagerly against his palms.

Closing his eyes Willie leaned into the male body, waiting hungrily for Eduard to return the pressure of his lips and part them with a swift, hard thrust of his tongue. This was it! This was him! His dragon-slayer and protector, the magical lover he had dreamed of in all his most vulnerable moments. The hero he had so long yearned for.

The man continued to excite him until he had a sensation of falling. Their bodies became crushed together, impaling them both on a rack of tormented feverish longing and need as they each sought to make themselves one. Blind and deaf to everything else around him, Willie made a soft sound of pleasure deep in his throat; an aching whisper of female-like surrender. . As the flame of love in his heart rose high, he pulled away from Eduard's kiss to press his own lips to the man's throat, and then his chest, stroking his fingertips through the soft warmth of his body hair to claim his rights of territorial possession. His tongue-tip rimmed his navel and he felt the fierce clench of his muscles. His lips became poised to inflict a tender kiss against it, but Eduard's objection savaged the movement. He was already magnificently rampant and impatient for other things.

Although the bed was large and made up neat, Eduard ignored it and Willie found himself lifted up and carried bodily to be mounted on the top of a chest of drawers, his back pressed to the wall, his feet hooked up on Eduard's shoulders. The man's testicles looked so big and full, and he began feeling so vulnerable he didn't quite know where he was.

His nostrils started to quiver as he breathed in a discreet hint of cologne, underwritten by something very male and subtle that sent his self-control crashing into chaos.

Eduard drew back his foreskin and advanced the press of urgent, engorged flesh drooling with liquid heat. 

Ooooh! Oh, God, Willie thought. I love you - love you - love you. I'll never stop loving you.

Like someone lost in a trance he looked up at him. An instinct deeper than any thought or action seemed to have taken control of his body, and he was powerless to do anything other than give in. Held fast around him, Eduard's hands controlling Willie's ability to move and there was nothing that could be done other than submit.

Submit! This was submission, wondered Willie?. The hungry meeting of his own flesh with Eduard's? That feeling of hardness spiking into him and stabbing his bowels whilst his own hands gripped the man's shoulders to urge him on? No, none of that could be submission, he was certain. He was responding to him. Allowing Eduard to possess him. And he was possessing Eduard equally. That's the way lovers did things. That was the way they worked.

But he didn't want to think about what anything meant right then, he didn't wish to think deeply, in fact he didn't want to think at all. He simply wanted to know - to experience - to feel the heady, heated thrusts of high passion. He wanted to be there in that place with that man, and to keep whatever they were sharing forever.

In a haze of dizzying desire Willie felt his senses slide like melting ice-cream from the heat of his eyes to the curve of his mouth. His whole body was galvanised by a series of tiny tremors and he exhaled on a small, soft female sigh of wanton joy.

Eagerly he opened his legs and urged Eduard forward, welcoming him into his soft warmth, whimpering with pleasure so intense it was barely distinguishable from pain. Passion ran through him like wild fire, but more than that, as his hips lifted and writhed he realised that it wasn't just his body that desired him. His heart and his mind wanted him too.

A frantic moan departed his throat as he shivered and jerked against him, while his muscles contracted of their own accord about the hard shaft. A moment later he felt a sobbing series of convulsions deep inside, but by then he was content to merely clench everything tight and hold still. 

He felt drained, like a spent husk, and yet at the same time deliciously complete. Eduard was nuzzling his cheek, slowly playing his fingers down his body, and when they kissed their lips felt tacky, their skin damp.

Eduard remained at Ravenskopf for a week, and they made love three times each day. Willie counted them and treasured every moment. On their last night together as they lay in a damp and relaxed tumble of arms and legs, Eduard marvelled at the intensity of pleasure an imitation woman could provide. The solution to every problem in the word seemed clear and evident when Willie put his head on his chest and had his arms wrapped hard around him. 

He gently kissed the top of his lovers head. "I wish I didn't have to go back to the war." he said sadly. "I hate the idea of going back. It's not at all the glorious event I imagined it to be. There is far too much blood and carnage and so much despair in war. I've seen dead people, and bits of dead people, not all of them soldiers. Now I think of it as just a ghastly job that I wish to end quickly. 

He smiled reassurance down at Willie, "But I think it will be over soon. Once the French have been beaten to their senses everyone can go home."

Willie nodded, thinking that normal life was still too far away, and unable to bear how desperate he would feel if something happened to Eduard before then.

"I wish I could agree. But I think that once someone puts guns into men's hands, they don't let go of them easily. I have a terrible fear it could go on for years. I'm sick with it already. Sick with you. Sick of the long, lonely nights without you. I'm sick of the whole murdering business of war."

Eduard looked concerned. "When I leave – you'll be alright?"

"Oh, yes," Willie said lightly, "I'm always alright." He snuggled close to him, purring like a cat, entwining himself around him, rubbing against him and using his whole body as stimulation. Crisp, almost prim in public, he was shameless in the bedroom and a delight to each of them.

"You are, aren't you? You think like a woman and cope alone. Men don't need to do that on the whole, they usually have constant companionship." His serious expression lifted. "How do you do it?"

"There is no other choice. I must swim against the current if necessary." Willie said. 

He was swimming against more than Eduard's current now, his hands massaging him so he became too distracted to dwell on serious matters. His lover had arrived home tired, and emotionally washed out. Now the fatigue vanished under Willy's brushing, stroking, tickling fingers as his young lady-love slid down the bed, took Eduard's penis in his hand and contemplated feasting on its bulbous tip. "Why did this happen?"

"Why did what happen?"

"Us."

The man shrugged. "I don't know. I only know it did happen and I'm glad of it."

He drew Willie's head back up and nibbled his ear and looked at him for a long moment, lost in his blue eyes, which were even darker than his own. He looked like a painting there, lying elegantly against him in his satin underwear, he was looking like a very glamorous young woman. 

Without giving him any warning, he slipped his hand down below his waist and held him between the legs. "Wouldn't it be nice if troubles between nations could be sorted out by people such as us? We could just make love, talk things over and agree a solution, instead of the way things are, with young men dying on battlefields."

Willie grinned wickedly. His heart expanded in his chest until he was almost breathless. He felt warm and secure and loved. This must be what heaven was like, he thought. 

"Oooh, Eduard, that vein in your cock is huge and it's throbbing. Let's not talk about dying, let's concentrate on love. Can we play trains?"

***

Throughout the winter of 1939-40 the huge army that France had mobilised and blended in union with the small element that Britain furnished, had postured defensively along the German frontier seemingly uncertain of how to proceed. In April the Wehrmacht made its own move; it invaded Denmark and Norway. 




Willie's War Ch. 04



A month later, in May the German army took Holland and the Lowlands, preparatory to taking on its main opponents. A divisionary attack through Belgium in the style of 1914 drew the strength of the enemy towards it, while the main thrust was delivered through the Ardennes, a thickly wooded and weakly guarded region beyond which it was believed no modern army could penetrate. The Wehrmacht penetrated it anyway. Outmanoeuvred and slow to react the French and British reeled and then broke, and it seemed that yet another war would soon be over.

After some weeks the British retreated to their island, and in June, France sued for peace. Hitler appeared to be taking over all of Europe.

It was towards the end of this time that Willie received another letter from Eduard, reassuring him he was still madly in love with him. He said he was in good spirits and had managed to view all the historic sites of Paris, but most of the time his gruppe were flying out from Boulogne-sur-Mer to do sweeps over the channel, harassing British coastal shipping and seeing off cheeky reconnaissance aircraft.

On the same day Fraulein Dietz received a telegram, and being aware of her brother's relationship with Willie she dourly revealed its message to him after her lunch in the dining room.

"It says that Eduard as been killed in action," she said simply. "Eduard was a brave man, and we thank the Almighty that he served the Reich well." Having relayed the news she coolly returned to the business of the day, leaving Willie to break down in an inconsolable flood of tears.

Over the following weeks the hurt from losing of Eduard didn't seem to recede. The pain was everywhere. Inside his head, inside his heart, inside his body. He thought for the thousandth time of returning home, but rejected it for the thousandth time. He had always been a quiet individual, studious and impetuous but quite serious, and much more interested in his studies than finding a girlfriend. His father, when he was alive, had sometimes joked that he would have made a perfect daughter. 

Now he was a girl now and he had no wish to alter that, because he felt more comfortable being a girl than he'd ever felt in his life before. But his mother would demand he should revert to being a man and join the army. And the one thing his mother expected of him, the one thing everyone she was associated with would expect of him, was that he would obey her.

One day during the summer Fraulein Dietz sent a message for him to attend her in the dining room where she had been entertaining Otto Hahn to lunch. She told him to bring the household accounts with him because she wished her solicitor to examine them.

Willie, who had been hungry and contemplating his own lunch, even though it was more than likely to be wurst again, sighed and took the account ledger in to her.

There was no critical inspection, he stood quietly at the table whilst Herr Hahn merely glanced at the totals and looked grave. 

"You are the sole owner of Ravenskopf now, but that is hardly a blessing," he told Fraulein Dietz, "Your financial situation is dire, and despite everything I do for you, a dose of good fortune will be needed for you to avoid bankruptcy."

Celina Dietz stared straight into his face and waved a dismissive hand at the accounts. "That stuff is already out of date, and I have my good fortune. My clever little Willie pointed out to me some time ago that I have a stack of discarded paintings in a salon in the central hall." 

She gave Willie a brief smile of satisfaction. "Apparently the early twentieth century was a golden period for art and design, with much creative competition between wild Expressionism and playful Art Nouveau. Willie thought that some of the items there could be valuable, and when I had them examined by experts indeed some were valuable. There were a number of originals by Vassily Kandinsky the leader of Der Blaue Reiter movement, for instance. Nothing there was to my taste of course, so I sold everything in return for a substantial amount of money. It will stand me in good stead for my plan."

Otto began to look impressed. "Your plan? Do you mean your idea that Ravenskopf can be converted into a hotel?"

"I prefer to call it a Recuperation Centre, a place of recreation for weary senior military officers." She flashed a glance at Willie. "You will have an avalanche of invoices to deal with soon. Teams of workmen will be arriving any day now to begin the necessary renovation and conversion." 

She then continued to Herr Hahn, "War can be an exhausting experience and I have no doubt that many officers will spend at least some of their furlough here before returning to their wives and girlfriends. Ravenskopf will have first-class accommodation and be staffed on a par with the best hotels. I already own a good cellar, laid down by my grandfather and hardly touched. There is a good park for gentlemen to take the air, and fine hunting in the woods around. The Great Hall I shall have refurbished as a restaurant and each evening it will feature a spectacular floorshow with lots of pretty girls and boys."

Her glance swung once more to Willie. "I shall be engaging other people here shortly. Not just pussy-boys as I have at the moment, but real girls too. When we open our doors for business there will be a need to cater for every taste."

She threw another look of distaste at the accounts. "The paperwork I give you will eventually not be sufficient to fill all your time, so when everything is up and running I will expect you to take part in entertaining my clients."

That revelation was received in horror by Willie Froehlich. "Fraulein Dietz, I'm not a prostitute. I'm not even a show business person like Loti and Rosalyn."

Fraulein Dietz's eyes glowered with temper and she banged her fist on the table. "I will not tolerate you speaking to me in that way. What would you have me do? Allow you to live here as an ornament? You need the company of men just as much as the others do. Eduard is gone and it's no use you sitting around waiting for some other prince charming to find you and carry you away. Fascinated by books and art as you are, perhaps you would settle for a university professor, but you're so picky I expect you would soon find fault with him too.

She waved away his objections with the same distain she had used in waving away the household accounts. "Don't be so prim and pompous. Whilst you remain at Ravenskopf you will do whatever I wish. It is exactly the air of unspoilt innocence about you that will make you popular, and I'm unwilling to ignore it. If you are inexperienced, well, like everything else in life, one can learn. Either that or you can be an artist. You can leave and die of consumption in a stinking garret somewhere."

Otto Hahn leaned back easily in his chair and smiled. He had once been warned off in no uncertain terms by Eduard in his fancy for Willie, but with the brother of Celina Dietz now safely tucked away in another world he foresaw a clear field ahead for himself.

Afterwards, as he was leaving, he threw Willie a leery grin and openly ogled him from the doorway.

"Patience really does have its reward, doesn't it Willie?" he gloated. "When Fraulein Dietz puts you on her stall I shall be first in line to taste what a succulent little cherub like you has to offer. Don't worry about not knowing too much. I shall take keen pleasure in teaching you how to be a first-class slut."

He leaned down with the intention of plastering a fat wet kiss on Willie's cheek, but Willie instinctively ducked and had to endure the feel of teeth colliding with the top of his head.

Progress on converting Ravenskopf into a residential hotel went faster then anyone expected. By late summer, there was an army of carpenters, painters, glaziers and builders hard at work, and Willie was kept busy with paperwork while all the time feeling deep discontent. Time slid by, October became November and the bright weather showed no sign of giving way to the sleet and gales of winter.

The prospect of being pressed into being a bed companion to anyone who fancied him depressed Willie, and as the work on the house neared completion he made a decision to risk abandoning the security of its walls and make a return to the outside world.

Having no money of his own when he decided to leave it was to Loti and Rosalyn he turned. He knew that the men they went with frequently gave them gratuities; sometimes only trinkets or items of underwear, but sometimes gifts of money too.

The following evening he made his decision known to his two friends. He found Loti practising a tap-dance routine and clearly hoping to have a prominent role in the up and coming floorshows, while Rosalyn was seated at a dressing table, trying on junk jewellery and peering forward at the mirror to smooth his eyebrows, stretching his mouth to apply a swathe of lipstick.

"But where will you go?" Rosalyn asked in consternation. 

"I'll go back to Heidelberg," he told them; "I have friends at the university, and amongst them is sure to be someone who will take me in. All I need is the price of a ticket to get me there."

Quite apart from stumping up the price for his train journey Loti and Rosalyn went through their own closets to find something for him to wear, and they came up with a long blue skirt, a black blouse that could be worn a couple of times without any need to be washed, a sweater and a pair of woollen gloves. They made available also a pair of stout shoes and some new peach satin underwear trimmed in lace that had been given to them.

When Fraulein Dietz left the house one day to go and purchase new furnishings for the central hall he departed soon after her, walking the four miles into the town to take the train to Breslau, where he could catch a connecting service to Heidelberg. He wore a cloche style hat and a rather shabby loden coat over the items that had been given to him, and he had only the barest essentials with him carried in a small, battered suitcase

At the ticket window at the station he fumbled for money while the ticket seller stared at him through the metal grating. She had a round face that looked bored, squatting on a thick neck. "Where do you wish to go?"

Willie heard the rumble of a train coming from the east, and he thrust his hand forward. "A ticket for Heidelberg."

The woman promoted a cold and baleful air. "Five Reichmarks second class, three for third class."

"How much is first class?"

"There is only second and third."

"Third then."

She shook her head and ripped out a ticket, and Willie raced along the platform. Doors slammed along the length of the train has he clambered aboard, and it shuddered forward almost at once.

Everywhere was packed and for a while he had to stand in the corridor, but eventually an old woman invited him to sit in a compartment where, by virtue of being slender, he managed to jam himself in between the window and her lean flanks. Her thigh pressed so hard against his own he could feel her bones beneath the meagre padding of her flesh.

He was quiet as he settled, calmed by the prospect of his journey into the unknown, but later, as the landscape passed by and other steam trains thundered in the opposite direction he dwelt on what he was leaving behind. Tears rolled down his cheeks on account of some good memories he retained; his friendship with Loti and Rosalyn for instance, and the love he had known from Eduard. Now he imagined himself being a lonely old lady like the one beside him one day – feminine terms of reference were not uncommon to him by then – in a room somewhere, with no friends and no visitors. 

In the children's books he had once read, all the endings were happy endings, and only the wicked people received their just desserts. He knew that this was not a fate reserved for the wicked, he knew too that he was not a wicked person, but only one whose instincts made him want to escape and exchange isolation for an intolerable situation. 

Then he slept, and the old woman had to wake him up. She knew he had to change trains at Bahnhof Breslau, and Willie thanked her politely and caught the connecting service. 

As the railway bore him further westward he found himself growing increasingly doubtful. He may have sounded confident about his plans when talking with Loti and Rosalyn, but, truth be told, he wasn't at all sure what he would find when he reached his destination.

He arrived in the university town late in the evening and having nowhere to go directly had to settle for spending the night in the station waiting room, and when he glanced out of the window after midnight he saw the first snowflakes of winter falling.

The next morning he totted up the remains of his money and reckoned he just had enough to buy breakfast, but decided to hang onto it until he was more certain of his circumstances. He walked to the university and asked the porter on one of the gates about some people he had once known well. Most of them had joined the army he was told, and the rest the man didn't know about, but he was sure they were no longer students there.

Willie recognised the porter, but the man didn't recognise him. Of course he didn't. At best Willie Froehlich would be a blurred face on a college photograph somewhere, and he wouldn't be wearing a frock. Once, perhaps, he would have remembered his name, but the war had shattered the smooth rhythm of intake and graduation and everything was confusion. Being a former student who had forfeited graduation he felt petulant at still seeing young men still entering the campus, he felt envious of the way they strolled in through the gate wearing their colourful university corps caps.

"So many people are still allowed to come here." he murmured aloud. 

"Not much room left for the arty-farty crowd anymore though," the porter told him, "Although the Rector of the University as introduced twenty-five new courses in 'racial science'. Germany still needs scientists and engineers, y'see, and it needs educated men to be officers in the army. But there is no place for slackers now; everyone that comes here must agree to do military training at weekends, and to go into the countryside to help with the harvest in the summer."

Willie sighed. But for the war he could have been studying art in Paris or Rome by now. His mother was quite well off and would probably have indulged him if he'd remained in favour with her.

Discouraged and apprehensive he went back into the town, crossed the river via the Alte Bridge and began wandering the less affluent area of Neuenheim where students who didn't live on the campus had a habit of finding lodgings. He had no idea how long he walked, his feet became numb with cold, his back ached and his head buzzed, but he walked. Snow was coming down in good earnest now and the wind had risen, howling eerily round the corners of the buildings. 

He knocked on a number of doors but was given no information about anyone he had previously known. He began to feel very hungry, but he had so little money he knew he would have to go without for food for a while if he intended to have a bed that night. A ravenous appetite sent his plans crashing when he surrendered to spending half of what he still had on a hot potato from a street vendor.

Time passed quickly and the failing light of late afternoon startled him with the prospect of having to spend a night sleeping out in the open, and by then the snow was beginning to settle on the narrow cobbled streets. The eastern sky was bright orange and people were walking past him gritting their teeth as they hurried through the cold to reach their homes.

His mind flitted to the ache of hunger still in his belly, then back to the snow on the pavement, now three inches deep. He tried to take shelter in an alleyway, but found himself immediately challenged by a woman of obvious character. 

"Don't hang around here, Sweetlooks. I can do without your kind of competition on my patch. Piss-off an' spread y'legs somewhere else."

Willie was in no condition to get into a cat-fight with a prostitute, and he departed feeling sorry for her more than anything else. When younger she had probably looked rather fetching, but now her looks were beginning to fall apart. Her hair was a shade too brassy and her idea of makeup seemed to be to add more rouge and more foundation over the layers beneath. Kissing her would be like kissing concrete.

He reached a small parade of shops and swung in towards them. Wiping his face on his sleeve he looked at his reflection in a window. It was increasingly cold – the worlds cold skin stretching to breaking point, and he knew his nose must have looked as red as a tomato.

There was a grocer and a second hand clothes shop, and a bookshop. Some used books lay on a table beneath an awning outside the bookshop and Willy paused as he always did when confronted by the printed word. His breath came in thick plumes, his nostrils tingling with the chill, and he could hardly bring himself to examine the titles on offer.

"Why not have a book? It will cost you no more than a few pfennigs." said a voice. The remark was made by a man who was standing at the open door of the shop. He was obviously the owner, soberly dressed in a dreary three-piece suit and a brown bow-tie. His ruddy features, despite carrying a neatly trimmed white beard and the hair of an old man, were curiously unlined, as if neither smiles nor frowns ever visited their indifference.

"A few pfennigs is all that I have to keep me from starving." he replied somewhat mournfully, and then he added with a tinge of hope, "Do you need any help in the shop? I'll sweep the floor for you if you'll let me sleep on it afterwards."

The man uttered a noise, something between a grunt and a moan. "Homeless and desperate are you? I can sympathise with that. Come inside for a moment."

Willie followed behind as he went inside. The walls of the little shop were lined with shelves of books and as a rule books gave him a feeling of comfort, but at that moment he remained apprehensive and stayed close to the door, his cheeks flushed, and his eyes wide and staring like those of a frightened child.

"Who are you, and why are you tramping the streets?" the man asked pointedly.

Willie looked away from his face. He was pleasant enough, he liked the gold chain on his waistcoat and he liked his tone of concern too. "I'm Willie Froehlich. I...er... I've been thrown out of the place I lived and the people I hoped would take me in aren't living around here any longer."

The man surveyed the girl he had invited into his shop with a keen eye. Despite her being muffled up to the chin he could tell from the abrupt slope of her shoulders that there wasn't an ounce of excess fat on her anywhere. She had a broad, determined forehead, high cheekbones and a small mouth, down-curved, ready for anger or disappointment. Thick blond hair swept across her forehead and was pinned up at the back. She was of small stature, almost like a child, and that curried the paternal instinct in him.

"Are you a National Socialist?" he asked.

"No, I don't belong to any political party."

"That can sometimes be a disadvantage." he said, "However, if you're not in a hurry to go elsewhere I have a spare room and I can give you a bed and food in return for some help in the shop. There are other things I wish to do quite apart from selling books." 

When he saw Willie pouting thoughtfully he added. "Don't worry about me having lecherous intentions. I'm old and quite incapable of taking advantage of you. Be sensible. You have no spare meat on your bones, and without a good layer of lard you could easily freeze to death out in the street tonight"

Willie hesitated for a moment, and then pushed the hair back from his forehead. "You haven't even told me who you are."




Willie's War Ch. 04



"I apologise. Sometimes I get out of step with social niceties. I am Felix Haushofer, and I know all about displacement. For many years I was a Professor of History at the University of Sonnenburg, but I wasn't the right flavour for the regime that emerged there. Four years ago I was summarily discharged from the faculty. Dumped to make way for a Nazi." 

He shrugged dismally. "It was nothing unusual. Such things are happening everywhere these days. A man called Bernhard Rust is now the Reich Minister for Science, Education and Popular Culture, and he was considered mentally unstable even when he was just a Nazi storm trooper."

He led the way through the shop and they entered a small sitting room, home to a cheerful coal fire. It wasn't large, but its heterogeneous mixture of unassuming antiques and comfortable shabby armchairs, handmade rugs and books – there were lots and lots of books – rendered it pleasant enough. In an extension there was a gas-ring for cooking and a brick-built boiler, coal-fired, for washing clothes. Everything needed redecorating.

The man called Felix watched as the girl he had invited in took a series of tentative steps which reminded him of a kitten sniffing out unfamiliar territory. Eventually she paused and smiled, satisfied with what she saw.

Later they shared an evening meal of noodles with tinned herrings at a small table in the same room, and while they ate Felix Haushofer sensed that the girl was beginning to relax. He noticed how the unshaded single light bulb in the ceiling caught deep red glints in her hair, and he became quite serious. "You really are a remarkable young lady, Willie Froehlich."

"I am?" Willy asked, hoping not to hear that his host had already penetrated his disguise as a female. "I think you are the remarkable one, to take me in off the street as you have. After all, you don't really know who I am, do you?"

The man chuckled. "I'm quite good at identifying people I can trust. Would you like anything to finish your meal?" he asked, "I have no real coffee I'm afraid. The British naval blockade deprives most people of real coffee and I can only afford ersatz, the substitute stuff."

Willie said he'd prefer tea, if he had any. "I don't understand anything anymore. The British were beaten along with the French last year and they are now alone and without allies. Why do they insist on pursuing a war they cannot win?"

Felix Haushofer chewed his lip as if it were an instinctive habit. "My guess is they just don't trust Hitler, and they're frightened he will inflict fascism upon them if they make peace. After all, a fascist government was at the heart of the terms he demanded for not occupying the area of Vichy France." He rattled his cup with a spoon. "The English have only a small army, but they are strong on the oceans. Strong enough to deny Germans their coffee." 

He looked at Willie again, and this time gave a little shrug. "I don't know too much about this war. I don't have any interest in it. I expect the British have their own excuses for continuing."

"Excuses don't count. War is bad." Willie proclaimed stoutly.

He caught a quick gleam in the old man's eyes at that moment, as if he wanted to elaborate on that simple statement, but was guarding himself against doing so. "I agree, Willie Froehlich. War is bad." was all he said.

Willie found his bed that night to be in a small closet room that was itself yet another bookstore. All kinds of books, piled to the ceiling, surrounded him on every side. But that didn't prevent him from sleeping like a dead person that night.

The following morning he set to work with a vengeance in order to earn his keep, dusting things and straightening them, sorting the books into neater arrangements on the shelves and organising a centre piece of choice items to catch the eye of people peeping in through the door.

The weather had turned quite bitter even when off the open street, and Herr Haushofer provided a portable paraffin heater to give the shop a little welcoming comfort. The stove brought a number of people through the door just to reap the benefit of it, but just as the crafty shop-owner had suspected many of them ended up buying something.

A pale faced young soldier bearing the rank of Captain on the shoulders of his greatcoat was one that came through the door. He didn't smile at Willie as men usually did, in fact he didn't seem to see him at all. He warmed his hands by the stove then went along the shelves, selected a book, glanced at the contents and then put it back. Then he took another, opened it and studied it briefly. After a few minutes he closed the book and brought it across to where Willie stood.

"Can I help you, Herr Hauptman?" Willie asked.

The soldier still made no effort to smile, although he was vividly Aryan and would have looked quite handsome if he'd made the attempt. But his face remained grey and gaunt. "This book is about the American Civil War." he said.

Willie glanced at the dustcover and nodded. "Yes. It is in excellent condition and for sale at a fair price."

The man placed the book on the countertop and slapped some money down on it. "I buy it for you." he said. Leaving the book in place and saying nothing more he then swiftly strode out from the shop.

Willie put the money into the cash register, then curiosity had the better of him and he opened the book that had been left laying there. On the first page there was nothing but a caption written by a young soldier of long ago to introduce the rest of the contents, and it was clear that the grey-faced Captain had just ringed it with his own red pencil. It read: 

"War is not play. It is not pleasure. It is not sport under the greenwood trees. It is a savage encounter with desperate adversaries who deal death and grievous wounds."

Willie was under no illusion as to what that red pencil mark was intended to mean. It was that mysterious army officer's way of expressing his personal feelings; feelings that would have been derided and may even have proved dangerous to him if he'd expressed them in any other way.

Herr Haushofer smiled with satisfaction when he was cashing-up at the end of the week. "It appears that I made a sound business judgement when I involved you here, Willie. The sale of books as increased considerably since you took a place behind the shop counter. Clearly people enjoy being served by someone with a pretty face rather than the grim old one that I own."

He encountered the man's gaze again and fidgeted under it, although his voice was kind enough. "I do my best for you Herr Haushofer."

"You do more than is required. Your enthusiasm for books spills over and becomes infectious, and you never seem stuck for a comment on any subject. Customers like that kind of chatter when they are spending money."

Later he explained he wished Willie to become used to running the shop alone occasionally, to allow him to devote more time to the meetings of the local Teutonic History Society, which he had agreed could assemble in his sitting room.

***

Felix Haushofer made tea with a flourish, raising and lowering the kettle as the stream of water splashed onto the mint leaves packed into the bottom of a glass. "My tea ritual," he said with a smile, and then ..."Merde!" he cursed when he scalded his hand.

"Ah! At least you are polite enough to loose your temper in a foreign language." observed Willie as he forced the man's hand beneath the cold water tap.

"I can shout oaths in a dozen languages." fumed Felix.

"Many coarse seamen can do the same, but can you speak sense in any?"

"Yes, I speak French and English fluently and I can manage some conversation in Italian too. Have you ever wished to speak another language?"

"My father, when he was alive, insisted that I should learn another language. I chose English because I found it the easiest. But when he died my mother stopped the lessons. She said it was an unnecessary extravagance."

Felix nodded thoughtfully. "When we have cleared away our meal tonight, I think we should continue your lessons. When Hitler makes his peace with England there will be increasing work for English-German interpreters, and you could find yourself with better work than you have here."

And thereafter Willie had something else to occupy his time in the evenings.

Over the weeks he soon became used to the number of people belonging to The Historical Society who walked through the shop and went straight into see Herr Haushofer in the sitting room. He came to know some of them by name. There was Frau Ritter, Herr Ohlendorf, Herr Vockbruck and a skinny, middle-aged spinster called Fraulein Hottl. There were others too. The men drank beer, but didn't become drunk, while the women took their knitting as if they were going on a picnic. 

In late 1940, Hitler postponed his proposed invasion of the British Isles and instead he impatiently turned to the east and the vast expanses of territory he had always coveted there. In June 1941, having conquered Greece and Yugoslavia, and with the armies of Hungary, Rumania and Bulgaria as obedient chattels, he unleashed Operation Barbarossa; the invasion of Soviet Russia. 

On a line from the Baltic to the Black Sea the Wehrmacht relentlessly stormed forward.

During the early part of that year Willie lived unobtrusively in Heidelberg in the guise of a woman, but he was no female slave. He kept the place where he lived and worked clean, but Felix Haushofer always cooked their meals and helped with washing the dishes afterwards, and he also helped with the laundry when it needed to be done. He was sweet-natured, undemanding man, and seemed genuinely interested in helping him through an awkward phase of life. Willie was grateful to him for his kindness, which he had not expected from someone so generally at ease, but he felt no desire to know him more intimately. All physical feelings belonged to his knowledge of Eduard, to memories of his glorious naked figure striding unselfconsciously round the bedroom at Ravenskopf.

A number of men who came into the shop flirted with him and he often flirted back, but he maintained a life of celibacy. Homosexuality was considered an unnatural sexual deviance everywhere, and would warrant imprisonment, and there were disturbing stories being whispered around that in some parts of Hitler's Germany sexual deviants and feeble-minded people along with disfigured and permanently crippled children were being given lethal injections as part of a racial cleansing programme.

He concentrated on work and from it drew the bonus of learning. The range of books in the shop covered every imaginable subject and gave him the chance to keep abreast with the studies he had started at university, and he also took very seriously the language lessons with Herr Haushofer each evening. 

On Sundays the shop never opened, and Herr Haushofer allowed Willie to spend the whole day to do as he wished. Willie always took him at his word and one day in June after they had taken lunch, he went down to the Neckar and walked along the path by the river that he's so often walked in the past. The bell in the spire of the church of the Holy Spirit tolled crystal clear over the water. The summer sunshine was cool that day so he thrown a shawl over the top of the blue dress he was wearing and he had put on a broad brimmed hat.

The river bank was a familiar place to him and conjured up many memories of his early days as a student. Things had been much freer in those heady, sunny days. None of those in his social group had cared about what was legal or illegal. They pleased themselves like buccaneers and took their pleasure where they found it. 

Willie too had been quite shameless. Drawn by his good looks and his effeminate ways a good many handsome youths had courted him. It had been a time of experimentation, and he had discovered that he enjoyed the taste of men. He enjoyed their attention and he enjoyed having sex with them. He had allowed a great many of them to use him in their beds, and some of his tutors had taken advantage of his generosity too. 

Being effeminate at heart he had always been a bottom; always a receiver rather than a giver, but as time went on he had become increasingly choosey about who he went with. Exasperated by the frailty of casual sex he had sought out relationships that provided elements of true affection and commitment. That had been an exercise that had culminated in his affair with Eduard, and after a year, only now was he beginning to overcome the loss of that man.

Head down and lost in his thoughts he was humming to himself as he strolled along. Most other people were lounging on the grass away from the river and he had the path to himself. A sound behind him made him glance up, and he was startled when a tall young man came striding briskly past, going in the same direction he was. He went by with such a rush that Willie took a step sideways, stumbled, and for a moment felt he was about to go hurtling into the water.

The man's hand reached out and caught him before he toppled. "I'm so sorry. I didn't intend to knock you over."

He looked instantly apologetic and concerned, and Willie noticed he was astonishingly good looking. Tall, fair, with eyes the same colour of his own, and he had long powerful arms and athletic shoulders. He kept a firm hold on him as he spoke, and Willie asked him to let go so he could straighten his hat. While he did that he gave the stranger a surreptitious glance from under his eyelashes. He looked older than he was himself, and he was wearing a dark blue suit and a red necktie, and on his head he wore a brown trilby pulled over at a rakish angle.

"It was silly of me. I didn't see you soon enough to get out of your way." he said.

The man smiled. He looked polished and well-bred, and he radiated uncompromising masculinity. "It was entirely my fault. I shouldn't have been in such a tearing hurry. Are you all right? Would you like to sit down for a moment?" He pointed to a bench near them that offered a good view of the river.

The stranger was treating him with the same kind of polite attention he would offer to a girl, and Willie was susceptible to that sort of thing. The prospect of sitting next to him was appealing, and he saw no harm in sitting and chatting for a while before they went their separate ways. Just for a little while anyway. Although he realised that the young gentleman, who was clearly very well off, would probably throw up his hands and scream if he realised he was associating with a cross-dresser.

He let the man lead him to the bench and sit beside him with a respectful distance between. 

"I'm Viktor Schacht," he said, "My father owns an iron foundry in Mannheim but he keeps his family here – you know, away from the smoke."

"You are very lucky. Heidelberg is a delightful place to live. My name is Wilhelmina Froehlich, but everyone calls me Willie. I moved here recently from Silesia, but I'm nothing special. Just a shop assistant."

The man grinned and purred as he turned his head and allowed a slow, knowing gaze to run over the newly met young lady, lingering at the V of her well used suit jacket. There was nothing provocative about the cut of his clothes, but all at once Willie felt almost naked. 

"Hmm, I think Willie Froehlich is probably a very special shop assistant." said Viktor.

A rush of heat made Willie's cheeks burn, but he couldn't help but laugh. The man's way with a girl was wonderfully undergraduate, and though he was obviously middle-class, perhaps even upper middle-class, there were no airs or pretensions about him. He seemed completely at ease talking with a shop girl.

With his mind in slight disarray Willie gazed at the river. A white paddleboat with a tall black funnel was wending its way upstream, and on the opposite bank, in the oldest parts of the town, great spreading poinciana were breaking out in sumptuous orange-red blossom, the radiant colour enhanced by bright green fronds and the intense blue of the sky. Everything, the water, the trees, the paddleboat and the old buildings, shimmered in the soft luminosity of the afternoon. It was a lovely scene with the great bulk of an old castle set on the hillside as a backdrop.

He gave the stranger a long hard look, and received a long hard look in return. "Are you married, Herr Schacht?" he asked.

"You must call me Viktor," he said. "No, I'm not married. My family would like me to marry, of course. They expect me to take over my fathers business eventually and do things in the time honoured style. I've thought about it a few times, but I've never felt it was the right thing to do. I don't want to make the mistake of settling with the wrong woman. That would only lead to a life of misery for everyone."

"Are you not likely to be taken for the army?"

Viktor shook his head. "No, I oversee the iron-ore imports from Sweden on behalf of my fathers firm. The production of iron is of vital importance to the Third Reich at this time." He pulled his jacket straight and sat square. "Look, I would enjoy making amends for the rough way I treated you. Would you like to have tea?" he suggested. 

Willie's eyes lit up at the idea. "That would be nice, thank you."

Viktor led him onto the terrace of a nearby hotel where they were serving tea, and where elegant women were sitting together and chatting and prosperous-looking couples were eating little sandwiches and speaking in hushed tones.

They shared a proper high tea and finally, unable to drag things out any longer, Viktor walked Willie into the lobby, and stood looking down at the girl he had encountered on the river bank. She seemed tiny and appeared fragile to him, but in fact after talking to her, he knew she was spirited and more than capable of defending her own ideas. She had strong opinions about some things, and so far he agreed with most of them. He found her incredibly exciting and breathtakingly beautiful. He didn't wish to leave her and he would have lingered if he had not made previous arrangements to meet his family for dinner. But he knew he had to see her again.

"I love talking to you." he said.

Willie smiled shyly at him." I like talking to you." 

They stood in silence for a moment longer, and then Viktor said. "Would you have lunch with me sometime? Next Sunday perhaps?" he looked hopeful, because he longed to touch her hand but didn't dare. Even more he would have loved to touch her face. She had exquisite skin.

"I'm working most of the time, but Sunday would be okay. I could meet you here, by the river."

"No, no. I shall collect you. Where is the shop that uses you so hard?"

"If you insist in collecting me, you should call at the bookshop on Dresdener Allee."

They were suddenly allies in an unspoken conspiracy, the continuation of a friendship, or whatever it was. Willie knew that Viktor had been flirting with him and he realised that he had been flirting back, but he just hoped they could be friends too. He didn't dare imagine more, but he wanted to know more about him. He wanted to know where he lived and what his home was like, what food he enjoyed and if his parents were still alive.

When he wandered the streets on his way back to the bookshop, Willie realised he felt happier than he had done for a long time. Since Eduard had died, he thought. His mind lingered on the man he had recently met, and he imagined that the world was not such a dismal place after all.

***

He was not prepared for the reaction of Herr Haushofer when he mentioned his meeting with Viktor, and how they had spoken for a short while and had planned lunch for the following Sunday. It came as a surprise. In the time they had been together the old man had begun to look upon him as a daughter, and now he began showing the concern of a fussing mother hen.




Willie's War Ch. 05



As midday on Sunday approached, Willie appeared in the sitting room looking very regal in his red dress, with a handsome string of pearls around his neck, and small diamonds in his ears; borrowed, curtsey of Herr Haushofer's late wife. He had also managed to borrow a little black bolero jacket with chic square-cut shoulders, and to top the whole thing off, a perky little black hat with a feather in it. And velvet gloves. No self-respecting girl ever went on a date without gloves if she could help it.

Herr Haushofer smiled his approval. "Take a key with you. I shall be out myself for the rest of the day, and I won't be home till late."

Willie waited for half an hour after the old man had gone, then there was the honk of a car horn outside, and when he looked he saw that Viktor had called to collect him in a taxi.

"My, my. How vivacious and elegant you look today." the man enthused, "Just the right image for making an appearance at the Europaischer Hof. Come along, we must hurry, we are already late."

"The Europaischer?" queried Willie with some alarm has he clambered in beside him.

"Yes, we are going to there to lunch with my mother and my sister Rita. I wish to introduce you to them."

Willie's hands flew to his face, but Viktor only smiled.

"Don't get upset. I've told them that I'm bringing a young lady to lunch. They are expecting you and wish to meet you. I'm certain they will at once fall in love with you."

Willie groaned inwardly. He knew he was not in for a cosy meal but an interrogation by Viktor's female relatives, and women in general were very adept at identifying frauds and impersonators of their own gender. Despite his smooth features and the mild piquancy of his voice he knew he would have a tough job to remain undiscovered. And even if he escaped exposure, as highborn citizens of Heidelberg they were going to want to know everything about him. They would poke and pry until he made a slip that would identify him as not being the right quality of person to be in their company, and that must mean he would lose Viktor as a friend.

It took only ten minutes to reach the hotel in a taxi. Once inside Viktor led the way across a richly carpeted foyer and into the dining room.

The Europaischer Hof was the swankiest hotel in the district and was much too splendid for Willie's comfort. It was a place of white marble columns, potted palms and red banquettes, lavishly moustached elderly waiters and tables jammed with men in Prussian field-grey displaying the black and white tunic ribbons of the Iron Cross. 

The soldiers were all shouting and flirting and calling for more wine, and there were other men there in morning suits, and women, eyelashes fluttering like fans, with short hair and knee-length skirts, wearing lipstick and smoking cigarettes. 

Viktor's mother and sister were already seated at a table and Willie assessed the older woman first. Her face looked serious and startlingly pale, but she was beautifully dressed in purple. She was wearing black suede shoes. Her suede gloves were obviously hand-made and she was wearing an impressive emerald necklace. 

The younger woman, Rita, was very pretty and seemed very fashion conscious and chic. Unabashedly Willie took inventory of her short black hair, her smooth triangular face, and the thick dark eyebrows that shadowed her very brown eyes. She was slightly older then himself, he thought, and was clearly so accustomed to being noticed that she herself was no longer aware of it.

They were just finishing their soup course when they arrived and the older woman looked up with an expression of displeasure, but Viktor cleverly managed to get in first words.

"I apologise for being late, mother. I was delayed in collecting Wilhelmina from her home. Please forgive me."

He clicked his heels as young men of the higher classes sometimes still did, and he bowed politely and kissed her hand. Quite correctly, he did not make the same gesture to his sister, as she was unmarried, and hand kissing was a courtesy only offered to married women.

"Louis XVIII once said that punctuality is the politeness of kings." the older of the two women said, scowling. She was bent over the table sucking aggressively at her soup, holding her spoon with short, thick fingers to scoop up the pieces of eel, which she was consuming without any pretence of genteel grace.

Viktor gave Rita a small bow and a smile, and then turned his attention back to his mother. "Those Frenchmen! Always so quick to corner we Germans with their quotations, but always finding it tough to stand up to us in a fight."

He was humorous, so polite, so solicitous, so ingenuous and so warm and kind the woman didn't have the heart to rebuff him when he formally introduced Willie.

Rita glanced at her watch. "The meal will be here in a moment," she said, "We took the liberty of ordering – I hope you don't mind, it's better if they are given time."

Willie spent the whole meal looking dazed and feeling tortured. He went through the motions of eating as if in a dream. But he managed to tell funny stories about his family and his last summer holiday with them in Baden-Baden, sedate family walks along the Lichtenthalerallee, and how they took coffee in the Casino gardens where the orchestra played. All that was true. 

And he described his family's home as that of Ravenskopf in Upper Silesia with estates that stretched to the Oder, which was untrue but sounded impressive, and he hoped it would be too far away and be too obscure to be known by anyone there. He told them that at present he was taking a holiday with his uncle. He didn't make any slips, and he made no romantic overtures to Viktor, and there was nothing sneaky or sleazy about him. 

Viktor's mother listened but said little. As far as she was concerned he was just a very nice girl on a vacation, and her son was drawn to very nice girls. She was more interested in consuming her food than anything else. His sister Rita didn't question his story in any great detail either, she gave off an unmistakable aura of privilege and she was plainly wrapped up with the importance of her own life.

"Holidays are such wonderful events, but the war as ruined them for us." she complained, "We usually go to Switzerland; the Alps are beautiful at this time of year, and father as many friends in Zurich and Geneva. But this year we shall have to settle for Vienna."

"That's good," the older woman interjected, wiping her lips with a napkin, "The Viennese make delicious pastries."

A piano somewhere began playing what sounded like the Parisian boites, bouncy, almost march-like music, and a crowd of SS officers came in dripping with insignia – skulls and axes – chins held high, girlfriends hanging on their arms. But only on their left arms, their right arms they kept free for heilhitlering each other. Suddenly the Europaischer Hof was a Nazi heaven.

Directly after the meal, much to Willie's relief, Viktor ordered a taxi. But he didn't take Willie directly home. He had the taxi drop them at the river bank where they had first met so they could walk the rest of the way.

"Thank you for coming to lunch, you were so nice to my mother and sister." he said.

Still flummoxed by the strain of the event Willie gave him a mild reprimand. "You could have warned me that you intended for us to meet them. I was quite taken by surprise. And I don't think we should see each other again. I don't belong to the same class of people as you."

He snorted. He had a devils smile and the eyes to go with it. "To hell with class. I take company with whom I wish. My mother as become quite used to that. I'm sorry if I embarrassed you by insisting that you meet them, but appearances are only of secondary importance to my family. Being a Nazi is the vital element." he glanced sideways. "Are you National Socialist, Willie?"

The question seemed a very serious one for Viktor, and Willie, caught off guard, fumbled for a positive reply. "Um, well, I think I am, but I've yet to become a Party Member. So many things need to be sorted in my mind. Do you believe it makes good sense to make war with Russia?"

"Naturally," said Viktor. He was gazing out over the river but there was no trace of doubt in his voice. His reply was very positive. "If the Fuehrer has decided it to be proper, then it makes sense. A great leader always possesses vision, and the people who follow him demand visions."

"It will cause so much devastation, so many deaths and so much grief."

Viktor's gaze returned to Willie, probing for the cause of his concern. "Yes, of course it will," he conceded, "But whether we like it or not such things will always be with us. Politicians who claim they can eradicate them are doomed to duplicity; they cannot help but fail."

He produced a dazzling smile. "Politics is dead, Willie. Can you remember an election that actually meant something? Before Herr Hitler revealed himself every year saw clever new pretenders swept into power with a mandate to revive democracy and make urgent reforms. But what followed? Nothing but the same tired debates, pointless opposition and old compromises."

"The Fuehrer is all powerful, but didn't someone once say that power corrupts." Willie replied levelly.

"No," Viktor said gently, "'Absolute power corrupts absolutely'. The Roman Emperor Tacitus said that centuries ago, but he was wrong. It is democracy that corrupts, because the very act of begging for votes is a corrupt practise. Who can respect someone who spends his life toadying to strangers and asking them to elect him? Napoleon would never have done that."

Willie had never really taken a deep interest in politics. He had always thought it a subject too devious to understand properly, but he had always believed he supported the idea of democracy more than anything else. Now, as Viktor spoke, he found it increasingly difficult to trust his own judgement. The man was so...what? He was so persuasive.

"I expect I shall join the Party soon." he mumbled. Then in an effort to hide his uncertainties he changed the subject. "Your mother and sister were very nice to me. Rita is very beautiful and will no doubt break many men's hearts."

Viktor agreed. "She will be married before too long, and that will settle her down. She's more or less in love with someone at the moment and I'm sure she'll be engaged by the end of the year."

"But no marriage for you, Viktor?"

He reflected. "I enjoy myself too much," he said finally. "I have a young man's urges that I shall carry into middle age, and I hate the thought of denying myself." 

When they had strolled along Dresdener Allee and had come up level with the bookshop he smiled wanly. "There are too many important things to do before I choose marriage." He glanced at Willy thoughtfully. "I'm due to attend a rally at the university this evening, but I'll have time on my hands until then. I was hoping you would ask me in for coffee."

Willie hesitated, for the first time feeling slight shame at where he lived. "It's not very plush inside, not what you will be used to."

Totally undaunted Viktor scrutinised the shop front with the carefree gaze of an adventurer. "Oh, I suppose everything could do with a fresh coat of paint, but it looks inviting enough. And I expect it's rather cosy inside."

Willie stood beside him offering lavish glances, while the man gazed down at him with hungry eyes. Something unseen and dangerous sizzled in the air between them. Willie couldn't see it, but he could feel it. Inside he was trembling, teetering on a tightrope of sexual excitement. 

"We have no real coffee, but we have tea." he said. He unlocked the door and led him through the shop, and then into the tiny sitting room. There he paused. "I can't get involved with you, Viktor. I mean, not intimately. It's not just the class thing. There are other reasons why I can't get involved."

"Then, you must tell me why." the man demanded. "You're not a Jewess I'm certain, so stop avoiding it. I don't wish to hurt you, I want to understand. What is it you can't tell me?"

Wishing to avoid explaining Willie turned his head away. "It's too complex."

Viktor nodded as if he understood. "I think you are a lost child who cannot find her way. You have loved before and now love means too much pain. It's true, isn't it? You did love a man once, didn't you? It's impossible to hide that; it shines in your eyes." His voice resonated with the emotions that burned in him. "How can so much love be lost forever? Tell me. I can't bear not to know." 

And now Willie looked up at him directly. "Yes, I once loved a man desperately. Far more than anyone can ever understand."

Frantically Viktor shook his head. "And so it didn't work out the way you wished. Even so, it is important not to dwell on disappointment. You must overcome it."

Goaded beyond endurance he gave in to the overwhelming impulse to shake him, and only when Willie slumped against him did he stop. 

"Oh, Viktor, don't. It's not just the past, there is something else."

Viktor's answer was stark and immediate. He lifted Willie's head, his fingers hard along his jawbone; his tongue touched his lips and then pierced his mouth, crushing his mouth beneath his own just as he crushed the resistance.

"I know all your other secrets. I'm not stupid." he muttered, his mouth covering every inch of his face and throat. "I know you are not completely a woman. I've known it since we first met"

The revelation made Willie catch his breath. "And you don't mind?"

Viktor smiled. "Why do you think I'm so reluctant to marry? I'll tell you why. It's because I prefer people like you."

A gasp of amazement shook Willie. "You know what I am, and you still took me to see your mother and sister?"

The man chuckled gleefully. "Yes, I'm quite outrageous, aren't I? But there was no risk of you being discovered. They live in a different world to the one we inhabit, and it's inconceivable to them that a man could dress up and live as woman."

Willie turned away. Something in the timbre of his voice touched a nerve that he didn't want touched and caused a reaction he didn't want aroused. He surveyed him discreetly, the man who had tricked him and tricked his own family too. Beautiful, yes, but somehow spoilt by such childish games. But he was masculine; the word handsome seemed too tepid, too indefinite. So it was possible; a man could look like a hero, but not necessarily behave like one. Greek gods are quite misleading, he thought; statues in museums could easily represent a lie.

When he turned around, Willie's face was close to his and his eyes were almost shut. His mouth tantalised. Moist, warm and extravagant, and very soft. Their mouths dusted together and barely touched before he drew away, and for a time they stood apart, arms by their sides. Then Viktor settled his hands on Willie's hips and moved towards him.

Without giving any warning his hands smoothed Willie's body, touching his breasts, enticing his flesh, just as Eduard had touched him in the past. Willie's recollection of Eduard was vivid, timeless in its power. It had stayed with him constantly, the angry ecstasy, his sensation of utter defencelessness. No man had touched him like that since, until now. Suddenly his body once more craved such wicked caresses.

Behind him he had the hardness of a heavy wooden door, and in front he suddenly had the hardness that was Viktor. A deep shudder tormented him as the man started to explore the delicate whorls of his ears, his thumb on the pulse at the base of his throat.


"Relax with me." Viktor gave voice to a restraint that had tested him. "Be a woman for me now. I know what you are, and I want to make love to you because of what you are."

"Incredible." Willie murmured.

"I think you're incredible." Viktor said, putting his arm around him.

"Me?"

Viktor pulled the androgynous body towards him. "Yes."

Willie looked into the blue eyes that were staring straight at his own, and he could feel the strength of the arms around him. "I'm not incredible. I'm very ordinary."

"I say you're incredible," Viktor said again. He squeezed tighter. "And you're very lovely."

A sense of relief engulfed Willie. For so long he had hidden his sexuality, afraid that those attracted to him would be repulsed by what he really was. But Viktor accepted what he was and gloried in it. For the first time since Eduard he now felt free to offer himself unreservedly. "Up the stairs," he urged heatedly, "Herr Haushofer won't return until the evening."

Halfway up the stairs he asked himself bitterly why, after what he had done and the tricks he had played he should be ready to comply with him, but the reaction of his body to the knowledge that he was close behind was of longing and not rejection.

They went into Herr Haushofer's bedroom because it was more spacious, and Willie felt a great wave of desire descending on him, deep and towering. He let Viktor slip the buttons of his dress and cup his breast against a chemise so thin it might have been a second skin.

"Viktor." he experienced a sudden pang of erotic desire that seduced him into a long trembling sigh. The touch of his hand, the caressing of his tightly furled nipple, was exquisitely strong and arousing. He felt the pull of it to his body's core, and he gave a sharp, electrified moan as he stiffened.

The man stared down at his upflung face, his full, sensitive mouth faintly swollen by the violence of his kisses. "Don't stop me." he gritted, his handsome face full of a terrible frustration. "I may just strangle you. You deserve it. If you were more desirable you wouldn't be human."

If Willie's mind wasn't yet sure about sharing sexual intimacy at that moment, his body knew different. It knew, for instance that if he reached out and touched Viktor the way he was now doing, just the merest brush of his fingertips, slowly, oh so slowly against the tight bulge he could feel in the man's trousers, that instead of leaping away he would draw closer to him.

In his own way Viktor was fighting his own devil. He shouldn't be doing this. Oh, he shouldn't be doing this, he warned himself. Not with a boy in a skirt. His mother would be horrified, and his sister would have hysterics, and his father would disown him. But the mere prospect excited him, and the provocative touch Willie was subjecting him to, just the slight brush of delicate fingers against his erection, was more than he could stand. And it was true that being with a beautiful boy-girl was the kind of thing he enjoyed most.

Nor did he just wish to touch and taste, he wanted to take that naughty little cross-dresser primitively as though every layer of civilisation had been stripped from them both. Hot, urgent, immediate sex – that was what he wanted with him. He wanted to fill him and spill a great reservoir of his seed inside him.

Automatically Willie stepped back. His mind and body were tearing him apart with the ferocity of the conflicting messages they were sending. He wanted to go somewhere quiet and dark and stay there until he felt able to cope. Instead, taking hold of Willie's hands, Viktor pushed him against the wall and pinned them above his head while his body leaned against him. Willie could see his expression clearly and a fast, furious surge of shocked excitement raced through him. He had lost control now. He could see it in the man's eyes and he could feel it in the way he was grinding his body against him – and he loved it.

He let his red dress slither to the floor, and as Viktor felt the hips of the androgynous beauty lift and rise against him he knew there was no going back. Fingers were touching him again, and this time they were tracing his erection, gauging it – measuring it?

Suddenly Willie was kneeling up on the bed, presenting himself for a man's pleasure. His chest tightened as an uncertain touch revealed to him just how much a man Viktor was. When he felt his pants being removed shocked pleasure surged through him on a riptide. 




Willie's War Ch. 05



He weighed next to nothing, and Viktor acknowledged that as he lifted him into position and plumped up the round contours of his bare bottom. Willie's face was turned back to him and he could see the bright, aroused glitter of his eyes and hear the exhalation of his breath.

"Relax and open up for me." he commanded.

Willie leaned forward against the bedpost, the fleshy rounds of his bottom wholly exposed, his face pressed against the wall. "I can't believe this." he whispered after the first fit of passion.

In the dim light of the room there rose up a moan his uninhibited delight. Willie could feel his breasts swelling in Viktor's hands while his stomach tightened with expectation. The man's arms became wrapped around him, his fingers sliding through the softness of his hair. 

Blindly Willie turned his head to accept a fevered kiss. Viktor's mouth tasted of man, and he wanted to feed until his senses were sated with the pleasure of it. 

A broad tongue touched the back of his neck and a tiny pulse in his throat jumped and skittered. Willie gasped at a momentary discomfort, then clawed the bedding as a length of solid manly flesh entered him, stretching him as it buried itself in his tight, willing sheath. Viktor began rocking backwards and forwards, thrusting deep and hard, gasping and grunting, and suddenly all the sensations he had so long forsaken came back to Willie Froehlich refreshed. 

Slow, powerful strokes pushed him against the wall in a passionate unrelenting rhythm. "Accept it, darling." Viktor said, upright on his knees behind him. He pushed into him, big and hard, and the hot-bodied girly-boy became anchored to him by the forceful ramming of his hips. He pushed Willie's head down and penetrated deeper, wanting to fondle the flesh of his buttocks while he progressed, but he was too close and too far into him.

The man gripped hips and pumped with a ferocity that caused him to grunt with exertion, and Willie felt his body shudder as his new lovers hunger for him ripped through his defences. 

Now Viktor was beyond reason, groaning with rapture with each wicked plunge, going beyond sanity, beyond any wish but wanting him. And he was the one who had done this to him, who had made the man insane with need. The forceful plunge of anal invasion; the strong hands pulling on his hips; the friction that enhanced mutual joy, and then finally the exaltation of receiving a man's sperm.

Afterwards they slept, and twilight was making the curtains blush when Willie awoke. His eyes felt raw, the lids rubbing like sandpaper as he blinked. Viktor was sitting on the side of the bed, his hair dishevelled, hanging unevenly over his forehead, and he was looking red faced and furious. 

In the short time since their lovemaking there had been an abrupt change in the man's mood. Something in his eyes had switched off and he looked formidable and unapproachable. There was now a brooding nastiness about him that was inconsistent with the charming young man he had known earlier.

"Where did this come from?" he asked sharply. He was purveying a copy of 'World Stage' he had found lying around somewhere in the room and he was openly disapproving of its contents. Willie felt a jolt in his chest, because Viktor wasn't merely disapproving, he was angry.

"This vile comic is an insult to the Fatherland. It makes a mockery of everything we are doing to make our country great in the world."

Warily Willie glanced in his direction. "I – I don't believe it mocks Germany, Viktor. It just expresses the opinions of those people who don't agree with war."

The man was adamant. "If it just encourages that, it is seditious. It mocks the Fuehrer since it is his policy to promote war to save our nation. How can you bear to live in the same house with such trash?" He clenched his fist in anger. "Did you know this Ossietzky fellow, the man who produced these vile magazines, was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 1936? Hitler was so enraged he banned Germans from accepting international awards ever again." 

He threw the paper onto the floor and kicked it across the room. "The man was a traitor of the first-order and anyone who revels in reading his literature is a traitor also."

He glanced sharply at Willie. "It belongs to the man who took you in, doesn't it? What is his name? Haushofer, isn't it?"

There was a look in his eyes that confused Willie and made him deeply troubled. It was a mixture of biting contempt laced with pain, as though somehow the discovery had a personal meaning for him.

"I know you are a National Socialist, Viktor, but not everyone is made the same. Surely people should be allowed some freedom in the way they think."

Viktor's eyelids drooped over his eyes so that Willie couldn't be sure whether he was watching him or not. "Herr Hitler's brand of fascism is exactly what people want." he said. "Their wants are very basic. They can be divided into animal and spiritual categories. People want food in their bellies and money in their pockets, and maybe a fuck once in a while. They are animal needs. But they alone don't give people a purpose in life, and so they look for spiritual needs also. To have a purpose, people need someone to fear and something greater than themselves to believe in. That is religion, isn't it?"

"I suppose it is to some." replied Willie, softly.

Viktor dismissed that with a wave of his hand. "The Fuehrer has invented his own religion. He gives people a belief that is both grand and terrifying. He is giving them exactly what they want. Those that defy the Fuehrer also betray him, and they deserve not to live among us."

The man's tone was threatening, and pearly fingernails flew to Willie's mouth "No – no!" he begged, "Please try to understand, Viktor. Don't do anything that will endanger Herr Haushofer. He is just an old man, and he is harmless."

"Are you insane?" Viktor was a little calmer now, but just as implacable. "We can't just pretend he has no wish to betray us." he paused, and for a moment it seemed he too had became prey to conflicting emotions. He had absolutely no doubt that his suspicions about the man who owned the bookshop were correct, he was a scurrilous advocate of disloyal propaganda and deserved to be shown the error of his ways. But his bitterness towards him was tempered by the feelings he had for Willie. They were not objective feelings in any way, shape or form. They were personal feelings. Even so, they were strong enough to weaken his resolve.

Willie's face was tilted down slightly, but he could see he was scowling. The red lips, the pale cheeks, the small and delicately pointed ears below his lick of blond hair – he had a vampish look that was disturbing in a young man. He still had the taste of him in his mouth and it made him recall the sex. The very memory of it made his thoughts soften.

"Yes, I think what you say is true. He is a harmless old man. But if I agree not to denounce him it will only be because of your kind pleading on his behalf. Tell the fool to get rid of that stuff and anything else like it."

***

That night the university auditorium was full to capacity. Three hundred chairs had been set out and all of them were occupied, the front rows taken by a variety of regional dignitaries and the faculty of the university. Behind them sat senior representatives of the local National Socialist Party and Youth Leaders of the Jungmadel, and behind them students and assorted individuals from the town.

In the centre of a stage a sombre podium had been set, flanked with huge red banners bearing swastika emblems together with flags of the SS – two white runic figures on a solid black background. As the seconds ticked towards the full hour the central lights dimmed until only the stage was bathed in white light, and the Rector of the University then stood up briefly to introduce the guest speaker. 

A slightly built, unassuming figure appeared in the wings and walked slowly towards the podium. It was Paul Joseph Goebbels, Minister for Nazi Propaganda.

He gripped the lectern in front of him with both hands and offered a faint smile. "Damen und Herren - Students of the University - Burgers of this beautiful historic town. Thank you for inviting me here. Those of you who know something about me will know I passed through these hallowed halls twenty years ago as a young man, so I am not an anonymous stranger. I am a traveller coming home."

There was rapturous applause from the audience at this discloser, and he needed to quell it with hand signal. He then continued speaking in a courteous and unruffled manner. 

The audience listened, hushed in awe. His enunciation was crisp and clear. They were mesmerised. This man was a trusted friend of Hitler. They knew that every word he said was a reflection of the thoughts of the great Leader and it was like listening to the Fuehrer speaking himself. 

"My friends. Good Germans. I am here to tell you about the future. The bad times, the unemployment, the despair and poverty are behind us now and we are victorious everywhere. We must now think what we wish our descendents to inherit from us in a thousand years from now, and of course we wish them to inherit a virile nation, a healthy nation free of racial ambiguities and a nation that is the foremost power in the world. We will not tolerate carrying forward the petty rivalries and divisions and the failures to unite that have plagued us in the past, and we don't have to, because we are blessed with a wise and faultless leadership.

"There may be those among you who are puzzled as to why, having conquered most of Europe so easily, we have not stamped on the stubborn English in their island before taking on a new crusade with Stalin's Russia. Well, I can tell you they will not escape our attention, but first we must seek to impose our priorities. We can crush the British at our leisure, but we must not allow them to deflect us at this moment from our urgent desire for expansion in the east and the eradication of the vile disease of bolshevism."

He paused for a moment to observe the ranks of wide shining eyes gazing up at him, and then continued:

"You will know from the news bulletins that our armies in Russia are rapidly destroying the savage Slavic hordes opposed to them and ultimate victory is assured. This success is only made possible because we have a resolute leader who has correctly grasped the political and military situation and acted in accordance with his own understanding. 

Not since the Roman Caesars' as the world known such greatness. Charlemagne and Napoleon almost achieved it, and great opportunities were missed by those men. Instead Europe was cursed with discord and waste as kings and princes continued to fight each other for supremacy. Now we have a chance to arrive at a final peace through war. We are blessed with a man with the intellect, the nerve and the will to bring all of Europe together under the leadership of a single beneficent master.

"Adolph Hitler will outshine all who have gone before him. He is an agency of history destined to resurrect Germany's national greatness. Believe in him and it will be attained. Our Fuehrer does not make mistakes. 

"Some individuals with rotten minds will not admit that of course. They remain blind to the crisis of unemployment that was previously our despair, and they resent the money spent on armaments that are the key to our future prosperity. That is not good enough. The future can not be entrusted to foolish wishes, anger and lies; it can only be attained through hard work, honesty and obligation to the Fuehrer. Show yourself worthy of his trust and a new golden age of Germanic-Aryan culture can commence.

"This cannot be achieved without effort, of course. The scale of things are awesome, the battles now and in the future will be intensely fierce, and our courageous soldiers must have the support of every man, woman and child in the Reich in order to achieve their aims. We must have Wehrwille – the will – the desire – the courage to make war, and total war must be waged if we are to ensure success against the animal Slavs. We must ignore the restraints of morality, customs and international law. We must do what is best for ourselves, for we are fighting a righteous cause, and we are fighting for an ideology."

His voice rose in a final dramatic crescendo, showing his skill for charismatic oratory as his hands began to bang on the lectern.

"The Fuehrer promises certain victory. He only requires his followers share the faith he as in himself as he guides them along the path of national unity and racial purity. What counts is will, and if our will is strong and ruthless enough, we can do anything."

Rising in one spontaneous mass, the audience clapped until the room was awash with applause. An arm swung up in the midst of them, followed by a dozen others, followed by everyone's arm 

"Seig Heil!" a voice bellowed. "Seig Heil!" responded Viktor Schacht. 

"Seig Heil, Seig Heil!" chorused three hundred other voices.

***

There was a knock on the door. It was a demanding thump. It banged, and then banged again and again until the door shook.

It was still only early morning but the banging became so urgent that Felix Haushofer hurriedly pulled on his trousers and went down the stairs. Willie, still half asleep and rubbing his eyes and thinking there must be a fire, went with him with only the fabric of an ankle-long shift clinging to his body.

"What on earth can be so urgent on a Sunday morning?" rumbled the old man.

The noise continued. A relentless din. This time a voice accompanied it. "Open up! Open the door!"

"Who is it? What do you want?" Felix called hoarsely.

"Police! Open the door or we'll break it down."

"Okay, okay! There's no need for that. Just give me a moment." Felix unbolted the door and swung it wide to be confronted by a policeman in uniform. Behind him were several other men, some of them in civilian clothes. "Step outside." the uniformed man told him, "And the girl. Bring out the girl too."

"Can we put on some proper clothes first?" the old man asked.

"You heard what was said. Out!" one of the other men growled threateningly. He grabbed Felix by an arm and yanked him into the street. Dismayed, Willie followed him.

A number of anonymous looking black cars were lined up along the curb. A uniformed policeman was ushering pedestrians to the other side of the street, while others took up post as sentinels at their side. Some men went into the shop and there was the noise of callous searching; things falling over, books showering onto the floor. Another man went in with a crowbar.

A short distance away a small knot of men in plain civilian clothes hung together in a group. Viktor Schacht was standing with a dumpy man who wore a long coat and a Tyrolean hat who was being consulted by someone who had just come out from the shop with a pile of magazines.

Fearful and confused, and astonished at seeing Viktor there, Willie looked up at Felix. "What is this all about? Why are they treating us like this?"

The man tried to smile reassurance, but couldn't manage it. He had forgotten how dramatic Willie could look, her cheeks pale and delicate, emphasising the gentleness of her lips and brows, the sparkling blue of her eyes. He could only hope that such sweetness would warrant a little mercy. 

"Willie, I fear I have dragged you into something very bad. Some of the people here are not regular police. Some of them are Geheime Staatspolizei – they are Gestapo."

"Stop talking!" a voice demanded. It was the man in the long coat. He had the face of a frog suffering from dyspepsia. With a curt swing of his hand he signalled to his henchmen. "Take them away and keep them separate. I don't want them cooking up stories between them as they go."

"Do you have a coat for the girl? She should have a coat." put in Viktor Schacht with an ionic touch of thoughtfulness. 

A blanket was found and wrapped around Willie's shoulders, but through the rough wool his frame looked no less frail.

"I found it impossible to keep my promise, and I regret that you are involved in this." Viktor remarked stonily as Willie was led past him.

Willie, stunned by the man's apparent betrayal, merely gazed at the ground and didn't answer even whilst disappointment raked him with burning claws. His words hurt more than if he had turned and walked away – more than if he had physically attacked him. Every breath he took drew in the rank bitterness of his poison.

The man in the long coat and alpine hat rubbed his hands together as the mornings catch were loaded into two of the cars. Nobody important, just a couple of minnows, but they were a rescue from a day that had promised boredom. 

"Do not allow your personal feelings to cloud your judgement in this matter, Herr Schacht. You did the right thing by reporting this mealy-mouthed scum."

Viktor bridled. "With due respect, sir, my personal feelings do not enter into the matter. I did only what any good German should do."

"Naturally." the frog-faced man said genially, "Good Germans know the difference between right and wrong, and they have faith in their decisions. The greatest weakness of power is self-doubt. We must expect people to obey."

"And if they do not obey?"

The man's tone became iron-hard. "If they do not, we must be absolutely merciless. The second weakness of power is pity; we can have none of that."

***

SS-Standartenfuhrer Albert Naujocks gazed out from his second storey office window along the Unter den Linden, allowing his gaze to follow the line of trees along the wide boulevard to the palace and university. To his left, beyond the Pariser Platz, the Brandenburg Gate, martially equipped with horses and chariots, stood on guard. He was thinking about what had recently happened to Rudolph Hess.

For many years Hess had been one of Hitler's most intimate and slavish devotees and had been given the status of Deputy Fuehrer, but some time ago he had begun to feel himself being sidelined by other people in the Fuehrer's inner circle. In order to make his star shine bright again he had recently flown to Scotland – his own idea - with the notion of instigating a treaty of peace with the British by way of a relative of King George. 

Foolishly, naively, he believed that the differences between two warring nations could be sorted-out over a cup of tea with a well-heeled aristocrat. Of course he was unsuccessful and he would now be incarcerated by the enemy for the duration of hostilities. But Hess's silly escapade had aroused in Naujocks an idea that there were more ways to skin a cat other than with a blunt knife.

Earlier he had glanced at the latest pile of dispatches lying on his desk. Lists and more lists. Most were grainy and of poor quality, third copies 'for information only', and usually he didn't bother even reading them. But on that particular day, a name on the topmost sheet of paper caught his eye and had started him on a train of thought.

Mechanically he walked across the room. On the far wall was pinned a large map of Europe and western Asia depicting the current extent of Hitler's conquests. Almost the entire European land mass lay under his dominance, and the parts that clung to independence were either servile allies or nervous neutrals. 

Since the surprise assault on Russia in June German arms had swept relentlessly eastwards and overrun the most populous areas of the USSR, and it seemed certain that before winter set in Moscow and the prize of the Caucus oilfields would be in the fuehrer's grasp. The Leader of Germany had engineered a masterly concept that outshone the best of his generals, and to Naujocks only one element of it rankled with untidiness. 

To the side of the map hung a framed copy of the Hymn of Hate that his father had retained from the First Great War.




Willie's War Ch. 05



'French and Russians they matter not A blow for blow and a shot for shot We love them not, we hate them not We hold the Vistula and the Vosges-gate We have but one and only hate We love as one, we hate as one We have one foe and one alone, ENGLAND!'

Yes, he thought, the continuing hostility of the British was an untidy element in what was otherwise a faultless plan.

He knew his history and he recalled his father's great disappointment and the hatred that had obsessed him at that time. During that war the British sea blockade had pushed the population of Germany to the verge of starvation, and although huge French armies had blocked German success on land for years, it was mainly the British who had broken the Alberich offensive in 1918. 

That had been Germany's final frantic gamble to bring the war to a satisfactory conclusion before the Americans arrived in any great strength to assist the allies, and it had failed. Thereafter his father had blamed the English more than anyone else for Germany's eventual defeat. He remembered the last few months of that war, when every letter send home by his father from the disintegrating Western Front had been postmarked 'God Punish England'.

He thought things over for perhaps half an hour, then feeling suddenly inspired he strode out of the door into the outer office where an aide immediately leapt to his feet. "Is SS-Sturmbannfuhrer Strasser in town, Kleist?" he asked.

"Yes, sir." said the aide, "He'll be sauntering along the Kurfurstendamm at this moment I expect." a small smile flitted across the young officers mouth. "Major Strasser particularly enjoys the cabarets when he's in Berlin."

Naujocks glanced at his watch. "It's still only early evening. Have someone go and find him. Tell him I want to see him here right away."

***

Princess Ingrid had a lean face with a strong, wide mouth. Except for her fair skin and large expressive eyes her beauty was almost masculine. That was not alarming, since the princess was a man. His real name was Walther Holldobler, and Princess Ingrid was only his stage name, but everyone called him Ingrid. He was till wearing theatrical base and eyeliner from the cabaret, but that was all he was wearing. Beneath the bedcovers he was completely naked.

He was expecting a guest, but when he heard a key turn in the lock of his bedroom door, he nonetheless clutched the heavy Federdecke to his chin.

Hermann Strasser leaned his head through the doorway and presented a lurid grin. "Ingrid, meine Schatze, meine kleine Akelei. I've missed you."

Ingrid moved his legs slowly back and forth beneath the bedcovers. "I've missed you too, Hermann. Have you brought me a nice present?"

The man's gorilla frame almost filled the door. He was carrying a bottle, and he surveyed the room carefully before entering. "A fat little purse and a bottle of real champagne."

"How sweet of you."

"How sweet indeed." he rejoined, letting his eyes linger on the princess's pretty white throat. He sat on the edge of the bed, bent forward, and gently kissed him.

"How was Düsseldorf?" Ingrid asked.

Hermann lifted his nose as if he'd just detected a bad smell. "I never go to Düsseldorf. I work in Breslau."

"Oh, yes, of course." Ingrid sat up, realising he was confusing his guest with someone else. "Come and warm me up." he invited.

Hermann found it easy to adapt to the mood when he knew there was a naked body involved. He slipped off his jacket and trousers and rolled onto him, his erection already protruding through the gap in his underpants. He was a jaded man in many respects, and Ingrid was so youthful and ripe, and so effeminate. And he fully understood the need for distraction with a war raging. It was his duty to service those in need.

He leaned forward and gave her an enormous wet kiss. Ingrid received it with vengeance, pulling at his tongue with his own.

"Wait!" Hermann said. "I do believe...why yes, I swear I saw a public notice. Let me check." he threw the covers over his head and began nibbling down the transvestite's body as Ingrid laughed. He loved that laugh – the ring of fine crystal. He began kissing his belly just below the navel, ultimately seeking his thighs. Licking lightly just once, he raised his head. "I knew it." he said. "It says 'verboten,' here." He rolled him over and gripped his buttocks which were of a tender hue the French would call 'rose de dessous'. "Just has I suspected. Here too."

Ingrid giggled. "And what about my titties?" 

Hermann rolled Ingrid back over and buried his face in his chest. "Same story. Both of them." he licked each of them, then sucked each nipple in turn while Ingrid stroked his head. "What fine boobs you have," he said, gathering them into a firm grasp. "The trouble is, I'm Bavarian, and whenever I see 'verboten' I read it as 'opportunity.'

"And what will become of this opportunity?" Ingrid murmured.

Hermann clucked joyfully. "Why, quite definitely it will lead to the fucking of your lovely round arse, my buttercup."

There was an abrupt knock on the bedroom door that interrupted negotiations, and Ingrid barked, "Fuck off! Go away and come back in the morning."

Hermann approved enthusiastically. "What an excellent idea. My sweetheart, your grasp of language is a godsend!"

Far from departing, the person outside lingered and spoken words came through the woodwork. "I have an urgent message for Sturmbannfuhrer Strasser." it called.

"What's the message?" rumbled Hermann, making no attempt to go near the door.

"Major Strasser is immediately required to attend Colonel Naujocks at SS Headquarters, sir." the voice answered.

Hermann's expression drooped, and his ardour immediately began to droop too. "Damn this bloody war!"

***

"I hope I didn't interrupt anything of vital importance by insisting you come here, Hermann." Albert Naujocks said when Herr Strasser joined him.

"No, no, sir. I was merely about to have dinner with a lady. It was nothing that cannot be done another time."

"That's good, because I'm going to need your assistance for the next few days. I've been thinking rather deeply about some things, and one of them is the British. The Fuehrer as become fixated with the war on Russia without first completing the subjugation of the English pest."

Hermann threw up his hands. "The English are on the defensive everywhere, surely there is no urgency to finish them off."

The senior officer's jaw set firm. "Of course there is urgency. The Fuehrer would have had them tucked on the shelve last year had he not been served by incompetent fools. Goering's air force failed to obliterate their army when it was cornered on the beaches at Dunkirk, and afterwards it failed to clear the way for a seaborne invasion of the British island.

"They are a thorn in our backside, Hermann. Their continuing defiance compels us to maintain a separate army just to hold them in check, and it's an army that could be thrown into the struggle with the Russians if England could be coaxed into making peace. At the moment the Fuehrer is torn between making a dash to seize the oilfields of Baku and taking Moscow before Christmas. Given the help of those formations sitting on their backsides along the North Sea coast he could do both."

Suddenly he lurched out from his chair and went to a map of the world that was tacked on the wall next to the one of Europe. He tapped North America with his forefinger. "Roosevelt is gaining support for his belligerence against us, but if the British are taken out of the picture he will cease to be a worry. It would be unfeasible for the Americans to attack mainland Europe from across the Atlantic, and they would have no reason for doing it."

Returning to his desk he reached for the sheet of paper that had caught his attention earlier. "Does the name Wilhelm Froehlich mean anything to you?"

Hermann scratched his slab of a chin and considered for a moment. "Well, yes. I recall that was the name of an effeminate queen that once lodged with Fraulein Dietz at Ravenskopf."

"Correct. He was memorable little thing, even I am willing to admit that. What do you know about his passions?"

Strasser put on a show of being affronted. "Practically nothing, sir. Gracious, I would never get involved with a queer. You know that."

The other man cocked an eyebrow and smiled faintly. He knew everything about Strasser, right down to the amount of toothpaste he put on his brush, and although homosexuality was a crime he had the option of turning a blind eye if it involved Party Members or faithful staff.

He tapped the paper in his hand with the same gesture that he had used to tap the map, then passed it over. "The creature is in trouble with the Gestapo. For subversion, of all things."

Strasser looked at the name. "It doesn't surprise me. He lost his homosexual lover in the war some time ago. He's a soft-hearted, emotional thing and a bit of a pacifist. He could easily be led astray."

"Having control of a pacifist can be useful to me at this time." said his chief. "I have come up with a rather cute idea that could cause some mischief for the British and may even help bring about their downfall. My idea involves this – um - person. It is quite inexpensive and simple to action, and I foresee no objection being raised by the Abwehr to trying it. 

"I'd appreciate your help in arranging things, Hermann. If I can persuade our overeager Gestapo hotheads to release him it will mean a little trip abroad for our young pansy friend."

"Abroad, sir?"

Herr Naujocks nodded. "Dead men and exiles, Hermann. Excellent company to be in. They don't argue or complain, and they find it hard to tell tales."

***

The room was small and austere, all four of its walls being lime-washed with their lower portions scarred by countless black scuff marks. There were no windows and there was no furniture either except for a chair and a narrow wooden trestle-table that served as a desk. On the table sat a notebook and a telephone.

There was a smell of disinfectant about the place, an antiseptic, fishy smell that made Willie Froehlich reluctant to breathe. It was like a hospital, but without promoting the good intensions of a hospital. He had been allowed no razor, so his cheeks and chin were matted with fine fluff, a thing that would have made him feel ridiculous in different circumstances.

The floor was surfaced with old and stained tiles, and the tiles were cold to his bare feet. Two heavyset young men stood behind him by the door. He was completely naked, and utterly terrified.

"Your name is Wilhelm Froehlich and you are a girly-queer. Is that correct?" a spiteful voice demanded. 

Willie blinked painfully. His chest and arms hurt as if they had been punched. He tried to focus on his words, but although his tongue attempted to move it seemed to stay glued to the roof of his mouth. Nodding dumbly, he gazed at his feet. 

"Answer!" the voice yelled viciously. "When I ask a question, I require an answer."

"Yes, yes I am." muttered Willie, shocked into speech.

"Look at me." the voice then rasped, and Willie lifted his head and peered through unkempt straggles of hair to view the wiry little man standing before him. His sinister eyes were hidden behind steel-rimmed glasses and he wasn't smiling.

"First, let me explain a couple of things, girly." the man said. "I'm going to demand co-operation from you, and my two colleagues are here to ensure I get it." he gestured towards the door where his assistants stood. 

"Karl enjoys knifework. He could make more of a woman of you in a few seconds than you've ever been in your life before, while Heinz prefers to use his fists. He hates queers, and you would end up a shapeless lump of snot and blood on the floor if I let him have his way with you. You would be unrecognisable as a member of the human race – which you probably don't belong to anyway."

Willie's blond hair was loose and matted and he had been crying; his eyes were red from it, and one of them was badly bruised. A cold feeling of sickness was crawling through him. Shock, anguish, despair – he could feel them all.

"Please... I don't know why you've brought me here. I don't know what I've done wrong."

The man's eyes flicked over Willie's unguarded face in scornful dismissal, the hard line of lips below his pug nose looking like a gash in his face. "You are a disgusting homosexual monstrosity, and you were found masquerading as a woman and co-habiting with a subversive."

"Herr Haushofer was a pacifist. He was my landlord. He gave me a room when I asked about work in his bookshop."

"He was distributing seditious pamphlets, subverting others with his lies and distorted ideas. He was preaching revolution and hate for the Fuehrer, and you were helping him."

"H-he wasn't a violent man, he just didn't agree with the war."

"The Fuehrer makes decisions about war and peace, no one else. Anyway, whatever your friend agreed or disagreed with doesn't matter any more. That man argued too much, and one of my associates lost patience with him an hour ago and shot him in the head.

Willie's shoulders slumped. He was shocked at the cold blooded murder of the old man, but he couldn't help an overriding feeling of concern for himself too. He didn't wish to admit it, but he nevertheless suspected that he would share a similar fate once the men there had no more use for him.

"You were a fool to leave Ravenskopf." his interrogator continued. "Many senior officers favour taking their furlough in that place these days and degenerate pantywaist freaks such as you are protected there."

"I couldn't stay." Willie said, his words clipped and unwilling, "Not after..."

His explanation petered out, but with a cynical twist to his mouth the interrogator finished for him. "Not after the death of you boyfriend, is that what you were about to say?"

He was about to say that. He and Eduard had only snatched brief interludes together since the beginning of the war, but they had been joyous and happy times, the kind of times only young lovers can know about. Then one morning Fraulein Dietz had told him of his death. Killed in action. The news seemed to affect him more than it did her. She went about her daily routine as sharp and efficiently as usual, while he had wept for days on end.

"Eduard was brave and kind."

The man's lips curled up in a sneer. "Probably had a big dick too, eh?"

The two men at the door sniggered.

Willie's lips worked silently for a moment, then he said: "He had a noble and generous mind, and I loved him."

The man slapped his hand down on the table. "Enough of the sentimental crap. He was just an officer like many others who have died in the service of the Reich. Now, I want names from you. I want to know the names of everyone you and that traitorous turd Hausofer spoke regularly with in the past three months."

Willie shuddered unsteadily, momentarily stunned by the ferocity of the man's words. "We didn't always talk about the war. Germany is winning. The Wehrmacht is victorious everywhere. Most people we spoke with support what is happening." 

The interrogator seated himself at the table and drew a pen from the inner lining of his jacket. In his drab civilian clothes he would have seemed insignificant and innocuous in the street, ignored by good looking women and scorned by more intelligent men, but in that squalid claustrophobic room he could take on the role of a tyrant king, and he relished playing the part.

"I will decide what is important, and I'll decide who is guilty or innocent of crime. Give me some names. Begin with someone who didn't support the war."

Willie couldn't stop shivering. He was cold and very frightened, and he was ashamed because he wasn't brave and knew he was going to tell the man whatever he wanted to know.

Before he could say a word the telephone on the table jangled softly, and with a curse of irritation the man lifted the handset. "Yes, what is it? I'm busy ...What ...But I protest. I'm in the middle of something..." His fist tightened on the heavy bakelite receiver. "That's impossible..." He continued listening for a moment and his face flared with anger. "Yes damn it, yes. Very well."

He slammed the phone back onto its cradle, a look of fury predominant on his face. "Out, out!" he yelled at the men near the door. He rose up himself and as he passed Willy he glared malevolence. "We have been told to vacate the room for a few minutes to allow someone else to interview you. Don't move from this spot while we are away. If you move a millimetre I'll have Heinz to give you a reprimand when we return."

Soon after his three tormentors had departed two officers wearing the black uniform of the SS entered the chamber where he stood, and like a dream from the past come back to haunt him he recognised the Rottweiler features of Hermann Strasser and the more inscrutable face of the more senior officer who accompanied him. A man who he only knew as Herr Naujocks.

"It stinks in here. Smells like a mortuary." remarked the senior man.

"This is a subterranean cellar." replied Hermann Strasser, "We're twenty metres underground and I guess the ventilation is not too good."

The senior officer glanced at Willie with disapproval. "Put some clothes on for goodness sake."

Willie flinched. "The man who was here before said he'd punish me if I moved." 

"As long as you are agreeable to what I say, he won't be coming back. Cover yourself up."

Willie scampered swiftly across to the wall and retrieved the coarse grey smock that had been pull off him and thrown on the floor on his arrival. Naujocks swung the chair round from behind the table and told him to sit on it. The man himself perched a single buttock on the edge of the table and stared down at him.

"Willie, that's your name, isn't it? We worked together a couple of years ago - a little escapade in a radio station. Do you remember?"

"Yes, I remember."

Naujocks eased into a more comfortable position. "It's a shame we have to meet again in such depressing circumstances. The Gestapo are not the most pleasant company, and the accommodation they provide is always appalling. And I think that in your heart you are a loyal German, aren't you, Willie?"

"Yes, yes. I would never do anything to hurt Germany. I would never wish to do anything to hurt anyone."

"Quite so, and I am here to make you a proposition on the basis of what you feel. It's an offer that can get you out of the trouble you find yourself in."

Gradually some of the panic drained from Willie's face, but the adrenaline was still pumping and making him shake, and he remained sceptical, not daring to believe a reprieve could so easily be given. "I can go free?"

"Certainly. If you prove agreeable to what I say, Herr Strasser and I will immediately escort you to safety. But of course there are some conditions attached to the deal."

Conditions. That sounded cryptic, almost ominous. Willie Froehlich was sickened by the prospect of returning to the bordello-like existence that would have permeated Ravenskopf since its refurbishment, or to life as a personal whore to some high-rank official.

Naujocks shuffled his broad thigh against the tabletop and his next comment referred to neither of those things. "You've no doubt heard of Rudolph Hess."

Willie nodded, rubbing his unshaven cheeks as if trying to wash them. "Herr Hess was the Deputy Fuehrer of the Nazi Party. He recently flew himself to England to negotiate peace with the British. It was his own idea. Hitler insists he was demented."

Naujock nodded. "You understand the gist of it. And although his idea was fantastic, it was not without some merit, and I have the permission of the High Command to attempt something similar. I need your assistance to do it, Willie. You are known to be a person who hates war, and I wish you to take your passion to England."




Willie's War Ch. 06



In 1941 Russia comprised a fifth of the worlds land surface, but its main cities and industrial centres all lay to the west of the Volga, and it was this portion of the world Hitler hungered to take during the summer. During a ferocious German invasion the mass of the Red Army was quickly knocked to pieces in a series of colossal annihilation battles which cost it a million casualties, and by September four million more Soviet troops were slowly starving to death in miserable captivity. In the wake of the triumphant German Panzer Divisions followed the SS extermination battalions, clearing away vast numbers of unwanted peasantry and slaughtering Jews. 

Hitler relaxed into dreams of having a colonial Eastern empire - a million square miles of Slavic helots, ruled by a handful of Herrenvolk - German viceroys. In a jubilant mood he declared in a speech to his Party faithful, "The maxims to follow are: conquer and cleanse... then rule and EXPLOIT."

Willie Froehlich was aware of none of this. It was early morning and a keen breeze from the North Sea was cutting across the narrow coast road as he walked its route. The people who had arranged things for him had thought it quite a clever ruse for him to remain in the guise of a woman, and he was wearing a simple top and skirt beneath a crumpled trench coat. His head was adorned with an unspectacular cloche style hat, his legs with woollen stockings and his feet with and dark brown side-buttoned shoes. In his hand he carried a small, cheap suitcase containing the few items he had been able to bring with him. All in all his appearance hadn't changed much at all since departing from Ravenskopf eight months previously.

He was in England in a place called Essex, but he had only a vague idea of where that was. Before he had set out someone had shown him a map of the area, but the names on it had gone through his head like the words of a Bavarian music hall song. 

As he stared at the wide river estuary on one side and the rising ground and trees on the other, he realised he needed to be on his guard. He knew he was entering, what was for him, a hostile unchartered terrain, where people played by different rules, where different skills and knowledge were necessary for survival and where cosy assumptions could be fatal. 

To remain alive he'd had to accept banishment from his own country, but as he followed the road he saw it as a worthy path. He'd been charged with helping to make peace between Hitler's Germany and the British. 

Despite his hatred of violence and his ultimate rejection of Nazism he was now an agent for Hitler codenamed 'Harmony'. How had he, a not unintelligent person in the mid-twentieth century, come to this? It was ludicrous, but his part was clear and he was committed. He would manage it somehow; there was no sense in which he would be found wanting. He would do it in the memory of Felix Haushofer, the old man who had forfeited his life in the name of peace. 

Perhaps it was an impossible task, but whenever the immensity of it weighed on his mind he recalled the English expression Felix had once mentioned to him. 'From little acorns mighty oaks do grow'. He was determined that his little acorn was going to flourish. He would reduce the killing and score out at least some of the senseless massacre of the innocents. And not just because some Nazi Party official had told him he must, but because he himself wanted to do it.

A noise interrupted the still of the early morning, and he watched as a car, a compact Austin 10, came up the road behind him. For a moment he hesitated, wondering if he should flag it down and ask for a lift or stand aside and let it drive on. In the event the car drew to a halt beside him without him making any kind of signal.

Three men sat inside, and the driver, an elderly clean shaven man, pushed his head out from the open side window. On the shoulder of his brown jacket was sewn a patch bearing the words HOME GUARD. "You've got a long walk in front of you if you're heading for Colchester, Miss." he said.

Willie nervously gripped the handle of his suitcase. "I'm not going to that place; I'm going to Brascombe Manor. Maybe that's not so far."

"Far enough. We had a report that a submarine was seen in the bay earlier. Could have been Jerry putting ashore a spy, so we thought we'd take a look."

The passenger in the back of the car climbed out and stood staring at him. He was wearing a brown blouse and brown trousers and he held a rifle in his hand. The man was holding it by the stock and he wasn't pointing or threatening with it, but just the near proximity of a gun felt intimidating enough.

Willie's heart thumped, but he had a pouty mouth and a beautiful face and he used them to conjure up a disarming smile. "You don't think that I'm a spy, surely."

The man seated in the car gazed up and beamed. "Course not; you're too little and pretty for that kind of thing." Then his smile turned down slightly at the corners. "But you do have a foreign accent and you are in the middle of nowhere, so I'd better have a look at your identity papers."

Willie quickly produced what was needed from the pocket of his coat and thrust the forged documents into the man's hand. He studied them for a moment. "Dutch are you?" he said rhetorically. "How did you get here?

"I come from the Refugee Resettlement Centre at Ramsgate."

"That's quite a distance from here."

"A man promised to take me to Brascombe Manor in his car, but he became what you call 'fresh', and when I protested he humped me."

The man with the rifle gawped stupidly. 

"I think you mean he dumped you, luv." said the one examining his documents. "Some blokes just haven't learnt how to act the gentlemen." 

"Everything here seems okay," he said, handing the papers back, "And since you're genuine we'll be proper gentlemen and take you to where you're going." He gave the man at his side a nudge with his elbow. "Ere, Nobby, get in the back. I've just found someone prettier than you to sit next to me."

A little over twenty minutes later Willie stood on the road again. At the end of a short gravelled drive bordered by grass paddocks stood a fine looking Edwardian house... grey stone mellowed by the years, with a battery of tall chimneys on its roof. There was a large oak door at its centre and so many windows showing that he didn't bother counting them. It wasn't as grand as Ravenskopf of course, but it was old, ogee and poignant.

For a moment he dithered. The door, under a handsome limestone tympanum and surrounded by a cinque-foil arch, looked big and formidable and he hated the idea of banging on it to attract attention. But he had to get inside the house to see the man whose name was etched on his mind. 

"Watchcha' sweetheart!" A voice rose up behind him and a youth swung past pedalling a red bicycle. Dressed in blue he was instantly recognisable as a post-boy. Willie watched him go to a smaller door at the side of the house and stuff mail through a letter-box. He then remounted and charged back wearing a wide hearty grin.

"Keep an 'and on yu h'penny, darlin'." he called as he went by.

Willie thought about what he'd said and interpreted it as 'keep a hand on your half-penny', an inexplicable expression and one Felix Haushofer had never mentioned.

Taking a deep breath he approached the place where the post-boy had gone and rapped the brass letterbox. A moment passed and then a woman's face peered through the half-open door; it had sharp features, a slightly aquiline nose and hair that was tightly pulled back into a French knot. Her eyes looking him up and down with undisguised disapproval. 

"Who are you? What do you want?"

Willie stared at her bravely. "I am Wilhelmina Naarden, and I have come from Holland to see Sir Mortimer Brascombe."

The woman's expression showed indignation in addition to outright disbelief. "Sir Mortimer always tells me if he's expecting a visitor. He hasn't said anything about you."

"I am expected, that's certain." insisted Willie stubbornly.

She took him inside the house and sat him in a narrow passageway on a hard chair with a tobacco-coloured corduroy seat. He found it difficult to decide whether the house was peaceful or merely gloomy. The stillness of everything gave an empty feeling to the place. 

"I'll tell Sir Mortimer you're here when he's had his breakfast. He can decide if he wants to see you or not." the woman told him.

Willie used the time alone to go over his cover story. He was anxious, because although it was reasonable plausible he had to use it to established himself as a resident in that house. Before long his eyes drooped. In the past two days he had endured a train journey, a long drive down an autobahn and an uncomfortable sea crossing amid a crew of curious sailors, and now he felt exhausted.

He didn't notice the tall man come down the set of narrow stairs nearby, but the man saw him. He took note of the blond hair pulled back each side of the visitors face, noticed her white, even teeth chewing thoughtfully on the tip of a finger as he looked down at her. Her skin seemed rather pale, but her mouth was poppy red, full and tempting.

"Oh, hello!" he said cheerfully, "Are you waiting to see Mrs Whippet? Are you hoping to join the house staff here?"

Willie's head snapped up. The question was posed by an individual who stood straight and tall, a dapper young man dressed casually in slacks and open necked shirt with a paisley cravat at his throat. His handsome countenance was authorative and his head well formed under a luxuriant frame of blond hair, but although he looked neat and professional his demeanour suggested a relaxed man. 

He was expressing enough interest to set a girls heart afloat and Willie bristled uncomfortably. "No, I have come here to speak to Sir Mortimer. Who are you?"

The man's eyes twinkled and his mouth bent into a flirtatious grin. "You're right to be careful. I'm Jack the Ripper."

Willie laughed, again flashing his teeth. "That's ridiculous; Jack the Ripper is English folklore...isn't he?"

"I dare say you're right. I was lying, I'm rather respectable really. My name is Jeremy de Vere, and my father is a Court of Sessions judge. I can give you his telephone number if you like. You can phone and confirm..."

"That's silly."

Before the man could respond again the scowling woman returned, and he waved a good natured hand. "If you're still here at lunchtime we'll talk again."

"Sir Mortimer will see you now." the woman told Willie, "He's in the Gun Room."

Willie gulped. "Gun Room!" It sounded like the casement in a fortress.

"It's his study." the woman explained impatiently, "Follow me. I'll show you the way."

Willie trailed behind her down the passageway. The woman knocked at a mahogany door at the end and opened it, stepping aside to let him through.

As soon as he was through the door, Willie felt he were in another world. The floor was furnished with comfortable leather chairs, deep pile carpets and an antique desk. On the wall behind the desk hung a glass-fronted cabinet containing shot-guns and hunting rifles.

Sir Mortimer was sprawled in a chair behind the desk, a middle-aged man sporting a tweed bow-tie, not tall, rather rotund and with a podgy boyish face and thinning hair. He looked very English and dressed like what he was; a long-term Conservative MP. On receiving an indication to sit down Willie perched on the edge of a chair. The furniture looked as if it were standing to attention; and the cushions looked so bosomy he thought they would probably resent being disturbed.

"Mrs Whippet tells me that I should be expecting you, but I don't recollect making any such arrangement." the man began.

Willie pushed out his cover story. "The Administer at the Refugee Relief Centre telephoned and was told I should come here." he said.

The man frowned. "One of my house staff took the call I expect, and never told me. Can't hang on to reliable people with the war on. Mrs Whippet said your name is Naarden. Are you a relation to Oscar Naarden?"

"I'm a niece."

"Oscar has been a dear friend of mine for years. How is he weathering life in Nazi occupied Holland?"

"I don't know, I've not seen him. But we spoke on the telephone briefly, and he told me that if I reached England I should try to find you. He said you would help me."

"Of course I'll help. Any relation of Oscar's deserves that. What kind of help do you need?"

"I have to find lodgings and employment."

The man pursed his lips thoughtfully. "You'd be better off in a town for that sort of thing. There's nothing much around here except farm work, and you look a little too delicate for that. What was your last job?"

"I helped in a bookshop. There were no books there printed in English of course, but I have attended university and I know quite a lot about art."

"Art!" Sir Mortimer rolled the word forlornly around in his mouth. "What else? Can you use a typewriter?"

"Yes, I'm very good with typing."

"Well, that's a start at least. You do have a Work Permit of course."

Willie looked genuinely mystified. "No one gave me such a thing."

The man tutted. "Dash those refugee relief people. I know they're busy, but to forget to provide you with a basic vital document is unforgivable. I shall have to have a word with someone at the Ministry of Labour to lay one on, and until we have something arranged you will stay here as a house guest. Show Mrs Whippet your Ration Book, she'll expect to have some of your food coupons."

At that moment a woman entered the room without knocking, moving across the floor with the grace of a dancer. Her thick brown hair was swept back from her forehead and layered along the side into a heavy mane. Her makeup was generously but expertly applied, and her eyes shone bright to betray an easy nature. She smiled at Sir Mortimer who was obviously someone very special to her.

Sir Mortimer greeted her with obvious delight. "May I introduce you to Deborah Findlay, my... er... lady companion. Deborah came over from New York with me before all the disagreeable stuff began here."

The woman grinned warmly. "Call me Debbie, honey. I'll only put up with being Deborah if Mortimer takes me to Buckingham Palace, which ain't likely."

The woman...Sir Mortimer's paramour... looked about twenty-five and had a wide mouth which puckered at the corners, hinting at a smile even when her expression was serious. But there was something about the angle of her cheeks and the line of her throat that Willie recognised as not belonging to a woman. 

"I'm very pleased to meet you, Debbie. And you must call me Willie. Everyone calls me Willie."

Debbie put a pensive fingertip to her chin. "This kid needs sorting out, Mortimer. Look at those woollen stockings and scuffed shoes," She then gazed down at Willy with an expression of slight pity, "And if you don't mind me saying so honey, the rest of you looks like it's been done over with a garden rake."

Willie plucked at the collar of his coat. "I've been travelling a lot lately, but I have other things."

Debbie Findlay looked doubtful. "That suitcase of yours in the passage outside is hardly big enough for a toothbrush. But don't worry; I brought a whole mess of excess baggage with me when I moved over here and I can afford to share some with you."

"Are you hungry after your journey, Willie?" asked the man.

"Hungry? Yes, I am a little. But more than anything I'm very tired. Is there somewhere I can sleep?"

The man's female companion took control at once. "Come with me. I'll show you what we've got."

Outside in the hall Willie handed his slim brown, immaculately counterfeited Ration Book – everyone's passport to eating - to Mrs Whippet, and then followed Debbie up a flight of creaking stairs.

"It ain't much," Debbie said, "I came here expecting a palace, and what I got was a big old dog kennel full of draughts and spooky housekeepers."

Willie smiled, for despite Debbie's clowning talk and loud American manner he judged her to be a rather warm kind of person, and the house had a sense of permanence and stability perfectly kept, the air thick with the smell of polishing wax.

The room he was shown to was quite small and included a fireplace in one wall, although no fire was lit. The furniture was unremarkable too, just a mirror, chest of drawers, a small closet and a bed. But what impressed Willie was how the bed linen was fastidiously tucked and squared, and just how clean the sheets were. It was a world to which he had been denied access for a long time; cosy, comfortable, respectable. Safe. 

He took in the woman at his side called Deborah, to be called Debbie whenever possible. His eyes became riveted on her, almost to the point of rudeness. Her abundant, carefully dressed hair was dark with reddish lights; her face with a good straight nose was set above a large beautifully modelled mouth and a firm jawline. Her cheekbones were high, the outer ends of her eyebrows slanted slightly upwards and her flawless skin was a pale gold. 

And now he was sure. Everything had been well thought through. Those Secret Service people in Germany who had planned where he should go had cleverly selected the house of a man who enjoyed the company of world-class transvestites.

"You'll find Brascombe Manor operates like a second-class hotel." said Debbie, "All the necessaries are outside, down at the end of the landing."

Willie nodded. "I understand. I have lived in large houses such as this before."

"You have, huh! Are you a strayed Russian princess, or something?"

Willie sat on the bed and gave a weak smile. "Sometimes I don't know what I am."

Debbie paused, looking the newcomer up and down to appreciate what she saw, and patting him on the arm with cherry-red talons. "I know what you are. Your hands are slight, your fingers are graceful and your legs are demure, but you can't fool me, kid. Us kind of girls can pick each other out in a crowd, can't we?"

She went to the door, and winked. "Don't worry, I can keep a secret. Grab some shuteye. I'll make sure you don't miss out on dinner."

Later that day, following a long sleep, Willie returned from the bathroom with his torso covered by a dressing gown and his hair wrapped in a white bath towel. He found his bedroom door opened and Debbie Findlay standing inside. She was smelling of scent and was wearing an evening dress of purple-patterned silk and a mass of barbaric golden jewellery, while in her arms she was holding a pile of other items.

Willie stood in the doorway, his face freshly scrubbed and rosy pink, feathery lashes sweeping his cheeks. "Oh, I couldn't imagine who would be in here." 

Debbie grinned pleasantly. "Obviously. Did you manage to get a little rest?"

"I think so. Quite a long one."

"The room is okay?"

"Everything is fine."

The wardrobe in the corner now contained a range of women's clothes, and as Debbie gestured towards them, she regarded Willie inquisitively. "I've brought some things for you to wear. Some may not be the right fit, but you look Size 10, and I'm way past that now. I should have thrown 'em out ages ago." 

"You are very kind."

"Think nothing of it. Can't have you going down the stairs looking like Pocahontas just out of the woods. Bombs may be falling and cities may be burning, but a girl still as to look her best. It's Saturday, and Mortimer has dinner-guests to night."

"Dinner! Oh, yes, I'm very hungry now."

"Good. You're in the right place. Mortimer holds the tenancies on most of the farms around here, so he can usually scrape up three courses for a meal, despite the food rationing. Sit down and I'll fix your hair."

"I must first put on some clothes." he flustered.

"No hurry on my account. You've got nothing to hide and plenty to look at." She grinned at him. "Anyway, you look perfectly decent. That dressing gown covers more of you than most people would wish." 




Willie's War Ch. 06



Pulling Willie onto a chair she began running a comb through shoulder-length blond hair. "How do you wear your hair, Willie?"

"Up mostly."

"Good choice. You have nice cheekbones and a very graceful neck. It would be a shame to hide 'em."

It was still damp as she put it up for him, persuading the thick waves into an elegant chignon which made the most of his elfin features and big eyes.

"Will there be many guests tonight?" Willie asked.

"Some half dozen, I guess, mostly men."

"What do I say to them?"

"My advice is just be pleasant and don't try to be too clever. Just talk about parties and hats and expensive pearl earrings. That's all men want to hear, otherwise they get to thinking you're smarter than they are and you'll scare 'em."

"Sir Mortimer is a nice man."

"He's an OK guy. Helluv a shy one with girls. I think he only invited me to come to England because he couldn't think of anything else to say to me." The transvestite laughed. "I guess I'm being a little unfair. Mortimer rates me rather high in his affection."

Willie went to the side of the room, threw off the dressing gown, and quickly slipped on the fragile top that Debbie had brought for him. It clung to him like a second skin and was probably the sexiest thing he'd ever worn. 

His companion noticed that he was slim with small jutting breasts that blended with a rather small frame, and he had a small face and big blue eyes, delicate facial bone structure and smooth skin. And he was blond, she noticed. Natural golden blond. Not like most blond tranny's she knew who played around with peroxide. Sleeping Beauty's prettier little sister, she thought.

She cocked her head for a better look at his face. "You're going to look sensational." she said softly, the husky quality of her voice telling him she meant every word. "Every eye is going to be on you tonight."

Willie looked faintly alarmed. "I do hope not." He was not unaware that he was already being closely studied, but being what he was he had taken the precaution of wearing pants both to and from the bathroom, and the lower reaches of him seemed of no interest to Debbie. Not yet, anyway.

She returned to the pile of clothing she had brought with her. "Say, how about a pair of these?"

Willie's eyes opened in wonder. "Nylon stockings! I've seen people wearing them but I've never owned any."

"They're fifteen denier, an' that kind ain't been available long, not even in the States."

Willie sat on the bed, then he carefully rolled up an item of hosiery, pointed his toes and slid it up over a shapely smooth leg, slowly, so that he could enjoy the cool sensation. "The term 'nylon' is an abbreviation of New York-London, isn't it? That speaks of close collaboration, but Americans share no close attachment with the English in the war against Hitler."

Debbie shook her head. "Ach! I'm afraid we Americans are pretty ignorant when it comes to other countries. We're insular, I guess. The President would like to get more involved with what's happening here, but he can't carry Congress with him. Heck! You Europeans have been banging each other over the head ever since you first learned about swinging sticks, so most Yanks would rather leave you to get on with it." 

Fiddling with the silver backed hairbrush she still held in her hand she then added. "As a matter of fact I think the British have had it. Ambassador Kennedy said it last year and nothing much as changed since then. They've left it too late to do anything to win this war. Everyone thinks the same except some politicians who should have stood up to Hitler years ago. But here we are and I suppose we've just got to make the best of it."

Indicating Willie's legs she reverted to the theme of his stockings. "Make sure the back seams are straight on those things when you put them on, and take care not to snag 'em or they'll run like a bitch on heat."

Willie flapped the remaining stocking in his hand and displayed an expression of puzzlement. "They run by themselves. How is that possible?"

Debbie wafted a dismissive hand and turned away towards the door. "Forget what I just said. Life ain't long enough to explain everything."

As she reached the door she swung about and caught Willie rocking his face behind his hands and laughing uncontrollably.

"You crazy Dutch cheese. You knew what I meant all along."

Willie descended the stairs sometime later with a degree of trepidation. He had tricked his way into Sir Mortimer Brascombe's home in the guise of a girl, but whether he could fool all the guests gathered for the evening meal was another matter.

If he didn't succeed it would be no fault of his outward appearance, he knew. The outfit Debbie had given him was comprised of an ivory-coloured top with shoe-string straps that showed off the bare slope of his narrow shoulders, and he had a salmon-coloured silk tube for a skirt. His hair, drawn up at the back, hung down at the sides in ringlets, while glass ear rings in the shape of two crystal pear-drops hung down from his delicate ears. On his bare arms Florentine gold bangles gleamed with satinato lustre. The whole made the most of his small breasts, round bottom and lean curvaceous legs, and there was not the least evidence anywhere that he was not a girl.

Even so, he had hoped for a little time to find his feet in his new situation before having to confront so many people. Mentally he shook himself, then took a deep breath and put on his best smile to join the assembled company. 

Sir Mortimer and Deborah were in conversation with a guest; he counted one woman and four men, and he made towards a face that he recognised from earlier in the day. Jeremy de Vere was handsome, smiling, and attired in an immaculately tailored dinner suit. "We need no introductions, we are old friends." he murmured.

"I hope I'm not to be on Jack the Rippers menu tonight." Willie returned playfully.

The man's eyes sparkled. "Chance would be a fine thing, Miss Naarden."

They had barely exchanged greetings before Sir Mortimer steered him about and a man called Arnold Knapp and his wife Brenda aligned themselves in front of him. They were people from a large industrial city descending upon a much smaller place, taking a break well away from the centre of things. 

They were both about thirty, and seemed rather alike. Not that they closely resembled each other... she was slender with a good figure, but beneath her make up, her face was hard and tired. She had thin features with high arched eyebrows and hair that was short and very curly, and she wore a dark, demure dress with a lace collar. Her husband sported a neat pencil-line moustache and he looked slick and extremely self-satisfied in his dinner suit. But although unlike in appearance they clearly suggested the same kind of life and the same outlook. In a weird synchronisation they moved together like two people with one mind. 

Alarmingly for Willie, who had become suspicious of officialdom, he was also introduced to two army officers in khaki-brown uniforms. In the hide-and-seek world he had inhabited after leaving Ravenskopf he had become nervous of military uniforms, but he barely had time to hear the names of the soldiers before the housekeeper gave a bang on a gong and Sir Mortimer ushered them to a dining table laid up with crystal and silver and good quality starched napery.

A number of servants were employed in the house, none of them young. There was a cook and a couple of old dears past retirement age who did most other things, but under Mrs Whippet's keen supervision they remained unobtrusive, hidden in the background and on the wings of life. They seemed to fade into the wallpaper.

He had expected to endure a difficult evening, because whenever asked about himself he could only tell lies. To his relief everyone accepted his story of being a desperate refugee, and it was important that they did, because for the work he had to do everyone had to accept him just as that.

For the first part of the meal he remained silent, just nodding with his mouth full and letting the others talk, but eventually Arnold Knapp pinned him with his eyes. "Sir Mortimer tells me you recently escaped out of Holland. A tricky business with the Germans being so watchful."

"It wasn't easy," Willie told him, "A trawler brought me over when the weather was thick with cloud. I was lucky."

"Glad to get away from under the Nazi jackboot, I dare say. Glad to be in a country where one can live normally, eh?"

Willie frowned slightly. "No one is living normally in a country where people are being bombed and where all the young men have to wear a uniform, Mr Knapp." He glanced at the two soldiers and then back at him. "You are not an old man, but you don't wear a uniform."

"I'm exempt from military service, my dear. I'm in a reserved occupation."

His wife leaned forward wearing a tight smile. "Arnold owns a firm that manufactures steel rivets. Such things are vital to the war effort." she explained, without allowing her smile to slip.

Arnold sucked his teeth as he manfully scooped the last potato from the tureen in the centre of the table. "I'd like to help in a more direct way, of course, but these days everyone must do as they're told."

Willie's eyes moved along the table until the man called Jeremy de Vere offered a disarming smile and threw up his hands. "I'm with His Majesty's Foreign Office, so I'm not in uniform either." he declared in a strong voice, "The government keeps me where I am too, and without being a braggart I believe people such as Sir Mortimer are glad of that. They find my opinions useful."

Willie accepted the explanation from him with surprising good grace, and he wondered why. What was so special about him, he questioned? Well, for one thing he was wearing his dinner suit with unselfconscious ease, and it fitted him somehow as though it was part of him. 

He closed his eyes, willing himself to be sensible, and then opened them again, and moved his gaze onto the two soldiers. "You each have a medal ribbon sewn over your pocket. You must both be very brave." he said. "I'm sorry, but I don't remember your names."

One of them, a genial, athletic looking young man with a bristling moustache and a ready smile, completed the introductions. "I'm Toby Troughton, Captain Toby Troughton," he said, "And the bounder sitting next to me is Captain Jimmy Hyde. Jimmy is Sir Mortimer's nephew. I'm just a camp-follower."

Toby was a caricature of an Englishman with a form of affected speech that would have appealed to upper-class English schoolgirls, but the other man, Jimmy Hyde, was altogether different; more brooding and more sombre. He was dark-haired and his face was cheekboney like in a fifteenth century portrait as depicted by Memling or Van Eyck, and although it was pleasant enough to be attractive, his eyes were another matter. They were fearsome, as if they were in a temper.

Jimmy Hyde gave a somewhat disparaging glance at the ribbon of decoration on his jacket. "France, last year!" he explained, "That was a bloody mess in every sense. Our army that went there was tiny compared to the one France herself mobilised, so it was put under the direction of their High Command."

"They made a complete ash of things." explained Toby Troughton. "They spread everything they had in a thin line along the frontier, all the way from the Channel to the Swiss border... just as if they were going to fight the Great War all over again...and they left nothing as a Central Reserve to reinforce places where Jerry may break through. Of course they did break through. They came through the Ardennes which everyone believed was an impossible way in, and we ended up needing the Navy pull us off the beaches at Dunkirk." 

He paused to smile disarmingly. "Still, someone's got to fight the wars the older ones get us into, haven't they? And we can't have you girls doing it, can we? Fighting our battles for us."

Willie offered a nod of sympathy, but with his confidence blooming he couldn't resist a criticism. "Your country went to war unprepared. Your politicians should have been wiser and sent a larger army. Even now your country is still not yet halfway prepared. Not even a quarter ready."

"Don't you think so?" put in Brenda Knapp, "Not even with all the rehearsals and drills people are doing?"

"You may practise as much as you wish, but if you don't have the ships the planes and the guns you cannot expect victory."

Jimmy Hyde's mouth curled down slightly. "From the time of Oliver Cromwell the British have bucked at having a large army on their own soil. Napoleon called us a nation of shopkeepers, and maybe he was right. The profession of soldier is derided here, and the expense that an army incurs is resented, until there's a war, and then everyone wants to know why we weren't ready."

"Things are getting better. Mustn't be so gloomy and doomy." said Sir Mortimer, trying to introduce some optimism, "When France fell the big wet-ditch of the Channel gave us a second chance. We have a larger army under training now and the Dominions are assisting. Help is coming from Canada, South Africa and India, and the Anzac's are with us again. Roosevelt and Churchill have a good relationship and America is providing massive amounts of material aid."

Having finished eating Willie positioned his knife and fork neatly together on the centre of his dinner plate. "I am a foreigner here and perhaps I know nothing, but I feel you are only making the problem bigger with your building up of forces. The best solution surely would be to make peace."

Arnold Knapp chewed thoughtlessly on his last mouthful of main course. "Not a bad idea. Damned nuisance the Riviera being out of bounds at Easter."

The more earnest Captain Hyde dug in again. "To make peace under Hitler's terms would make us just one more of his lackeys. He would expect us to follow his aggressive policies. He would subvert our way of government and install a Fascist Police State much like he as in his own country. More than that, he would expect us to join in his war against the communists, so there would actually be no peace."

Willie poked his spoon at the stewed plums and custard that had been placed in front of him. "You're surmising a great deal, Captain Hyde, and you're only guessing at what might happen. There could be a completely different outcome to the one you expect." 

The man stared back at him with eyes of vibrant penetration. They conveyed an impression of shrewdness, while his dark face, thin and hollow-cheeked, became overtly hostile. "You have a strong accent, Miss Naarden. More German than Dutch I'd say."

Willie had long been ready for an observation like that. His attitude to unsympathetic people, he had decided, should be whimsical and slightly roguish. Sitting back and composing himself he brushed the dark wings of his eyebrows with a delicate fingertip. "I was raised in Venlo on the Dutch-German border, Captain Hyde. Both language and accents tend to be rather fluid in such places."

Observing the sudden build-up of tension Sir Mortimer sought a way to soothe it. "Yes, well, we've no coffee I'm afraid, so shall we adjourn and take a drink of another kind in the drawing room? We can play cards or play music or something."

When Debbie led the way into the drawing room she indicated a full figure portrait of a distinguished looking man wearing a solar topi gracing the wall above the fireplace.

"That's Sir Neville, Mortimer's grandfather." she told Willie, "He was Military Governor of some place called Baluchistan for a while. Mortimer's folks have all been soldiers since way back and he broke the mould when he favoured politics."

"Mortimer never wished to be a soldier?"

"Nope, he's dead against killing anything... if you'll excuse the pun. Those hunting rifles in the Gun Room haven't been out of their cabinet since his father died." She nodded up at the portrait. "Rather a fine painting, ain't it?"

Willie cocked his head left and right. "Hmm, it's a picture but it's not really art." His eyes settled on a smaller postimpressionist painting further along the wall. "That one is better, it's a Braque. He exhibited in London early in the century along with Cezanne and Picasso, so I expect that's when it was acquired." 

Debbie looked at the collection of illogical shapes and designs being referred to, and then glanced sideways with a slight air of bafflement.

Willie continued unabashed. "All the best artists practised pointillism at that time. You see how the small dabs of colour mix together to produce an intense effect. Quite sensational isn't it?"

Suddenly having had enough of art Deborah turned him about, and when Willie surveyed the spacious surroundings of the drawing room he was amazed at the unexpected clutter. The floral patterns of the couch, wallpaper and rugs clashed in a riot that was almost audible, and added to that was the innumerable pieces of bric-a-brac that dotted every surface. Sir Mortimer's study was furnished sparingly with functional items, and this was only something a woman could contrive. A frivolous, feminine woman such as Deborah Findlay.

"Come on," she urged. "Let's you and me liven this joint up before Mortimer sets his mind on some boring game of bridge or something. Can you jitterbug?"

Puzzled, Willie shook his head. "What is a jitterbug?"

"It's a dance. Nobody does it here yet, but I'll show you how."

Everyone else was grouped to the side of the room sipping drinks and talking. Debbie stalked across to a box full of large vinyl discs, cranked up a Victrola gramophone that stood against the wall, and set some music playing.

Then suddenly they were dancing. Just Willie Froehlich and Debbie were dancing in the middle of the floor. Not an awkward one-two-three and stepping on toes, but gyrating to the beat of fast swing music and moving together in fast bouncy movements. 

Willie loved it, and he responded with uncontrolled exuberance and delightful high contralto laughter when Debbie twisted and swung her hips, then looking like she'd swallowed the tune, grasped his hand and lifted it over his head to swirl him around.

Brenda Knapp seemed to find the entire spectacle appalling. When the music played out she gave everyone an icy look and took control of the gramophone, making a couple of vitriolic comments about 'jungle music' and 'civilisation' before saying that most people still preferred rhythms that are more sedate. 

Her comments summed her up: brash, showy, snobbish, her voice a drawl, high-pitched and affected as if to make it clear to everyone that she was the only sensible person in the room. Not wishing to create a scene in Mortimer's house even Debbie declined to challenge her. 

Selecting some slower music to her own taste Brenda put the stylus to it and demanded her husband dance with her. Jeremy de Vere asked Debbie to join in, and for some reason known only to him the sour looking Captain Hyde took Willie out into the middle of the room and led him through a clumsy two-step, holding him at arms length and moving like someone with arthritic joints. 

For a moment Willie thought he was acting the clown, nearly treading on his toes all the time. But when he saw the determined expression on his face, he realised that he was just a poor dancer who had never had much practise.

"I'm not much good at this. Never have been." he admitted. "But I wanted to say sorry for being so sharp with you earlier. I'm afraid you caught me on the end cusp of a black mood."

Willie noticed that his eyes had lost their antagonistic glare and were now shiny and as brown as coconuts. "Ah, I thought so... I could practically smell the paintwork blistering under your bad temper. I hope your moods aren't too frequent, Captain Hyde."  

"I'm afraid they are fairly frequent, Miss Naarden. It's nothing unusual these days. Prime Minister Churchill suffers dark moods that he terms 'black dog', so at least I'm in good company."




Willie's War Ch. 06



The end of the music jolted Willie back to awareness and suddenly the awkward soldier had disappeared and he found himself looking up into the face of Jeremy de Vere, a different kind of man, a sophisticated, teasing man who was completely at ease. The man was already grinning jovially. 

"If your dance programme for the evening is not yet fully booked, may I claim the next number for myself, Miss Naarden?"

A tiny shudder ripped through Willie. The man's teeth gleamed nearly as white as his shirt front, and he was sure there was real muscle beneath all his smart tailoring as well, and when music began to play again there was no sense of awkwardness at all. 

Jeremy danced wonderfully, rising on his toes and sweeping him around. He was soon smoothly enfolded in the man's arms, swaying to the melody and counter-melody of a soft, lilting ballad about a nightingale singing in Berkeley Square. Now he knew what it was like to dance with a really good partner. He felt like he was floating on air half the time, so perfectly did Jeremy hold and guide him. 

Surreptitiously and by degrees he accessed his partner. He had hair that was so blond it was almost white, but it was his eyes they fascinated most. His stunning blue eyes shone like those of a baby and were an almost innocent feature for a worldly man, but they had an unsettling habit of looking into his own gaze as if he could see the soul hiding there. It was like he was being X-rayed, and there was not a single thing that man didn't already know about him. Why did he look at him like that? Suspicion, maybe! Doubt, no; he was confident and nothing would rattle such ironclad composure. 

Pink cheeked he realised that Jeremy's incisive gaze had finished sweeping and was now fixed on his mouth. He felt his lips start to part, as though they were readying for a kiss and hurriedly he closed them, his face burning.

Willie danced with all the men that evening, with the exception of Arnold Knapp whose wife refused to allow her husband to dance with anyone but herself, and when the dancing palled Sir Mortimer seated himself before a Bechstein baby grand and played some pieces from Gilbert and Sullivan operettas, explaining that if he became more serious he was likely to drift off into the works of German composers, and he felt that would be quite unpatriotic.

Apparently there was a military encampment a few miles away at a place called Foxley Wood, and Mortimer's nephew and his friend left to return there at the end of the evening. Arnold and Brenda Knapp spent most of their time in Birmingham, but had rented a holiday cottage nearby, and when the soldiers had gone Brenda began urging her husband towards the big front door. 

Everyone gathered outside at the top of the steps to wish them farewell. "Byee!" said Brenda, with just a hint of something cow-like in her expression.

Willie waved cheerily. "Goodnight, Arnold. Goodnight, Brenda. Keep a hand on your h'penny."

Brenda glowered back at him, looking like she'd just swallowed a poker, and when the front door had been closed Debbie pulled Willie to one side. "Someone has to tell you not to say that."

"Is it bad?"

"It's a slang expression around here warning a lady to guard her virtue. You know... to keep her hand on it."

"Oh, I see," said Willie with a shrug, "In that case I shouldn't have said it. Brenda probably as no virtue left worth guarding."



Willie's War Ch. 07



The following morning Willie was still confused in his new surroundings, yet the change in him had become evident: his gestures possessed a greater conviction, which suggested he was beginning to feel more comfortable. Little things like the sure way he picked up a cup of tea, the certainty with which he told everyone he didn't take sugar or milk with it, were very significant. He was considered a peculiarity and a spectacular and charming rogue, but everyone he chanced to meet seemed to love his unconventionality. His presence seemed to light up a room when he entered, even if his unguarded observations did sometimes make people want to roll up their eyes.

Of course his conversation was in part still somewhat stilted and broken and he spoke hesitantly sometimes, as if feeling his way through the English language, yet his vocabulary and his powers of understanding were noticeably acute, and he giggled happily, girlishly proud of those achievements.

Sir Mortimer and Jeremy de Vere were due to go to London the following day, and although things were so sublime and pleasant at Brascombe Manor that one could have forgotten about the horrors of war, Willie Froehlich couldn't forget. In the evening, believing he had established himself well enough by then, he decided to make his first approach to Sir Mortimer.

He needed to be careful. That horrible Mrs Whippet who ran the household crept about, watching, listening, intent on knowing things. She was one of those working class women who, when entrusted with some authority, mistrusted the working classes. "They are not so bad if you know how to deal with them," she had been heard to say in the same condescending tone she used when talking of pet animals. 

He was sure she had searched his room, wanting to discredit him and see him ejected from the house, but he was happily safe despite such inspections. He owned a small shaving kit, but that wouldn't have been alarming in a house that served as a home for people like Debbie Findlay. He carried with him no wireless transmitter, no codebook or any incriminating documents. There was nothing more evil in his possession than a couple of oft read Dutch classics; a book by Louis Couperus and Multatuli's 'Max Havelaar'. He had nothing with which to carry out his allotted task but his own personal resources.

The door to the Gun Room was open and Sir Mortimer was seated behind his desk consulting some paperwork when Willie found him, and he fiddled with his hair and applied a touch of lipstick before he entered.

"Excuse me, Sir Mortimer. I've come across some English words that puzzle me. Do you have a bilingual dictionary I could refer to?"

Mortimer looked up briefly. His normally well-fed, relaxed and rosy-cheeked face looked, not frightened or worried, but extremely concerned. "Not Dutch-English." he said, "I have a German-English thing I picked up some time ago. It's on my book-shelf."

"That will do fine. German I understand well enough." Willie went over to the book shelf and peeped over his shoulder. "You are busy this evening."

"Yes," he said, "I was just going over the latest shipping figures. A substantial part of our war effort relies on the cargoes we receive from America, and the losses due to U-boat action in mid-Atlantic and the Western Approaches are very grave." He shook his head sadly. "We've lost sixteen hundred merchant ships since the war began, and a good many brave men have lost their lives trying to bring them here. It's unsustainable. I shall have to raise the matter at Prime Minister's Question's next week."

Willie took the book he'd requested and went across to the desk, weighing his words carefully, not wanting to give the impression of knowing too much or seeking too much immediately. "I would like to say something to you. Would you mind?"

The man raised his eyebrows. "If it's urgent, you should. You look like you're going to burst, so talk up. I'll listen, but I've things to do at the same time, if you don't object."

It was awkward to speak to him while he was bent over his desk opening and shutting drawers. He kept looking at the clock too, which was hardly encouragement. Willie drew a deep breath. "Uncle Oscar mentioned that you once admired Adolph Hitler. Is that true?"

Mortimer stopped fiddling around and there was a strained silence before he replied. "I attended the Berlin Olympics in '36. In those days a great many of us admired him. His remedies for things were sometimes rather harsh, but his country was on its back when he took control and he pulled it up by its boot-straps and made it function properly again."

"I understand that is probably true," Willie said, "And when Britain declared war on him you became unhappy and allied yourself with a 'peace-movement'."

The man shuffled uncomfortably. "Steady on, Willie. I don't know how you got that idea, but one doesn't admit to those kinds of things these days. Even in a democracy there are limits to what will be tolerated during a war. The people that elected me didn't do so because I'm a defeatist."

"You are not a defeatist, you're a pacifist."

"Same thing to most people these days." he offered a slightly glum expression. "Since Churchill took over the reins from Chamberlain everything as been sewn up. The Opposition Parties are in coalition with the government, and the running of the war is the province of a hand-picked War Cabinet. People like me don't have a voice anyone will listen to anymore."

"You should speak to the poor seamen who risk their lives on the oceans, and you should ask the common people, do they want peace or do they enjoy being bombed in their homes every night?"

Mortimer smiled grimly. "You have a simplistic way of looking at things, Willie. Anyway, there is no 'peace movement' as such any longer; there is no cohesion amongst those that think as I do. We all hate the war but we exist as individuals."

Willie turned and gazed at a spectacularly morbid Piranesi print of dungeons hanging on the wall. "I hate war too, but unlike you I know no influential people. When you go to London you should speak with your friends and arrange to form a group. It's only because you all live separate lives that you feel so vulnerable. There will be others who remain silent for their fear of being ostracised. Handled with skill such a group could compel Churchill to alter his attitudes and seek conciliation with Hitler."

He clutched the book in his hand tightly. "This war creates such misery for everyone. Isn't it worth at least trying to bring an end to it?"

Sir Mortimer's initial emotion on hearing this was one of anger, and his first inclination was to rebuff what had been said out of hand. Just who did this flighty little madam from the continent think she was, telling him, a distinguished and respected Member of the House of Commons what he should and shouldn't be doing? How dare she presume to have a better understanding of world events and English politics than he had? She was a madhat idealistic undergraduate who like so many her age thought they knew how to set the world to rights.

She had recently fled her home and was destitute. Out of pity and the need to uphold credibility with an old friend he had given her lodgings for a few days, but her outlandish remonstration was a damned impolite way of thanking him for his generosity.

He pulled himself back on the verge of making a sharp reply when he suddenly realised that she had just summed up the very sentiments he'd felt himself a number of times over the past two years but had never had the moral courage to attempt implementing. Perhaps it was not such a bad thing after all to have someone around to prick his conscience and give him a little push now and again.

He slanted a look at her, shifting in his seat to take it all in. The girl's blue eyes, beneath thick, dark lashes, were alert. 

"I suppose you have a point." he replied with only slight enthusiasm. He lowered his eyes, joined his hands and placed his fingertips on his lips. His face took on an expression of harshness and sadness has he thought things over. "I suppose one should at least try to do something. Sometimes a man must do what he believes is right, even when so many others may disagree with him. I know a dozen people I could contact who think the same as I do. Some of them will know others that may be interested."

Having set the wheels of thought moving in the man's mind Willie was content to leave it at that for the time being. But Sir Mortimer was as yet too faint-hearted to be trusted to continue without encouragement, and he knew he would soon need to return.

***

Willie enjoyed being a guest at Brascombe Manor. The old house felt warm and lived in, and the next day when he strolled in the grounds with Deborah he made it clear he wished to see everything. He loved the birds foraging in the trees and the rascally rabbits scurrying in the paddocks, and he adored the rural view of the fields beyond with their cattle and sheep. Most of all he loved the genuine enthusiasm of Deborah to share it all with him. He listened attentively to her descriptions of local wildlife and shrieked with giggles when they chased each other and hid in the bushes like schoolchildren.

Left with Debbie as his only companion he became alive to her humour, and when she made him laugh his whole being seemed to sing with joy. To the American it seemed the house guest was coming alive before her gaze, and the ability to make someone laugh she never underrated. 

In the centre of a sunken garden that was long past its best show they came upon an incomplete brick structure. 

"Mortimer's air raid shelter." explained Debbie, "He decided to have one built last year, but then gave up on the idea."

Willie expressed surprise that the area didn't attract any of Reichsmarschall Goering's Luftwaffe bombers.

"We sometimes hear squadrons of them going over flying high in the night sky, but they don't bother us here." Debbie told him. She explained that suitable targets were widely scattered in rural Essex, and German aircraft knew they could inflict greater damage if they visited the big industrial towns further inland.

"Best to blackout your bedroom windows at night though," she advised, "When those sons-of-bitches get lost they drop their bombs on any point of light they see rather than carry them home. If Mortimer would loan me a duck-gun, the bastards would all end up dead-meat. What do you say, Willie?"

Willie sorrowfully rocked his head from side to side. "Oh... I knew a German pilot once, and he was a good man."

Debbie treated that comment with more than a little cynicism. "Don't go spreading those kinds of stories around, missy. Folk in these parts think the only good German is a dead one."

Willie frowned at the flippancy. He tried not to think of Eduard Dietz whenever possible, but when reminded of him his jaw tensed and involuntary tears filled his eyes. "The man I knew was handsome, he was gentle, and he loved me and never tried to take advantage of my naiveté. He was the best thing that ever happened in my life. But there was tragedy."

"Tragedy?"

He gave a little nod. "Tragedy has in catastrophic. He was killed early in the war."

Suddenly aware of her incaution Debbie winced at the unintended cruelty she'd inflicted. "That's a pretty good list, sweetie. I'll remember it. Have you a photograph of this fella'?"

Willy shook his head. "I had one once, but it was taken from me."

"That's a shame. We could have framed it and given it a place of honour somewhere."

Willie sniffed unhappily, and all Debbie could do was curse her own insensibility and stroke the slender, vulnerable young neck that leaned against her.

In the afternoon it rained and they retreated to the drawing room where Deborah gave another lesson in dancing the jitterbug. She spent the entire afternoon teaching the basic steps, and found the pupil to be an avid learner. 

Willie had cheered up by then and he delighted in the rapid moving pace and seemed to fall in naturally with the jiving steps. It seemed like dream. That presence, that invigorating music in all its moods was not to be resisted. The room had a surreal quality as they swung around, heightened by several ornate gilt-framed mirrors on the walls that reflected the two of them back and forth, increasing their numbers into infinity and making them a mere element in a rolling, surging multitude. 

After a while there came an unrehearsed pause. Being a leggy five foot ten and having the advantage in height Debbie abruptly stopped and stared down into the liquid blue eyes of her partner, unable to break a connection that suddenly crackled like a high-tension wire between them. The new arrivals lips, slightly swollen and as plush as pillows, were trembling. His skin was the purest cream. She couldn't help wondering what it would be like to kiss him.

An uncontrollable urge washed over her and she felt her body drawn towards his. Willie winced as a gentle stroke was administered to his face. "You're beautiful." she purred into his ear.

"So are you." he responded.

Debbie laughed. The cones of her breasts were conspicuously evident through her tight dress, and she was clearly aware of the fact. "You're being kind, but if I invited you to touch me, I don't think you would."

Willie could only shake his head. "You are Sir Mortimer's partner, are you not?"

Debbie cocked one of her exquisite eyebrows for greater effect and shimmied her curvy hips suggestively from side to side. "Sure, Mortimer's a honeybunch an' I love the guy to bits. But a little harmless smooch on the side with someone like you won't hurt that relationship."

The American noticed that even though he wore no bra Willie's chest had a certain pert rise to it that could push out the front of a blouse and give men the impression of an intriguing bosom. It certainly intrigued her. There was no denying he was a looker - trim figure, high breasts, and a face with an unconscious come-hither smile.

"I was truly proper, y'know, once upon a time." she explained. "I was as proper as can be. Then the fella' I lived with went an' died on me, poor soul, and I took up with Mortimer. He wants me to be completely decent of course, but oh, la-la-la, that's not for me."

"No," Willie said, "Not for you."

"It's better with the war. God forgive me for saying it, but we have to live tonight for tomorrow we die."

She moved very fast; she was beside him almost before she had finished speaking. Willie hadn't bargained for it and she was far too near for his peace of mind, and that peace was wholly shattered when her hand moved of its own volition, coming to rest on the she-boys silken neck as her face moved forward and kissed him quite fiercely on the mouth with warm lipsticked lips. 

She brushed her mouth gently across his and found the touch intensely sensual. When Willie's lips parted slightly to protest, she took advantage and covered his mouth to slowly sample the moist warmth of his tongue. To her surprise, he allowed him to continue the tender assault and she deepened the kiss, the wave of heat in her body in danger of becoming a raging tide. 

She reacted to the intimate pressure of his body against hers, and his attributes of sex began to swell wantonly as a totally familiar desire to grind his hips against him pulsed with increasing intensity.

Gradually, through her hazy passion, she realised that Willie wasn't responding. His hands rested limply at his sides and his body stood unmoving before her, a pillar of reticence. 

The taller figure dragged itself back and stepped away. "You know, you should moan a little when you get tongue in your mouth, and you could try mauling my tits a little bit too. Mortimer never does enough of that."

Willie still didn't respond and Debbie looked at him with a look that wasn't unkind but failed to hide a trace of disappointment. "Shit! I get it. You can only get hot for guys in trousers. Just my goddamn luck."

"I'm sorry if I displease you, but I can't change. I am what I am."

Deborah held up a hand of peace. "Sure, I understand that and I accept it. I ain't into trying to change the world or anyone in it." After a moment she added with a touch of an appeal, "Not even a little bit of hand-jobbing?"

Willie said nothing; he bobbed his head slowly, and then converted the nod into a negative shake that was absolute.

For a moment they looked at each other, then as abruptly as it had disappeared, the smile came back to Deborah's face. In resignation she turned to the gramophone. "Come on. We'll put on another record. Let's dance."

Mortimer came home late that evening, and after they had all had supper they went into the drawing room. He and Debbie sat on the sofa, side by side, where he eased off his shoes and leaned back looking weary and worn.

"Old Winston gave one of his speeches to the House today. Made this damned war sound almost winnable when everyone with the least bit of commonsense knows it isn't. German U-boats are hunting in packs now and our Atlantic convoys are suffering terribly, and Uncle Joe is taking a pasting in Russia. If the soviets chuck in the towel we'll be on our own again and Hitler will be able to give more thought to coming across the Channel."

He looked so downcast that Debbie couldn't resist reaching towards him and playfully poked his paunch with the tip of a finger. Instantly his face brightened. Like a crab poked with a stick he became animated and beamed with the same kind of delight a child would know at being given an ice cream.

Willie went out of the room for a minute and when he returned he almost burst in upon a tableau so intimate it had the potential to be embarrassing. Through the half-open door he could see Deborah and Mortimer were in a clinch, and he could hear everything they said.

A muscle worked in the man's cheek, his teeth snapped together and he ground out. "I love you." His arms slipped around his companion and he began threading her feminine shape through his hands.

Debbie wriggled in his embrace and murmured softly, "Mortimer, there are people about," but he was deaf to her appeal. 

"There is a limit to which a man can stand being touched by your hands, Deborah Findlay." he murmured. "You goad me beyond it, so I respond. Like this."

His arms supported her figure and at the same time impelled her towards him. His mouth chased hers as it playfully dodged and evaded, fastening on her lips at last, prising them open and drinking its fill from the very depths of her. 

His hand invaded her blouse from below, pushing upwards and skimming across her uncovered breasts, stroking one and then the other, taking captive with audacious fingertips the pouting nipples. Debbie's legs almost gave way under the tumult of sensations he aroused, desire ran amok all over her. She knew that if she didn't call off the chase she would be unable to resist responding to the almost irresistible onslaught .

Deborah wasn't willing to call off any chase. Lust was not being imposed on her, Willie knew that, and the woman in Debbie knew it. By then she was enjoying the feel of Mortimer's manful arousal pressing against the throbbing sensitivity of her inner thigh. Clearly she did love him, even if that love was sometimes subverted by a lifetime's habit of permissiveness.

Willie felt no thrill as he watched. There was none of the ripe excitement he had known when watching Loti and Otto Hahn perform together at Ravenskopt. Instead he just felt utter loneliness. Some people would have been appalled by an overweight middle-aged man giving such libidinous attention to a person of such youthful beauty, but Willie felt only envy. Not since his time with Eduard had he known the same kind of intense devotion Mortimer was displaying, and he wanted to know it again. He needed that sort of thing. He yearned for the same kind of caring, and he wanted to be loved in the way Debbie was being loved.




Willie's War Ch. 07



To give them privacy he retreated up the stairs and sat on his bed. He skimmed through the pictures in a copy of Country Life and read a little bit of Max Havelaar. He then heard Mortimer and Debbie come up the stairs. They both passed his door and went into Sir Mortimer's bedroom, and he heard a snatch of Deborah's soft laughter before the door closed.

***

At breakfast Deborah told Willie they were due for a trip out. "No arguments," she said, "we're going into Nuttsford."

They caught a bus at the end of the drive and went into town. Nuttsford was a market town just a few miles distant from the manor that stood beside a small sinuous river in which a line of ducks paddled up and down in convoy. They peered down into the cold grey water from a small humpbacked bridge as they crossed it, then Debbie turned into a narrow street which led to a square lined with old red brick shops and houses. 

Everything seemed quite normal until one saw the sandbag barricade outside the police station and noticed, not withstanding that the town had never had a bomb dropped near it, that every windowpane in sight was criss-crossed with black tape.

In front of one shop Deborah stopped to squint at a hat in a window, a divine creation topped with flowers and silk pom poms. "Gee whiz, I gotta have that." she almost panted.

Clothing was rationed. Make-do-and-mend was a cliché of government policy in those austere times, and the scarcity of material and the number of clothing coupons needed to acquire new garments of any kind almost made them a luxury. But that hat was something Debbie had set her heart on, and she had to have it.

While she was in the shop Willie watched the passers-by on the pavements, the women wrapped with scarves pulling against the wind, the children in woollen pullovers and small coats, their cute faces, blue eyed and pink cheeked. The older men looked solid in topcoats and hats, while all the younger ones seemed to be wearing some version of a uniform. 

They had a lovely time window shopping afterwards, and made some more modest purchases. He discovered that fruit and vegetables were not rationed, but the trick was to know what was in season and where to find a shop that had a supply of what you wanted. Deborah happily left the cook and Mrs Whippet to figure out those kinds of things.

Willie wondered if they had any time to sit down, but then they went into a tearoom that had frilly curtains and doilies on the tables and where everything was too small, and they settled among a clatter of dishes and quiet café chatter. 

The room was richly carpeted in red, nicely furnished too, garnished with flowers and warmed by a coal fire burning economically low, and the chairs were comfortable, dignified and upholstered in pleasing damask in various shades of blue.

Willie was only half finished with a cup of weak tea when he gasped inwardly. It was impossible. It was against every chance and all the odds, but there was Tom Soames, sitting at the little table opposite. It was not something he was prepared for, not something to which he had given a thought, that on a large island with fifty million other people he could meet up with someone he had known in Heidelberg three years previously. 

He stared at him. He could help it. Tom looked younger than he thought he should, but not as lean, so perhaps leanness had been an illusion in his mind, but the bone-structure of his face he remembered, and he still had the dark, intriguing eyebrows of an Old Testament prophet. He was one of those ruffle-haired men with a quick, witty way of talking that girls...and boys, were drawn to despite of their better judgement.

Tom Soames had been one of his lovers during his wild time at university, and the sudden recollection of those times was like a benison... summer evenings, long and cool, and winter ones dark and cosy, with the mist rising off the river. 

He had been flattered by the attention he had received at that time. The unexpected arms that would encircle his waist, the impulsive kisses against his neck, the breathless invitations to share in forbidden, erotic behaviour. Nothing had been sacred in those days. The fly on a young man's trousers was never spared, the vulnerability of a youthful backside always pillaged. 

Tom was wearing the blue-grey uniform of a British air force officer now instead of the crumpled slacks and jumpers he'd favoured before, but there was no doubt it was him. Willie froze his own face to prevent it revealing his surprise, and he shuffled his chair sideways slightly to disguise his profile. Sweet as all his memories were he realised that meeting Tom Soames now would be a fatal mistake. 

Out of the corner of one eye he noticed Tom was gazing steadily at him and showing an element of puzzlement, but he was obviously unsure of what he was seeing. He couldn't possibly recognise him, decided Willie; Wilhelm Froehlich hadn't been a girl when they had known each other. Not one in lipstick and skirts anyway. And three years had passed since they had last seen each other. Nevertheless when he and Debbie got up to leave, Tom got up too. 

But they knew each other and had been lovers so there was no danger, was there? The tension inside Willie mounted rather than lessened. Tom knew he was German, and if identities were established he'd start asking awkward questions. A strange emotional turbulence persisted, as if a sense beyond consciousness was telling him that the necessity to run from the figure from his past was greater than ever.

The young man seemed a little uncomfortable making an approach, but he took a deep breath and stepped forward. He smiled: open and friendly. "Excuse me," he said, looking directly at Willie. "Your face is familiar. You remind me of someone. Could it be we have met before?"

Willie's eyes opened wide with alarm, he blushed, shook his head furiously and made straight for the door.

Deborah winked at the young man. "Nice try, sonny. But you'd do better thinking up a more original line next time before you stop a girl."

Sir Mortimer arrived home on the Friday evening, driving the big Daimler touring car that was used for the short journeys to and from the railway station in Nuttsford. Petrol was rationed, but anyway the journey into London was more easily done on the train. 

As the car rounded the last curve of the lane and he saw the sweep of wooded lawns with the chimneys of the manor house rising behind he felt a nostalgic lump in his throat. He loved that place. Everything creaked and everything was crooked, but he loved its old brickwork and rambling corridors, he loved its weathered eaves and steps worn concave from years of use. Above all he loved the sense that it provided the timeless haven of stability and ease that was England. 

He found himself beginning to smile in pleasant anticipation as he waited for Mrs Whippet to open the door. There was always something delightful in returning home. It was a fact, because Deborah would be there.

But not that night. It was Willie who greeted him has he shrugged off his topcoat and started across the hall towards the Gun Room, his briefcase in his hand. 

"No luck with a Work Permit for you yet, civil servants are an impossible breed who refuse to be hurried. But come inside, I have some interesting news of a different kind."

When the door was closed firmly and Willie stood still and waited while Mortimer mustered up a confidential quiet tone.

"What we talked about at the weekend, you know, about how the war was a mistake and how this country needs to change direction... well, there is just a possibility something like that could happen soon." 

He paused to rub his hands together. "There is no doubt that there is grave disquiet, both in the country and in Parliament at the moment. Some prominent people are being very critical of the way Churchill is handling things. The fiasco of the Norwegian campaign for instance, and then the debacle in Greece and the loss of Crete. And now there is the uncertain situation in North Africa. 

"We made the mistake of allowing Churchill to combine the office of Prime Minister with that of Minister of Defence, and although he did some stout work in 1940 and throughout the blitz, the feeling is the old horse is blown and his judgement is faulty."

When he leaned forward there was a light of excitement in his eyes. "This could be the right time to make a move. I've been talking with friends, and there is some agreement that we should lay down a motion of No Confidence in the leadership."

"Would that bring peace?"

"Not right away. Not immediately. But it would get rid of Churchill and that alone would ease the way for negotiations. A complete end to hostilities would be a real possibility with him out of the way."

"If that is true you must proceed quickly," urged Willie, "Every moment you delay costs people their lives."

Mortimer nodded. "Is Deborah around?"

"No, a man called to take her out for tea. He was driving and American car, a Packard I think, dark green with wide running boards."

Sir Mortimer paused for a moment and his face took on a glum, stony expression, "That will be Bob Prescott. Works for the Ministry of Supply. Never short of petrol."

Willie immediately sensed his unhappiness. "I thought you knew. I'm sorry."

"It's quite alright." Mortimer managed to arrange his face into a parody of a smile. "Prescott is a decent fellow. A gentleman." He was lying and he knew Willie knew he was lying. Deborah had clearly gone off on an amorous escapade.

The man sighed. "Why is it I don't hate the girl for doing what she does?"

"It's the way she is. That's the way she's made, but I'm sure she really does love you." replied Willie with helpless solemnity.

Mortimer's neck blushed a deep pink. "She never made a secret of the kind of person she was, so one can't hate her now, can one? If all I sought were a reflection of myself – well, I could have made do with a wall mirror."

That evening Jeremy de Vere arrived wearing his favourite expression of nonchalance, effortlessly charming and outwardly looking every inch the unconcerned debonair man about town. But apart from being very polite he showed no interest in Willie and spent the entire time talking with Sir Mortimer. 

The following day Jimmy Hyde and his friend Toby came to lunch and when they had eaten everyone participated in the English Sunday ritual of taking a walk in the countryside. Once again Debbie helped out with the right clothes and put him in a tweed suit of a pleasing russet colour and a pair of brogue shoes. The shoes were rather too big, but he managed to solve the problem with some paper stuffing and by lacing them tight. He made up his pretty face with care, and did his hair in a neat, smooth coil on the back of his head before he joined everyone else outside. 

It was a cold, raw day, but autumn was an exhilarating season for Willie Froehlich despite the bleakness of the winter it heralded. Wrapped in the trench coat that had been cleaned and pressed by someone, he felt more than adequately protected against a chilly day.

Once out from the environs of Brascombe they turned towards a wooded hillside, up a rutted track along the line of a hog's back between overgrown hedgerows of bramble and hawthorn. Birds were singing, and after a while the scudding clouds seemed to vanish, the blue of the sky shifted and deepened and the sun appeared long enough to lay mild warmth on their shoulders.

Gusts of wind blew the yellowed remains of elm leaves around Willie's feet as he walked along with Jimmy Hyde. Although the Captain maintained the outward appearance of a cool, detached officer Willie noticed something simmering beneath the surface, something sad, as if something had got broken. It was as if the exterior of him was screening a different inner man. The sadness lent him a tragic look that became a source of fascination. Perhaps he was concealing pain. Romantic images of a lost-love and a man betrayed drifted through his thoughts. He had attached a mystique to the man and then let his fantasies take over. It wasn't been the first time. Willie had a knack for stumbling on tortured souls. 

Strengthened by the way he had succeeded in influencing Sir Mortimer, Willie broached the idea of a peace settlement again, only to find that Jimmy Hyde was a more resilient mark. 

He at once pulled a dissatisfied face. "My opinion hasn't changed since the last time we spoke. After Dunkirk we were vulnerable, but Hitler will find it more difficult to invade this island now than it would have been last year. And we'll never surrender. Even if he succeeds with an invasion the Royal Family and the Government will go to Canada, and we'll continue the war from the Dominions."

Willie added nothing more to that discussion, but he couldn't help but sigh at such foolish bravado. One didn't need to visit Berchtesgaden to know Hitler's solution to such a problem, because he'd heard enough loose talk from senior German officers while he waited to come to England to know what it would be. 

If this island was overpowered and the Dominions continued the fight, Hitler would hold the entire population of Britain hostage. He would cause the U-boat blockade to continue and was prepared to starve the people down to the last child. The British and their Dominions would seek terms rather than let that happen.

"It is hard for me to think of you as an Englishman, Captain Hyde. Your friend Toby is of the type usually portrayed as English in Hollywood movies."

Jimmy Hyde almost fell into the trap of snapping back at him. "Don't take Toby to be the archetypical English fop because of the way he speaks, Miss Naarden. That man has courage and compassion welded into his soul. We both belong to the same armoured brigade, and he pulled me out of a burning tank last year in France. He saved my life."

He thought for a moment, and then continued. "Toby is my friend, but he made a mistake when he saved me. I should have died there. I'm not afraid to die and it will happen before this war ends anyway. Now I have to keep going until the game is played out."

Willie frowned. "Now I understand your dark moods. You mustn't be so morbid. I suspect the only danger that ever confronts you is caused by your own valour. If you have bad feelings you should see a doctor. You have a medal for bravery, so no one could call you a coward." 

That remark earned him a surprisingly fierce look. "I can't do that. They'd put me behind a desk somewhere while Toby and all the other fellows I know go on doing the stuff that matters. I die of shame there if of nothing else." 

Sir Mortimer paused on the crest of the hill and called a halt. "This is as far as we need go. It's my favourite spot."

He indicated a broad swathe of woodland laced with silver birch and dominated by great elm trees. It would have seemed unremarkable to a person passing by. The trees were densely packed and crowded together, and it was dingy, almost dark beneath their boughs and branches. Such space as there was at ground level was almost entirely occupied with fallen, rotting timber, and nothing grew there but a few scant patches of forsaken looking ivy.

"The little pocket of trees here is still wildwood and probably hasn't altered much in appearance for thousands of years." He beamed. "In the spring the forest floor is swathed with primroses and buttercups. Long ago there would have been of mile upon mile of such virgin forest, and if one uses one's imagination one can almost visualise sabre-toothed cats and cave-bears stalking through it, instead of just a few badgers and foxes."

Willie responded to his obvious delight. "You are a fine romancer, Sir Mortimer."

With a wry grin Deborah leaned against him and muttered in his ear. "The old dear's got plenty of romance. I can vouch for that."

After a few minutes they returned the way they had come. Everyone else was talking about the only subject that interested them – which at that time was the war. He fell behind the others, walking slowly along the beaten path, and without him being aware of it Jeremy de Vere appeared like a genie and fell into step beside him. 

"How are you settling in at Brascombe, Miss Naarden?" he asked.

Willie was a little wary of him at first despite of, or perhaps because of their previous contact. He was a remarkably fine looking man, probably just short of six foot, lean and fit and in his late twenties, which to Willie still seemed quite old. And while he himself was impulsive Jeremy seemed to weigh words carefully before he spoke, and with the skill of his profession he was adept at changing his conversation according to who he was with. 

He could be snappy and authoritive at times, but he was obviously eager to please at that moment, so perfectly did he behave that Willie thought he must have rehearsed what he said and did. His time as a diplomat would account for that, and he'd probably broken lots of hearts in the past.

Willie looked at him intently, wide blue eyes in an angel face. "Ask me in six months, Mr de Vere. My time here so far as been very short."

"You're being too formal. You must call me Jeremy."

"Very well. But only if you call me Willie." 

"Your family are still in Holland, do you worry about them?"

"In Holland, my Uncle Oscar and my family? I can only hope they will survive the occupation. I can't contact them."

"Can't?"

"Mustn't. The Germans read everything. They don't like people receiving letters through neutral countries. They can be vengeful; they take in people for questioning, reduce their food ration or force them to move their homes. It's better not to keep in touch."

"Hmmm..." Jeremy frowned slightly. "It's a tragedy. The Dutch are decent people."

"Most, not all. They have their Nazi party. Its symbol is a wolf trap."

The man thought for a moment. "How horrible! But I don't suppose there's a country anywhere in the world without its fascists these days."

Willie nodded. "Your name...de Vere, is not an English name."

Jeremy chuckled. "It's been English since about the year 1240 when my family came to settle here. Willie is a sweet name, but not over feminine. If you were my girl I would call you Clytie."

"Clytie? What kind of a name is that? That's not English for certain."

"Greek mythology." explained Jeremy with a winsome grin. "Clytie was a water nymph and Apollo fell in love with her. He turned her into a sunflower so that she would always be turned towards him on his daily journey across the heavens."

"What nonsense you talk." Willie scolded mildly. But even as he rebuffed the flattery he felt his skin glow with pleasure. "I'm nothing special." he insisted.

"Oh, I think you are." the man murmured, studying him with cool amusement. In fact he had thought this recent house-guest at Brascombe very average looking at first, but he was wrong, she was blessed with a perfect complexion which required little or no make-up, as well as a slim but rounded figure. She was in fact, in appearance and manner the very opposite to Deborah who, whatever she wore, always managed to look like something on the front cover of Vogue and who spoke like someone out of American Vaudeville. 

In spite of trying to look severe and assertive, the girl's soft, full mouth and anxious eyes spoke of the real person behind a sedate image, and he was attracted to her. How long was her hair he wondered? His eyes moved to the tightly restrained, thick coil at the back of her head. No way of knowing. But the colour was wonderful.

Willie, confident that he looked enticing, allowed himself a slight smile. He was attracted to him too. He couldn't help it. From the moment he'd seen him he had felt an undeniable tiny current drawing him in his direction. His svelte image had drifted in and out of his thoughts constantly since that time and he found himself fantasizing about what his hands would feel like on his own, and the touch of his finely sculptured lips. 




Willie's War Ch. 07



"Presuming this girl wasn't compelled to be a sunflower all the time, what would she look like?" he asked.

Jeremy touched the she-boys hair, pulling a strand from behind his ear, letting it slip through his fingers. "She would have hair like spun gold." he murmured. 

Willie dipped his eyes and quivered when he felt fingers brush his cheek. 

"And she would have skin like fine Chinese porcelain with a hint of pink. Very smooth. Very soft. She would be perfect. She would be the kind of girl who has never had a self-centred thought in her life."

Determinedly Willie looked away, but his heartbeat went into overdrive whilst a surge of explicit and bewildering arousal raced through him. He was attracted to Jeremy de Vere, and he felt a tremor of longing for the man. He had known him for a ridiculously brief time, so how could that happen? 

He began to blush like mad and noticed that the two of them were straggling behind the rest of the party. "Look, we are being left behind by the others. We must hurry to catch up."

When he quickened his pace Jeremy remonstrated with silky amusement, "Don't move too quickly. I'd be devastated if I thought you were running away from me."

When they were back at the house Debbie came over and went into a huddle with Willie. "Wow, you're a firecracker. You're a Little Miss Dynamite, aint you? I think you've scored a touchdown with Jeremy. I reckon he's taken a shine to you already, and I'm jealous as hell. He's a guy and a half, that one, and if I wasn't so committed to Mortimer I'd scratch your eyes out."

A guy and a half, thought Willie. Such a description suited Jeremy de Vere. He had something extra that came from sheer egoism and the determination to get what he wanted. It gave him an aura of overpowering virility. Though he tried to deny his feelings, Jeremy was becoming a constant presence in his mind. 

As if he knew what he was thinking, Debbie said: "You mustn't care too much about him."

"Why...why?" Willie asked, taken by surprise, "What makes you say that? I haven't made a fool of myself, have I?"

"Not at all. Not yet." said Debbie, smiling ruefully at the girlish boy she was becoming to regard as her little sister. "Nobody's laughing at you, if that's what you mean. But he's a career diplomat, and that will always be his first love."

Willie speculated about what she'd said. Him, be led astray by Jeremy de Vere? A stranger? He was too sensible for such stuff. Too sensible and too wary. Jeremy was a forceful man who wore arrogance like a second skin and had an inflated opinion of himself and his work. He doubtless had plenty of genuine female admirers and would run a mile away from a boy in a frock, so they were complete opposites and it was crazy. 

But his attraction was magnetic and all encompassing, and when he was around he couldn't help but absorb every physical detail and was unable to stop staring at him.

A tiny shiver curled down his spine and he resolutely tried to banish the man from his thoughts. Willie Froehlich hadn't come all the way to England to fantasise about men; he had a vital job to do. His aim was to arouse the wish for peace within Sir Mortimer Brascombe, and to do that he had to remain a single-minded trusted individual within the man's house.



Willie's War Ch. 08



In spite of his determination Brascombe's splendour that day began to fuel worries that it may weaken his resolve and the reason for him being there. The sense of detachment wasn't as strong as it had been on his arrival and he had begun to feel a surge of delight, a connectedness to the place where he was living and to the people he was sharing it with. 

Fortunately the house emptied again and became quiet after the weekend, and gave him a chance to take stock of his frailty. His mission was not to endanger these people; he was there to save their lives.

To offset the scarcity of company Deborah laid on tea in the drawing room with all the pomp and best china she could call on in an English country house. Willie sat in the high-ceilinged drawing room on a lumpy but comfortable sofa, before an open fire, grinning as he watched her pour. "You take tea just like an English lady."

Debbie pulled a face of disapproval. "I ain't got any choice at the moment. I finished off Mortimer's mocha coffee stock weeks ago and we can't get any more for love or money at the moment. Mrs Whippet can only get chicory essence with the food coupons and that stuff as a flavour that goes nowhere."

He passed a full cup of tea across the table between them. "Jeremy will be coming back with Mortimer next week, and he'll be staying for a few days. He'll be company for you while I'm away." 

Willie took the offered cup and refused the sugar. The English and Debbie seemed to like their tea well brewed and strong, but he preferred it weak, without milk or sugar. He added hot water to his cup. "Company for me? Why is that? Are you going somewhere?"

"Yeah, I'm taking a train to Liverpool soon. Got to meet some friends of mine off a boat from the Yoonited States."

"Is it safe for your friends to travel here? German submarines are sinking many ships in the Atlantic."

"They'll be okay. We operate the Neutrality Act. The Germans don't touch passenger liners with Ol' Glory flapping at the back. An' I tell you, when we get back here we'll have plenty of coffee and a bucket full of Bourbon too. We'll show all these stiff-necked Limey's just how well Yanks can throw a party."

At that moment the door opened and Mrs Whippet showed Arnold Knapp into their company. Debbie looked up in surprise. "Arnold! I wasn't expecting you to call. Have I neglected an appointment with you?"

The man grinned oafishly. "No, Deborah. I...er...just happened to be passing...and... er... thought I'd just... pop in. The truth is, Brenda and I have had a bit of a tiff." he confided, "You know, a lovers quarrel, a spat. She's hoofed it back to Birmingham to look after Knapp and Co, but damned if I felt in the mood to go with her immediately."

"You've had a spat?" queried Deborah.

"Yes, she criticised the way I laugh. She said I should acquire a more socially acceptable laugh, she said people who bray like a mule only attract other mules."

Debbie regarded him suspiciously. With Brenda not around Arnold was something more than a mule, he was a lounge lizard running loose. He had even tried his greasy charm on her in the past, and while Debbie was not always entirely faithful to her own partners, she liked steady men who took their time. The hearty, bovine types who, without the least encouragement swiftly became amorous were a bore, and there was no doubt into what category she placed Arnold.

As he spoke Arnold raised a meaningful eyebrow, and Deborah observed him quietly as his eyes lingered on Willie. It was not herself he intended to pursue on this particular occasion. He had the newly arrived Dutch girl in his sights. "Do you trust your wife to look after all your steel rivets alone?" she asked him.

Arnold snorted, pulled up a chair and helped himself to a cup of tea. "I have perfectly capable managers on each shift at my factory. I don't need to be there ALL the time myself."

"Don't you care about producing rivets for victory?"

"War!" Arnold grinned with some complacency. "It's always hit or miss with that sort of caper, and with Hitler I've an awful fancy that we've rung the ruddy bell this time. Trouble is we've no chance of getting out of it while Churchill has control of things. All people such as I can do is make plenty of hay while the sun shines."

Debbie smiled vaguely. "I understand you, Arnold. As far as war is concerned you only hear cash registers ringing. You don't care anything about it or want to know anything about it."

"That's true, "said Arnold, "And it's the same with you I'll warrant. I don't know much but I do know this... they shouldn't be giving so many rifles to the Home Guard. They're civilians, and these are trying times. If you start giving guns to every Jack and Harry we may hear 'em go bang in the wrong direction one day."

"You don't trust human nature." said Debbie.

"Not when they've got guns. That's tempting revolution. What do you say, Willie?"

Looking exquisite and dreamy Willie sipped his tea. When the man threw him a lop-sided grin he managed to smile back. "War is lunacy. Unfortunately most people these days seem to be lunatics."

"I blame Churchill." Arnold drawled in a cynical voice, while his green eyes devoured the Dutch girl. "They should have made Halifax Prime Minster. He's well qualified for it."

"Sure," agreed Debbie, "Better qualified than most of the others. But when it comes to the pinch... like it as done... then I doubt if he's tough enough to take the strain."

"You may be right. Churchill is more the type. He's as tough as leather. But for all that, I reckon Halifax would have been better. He's got ideas, yet knows when not to bother. Toughness isn't everything."

Debbie shrugged and crossed her legs with a swish of nylon. "I never said it was. But sooner or later in the business of politics, you've got to have it. Mortimer has seen a lot more of it than most... even though he's never been offered High Office... and he says politics looks deceptively easy, but somewhere behind all the tea drinking and talk there's a battlefield."

Arnold lifted a ginger-nut biscuit from a plate, thought better of it and put it back. "That's the reason I'm glad to be in rivets. I don't even like the word battlefield." 

He turned and gazed at the window. "We're wasting some decent weather today. When you've finished your tea how about going for a stroll."

Deborah refused to commit herself, saying she'd check that out with Mortimer when he was free. Then there was a break in the conversation when Mrs Whippet came in and asked him if she could spare a moment to talk on a domestic matter. 

Suddenly conscious that Arnold was staring at him, Willie quickly looked away, but as soon as Deborah had gone from the room the man abandoned his own chair and moved onto the couch where he was seated.

"Deborah doesn't seem too keen on a walk out," he said, swinging towards him and leaning forward, "But that's okay. I'm sure you and I can make a nice time of it without other people being around."

He showed all the romance of a cold fried egg, and something seemed to curdle in Willie's belly when he heard the man speak. "I don't know what you mean, Mr Knapp."

Arnold openly smirked. "Come off it, you're no angel. You know exactly what I mean all right. I doubt you've come this far in your travels without showing gratitude to a few men. More than a few I'd say. 'Spect you got to enjoy it along the way, and there's no reason why we couldn't both enjoy it together today."

Willie turned away in some alarm. He could smell the eau du Cologne the man had lathered on his body to a sickly sweet degree. "Arnold, I wish you would..."

"Wish I would what, my dear?"

"I wish you would go back to Bir...ming...ham."

The man gurgled with amusement. "You're a card, you are. You're a regular comic. But don't try to be a Clever Dick my girl, just keep it straight and simple." Looking more uncouth than ever, but still amused, he ran his fingers back and forth along Willie's bare arm, aware now that the skin there was soft and smooth,

"Reach back a little," he urged, "You'll find it's not a stick o' celery I've got in my pocket."

Unnoticed by anyone Deborah had returned, and she was not a person to avert her eyes or disappear into the scenery. Arnold uttered a sharp yowl as she came up behind him, grasped an ear, and twisted. "We'll have no more of your vile attitude in this house, Mr Knapp. I suggest you leave."

Arnold made a display of indignation and leapt to his feet. "Just a minute Deborah. It's all this little Dutch tramps fault. She's been encouraging me ever since I arrived, giving me the glad-eye and smiling and everything."

Such a demonstration made no impact on Deborah. Despite the restrictions of wearing a dress she squared up like a boxer. "Listen here Buster, this kid's only been here a short while, but I already know her like I know my own little sister, an' she wouldn't make any kind of eyes at a creepy spiv like you." 

With that she swung a hefty right hook that caught the man hard enough on the chin to make his head swivel sideways.

Horrified, Arnold staggered and clutched at his face. "Look here, Deborah," said he, bolting towards the door and opening it; "You can be as abusive as you wish, but there is a limit. You may not assault me."

"May I not?" Debbie began slowly advancing towards him in a menacing way, "I've throw people like you out of the door in the past. You will be the fourth or fifth. Four pounds and ten shilling each in English money it cost me in fines. Expensive, but very necessary. Now, I advise you to go before I stuff one of your steel rivets up your ass so deep you'll need surgery to get it out."

Taking note of the threatening advance Arnold drew his lips together until they puckered like a chicken's backside. "I don't like you today, Debbie. Nor you," he added turning to Willie. "In fact I don't like being here at all, and I wish I hadn't come."  

With that he was gone.

Deborah smiled with satisfaction and dusted his hands together. "We sure put that guy in his place, didn't we, little sister?"

Dumfounded by the violence and rapid turn of events Willie looked up at his protector. "Er, yes. We sure did."

***

It was just on 6-o-clock in the evening when Mrs Whippet came looking for Willie. "There's someone on the telephone asking to speak to you." she said.

He gazed at her, surprised. "Asking to speak to me?"

"Yes, Miss Naarden. Someone is asking to speak to Willie."

Mystified he went through into the Gun Room and picked up the phone. "Yes, who is that?"

"Hello, Willie Froehlich." said a man's voice.

The response caught Willie off guard and he felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise up. He swallowed hard as he recognised Tom Soames speaking, and now there didn't seem any point in denying things any longer. "How did you find me?"

Tom uttered a lightweight heh-heh cackle, but his voice was low and sonorous. "That was quite easy when I'd made up my mind who you really must be. You were with an American, and there aren't many of those in Essex. I just asked around until I found someone who knew where the American lived, then I phoned and asked to speak to Willie. Lo and Behold, you obligingly answered the call."

"What do you want, Tom?"

"Over the phone is awkward. Meet me at the end of the drive in an hour. We need to talk."

"What do you mean: 'we need to talk'?" objected Willie. "I'm not sure we do have to talk."

"Don't be cross with me, Willie. Just be there. Believe me; we really do need to talk."

Willie Froehlich couldn't help but feel uneasy for a while afterwards. He could think of no reason for going out that night that would convince Deborah that he should go alone. Debbie knew he had no boyfriend and that he knew no one in England beyond the boundaries of the garden, and when he tried lying to her he was always so transparent. 

Providentially she went upstairs to take a bath as the deadline approached, and taking advantage of her absence he slipped on his topcoat and left the house by the side door. The invention of excuses, he decided, would need to wait until his return.

Tom Soames was standing across the lane at the end of the drive. He was beneath a tree, his air force uniform concealed beneath a voluminous trench coat, and he was stamping his feet as if impatient to begin a race. When Willie appeared he looked at the shapely nylon-clad legs beneath the hem of his skirt and grinned. 

"Hey" he said, "you look... nice. Good to see you. How are you doing?"

His soft husky voice sent a prickle of anxiety over Willie's skin. "I'm doing well, and you?"

"Just fine." 

Despite the worrying arrangement that had been made Willie managed a smile. Tom was still handsome. He had been attractive before, but the passage of time had added a devastating power to his bearing, broadening and strengthening it. When they had first known each other he had been rangy and uncaring about his appearance, now, composed more formerly, his clothes hung on good square shoulders and he radiated confidence. His eyes, also, had changed. in the past they had been wide and youthfully lustful. Time had altered that too. 

He still had a pleasant quizzical face, which promised interest and sympathy. He recalled how Tom Soames had always been an engaging flirt with those dark circles under his eyes, and his thick arched eyebrows. He would always appeal to women and men alike; people of his appearance, with pleasant manners did. 

"I never expected to see you again once you left Heidelberg. Why do you need to see me now at all? What's it all about?"

"Would you like tea or a drink or something?" Tom asked, "If you don't mind walking a mile I've a little cottage just along the road." Suddenly he grinned, and the wicked, genuine amusement in his face made him seem heart-stoppingly sexy. Just has Willie remembered him.

He felt reassured, and the idea of Tom was oddly no longer threatening. For a moment he recalled the pleasant times they had shared at university. How when they had first met he thought the world would stop. The silly games they had played, and how he thought he would explode with joy when Tom held him in his arms. 

He felt his pulse quicken, felt his nipples tightening against the soft fabric of his blouse. "Well, I don't want to be away too long. But, oh...um...Yes, I'd very much like to go for a walk." he conceded. "I can't think why it's such a good idea. I just feel like a walk."

They swung away along the lane and nodding at a woman walking her dog. Once past her Tom said, "I was surprised to see you in the town. You speak English quite well, so you must have come over here shortly after I returned home. And the female disguise is good. It took me a little time to work out that you'd gone over to being a girl, Willie, but then I recalled you were always rather effeminate, and once that clicked into place, so did everything else." 

"Yes, I've been here for quite a while." Willie lied, "And you, Tom. You are an officer in the British air force now."

The young man half-smiled and shrugged. "I would never volunteer for such a thing. I'm still the same kind of rebel I was in Heidelberg, but I was pressed into service when I returned home. I help in administering a detachment on the coast doing wireless interception, listening to commentary on the Duetchlandsender and monitoring low grade messaging sent in clear. It's a bore and an insult to my talent. A schoolboy with a decent crystal-set could do the same work. I wanted to become involved with RADAR development, but because I spoke good German that's where they put me."

Willie sensed the aggressive defensiveness of him that was pitted with discontent. It had always been there in the past and he had accepted it then. Now such childlike carping jangled slightly.

A man appeared in front of them, walking in the opposite direction hurrying to join the woman with the dog. Tom looked at him with suspicion until he had gone past then took hold of his arm. "This way. I don't want to sound pushy, but we do need to talk and my place is the best place to do it tonight."

The cottage he was taken to was tucked into the south side of the little hill where Sir Mortimer enjoyed his walks. It was stone-built, solid and four-square, unpretentious and strangely friendly amid a small garden containing a few defunct hydrangeas and a stand of nettles. A small fence of wooden rails surrounded it, giving it the appearance of the sort of place a warm-hearted old widow-woman would inhabit in a nursery story. On a wicket gate hung a plaque declaring it as 'Lilac Cottage.'

Willie followed through the gate and down a little path and noticed a motorbike shrouded in a tarpaulin at the side of the house which was obviously Tom's way of getting about.

"Make yourself at home." invited his host, unlocking the front door and flinging it open. He groped for a light switch and illuminated the place, revealing a tiny room, sparsely decorated and slightly forlorn, containing two easy chairs with greasy armrests and worn cushions. A faint but pervasive smell of mildew hung in the air, so it was clearly a place for an individual preoccupied with matters other than keeping house.

"It's not the Ritz, but it suits me for doing things I wish to do," Tom declared, "and it's better than living with my parents. They're as conservative and stuck in the mud as old Sir Mortimer."

Tom led the way through to the back room, a more spacious place, being two small rooms knocked into a single larger one. It was furnished with a sagging single bed with a scratched headboard and crumpled sheets. A long table, a workbench built from sickly plywood was fixed to the wall, and the top of it was cluttered with steel boxes with dials and gauges, oscillators and amplifiers and loops of aerial wire. 

"Radio is my passion, my profession and my hobby." he boasted, swinging his arm around at everything. 

When he went off to put some water in a kettle Willie wandered over to the window. Through it he gazed at a glimmer of lights in the distant forest, and when Tom came back he smiled. "I was thinking this was a lonely place for you, but I see you have company nearby. I see lights in the trees further on."

Tom nodded. "That's the camp of the armoured brigade in Foxley Wood. It's less then two miles from here. They risk ignoring the blackout sometimes and work on into the evenings, like they are in a hurry to go someplace else." 

And then, almost as if waiting for a cue, there came the mournful wailing noise of an air raid siren and within just a few seconds all the lights in the forest became extinguished. Tom switched off his own electric light and lit the stub of a candle with a match, and together they listened to the drone of heavy-engined aircraft growing overhead. 

"Luftwaffe seeking their nightly kill." murmured Tom, "What a target they are forsaking in those woods. An entire tank brigade laid out at their mercy, but they can't see any of it. What a missed opportunity for them, eh." He took a step towards Willie. "I - I'm really happy that you're here." 

His hands slipped around Willie's waist and he felt the gentle grip of strong fingers. Tom's expression was impossible to read, but Willie had the idea he was estimating things, perhaps assessing the depth of his old boyfriends sexuality and experience since they had last been together.

Tilting his head back a little bit he was able to hold Tom's searching gaze as their faces moved closer. Their lips dusted together lightly and then parted before coming together a second time and colliding in passion.

Willie had forgotten how soft his lips were, how gently his mouth could move. He felt Tom's fingers tracing the contours of his back and any reticence melted to be replaced by an intense yearning. He kissed his old acquaintance ferociously, pushing his fingers through his hair, pushing his hips against the strength of his body.




Willie's War Ch. 08



"Why?" Tom murmured suddenly, "Why are you here?"

Willie lost his poise at that moment knowing they were entering into a subject fraught with peril. He knew that whatever reason he gave for being in England would sound weak and fantastic to someone who had known him so well in the past. 

The man's voice hissed softly in the poor light. "There's no need to draw pictures for me. You are obviously an agent engaged in some kind of clandestine work here."

"I can't tell you anything other than I'm not here to kill people." Willie replied nervously. 

"Of course, I understand that. It's safer that way. But it explains why you're staying with Mortimer Brascombe. He's upper-middle-class, dull, respectable and rich, with excellent connections in the government, and among diplomats. He's not the sort of person you would have associated with in the past. We were both rebels in those days."

Tom grinned broadly and his teeth glimmered in the candlelight. "You don't have to say anything. I understand now. Willie Froehlich is a Secret Agent." The idea seemed to amuse him and he announced it a little too loudly for Willie's comfort. "You know how dangerous it is, what you do? I mean really, it is dangerous, and no clemency is given. They'll hang you if you're found out. But you'll be a Nazi no doubt. They have great daring, and being homosexual isn't a hindrance if you belong to the Party." 

Willie sagged as if he'd been stabbed to the heart. "So what happens now? What are you going to do?" he challenged softly.

"You don't have to fear me. I'm not about to turn you in." 

"Really? But you are an officer and it should be your duty."

"Maybe so, but actually I'm quite in awe of what you do. It must be a good life. Tense. Living on the edge all the time. I hate my job. I'm more in tune with what you are doing, and you know how much I've always admired Hitler."

"You used to admire him, but war changes people." 

A smile didn't quite make it to Tom's eyes. "It doesn't change everyone," came the ominous reply.

The noise of aircraft passing overhead had receded and the siren in the nearby camp sounded an 'all clear'. Switching the main light back on the normally garrulous Tom was suddenly struck by the looks of the boy he had once known. Quite simply he was moved by how pretty he was. With his big eyes and his hair, plaited for the evening and knotted carefully into his neck, he looked like some sort of vision sent to England for the evening, destined to vanish once a clock struck midnight. 

He could not remember when he had seen anyone with such colouring; his face seemed to have taken on an extra glow and the elegance with which he moved, the manner of his smile, his sweetly modulated voice, made Willie Froehlich entirely different to the person he had known before. That young Willie was friendly was no surprise to him, because he was accustomed to beautiful boys liking him, even when he gave them no special affection in return.

Willie was watching Tom Soames. When he paced the length of the room and he beheld his tall elegant figure silhouetted against the window, he seemed so strong, warm and commanding, and he evoked in others a natural desire to please him. Sexual magnetism oozed from the man, and he had a maddening aura about him that bombarded everyone with his magnificence. But Willie knew how many masks he could put on. His good looks had always been accompanied with the cruel, languid movements of a cat, expressive with soft hands and a slightly full roman face. 

"Why don't you come over here?" Tom said softly, offering one of those lopsided smiles that made Willie's heart catch in his throat. His heart did a backward somersault. But still he hesitated. 

Tom fixed him with his gaze, just as he had when they were students together. "Now." he added firmly, white teeth gritted. "Come closer. You are somewhat different to the way I remember you, but the change adds to your sweetness rather than detracts from it. You are exceptionally beautiful."

With some reservation Willie stepped towards him, not seeking to meet his eyes, looking at his shirt, the hollows of his neck, anywhere other than those hypnotic charcoal eyes he could feel burning his skin.

"I know I'm moving fast," Tom murmured as he bent his head to lightly kiss his forehead, "But I'm a man in a hurry."

A surge of heat rushed through Willie's body to flame in his cheeks. With a tiny gasp of embarrassment he focused his gaze on Tom's face only to meet the imperturbable calm the man always generated so cleverly. Swallowing hard, he lifted his chin in a bid for composure. How could he be reacting to him so intensely at a time like this?

Tom's hand was pushing through his hair, securing his head at just the right angle for his mouth to home in, to kiss him and make him wish to return the passion it stirred. Inside Willie, every nerve quivered with tension. There was something in him that responded to his old friend, against his will and against his reason. And that passion was running through him like liquid fire mixed with honey in an instant. Any thought of resisting Tom or of denying himself the pleasure his body craved was forgotten.

All those adolescent times of joy first experienced in Heidelberg returned to refresh him, and even if he didn't wish to acknowledge it, with one searing kiss Tom Soames had shown that, far from being over what he believed had been a period of juvenile silliness the first time he had met him, he was still vulnerable to him now.

He felt hands clutching at his body and he made a small movement, thinking to be free, and then froze with disbelief at the speed with which his flesh reacted to the caress. His face burned with embarrassment and he prayed that Tom could not feel, as he could, the sudden tensing and swelling of his breasts. His nipples were tightening and thrusting against his top as though eager for attention, whilst his stomach clenched and a slow ache possessed the lower part of his body.

A look of uncertainty flickered in his eyes, but Tom was already grabbing his hand and hauling him forward. "I need this," Willie heard him mutter savagely. 

Impatiently Willie wound his arms around his neck, pulling him down and kissing him hungrily. Their teeth clashed. "This is lust." he moaned softly.

"Yes. Complete unadulterated lust." agreed his friend. "How much do you want me? Do you want me a lot?" he asked coolly, stroking and a hand over a girlish chest. 

Willie gasped heatedly, unable to form a reply, but the man had already made his judgement. One dark eyebrow rose tellingly, and Willie became hotly conscious of a gaze sweeping his face and his body. 

"Get out your tits. Let me see them."

Willie squirmed with a refusal on his lips, but even so some masochistic streak made him submit to the imperious demand. He slithered back his blouse and stood with his hands hanging loosely at his sides, and at once he became aware of Tom's fingers dragging at his chemise to expose his chest. 

Tom stroked the enlivened nipples fondly, then taking a step back he clicked over a switch among the apparatus on the workbench and smiled as he revealed an insulated length of electric lead in his hand, at the tip of which was a twist of bare copper wire. "Treats for the sweet." he murmured. "No need to be scared, I took a Degree in Electrical Engineering."

The bare wire was stroked lightly against each proud teat in turn, and as it touched a raw sensation tickled and zinged through Willie as a trickle of electric current stimulated and taunted the delicacy of his flesh.

He shuddered and he arched his back, thrusting his breasts forward. His head felt too heavy on his neck and he allowed it to fall back, and then he flinched as the bare wire again caressed his thrusting teats. "Oh, oh, oh!" He moaned fit to burst as his nipples expanded.

Tom's mouth was on his throat. "There's a girl... there's a beautiful girl." encouraged Tom. While one hand played devilish games with the wire he stroked Willie's sleek head as if it were a dog. "Aren't you a beautiful girl?"

Willie nodded at him, jolted by the wire, steadied and soothed by the voice and the touch, he gave up resisting. When Tom put away the taunting wire he placed his hands on his shoulders and allowed him to remove the rest of his clothes, and as the eager man's mouth kissed his body, all he could do was think of how wonderful it was, and exactly like it had been before. He felt like an addict of some kind, desperately looking for a fix. 

Tom lifted his arms and put them round him. This time it was his own tongue that probed the line of lips, but it was Tom who drew it deep inside the dark sensuality of his mouth, coaxing it, encouraging it, and then fiercely mating with it. His heart bounced inside him like a child's toy. He could hardly breathe, and not just because of the way Tom was kissing him.

The speed with which Tom moved was very impressive. One moment he was standing against him, the next he was sweeping him up in his arms and swinging him off the floor and onto the bed. Willie felt helpless, swamped by the strength of the man's beautiful body. "What are you going to do?" he whimpered softly. "Are you going to make love to me?"

"Love?" Tom snickered. "Well, while you're here we could have a quickie. But I want much more than just that. A lot more." he brushed his lips against Willie's half-parted mouth, then touched them to each swollen nipple in turn before returning to his mouth with deep ferocity.

"Kneel up and stick out your arse." he ordered when he drew away. In his hand he held another slender, long electrical lead connected to some apparatus on the table, and this time the lead was tipped by a jack-plug the shape and size of a cigar. 

His intention was obvious. He was about to stick something into him Willie realised apprehensively, but he fought not to let him know how much he felt intimidated.

"We're lovers, just like in the old days." Tom informed him, closing the gap between them.

The thing was a perfect fit. So wonderful he could barely tolerate it. So snug its warmth seemed to suffuse him. And when Tom added electricity it became a perfect intersection of pleasure.

Willie had to grit his teeth to prevent himself from crying out and telling him to stop. His body seemed to have no means of movement of its own. It had become completely obedient to what he was doing, whilst inside him the tension continued to grow to an unbelievable level. He could sense throbs and pulsation. It was as if he were tied to a ribbon of light and the universe was exploding somewhere inside him. 

He could hear himself breathing, a laboured rasp when it caught in his throat. There was a tingling sensation. A sparkling. The sort of thing that happened with good sex. He was unaware of anything else other than the regular invidious pulse of the item plugged inside. Tom was using it like a penis, perhaps a subliminal extension of his own penis. In and out, back and forth, opening him up, allowing it to stimulate a myriad of internal nerve endings. 

Panic and desperation speared through him. Ignoring the lynx-eyed look Tom was giving him, he took a breath. Lovers! Panic shot through him in company with abhorrence and rejection. Whatever Tom was doing wasn't being done with love, it was being done for some other cranky reason.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, the sound of his voice meek, raw and frantic in his own ears. 

Ignoring his anxious question Tom studied him silently, assessing his behaviour, just looking at him, admiring the way consternation sparked his eyes and made his cheeks flush with heat. 

Willie was still holding on to those idiotic ideas that they were soul mates, was he? He looked convincingly distressed and he applauded his acting talent. It was all part of the act of innocence he had known him to put on in Heidelberg. He could detect his discomfort and guilt, the two things that gave the sharpest edge to sex, and he knew neither of them would regret what was happening. 

"You like that, don't you? You always were sensitive there." Tom's voice was a dark, tormenting whisper as he twisted the object inside. "Enjoy it. Churn your little backside around and make the most of things." he coaxed coldly. 

Suddenly the object was removed and shudders ran through Willie's body as hands stroked the skin of his bare back. In a mirror he could see Tom leaning over, his erection straining from the mat of hair surrounding its base. "Is this what you crave?" he whispered dangerously.

And then they were lying on the bed together, and Tom was holding him, lifting him, entering him violently, almost brutally, just in time. "You're still a tight little bitch, Willie. How many men have had you since you were last with me?"

"N-not many."

"I find that hard to believe. You once fucked like a whore with anyone and everyone."

Willie could feel his muscles straining as he willed his aroused body into submission. Tom's need to possess him was savage, but unloving, and on a surging explosion of relief and release a single powerful thrust carried him to completion on a fierce wave of pleasure, racking him again and again whilst he spilled hotly into the waiting, wanting heat of his girlfriends body.

The afterglow for Tom was nonexistent. No words of romance, no act of thoughtfulness. No exchange of emotions or shared joy. A surge of disappointment washed over Willie. What they had just done was just sex and had nothing to do with feelings. It was almost like a stage show. When he'd extracted himself Tom sat on the edge of the bed like an angler contemplating bait, and because of that Willie took to examining his own feelings. 

And what were he feeling? Things were no longer as he had once known them, that was for sure. Tom hadn't displayed the tenderness and humour they had once shared; in fact his behaviour verged on callous ridicule. He ought to hate and loathe him. He did hate and loathe him. It was just his body that was weak, that was all.

He rubbed his temples sceptically. For a time in Heidelberg Tom and he had been inseparable. He had adored the Englishman, but somehow the magic of their union had evaporated. There was something unpleasant about his attitude now. There was a basic incompatibility between the two of them that hadn't been there before.

Sensing Willie's eyes on him, Tom stiffened and returned a chilling aloof look that was completely unexpected. "I want you to relay a message across the Channel for me." he said, "It's the kind of information our friends abroad will be grateful for."

Willie rolled onto his back and sat up, pale and lost as blood drained from his head. "Friends abroad! That's impossible. I have no way of contacting people abroad."

Tom looked incredulous. "A Secret Agent without a transmitter! That's preposterous."

"I've been left to my own devises. Radio transmitters are certain proof of spying and I was told I wouldn't need one."

"You do have a recognised codename I take it. All agents have one. I have some information to pass and I can build a Morse transmitter, but without a recognisable codename no one will trust what I say."

Willie shot him a look, a startled, anguished look. Was it the war that was responsible for the unloving change in Tom Soames? "You wish to betray your country?"

Tom's eyes glowed with an eerie inner light, and his face became a pinkish colour... a matte pink, the colour of a pig that had been freshly slaughtered. 

"I might have known you'd end up saying something stupid like that, Willie. Do you know what your problem is? No sense of purpose. No direction. Your conscience as always got in the way of doing what is necessary."

With a jolt Willie realised that Tom had jammed his face only inches in front of him. It wasn't a nice face at that moment but he found it impossible to twist away from him. Why was he being so cruel?

Tom's mouth smiled, but not his eyes. "I am not betraying my country, you silly cow; I'm going to save it. We live in an old, worn-out democracy here, and you know what Plato thought of democracies. The democratic process condemned his friend Socrates to death, so he reckoned that politics should be judged like medicine: we shouldn't judge a doctor by how popular he is, but by whether he can cure anyone. 

"Plato said we shouldn't be governed by someone simply because they got the most votes. Instead, the position should go to the people most skilled... just like any other job. He called his ideal ruler the Philosopher King, and right now it should be as plain as daylight to everyone in the world that Adolph Hitler is such a king."

Now Willie began to understand Tom Soames more clearly than he had ever understood him before. He was a rogue male, a force of nature who refused to be compromised by the wishes of society and who had never lost the adolescent wish to disrupt. In an earlier generation he would have been an anarchist. A hundred years previously he would have been strutting behind the barricades of the Paris communes. He was a man without patriotism who would forever kick against the status quo. 

But he was even more complex than that. Few people had heard of the words sociopath or psychotic in 1941, but Willie knew of the word, smug. And when Tom grinned he looked smug.

Tom shuffled his feet and began to pace up and down the room. On his solemn face was an expression of contempt that was aimed at many things. 

"Know what the real difference is between you and me, little Willie? I know what I want from life and I go for it, while you just saunter along taking in the scenery. Sooner or later the resistance in this country will have its neck rung like that of a chicken and Germany will have control, and when that happened I intend to be on the winning side."

Evidently sensing some innate resistance to what he was saying he added, "I need a codename to send a message, Willie. I don't have one, so I must use the one given to you."

"I don't wish to be involved in espionage, that's not why I'm here." Willie protested, "And I was told never to reveal my codename to anyone."

The warmth died in Tom's expression, leaving it dark and guarded and banishing the intimacy they had shared earlier. "I don't need you for anything more than that. I can't afford to fool around with my W/T set; people listen to all the frequencies and they will have a fix on me pretty quick if I repeat myself too often. Now, tell me what it is."

"And what I want doesn't count?" challenged Willie.

"That's right." Tom's curt words were unequivocal, his voiced clipped and incisive, and he served a look that was coldly demanding. Walking over to his workbench he twisted a dial and raised up the lead with the exposed wire. 

"Try to be wise, sweetie. There's enough electricity going through this now to make a lamp shine. Enough to make your balls jump out of their bag if I touched you with it."

Willie gave him a frightened glance. Frightened? Yes, he was frightened of Tom now. "Oh no, please. You don't have to do that. You don't have to hurt me. You can have my silly codename. It... it's Eintracht." he whispered hesitantly.

Tom chuckled irreverently, which seemed to imply his satisfaction. "Eintracht... Harmony! I'd never have guessed it. What a fine name for a spy."

He looked out of the window and relayed in a grim whisper. "I'm going to put that information to good use. I have an idea that will assist Germany in this war." He paused for a moment as a butterfly of curiosity flitted through his mind. "Do you wish to help me Willie?"

Willie stood, suddenly dizzy, swaying on his feet. His mouth was a little open but he was quite unable to think of a single word to say, although he hoped the expression in his eyes could communicate what he felt but was unable to put into words. Savage pain followed by equally savage anger spiked his heart. Illogically he felt as though somehow Tom had betrayed him by not recognising the person he was, by misjudging him, not caring enough to recognise what had happened to him.




Willie's War Ch. 08



"You're not usually so slow with your replies." Tom said.

Confusion darkened Willie's eyes as he looked up at him. He snapped his mouth shut, then said: "I don't want to hurt anyone."

He was at a loss to understand what was happening until he saw the way Tom was looking back at him. He saw triumph and contempt glittering in his eyes before they were hidden away from him with a blank look of steely professionalism. And then that grin again: sardonic, full of appetite and devoid of humour as the butterfly in his mind turned into a rabid bat. "In that case you're better staying out of it, because I intend to cause bloody mayhem."



Willie's War Ch. 09



"Looking at the moon?"

Tom Soames did his best to ignore Michel, his pick-up for that night who was sitting cross-legged on the bed. The small room was stuffy after their earlier heated encounter, and he stayed in the chair near his workbench, fiddling with electrical components and contentedly gazing out of the window.

"No, the moon isn't up yet, its still daylight outside." he replied, "I'm just thinking. I have things to do. Plans to make."

"Are you thinking of that girl you had here the other night?"

Tom felt a flash of anger but didn't show it. "Don't be childish. There are other things in life apart from sex."

Michel was wearing just a plain maroon-coloured bath robe. Perching on the edge of the bed he drew his slender legs under him and the sash of the robe loosened to reveal the bare flesh of his thigh. "I was walking a dog. I saw you and I know who it was. It was that girl from the big house. That foreign tart. Weak and puny." He spoke in a hushed child-like voice, but he was not a child and he was anything but innocent. 

Exasperated, Tom's eyes went to the ceiling. "For goodness sake, can't you think about anything else but buggery?" 

Michel pulled the flannel robe more tightly around his thin body, his green eyes sleepy and reticent as he took in his date. He himself was nineteen and attractive in an off-beat sort of way. His features weren't perfect because his nose was strong and, according to his own warped belief, too big. His teeth weren't perfect either, but right at that moment nothing could convince him that he didn't have a beautiful smile that was disturbingly alluring even when it didn't try to be.

"Are we finished for tonight?" he asked.

"Yeah, I think we are." Tom was doing his best not to look at him, keeping his eyes on the landscape outside his window where, when darkness descended, parallel strings of white light would denote the military camp in Foxley Wood. In the dusk of evening they would seem to give off illumination not unlike that of a fairground.

Michel uncurled and bent forward to pick at an unpainted toenail, his eyes fixed on what he's doing while his nakedness beneath the robe remained blatantly on offer. Tom could be frustrating, he remembered, able to deflect unwanted attention with a very real excuse of an urgent assignment. But he shouldn't be in any kind of rush that night. Not after all the trouble he'd gone to chat him up and bring him to the cottage. The atmosphere in that small room had been electric a short while previously, but now there was only one kind of electricity in the air. Tom's fascination with wireless was almost annoying.

"Amateur radio is forbidden." he said in a warning voice, "The police would go loopy if they saw all the stuff you have here."

Tom conjured up a glib smile. "I'm not an amateur, radio is my job. The police may not like it, but I'll have a good excuse ready for them if they get nosy."

"Great." Michel said. When Tom glanced over his shoulder he caught his eyes, held them for just a little too long and then executed a languorous stretch, extending his legs and flexing his feet. He arched his back, displaying parts of his naked body and opening it towards him. From under thick, dark lashes he offered a killer look, his eyes full of allure and invitation, then he shifted position in a series of fluid adjustments that made it impossible not to think of other adjustments his body might make, without the clothes. 

Tom caught the deliberate flash of youthful flesh, the pale recesses of high inner thighs, but he was so preoccupied he did not react as most men would.

Michel was a foxy youth who had avoided conscription by contriving to have no fixed abode, and who had lately become a fixture behind the bar at the Fenman's Rest. It was unnatural for Tom to be in the same room with him and keep his distance, but he had other urgent business on his mind that night. Earlier he had been near enough for him to breathe in the fragrance of his youthfulness, near enough for him to feel the warmth of his naked body crushing against his own, and close enough to know the fierce heat of intimate flesh clutching his rampant manhood as it pierced the depths of him.

He made a sound in the back of his throat, and it took all his willpower not to launch himself at the bed again. One final flying dive to placate a belated rise of unrequited lust.

Feeling peeved Michel pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. All closed off now. After a moment he climbed from the bed and sauntered across to a small dresser. An atmosphere that was intentionally erotic embraced him as he moved. It was pervasive, purposely intended to seduce a man's senses. He unscrewed the top of a green gin bottle and poured out two drinks. "One for the road." he said.

When Tom didn't respond Michel stared at him like a cobra and his voice slowed and became theatrically sleazy. "That girl, the one you had here the other night. She looked like she'd got a nice set. Bet you couldn't wait to get into that one. What was she like? Show you a good time did she? As good has me? Go like a bunny, did she?"

The truth was that evening Tom had given no thought at all to Willie Froehlich; he had been constantly aware and moodily obsessed with the manner of Michel's proximity to adolescence. The tart may have been nineteen but he acted like a sixth-former. At times he enjoyed that and it encouraged him to give him the benefit of his rearing tumescence, but he'd finished with him now, he'd got something else on his mind.

"Would that be a problem? You know the score. You weren't born yesterday."

"Not hardly," Michel said, "If it makes you feel any better, I've done a lot." He raised his glass in a salute. "God save the King." Tom didn't bother turning. He was examining something among the clutter of paraphernalia on his work-top. "Absolutely," he agreed without moving. "And death to all his enemies."

"You'd better get going." he added a moment later. "I'll see you in The Fenman's Rest on Saturday, and maybe afterwards we'll have an all-nighter."

Michel set his empty glass on the cluttered bench and looped his arms around Tom's neck, moulding himself as close as possible to his body. "You've got your motorbike outside. Fancy giving me a lift to the bus-stop?" 

Startled, Tom stiffened for a moment, then he observed him with a blank expression, noting Michel's habit of pursing his lips into a girlish pout whenever he wanted to be particularly persuasive. 

"Ummm," he said, shrugging him off. "It's only a mile and it's not dark yet. You can walk."

"You're thoughtless and selfish. You're cruel to me."

The faggot was right, thought Tom. He was probably the most selfish and insensitive person one could ever meet, and the idea pleased him. Being insensitive always had the magic to make people worry more about him than themselves.

He raised a telling eyebrow. "Man is made to be a warrior, sweetheart, just as women - and those men not truly manlike - are made to please the warrior." He smiled, finding it amusing to twist a quote of Nietzsche so cleverly.

Nevertheless, being clever didn't make him invulnerable. His nostrils quivered as they detected a scent, the faintest hint of a perfume that Michel favoured that was both passionate and feminine. He stared at his stomach and the belted towel gown riding on his lean hips. He looked as soft as a rag-doll and sinfully sexy. 

It made him respond, he couldn't deny that, and in a split second he experienced a physical affliction that demanded satisfaction. The front of his slacks began to swell wantonly and he had the familiar desire to grind his hips against the shrewd, lewd bitch near him who had flaunted himself so shamelessly all evening.

Engrossed in his own longings, Michel heard him say almost harshly, "You win, my horny lover, on this occasion at least. Get back on the bed. If you make it good for me a second time I'll give you a ride home."

On his return to Lilac Cottage Tom threw out the gin bottle and put on the kettle to make cocoa. Outside the countryside was silent but for the occasional shriek of a night bird. 

When he was not employed in radio monitoring on the coast he spent a lot of time in his little cottage, tinkering with wireless apparatus and making plans. At heart he was still a student, and like all young students he brimmed with impatient ideology and had endlessly discussed with a few trusted people about the need for change in order to make the world a better place. Adolph Hitler's brand of fascism had attracted him. The uneducated masses he realised would have to be guided into believing new ideas, which meant there may be a need to make them obey.

He had returned to England just prior to the war intending to join Mosley's British Union of Fascists, but the war had prevented that. Oswald Mosley had been imprisoned and the British fascists had been suppressed. But there was more than one way to strike a blow for the side he favoured. He knew that in Foxley Wood just a couple of miles from his home an entire armoured brigade was assembling prior to being moved abroad. 

In his role of an RAF officer he had manufactured a pretext to visit the place once, and had calculated that under the trees there were up to a hundred Cruiser and Infantry tanks with their crews billeted in huts nearby. Everything was in such close proximity that a single heavy bombing strike by the Luftwaffe would cause utter devastation. If they could find it they could blow it off the map.

Tom groaned inwardly. Getting to his feet, he opened the window and took a deep breath.

There was a problem of course. Wasn't there bound to be? Goering, now Deputy Fuhrer as well as overlord of the German airforce, considered his aircraft too vulnerable to risk in daylight attacks and he would only allow them to make their bombing sorties at night when British interceptors found it hard to find them. And the problem was that all targets were completely blacked out during a night raid. 

He stared over at the lights now shining in Foxley Wood. Visibility was always a problem for flyers and British air defence was so sharp these days that a raid in daylight was out of the question. But he knew by way of some of his service colleagues that some Germans squadrons were benefiting from a system called Y-Geraet which could guide aircraft onto a target despite darkness or dense cloud. 

When he had been in Heidelberg studying radio technology he had heard of the German 'Knickebein' programme which used Lorenz radio beams to do that kind of thing. The system was an application of technology that placed a desired target at the apex of two radio cross-beams generated from the continent and guided aircraft onto it. Known as X-Geraet it had worked in raids on Coventry city centre and the Rolls Royce aero-engine factory in Derby, and although Foxley Wood was a much smaller target than a city the newer Y-Geraet would work there too if the precise coordinates were provided. 

Assisted by some sly deals in military petrol allocation and with the help of an Ordinance Survey Map, Tom Soames had done a lot of work riding around on his motorcycle and had calculated those coordinates. He slapped his hands together graphically. With his help the Luftwaffe could plaster Foxley Wood right on the button.

It was foolhardy to make radio transmissions to the continent, but he only needed to relay a couple of messages with the authority of the recognised codename of Harmony, and he was willing to take that chance.

In other respects he was scrupulously careful. He never marked his Ordnance Survey Map, not even with a pin prick. If by some mischance the authorities became suspicious of him and searched his property he didn't wish to have evidence around, and wily intelligence officers always held maps to the light in a search for pin holes.

He pulled a chair in front of the radio set on the table and sat down, switched the apparatus on and waited for it to warm up. He was going to have to use a plus one code. Caesar had once used the same kind of cipher in letters to Cicero. It was schoolboy stuff really: A=B, B=C, etc, but he had no access to anything better, and it would do the job, while the codename, Harmony, would make people sit up and take notice. 

He put on a pair of ear-phones and his eyes went to the tuning dials as he switched to transmit. Then he began tapping characters on the Morse-key

***

Willie had no idea just what the young man who lived in the cottage on the other side of the hill was planning, nor could he have prevented him doing as he wished even if he'd wanted to. A dark, frightening anger filled his expression when he thought of Tom Soames these days, banishing the intimacy they had so often shared in the past. There had been no element of love or caring in what had happened between them in Tom's abysmal cottage, and self-disgust had left a sour taste in his mouth. 

Bitterly he contemplated what he had done and what he should have done. He should have controlled himself. He should have refused him. How could he have allowed the man to use him and make him feel so cheap? 'I only want you for your codename.' he had said, as if he wasn't worth knowing, as if he were no more important than a rug on the floor. As if he was contemptible. The contempt hurt, but he pushed the pain aside. This was not the time to dwell on wounded feelings. Life was for living. All he hoped was that Tom Soames would never bother him again.

That evening he was sitting on the bed in Deborah's room while his American friend packed a suitcase. Deborah was off on a journey in the morning and she was gearing up to meet her friends in Liverpool. The room was in disarray, full of pinks and creams and crammed with pre-war silk scarves, fur wraps and cosmetic bottles. It looked like a showgirl's dressing room, which was the way Debbie seemed to prefer it. 

Willie loaded a small log onto the fire that was burning, wood that had been collected from the paddocks earlier because Debbie was constantly irritated by Mrs Whippet's stinging allocation of coal. "How long will you be away?" he asked.

"One, maybe two nights, depends if the boat comes in on time."

"It will be lonely here without you. Mortimer is very kind but he leaves early each morning and sometimes doesn't return until well into the evening."

"Jimmy and Toby will probably come down at the weekend, they usually do. And Jeremy will pop in too. I'm sure he will. He promised to give Mortimer a private briefing on Foreign Office stuff."

"Pooh," said Willie forcibly. He felt less than impressed. Toby was sweet, but Jimmy had the potential to be a misery. And Jeremy de Vere had barely looked at him since their walk on the hill the previous week, while his manner on occasions was like that of a family doctor; affable, impersonal and always just a little out of reach.

Deborah checked her lipstick in the glass of a small silver compact that Mortimer had given her for her birthday and when finally content her expression relaxed. Suddenly she pushed towards Willie a basket full of half-used cosmetics.

"I'm sorting out things to make room for some new stuff coming over from the States, and you get to keep all the best items in my old arsenal."

Willie raised his eyebrows at the array of items presented to him. There were things there he had never had the wherewithal to own in the past. "You are giving away such a lot. Are you sure you wish to give it all to me? The lipsticks alone will cost a lot of money."

The American clucked humorously. "Grab it while you can little sister. All the stuff produced here these days as the texture of candle wax, and some of the girls in town have to make do with beetroot juice glossed over with Vaseline."

She breathed with a sigh. "It ain't like I don't like being in this country, but the war puts a strain on things. One can get used to two ounces of cheese and a weekly egg, but everything else is in short supply too. There's nothing in the shops. No lace, no ribbons, no coffee, no clothes, no hats... especially no hats. Everything is rationed, rationed, rationed. Gee! When I remember what I left behind in the States I go green."

"But you do not suffer. You have everything that would make a real woman envy you."

Debbie gave her usual devil-may-care laugh. "Self preservation, that's what it is. I've always chosen my men well. Before I hooked up with Mortimer I was the toast of the coast and did plenty of travelling. Did New York and 'Frisco. Did Rio and the Caribbean. Did Italy..."

"Italy, oh how lovely. There are so many famous works of art in Italy. It is the home of Michelangelo and Botticelli and so many other classical masters."

Deborah eyed his dreamy expression. "Yeah, plenty of statues and stacks of painted ceilings, but personally I prefer dove-white when it comes to interior decoration." 

She lay back on the bed, put her hands under her auburn locks and became a little dreamy herself. "Italy was okay despite all those Blackshirts and that Mussolini guy, but the South of France is more my style. The Hotel de Paris in Monte Carlo. The casino, the Ville de Cannes, the boats, the yachts. Let me tell you, champagne is overrated, honey. Dom Perignon is rich man's soda pop. Not that I don't drink it when I'm offered, but if I have a choice I'll go for a shot of Jack Daniels any day."

The following morning Jeremy de Vere was there to drive everyone in the big black touring car to the railway station in Nuttsford. Mortimer was due to catch his usual train to London and Debbie would travel that far with him, before changing trains for the overland haul to Liverpool. 

Everything at the railway station was black with soot and the air was acrid with the tang of coal smoke. Just minutes after they had arrived a big black locomotive, clanking and hissing steam and hauling a dozen coaches drew in. On the platform women in tatty furs and salesmen in threadbare overcoats readied themselves to board. A bunch of naval ratings moved to the back of the train, bent sideways by the weight of their kitbags as they began loading them into the guard's van. One of them paused to kiss a pregnant woman and squeeze her bottom.

When she boarded the train herself Deborah looked radiant. She was wearing a Watteau-style suit in blue velvet with a long, waist-cinched jacket and a flurry of lace at the cuffs and neck. On her head was a matching blue velvet hat, very fetching, pulled slightly over one eye. She said it was pre-war but she'd never had an occasion to wear it because Mortimer had never taken her to Buckingham Palace.

Willie went along essentially to see Debbie off, and on the way back he and Jeremy passed a party of soldiers laden with steel helmets and rifles, moving along the edge of the road and engaged in some form of military exercise. Everywhere people went there seemed to be reminders of the hazardous times they lived in.

"I do hope Deborah's friends reach Liverpool safely." murmured Willie, "And I have been thinking maybe Sir Mortimer will take me to London with him one day. There are many good art galleries there and I would like to look around."

Jeremy nodded. "Yes, there are plenty of galleries; it would injure public morale if the government closed them down. But I think you'll find all the best items will have been crated up and taken away to safe hidey-holes."

"Hidey-holes?"

"It's a precaution against them being lost to the bombing. And of course it's a precaution against the Germans. Hitler's henchmen have a habit of carrying off all the best stuff everywhere they go and no one can guarantee they won't come here one day."

"Jimmy Hyde believes this island to too strong for Hitler now."

Jeremy pursed his mouth thoughtfully. "Jimmy as his own opinions and he can say what he likes. No one can say what may happen in the future. Hitler's Directive No. 16 - the order for the invasion of the British Isles - was never rescinded, it was only postponed. If he gets everything he desires in Russia before the winter sets in, he may well consolidate his gains and come back to finish us off next year." 




Willie's War Ch. 09



"Is there any chance of peace? Hitler is so fully occupied now, he doesn't need the trouble he as with England."

Jeremy grimaced slightly. "That man is aglow with success and won't be in a mood to be nice. HM Government certainly take him seriously and precautions were taken some time ago. The nation's treasure... the family jewels as it were, was stowed away in Canada last year. Six hundred and twenty-seven million pounds' worth of gold and 1,250 million pounds' worth of negotiable securities were sent to Montréal and Ottawa, and a warship offloaded 9,000 gold ingots into Nova Scotia."

Tall poplars and horse-chestnut trees towered over them as they motored along, deciduous and evergreen, full of cursives and flourishes, their autumn smell mingling with the petrol fumes. There were no main routes around Brascombe, only minor roads and lanes that snaked between fields and broken woodland, and having gone beyond the soldiers the roads remained completely empty until they met with rural routine. 

Suddenly there was a cow herder in the road ahead, motioning them to stop and give way for a milking herd on their way to the byre. As the first of a stately procession of fawn-coloured jerseys nosed their way out of a gate on the herdsman's left, Jeremy swung into the side of the road and stopped.

"It's glorious day for this time of year, mild and sunny. It's much too nice to go straight back. Sir Mortimer's favourite piece of primeval jungle is just across this field. Do you fancy a stroll?"

Willie glanced up at the sky and managed a smile, along with a stubborn lift of his chin. "It's not sunny at all. It's very cloudy and it may rain."

"You'll look very pretty in the rain." Jeremy said taking him by the arm and helping him from the car.

Willie remained dubious, but once they had climbed over a boundary fence by way of a wooden style he was surprised to find he was enjoying Jeremy's company; it was obvious he told himself, that he was rather an arrogant man, very sure of himself, probably selfish to, but he had to admit he had charm. And he was proving himself a delightful companion now, talking about everything under the sun and doing so in a friendly manner which held no arrogance at all.

They trekked up along the edge of a field that displayed the metal skeletons of agricultural equipment standing idle in fields of stubble corn. The sky was overcast but the day was not windy and Willie could feel warmth on his face. Nothing disturbed the day except the noisy rattle from a murder of crows.

On reaching the wood on the top of the hill they found a break in some sycamores still dressed with the yellow foliage of autumn. There the sunshine flickered off and on through a thinning canopy of leaves and Jeremy led the way into a tiny open space that seemed like a fairy dell, hidden from the road but open to the sky.

"It is a very eerie here." remarked Willie.

"Yes, it is eerie," the man agreed. "One can understand Sir Mortimer's fascination with it. Prehistoric people living simple lives would have found the stillness here awesome. They would have had animal cults and totems in those days. They would have imagined imps and demons living here, and would have terrified their children with stories of such things to prevent them wandering into the vast maze of the forest and becoming lost." he smiled down at Willie. "Does it frighten you?"

Willie gave a little smile back. "It would frighten me if I were alone and in the dark. But it's not dark, and you are with me."

Jeremy studied him with narrow eyes while his hands carefully sculpted his hips. The little Dutch girl wore a dark blue serge dress with a piped pique collar and cuffs and her blond hair was tied back with a blue ribbon. It was a combination he considered gave her an odd sense of allure. Most women he admired looked better out of clothes than in them, but here was an individual who he was sure could play the part either way.

Willie jolted as a hand closed over his wrist. "I'm sorry. Did I startle you?" asked Jeremy.

"Yes, you did a little." Willie replied, looking up in surprise. He felt slightly intimidated by the height and breadth of the man, and he refused to reflect on the fact that he looked even more attractive and compelling than he had the previously. In the countryside he looked all shoulders and muscle and endless legs in his slacks and a sweater.

He tensed, nerves suddenly coming alive as Jeremy pressed against his back and slipped his arms around him. The sudden stirring in his body startled him and cut through the previous promise he had made to himself ruthlessly. It had been a long time since he had felt such a strong sexual attraction to anyone, and he had thought he was long past the stage of being tempted by blind desire. But Jeremy was standing behind him, peering over his shoulder and holding him, and Willie could feel his heart thudding as the smell and bigness of his muscled body capturing all his senses.

Jeremy had strong shoulders and muscular arms and he liked to feel the touch his arms. He felt solid and reliable, and he was sure his physique matched his character. He could depend on him, always. Suddenly Willie felt small and helpless being submerged in his embrace; it made his legs feel weak. What a sexy game they were playing, he thought. It was lovely.

Jeremy caught hold of his hand. "You showed a flair for dancing the night we dined at Brascombe. Would milady care to dance with me now?"

Willie's eyes rolled in mock horror and he laughed. "That's stupid. We are in the countryside, and anyway there is no music."

With a grin Jeremy turned him and clamped his other hand into the small of his back, the little finger splayed over the point where the curve of his buttocks began. Then he hauled him close. "You and I can make our own music." he said, whirling him round and taking just enough of Willie's weight with his left arm to make him feel that his feet merely skimming the ground as he followed the steps. 

.A gallery of curious grey squirrels in the trees watched them as they skipped and swirled. Jeremy rose on his toes, leading surely, commandingly, skilfully avoiding any obstacle on the ground and sweeping Willie into the compass of an intimate two-step.  

Willie abandoned himself wholly to the movement of their bodies, a drifting leaf among so many others. Jeremy's left arm was crooked so that they could dance cheek to cheek, and now and then his lips brushed his face, while his legs and hips moved as if he were making love. It all became complete when the man first began to hum and then quietly mouth the lyrics to the tune they had danced to when they had first met:

"That certain night... the night we met... it was such a romantic affair. There were angels dining at the Ritz, and a nightingale sang in Berkeley Square..."

His diction was perfect, his voice all silk, and Willie felt as if he were melting. He felt as if he were about to collapse. Jeremy was looking at his mouth and he thought he was certain to kiss him eventually, and he wanted him to. He drew a deep breath, his pulse speeding up just thinking about it. 

Yes, he had seen the look on his face, and although his heart begged him to stay just where he was, he tore himself away and took a prudent step backwards.

Jeremy merely smiled. Willie had got under his skin and was one of the reasons he returned to Brascombe so often. And at that moment his body was making his flirtation known. Just standing near enough to touch and kiss her made his blood run hot and his groin tighten in awareness. It had taken all his willpower not to kiss her parted lips in the past, and judging by the desire he'd seen flash in her features, she wasn't immune to their close proximity, either.

"Don't move. It won't be of the least use, you know. I shall only come after you. If I offered you my heart would you reel back from that too?"

He pressed against the effeminate young man, and made Willie suck in his breath as a slow liquid heat seeped into his pants, making him moan into the man's mouth. Jeremy was hard against his belly. He wanted him.

"No." Willie's voice was a whisper. There was no mistaking the look upon his face now. He took another step back and felt a piece of fallen timber against his heels. 

Jeremy de Vere was as entranced as Willie. She, this Dutch girl, was irresistible, he thought. He felt his gaze sliding slowly from her eyes to her mouth, to absorb in greedy silence its shape and its beauty. He couldn't stop himself anymore than he could stop breathing. He stepped closer, and a smell of jasmine registered as he inhaled. Then he wrapped her in his arms and kissed her hard.

Dimly above his roaring pulse he heard the girl groan as her fingers clenched in his hair. She moaned, moving her hips against him while her arms tightened around his neck.

While kissing him in return Willie became aware of the strength of the man's arms and his lean body, and of the strange weakness brought on by the pressure of his hips against his own. He was no callous youth attempting seduction by force; he was a lusty mature man making known his needs.

"I couldn't resist that." Jeremy said, finally drawing away.

Willie stared back, wide-eyed, his lips slightly parted, while his arms tightened around his neck "I didn't tell you to stop." he answered in a sultry voice.

He understood sensuality and its lure. He had long ago become used to the way men admired him, but although some had used his body, very few had captured his heart. Jeremy had succeeded in doing that in amazing short order.

Jeremy's mouth already knew the texture, Willie's texture, but the memory of it wasn't enough. He wanted to know it again. To trace its tender outline, to stroke its soft warmth, to probe the sweet resistance it offered and capture its innermost sweetness. 

They kissed again, and this time Jeremy plunged swiftly into undefended territory with his tongue. His thighs were hard against his as Willie clung to him, his body welcoming as he stroked his breasts over the soft fabric of his dress, teasing his nipples into hard peaks with the pads of his thumbs. It went on and on, until the dream was gradually replaced by a very real passion. 

Suddenly Willie didn't want a fantasy; he wanted a real man, flesh and blood, driven by pure lust and desire. Hard muscle and smooth skin, warm breath and firm touch. He wanted Jeremy.

With his mouth still melded to his own, he fumbled with the man's coat and scarf, until he agreed to remove them. At once he yanked Willie against his body, taking his breath away as he eliminated all space between them. His eyes were dusky with desire and he smiled crookedly when he reached out to caress his cheek with his fingertips. 

A sudden aching need twisted inside Willie and he caught himself stopping the words he longed to say. He wanted to tell him how much he wanted him, but he didn't wish him to lie in reply.

Jeremy was kissing his throat and biting his neck while his hands fathomed the contours of his girlish bosom. With his forehead against his muscled chest, Willie inhaled the clean scent of his skin radiating through the crisp, starched fabric of his shirt. When he had been told of Eduard's death he had never believed he could find another man worthy of replacing him in his heart. But perhaps he was wrong. Here was a man who could be worthy. If only he could accept what Willie Froehlich really was, life would be worth living again. 

With a flick of his fingers and a wicked smile; he unhooked the man's trousers and unbuttoned them with tantalising leisure, casually brushing against the hard length hidden behind the fine fabric. But then he felt his hand clamp around his wrist and pull him away.

Jeremy had made a plan of his own and he made a harsh sound in his throat as he searched to unfasten the dress at the nape of the girl's neck. 

"It hasn't got buttons or a zip." Willie's voice was breathless. "It goes over my head."

"Never mind about the dress. I want you." Jeremy murmured against his swollen lips. "I want you like men have always wanted a woman. Here, now, at once." 

Willie's eyes came to rest on the man's arousal protruding out from his trousers, smooth and hard, a shaft of silky steel, and he knew the sensation of his own body beginning to strain against the constriction of his clothes.

"Jeremy, you mustn't say that. There are things that you don't know about me." He was relieved to hear no tremor in his voice, even though his heart boomed hard enough to rattle his bones.

The man smiled softly as he reached out to cup his breasts and savour the malleability of them beneath the dress. He didn't fumble. His hands were steady. Willie imagined they always were. "Credit me with some intelligence, Willie. I know that you're in the same mould as Deborah Findlay and the fact that you're something similar to her doesn't disturb me one little bit."

Astounded, Willie gasped. "Am I so obvious?" 

"I've known what you are right from the start, but poaching is an ungentlemanly business and I had to be sure Sir Mortimer wasn't popping you. Fortunately he's so infatuated with Deborah I don't think he has an inkling about the kind of person you are, even though he's been around men in frocks for years."

"You know about Sir Mortimer and Deborah?"

"Of course. Everyone knows of Sir Mortimer's curious little habit. Thankfully no one knows about mine yet."

Willie's gaze embraced his erection with a molten look of longing and hunger. He reached out and touched him, hot flesh beneath his fingertips, the foreskin pushed back to expose the rounded tip, dark and rosy. He rimmed a fingertip around it and felt his whole body jerk. 

There was no restriction now, no impediment to the result they both yearned for. Reaching under his skirt Willie skimmed off his underwear and thrust himself down over the broad trunk of a fallen tree, skirt up and bottom in the air, lewdly presenting himself like a cat ready to be taken by its tom. 

He felt Jeremy's fingers between his shoulder blades, the hands caressing and pushing him farther forward. Jeremy was excited. For him there was something special about viewing a beautiful young man in seamed stockings and suspenders bending over like that. It proved extremely erotic for him. It was wonderful to see a delicate young bottom with such well formed testicles hanging under it, and even if Sir Mortimer had chosen to neglect such a thing, he himself couldn't possibly pass it by. The tension in his groin demanded something else.

His movements were unhurried. He wrapped his fingers around his impatient erection and guided it to Willie's ready entrance, and Willie winced as the essence of desire spiked him deep, impaling him on a lance of fevered longing as it possessed him fully.  

He moaned softly - a woman's moan, a supplicating moan. In an action that was irritating carnal torture Jeremy had slipped into him, expelling a tightly held sigh as he began to move. With his hands gripping his hips Jeremy held him still, controlling his ability to move. There was nothing he could do but submit. 

Willie arching against him and writhed as he felt his grip on reality loosen. He moved with him, absorbing every thrust, feeling his world spiral upwards and outwards until his body tensed. 

"Oh!" He gasped at the girth, winced at the depth it penetrated when it got going, and had to grit his teeth to prevent himself crying out for him to stop tormenting him as he moved against him. His body seemed to have no means of moving itself, it had become completely obedient to his touch, whilst deep inside him the tension continued to grow so that he felt as though at any second it would spill from him and flood out.

Jeremy was working so hard his face had turned a shade of an overripe plum, but suddenly he froze, body taut, his eyes squeezed tightly shut with a soft plea of need. Willie urged him on, carrying him higher until his control shattered and they both found release in a rare and precious moment of exquisite splendour.

He felt a fierce clench of muscle inside and a mighty lurch as the liquid of love spilled forth. "Oh, that's good." Jeremy grunted. "That's so good!"

***

Alfred Naujocks went to his Berlin office as he normally did on any day. He had hardly given a thought to Willy Froehlich since the time he had extracted him from the clutches of the Gestapo, because as far as he knew the sweet-arsed little queen was such a soft-hearted, soft-headed pacifist he could be left alone to do what he could amid the jungle of English politics. He certainly didn't worry about extracting him from England if he failed or happened to get into difficulties. The tart was there to do or die.

There was a brief, typed note on his desk when he arrived in his office. It said: 'Report to the Admiral immediately.'

He had been told that Admiral Canaris, Director of the Abwehr, the German Intelligence Service, was in Spain offering General Franco Gibraltar in return for some token support of the Axis, but he had obviously been misinformed.

He walked down the corridor to the Admiral's secretariat, straightening his tunic as he went. He sensed an odd look in the secretary's eyes as he announced him on the intercom. The secretary hung up. "Go right in, Herr Oberst."

Naujocks strode through into the big office suit, pulled up in the centre of the floor, clicked his heels and saluted. Like many German men subjected to strict discipline since childhood, he had acquired the habit of bolstering his ego with outward arrogance and stiffness. He believed that any man worthy of the name should be made of steel, and he had behaved accordingly during the war in Poland and France. 

He had once been a disciple of Colonel-General von Seeckt, who in the days of the Weimar Republic had masterfully orchestrated the rearmament of the German Army in spite of the restrictions imposed on it by the Great Powers. He was dedicated to his country and the Fuehrer and placed obedience to duty above politics.

The Admiral was gazing out of the windows and he didn't turn when Naujocks entered. "You placed an agent in England without my authorisation, colonel."

Naujocks pursed his mouth. As an officer of the Allgemeine-SS he resented the possibility of being reprimanded by someone in the Kriegsmarine, no matter how senior he was. "With respect, Admiral, it was simply easier for me to arrange matters through the office of my own chief, Reichsfuhrer SS Himmler."

When the old man did turn, he sat down at the other side of an antique desk and left his visitor standing. "You damned SS think you're a law unto yourselves, taking short cuts and ignoring procedure. It is the Abwehr, the department you chose to ignore that as received a communication from your agent, Harmony."

Naujocks stiffened, but he refused to be intimidated and even smiled slightly. "Harmony? Oh yes. I put Harmony into England as a disruptive mole to stir up trouble in British politics. I don't know why you are being bothered with him."

"I'm being bothered because your agent as contacted us with coordinates for an important airstrike. What's it all about? If it involves the Luftwaffe I need to be sure of what I'm doing. Is Harmony a trustworthy operative?"

And now Naujocks began to feel slightly discomforted. Even if Canaris was just an old sailor he was an important man and not beyond making trouble for him. 

"His brief did not include any form of espionage, but if he came upon something vital he would certainly act on it. He is completely trustworthy."

The right side of the Admiral's face twitched slightly and a shadow passed through his eyes, a shadow and a glimmer, like the rutilant scales of something just below the surface in murky water. "Harmony was given no wireless transmitter. Explain to me his mission and why you didn't give him one."




Willie's War Ch. 09



Naujocks cocked his head on one side as a dog would have done. "Using a radio would make him vulnerable to British DF operators. He would need to move around if he used a transmitter, and the work I gave him required him to remain in one place. 

Thrusting forward his chin, he continued. "It is Germany's misfortune when making war to have to contend with enemies on two fronts, both east and west. In Harmony I saw a possibility of corrupting some politicians and subduing the west with minimal effort. For that he needed to secure himself in one location. But that's not to say he wouldn't gain access to a transmitter if he believed it important enough. He's very resourceful."

For a long moment the Admiral considered what he'd heard. Then one corner of his mouth lifted up. "It's a ridiculous idea. Hitler needs no cockeyed assistance from anyone to achieve his aims. When Russia finally capitulates the British will stand alone once more, and they will either make peace or suffer invasion. They can never raise an army big enough to defeat us in a land war, and if they compel us to occupy their country it will go bad for them." 

He shook his head with a touch of sadness. "The Fuehrer calculated they would cave in after the fall of France. He never really wished to make war with them, he thinks of them as Aryan. Most of them anyway. But he's become impatient with their obstinacy and has decided that if Britain is to be occupied Reinhard Heydrich will be installed as the first Reichprotecktor there. And as you know he is a man with no scruples and no sense of humanity." 

He gave Naujocks a hard stare. "A directive has already been signed, and if circumstances warrant it he will have the authority to deport the entire male population between the ages of 17 and 45 to the continent as forced labour."

"We could have made better use of your agent in the Abwehr." he continued after a moment. "All our resources are being used elsewhere and we have no active agents in England at the moment other than him. Our intelligence there is months out of date and is getting stale, so we have to take Harmony seriously."

He closed his eyes and said nothing more for a moment, then he lifted his telephone. "Get me Reichsmarschall Goering. He's in Hamburg today."

He sat with the phone to his ear, and it was two or three minutes before he spoke again. Eventually there was a click and a gruff response, and choosing his words carefully the Admiral told Goering of the information he had received... of a large British tank formation mustering near the coast of Essex. He had been given the coordinates for a night bombing run that had every chance of success if the Lorenz directional radio device could be used.

When he had finished he waited, and even from where he stood Naujocks could hear the Reichsmarschall's roar. It was a roar of delight, and as his voice boomed on, Canaris visibly relaxed.

Finally the Admiral put the phone down, slowly and carefully to give himself time to sort out his words. When he looked at Naujocks he smiled thinly and said, "God must be on your side today. Goering is delighted at the prospect of destroying a large concentration of British armour. Glory for his beloved Luftwaffe, you see. Said it would be small beer compared with what's happening in Russia, but he looked forward to giving the Tommie's a good slap and wished we had more agents like Harmony. 

"He's going to inform the Fuehrer immediately, and he as given permission for a Messerschmitt Bf-110 from Erprobungsgruppe 210 to go over from Calais-Marck and try for some photographs of the place. If they prove satisfactory it will be bombed into oblivion." 

The Director of the German Abwehr was no fool, and his eyes indicated that. The natural selection of Nazi political warfare, which forced even intelligent men to watch their backs as well as their fronts, was evident. 

He shook his head slowly. "All the same you were a fool to become involved with placing agents, Naujocks. You were irresponsible, and personally I want to have as little to do with this business as possible. If things work out you'll get an Oak Leaf to put on your Knights Cross, but if it turns out to be any kind of fool's errand Goering will be embarrassed, and you will get your knuckles rapped from on high.

"Are you a good Nazi, Naujocks?" he asked, his face pale and lacking in expression. Only his eyes were alive and the energy in them was unsettling.

Naujocks shifted uneasily. "I do my duty, Admiral."

"I hope so." Canaris said. "I hope you do."

The old man was only a tepid National Socialist and for him Nazism was only acceptable as Germany's best defence against the communists. But his personal style and honour as a gentleman rebelled against the brutal gangster-like methods the Nazis employed, and eventually he wasn't always to be so careful for himself has he was that day. 

Sickened by constant SS and Gestapo excesses and convinced that the Reich Government were all criminals, he would plot against Hitler and be found out. His last days would be spent in Flossenbrueck concentration camp where his execution by slow strangulation would be filmed for the Fuehrer's private gloating.

*** 

Everything was back to normal in the morning; Willie went down to breakfast to find Mortimer and Jeremy hidden behind their newspapers, and although he wished them good morning, their detached manner gave him the impression that for them at least life was real, life was in earnest.

All the following day Willie existed in a Wonderland and even with Mortimer around he couldn't stop his gaze from drifting onto Jeremy. No one since Eduard Dietz had given him such affection and such joy. Sometimes he couldn't resist looking over at him and smiling a crooked, impish smile when he remembered their love-making in the wood. Perhaps love could happen again for him. He hoped so, for Jeremy was the nicest man he had met in a very long time. There was still a great hole in his heart for Eduard, and it could only be filled by a new commitment to compassion and tenderness. 

Jeremy was a wonderful lover, powerful, strong and dynamic. Sometimes when reaching for things his beautiful, long-fingered hand would brush the gentle upward swell of Willie's bosom, causing a bone-melting rush of sensation. At such moments everything erectile on the surface of Willie's body popped up; the hairs on the back of his neck, his nipples, his penis, all rose up together and made him feel more desirable than he'd felt for ages.

Following lunch Jeremy revealed that he needed to make some phone calls to his Department at the Foreign Office in London, and Mortimer generously invited him to make free use of his study while he remained with Willie in the drawing room.

Willie felt buoyant after the glorious events of the morning, and felt confident enough to tackle Sir Mortimer about the progress he was making with the peace movement. With that he was treading emotional water. Everything was going well, but he was dizzy with dread at knowing how much there was still to accomplish.

The elderly man's response was unfortunately less than good.

"I've been thinking over what you said, Willie." he murmured, while standing at the window and gazing out, "You know, what you said about pursuing a peace arrangement with Hitler. To tell you the truth I'm not at all comfortable with the idea."

For moment Willie was stumped by such an abrupt change of mind, but he thought it best not to stampede the man into an angry explanation. "Why is that?" he asked softly.

Mortimer fidgeted for a moment. "Being with the Foreign Office, Jeremy gets to know a great many useful things. He tells me there are stories coming out from the Russian Embassy and several other places; disturbing reports about the Nazi treatment of people in the areas they've overrun in Eastern Europe." 

His eyes glared solidly to emphasis his concern. "We're not talking about just slips in the Geneva Code or the Hague Convention here, but planned, systematic barbarism against civilian populations. Apparently there have already been large scale massacres in the region of Minsk, and such things are bound to be happening in other places too. Hitler as told his Generals of SS that his master-plan for the East necessitates the elimination of 30 million Slavs."

After a moment his expression softened. "Of course such stories are unsubstantiated at the moment, but if just some of them are true I tend to think we shouldn't treat with anyone responsible for those kind of atrocities."

Willie wasn't comfortable with what had been said but it didn't change his underlying determination. His eyes flared and his mouth became set, like a schoolgirl who had been given low marks for something.

"Such stories may well be true." he replied, "It must sound insane. War is insane, and genocide is insane, but neither is new. Less than thirty years ago the Turks all but wiped out the Armenian nation inside their borders and nobody cared a pinch; more recently Stalin decimated the population of his homeland of Georgia by starvation, and the old Russians invented the word 'pogrom' to describe their periodic slaughtering of Jews. 

"The German's are imaginative and industrious people who are no more wicked than anyone else, but Herr Hitler is a ruthless man and he is charismatic enough to lead them into shame. However, if what he is doing is wrong, this country cannot influence anything he does while it is at war with him. There must be peace before he will even listen to another point of view."

He leaned forward earnestly to press what he'd said. "You do see that, don't you? You must understand that what you are doing now is the only sensible thing to do."

Mortimer remained where he was, not moving except for clenching and unclenching his fists. "But...how can anyone possibly make peace as things are? Churchill's War Cabinet has such a firm grip on everything."

Willie rose to his feet and moved across to stand at his side, a better place for pressing his argument. "You must change things. Consult your friends. You must all join together and find the courage to declare your beliefs. If the ordinary people know there is an alternative to what has been dictated to them they will flock to your cause, and together you can depose Churchill. I am aware of how the British play democracy, and with firm support you could force a Vote of Censure on the warmonger and be rid of him. It's that easy." 

"Easy?" Mortimer uttered a cynical chuckle. "Willie, you don't know just how difficult such 'easy' things can be in politics. Appeasement and peace-at-any-price are hard things to sell these days and I'm not sure of what I could tell my people that may be new. One must offer them some hope and incentive before they will agree to act."

Willie lowered his voice in conspiratorial fashion. "I must take you into my confidence, Sir Mortimer. I was allowed to leave Holland and come to England only if I agreed to give a message to someone like you. You can tell everyone that Hitler has no hatred for the British and will be generous if they agree to a peace conference. I have that from the highest authority. He will only demand the return of the German colonies mandated to Britain in 1919." 

He was quite for a moment, and then he continued. "However, Hitler will not negotiate with the present English government. Winston Churchill and his gang of cronies will have to go. This country will need you and your friends when that happens, Sir Mortimer. After so much death it will value those who put compassion before guns."

Mortimer turned away from the window and went and sat down, and for a moment he remained silent with his fingers merely drumming on the armrests of his chair. Then he looked up. 

"I will go on. I will continue to try for an end to the war." He looked up and smiled. "I do appreciate you being here, Willie. Without your encouragement I'd quickly give it all up as a hopeless waste of time."

Willie stopped talking, believing he had said enough for the time being. He turned and was about to leave when the door opened and Mrs Whippet entered to address Sir Mortimer.

"Sergeant Dobson wishes to have a word with you, sir." said the stern-faced housekeeper. She squinted at Willie for a few moments; suspicion about him had never left her and was always dominant in her narrow eyes.

There was a heavy trudge of boots and a big, bulky policeman, the proud owner of a hefty ginger moustache strode in. He was buttoned up to the chin in navy-blue with his trouser cuffs fastened back with bicycle clips. Oddly his hair was brown on the top of his head, but became reddish at the sides. He had heavy cheeks and jowls, and his eyes were deep set over a broad fat nose.

"What is it, Dobson?" Mortimer demanded churlishly.

The policeman wasn't in the least deflected by an attitude of impatience. "Just a quick word, Sir Mortimer, if you please. I was chatting with Mrs Whippet on the back step a moment ago, and she mentioned you'd got a foreign guest staying here." His eyes flicked sideways towards Willie. "Is this the young lady in question?"

"Yes, Willie is a relation to a friend of mine. I can vouch for her." Mortimer responded.

"I don't doubt that sir. But we've been told to make a check on strangers who've recently moved into the area -- a directive straight from government - so could I possibly have a look at the young lady's identity papers?"

Willie made light of the request. "Yes, of course you can. They're in my coat in the hall. I'll go and get them."

When he went out into the hall his cheeks were flushed, his eyes staring. He wasn't feeling light and easy at all. He had an irrational feeling that he was going to be arrested. He felt like a fish with the mesh of a net closing about him. 

Should he run out of the door? Should he try to find a big city and get lost in the crowd? That was silly, he decided. In wartime people would eventually be found wherever they tried to hide.

When he returned to the study the policeman was saying: "...we get this kind of thing all the time. Folk see German spies dangling on parachutes in their dreams these days, and I've even had a Welshman reported to me because he spoke in a different accent to the local one."

Willie gave him the papers he'd requested and he pulled out a notebook and pencil. "Right. Name: Wilhelmina Naarden. Country of Origin: Holland. Place of Birth: Venlo, in the Province of Limburg. Can't say I've heard of Venlo, but I was never much good at geology."

"You mean geography." Willie blurted out.

"What?" The policeman glowered reproachfully at him, and he recoiled, wishing he hadn't said anything.

"What you said about place names. That's geography. Geology is the study of rocks." he murmured timidly.

The eyes studied him a while longer with a ferocious glare. "Quite so. I stand corrected. You're quite good with words, aren't you?" 

Returning to his notebook he wrote down Willie's immigration number and a few other details, but in careful silence now, and then handed the documents back to him.

"I have to pass this information to the Central Register to be crosschecked, but I don't suppose you'll hear anything more about it. Thank you, Miss Naarden. Good day, Sir Mortimer."

When he had gone Willie trembled openly. "Policeman make me nervous even when I've done nothing wrong. How long will it take to have my identity checked?"

Mortimer smiled. "Goodness, Willie, you're dealing with bureaucracy now. Hundreds of enquiries like that are being made all the time. It can take days, sometimes weeks to get a reply, but as the sergeant said, you'll probably hear no more about it."

The incident had put Willie Froehlich into something of a panic, because although he knew his identity documents were good enough to fool casual scrutiny he didn't know how the details would stand up to a close inspection. Maybe they had once belonged to a real person, or maybe they were false. No one had told him. But if they were exposed as bogus the British were certain to view him an enemy plotting against them and he'd be counted as a spy. And spies were hanged.

He didn't wish to go on the run, and he didn't want to leave before he had Sir Mortimer committed to a peace plan, but he needed to think about his own life too, and he'd involved himself in a conspiracy from which there seemed no way out.

Then he had a thought. There was a way to avoid a spy's fate on the gallows; there was a way to ensure safety. He would confess everything to Jeremy and ask for his help. Jeremy was both wise and kind, and he was also well connected. He would give guidance with gentle affection, just as he had done in the wildwood. 

On his way to return things to his coat in the hall he unexpectedly came upon Jeremy on his way to the front door. He was wearing a double-breasted overcoat with a velvet collar, black homburg and gloves, and he was carrying a briefcase. 

Willie felt suddenly confused. To say that the world stands still is solipsism, and he knew it as it seemed to happen -- knew that it isn't the world that slows down, but rather the individual, confronted by an unexpected event, who receives a charge of adrenaline and speeds up. Nevertheless, for him, for an instant, everything did freeze. He could hear his own voice far away begin to babble: "You said you were staying for the weekend -- you told me yesterday - Are you leaving now?"

Jeremy offered a guilty smile. "Oh, er, yes I suppose I am." 

Willie felt stunned. He felt disorientated, as if the floor he was standing on had suddenly vanished. He looked at the bag in Jeremy's hand and his legs shook as he realised the implication. 

"You where going to leave without even telling me."

"I thought it best not to make a fuss. Something's come up in town, and I have to get back tonight." 

Willie could not conceal his shock. He felt raw and frantic. Such cold businesslike words from the only man he had met that could compare favourably with Eduard Dietz, and at the very moment when he needed to be cosseted and reassured. 

His whole body felt as if it was being drenched in hot tar and feathers. No! He can't be going, he thought. The denial jangled in his head, but it was no use, there was no softening in the man's gaze. 

Jeremy went to the door and then turned back. "I've just spoken on the phone with London, you see. I've been offered an appointment on the Foreign Secretary's personal staff."

"Is that a promotion for you?"

"Yes. Quite a big step up too, and I have to take it now or I'll never be given another chance. Sadly it means my time won't be my own as much as it once was, and it's important to get back at once, y'know, to get my hands on the ropes and acquire the feel of things."

"Will you come here again?"

For a fleeting moment, he caught an expression of pain on the man's face, then it disappeared, to be replaced by a more usual detached façade.

"Oh I expect so," he said in a subdued voice, "But I can't promise when. Mr Eden travels abroad a good deal, and I'll be expected to go with him. Every upside as a downside too I'm afraid." 

He clearly felt a little uncomfortable under Willie's frozen gaze, but he kissed him on the cheek, then tried to smile and failed. "Look, I'll call you and let you know about us." 

"Fine," Willie answered, watching him return to the door. A sickly feeling invaded him as surely as a form of shock, a physical reaction to an emotional trauma. Jeremy didn't turn back this time, he only paused a moment before saying a blunt and businesslike "Goodnight." which almost sounded like "Goodbye". Which Willie couldn't help but think it was.

"Schwein. Falsche freund. Kalthertziger Verraeter." he raged softly when the door closed.

"Beg your pardon, Miss Naarden. Was you saying something in Dutch?" a voice nearby asked.




Willie's War Ch. 10



By morning Willie was coming to terms with Jeremy's duplicity and felt it incredulous that he had fallen so hard for his charm. He had been so sure of him, but in the end the wretched man had proved himself to be fickle and no different to so many others he had known in the past.

'Get a grip', he told himself, as the English sometimes did. The phrase had convulsed him with mirth when he had first heard it, and he only had to say, gruffly, 'Get a grip, Willie,' into the mirror to make his solemn face relax into a smile. Now it was a reminder for him to say alert, buck up and fit in. 

Toast and well brewed Ceylon tea at breakfast did nothing to cheer him. He was suddenly feeling homesick, hankering after German food, Holstein ham, roast goose, which he'd not tasted for years, simple meals of sauerbraten, smoked meats and pale tea in fragile small cups. 

A new dawn heralded a new day, but his melancholy was hardly eased by the arrival of Jimmy Hyde, dressed in khaki and wearing one of the swashbuckling black berets that were unique to Tank Men.

"You haven't brought Toby with you today." Willie observed.

"He's been caught for Duty back at Foxley Wood, but he'll be coming down tomorrow. You look pretty washed out and wretched. Is something troubling you?"

Willie gave a little hump of his shoulders. "Oh, This and That." his voice was dispassionate, remote. "Deborah as gone to Liverpool and Jeremy as returned to London."

"I see. So you're at a bit of a loose end. Can't have you moping about you know, what you need is an outing."

The concern in his voice warmed Willie's heart. "An outing?"

"Yes, we'll go out for the day, just you and I. War is not all patriotic duty."

For a moment Willie hesitated. Jimmy Hyde was a moody man subject to morbid predictions of his own death and not the kind of person for a broken heart to cling to. But the house was quiet when he was alone, leaving him as prey to his thoughts, and there was a core of bitterness in his heart in respect of Jeremy that he was loath to probe. A meaningful day out would do a lot to soothe him, and there was Jimmy standing there as smart as paint in his captains' uniform. 

"You are not suffering a bad mood today?"

"Not in the least, I feel as sparky as a pup and I'm not going to let the ambition of some rotten Nazi housepainter spoil things for me."

"I can't think why you should want to spend a day out with me."

Jimmy's eyes narrowed. "Coming from any other girl, I wouldn't believe a word of that, but from you..." his voice became friendly and warm. "Look, I haven't had a day out myself for a long time, and I need a break. Wrap your head in a scarf or you'll feel wind in your hair. I haven't made full use of my petrol ration for ages."

Willie seized the chance to go with him. As long as he was in good spirits the man was pleasant enough company, and he needed a distraction. 

Jimmy had a small open-top motor car with only two seats, and not only did it make a noise like an aeroplane but he drove it along the narrow, hedge-lined country lanes of Essex as if he intended to make it take to the air. Having been warned of what was intended Willie wore the minimum of makeup, just a dusting of ivory eyeshadow to highlight his eyes and a little mascara, and he carefully tied his hair back so it would not be raked by the slipstream.

For someone with the shadow of death hanging over him Jimmy Hyde was strangely adept at planning all kinds of treats that day. Suddenly there was fun to be had in viewing the ruins of an ancient abbey and feeding the ducks in a village pond. 

Restrictions on food outlets were not as severe as those for households, so they lunched at the British Restaurant in Malden – steak and kidney pudding and jam roly-poly – two courses for eleven pence. A delicious experience.

Afterwards they took in an art gallery where Willie was joyously able to take his time expressing his criticisms and admirations, and in the evening they went to see a film at a cinema in Nuttsford. The main feature starred a man with a broad smile and big teeth called George Formby, who played a ukulele, sang jolly songs and made everyone laugh. Willie laughed along with everyone else, even when he didn't quite understand all the jokes. 

Jimmy Hyde found the little laughs infectious, whispers of a giggle that bubbled up from inside her and took on a life of their own, and her charm quickly dispelled his customary dourness. The little Dutch girl was so natural and unspoiled by her beauty, he thought. In his experience beautiful women stayed aloof and wore their looks like a badge of rank, expecting compliments like an officer looks for a salute, but there was no such vanity with Willie. 

He quickly concluded that the girl didn't have a hard edge on her; she was all woman with a vulnerability that reflected in her liquid blue eyes. And those shining eyes! He could have gazed into those eyes forever.

On their return to Brascombe later they were singing on the top of their voices as they drove along at top speed, and when Jimmy drew up at the side of the house he hovered, wishing very much to say something meaningful at the end of their day, but unable to think of what. He wanted to use words that had never been used before, but he knew that they would have to be words not yet invented. 

"Jimmy..." Willie had barely whispered his name, but he must have heard because it certainly registered. His body tensed as if there was something in that one little word that needed an anti-tank gun to repel. Anyway, Willie had a soft pink mouth that seemed to invite kisses more than conversation, and so that's what he did. He kissed him.

Previously they had always been stiff with each other, meticulous and careful during any incidental physical contact... but this time Willie sagged against him, his body trembling, and Jimmy kissed him as tenderly as he'd ever kissed anyone. Willie's lips were cool, as moist as the air, and they tasted of peaches. The girl drew back fractionally, made a little sound. "Oh" and what began as a chaste doting-uncle kiss became something else. It became a lengthy and though kiss, but not at all invasive. No tongues, no groping, no fumbling with clothes. To Captain Hyde the young Dutch girl was an innocent fair maiden, and he himself, it seemed, was determined to be the quintessential English gentleman. 

It was slightly different for Willie. He was aware of the issue of male pheromones as the man leaned against him. It was frighteningly seductive, and the taut lean body clothed in khaki was even more seductive. When they drew apart he was utterly lost in the smell and the feel of him and the sensations he called forth so powerfully, but against his will he felt an emotional tug on his heartstrings and determined not to give into temptation himself. 

It occurred to him that unlike Jeremy de Vere, Jimmy had never realised or even suspected that Wilhelmina Naarden wasn't really female, and he didn't wish for any expressions of disgust from him now. He simply wanted to be cherished in the man's memory as a girl he had once known. 

Afterwards they ate a late supper with Sir Mortimer, who seemed glad of their company, and when they joined him in the drawing room the elderly Member of Parliament revealed a prized bottle of malt whisky.

"I'm pleased that you two hit it off today," he said. "With Deborah being away I'm all too aware of what it's like to be lonely." His hand gave a sharp twist to the top of the bottle. "Still, the dear old thing will be back tomorrow with all her American friends in tow, and I dare say we'll have a little party to celebrate when they arrive."

His devotion to the tall, brown-haired athletic American was well known by most people, and his addiction to beautiful transvestites had long ago caused him to be discounted from any recommendation for High Office. But there was no point in crying about it, he had decided, and he accepted that kind of thing these days with an air of nonchalance. 

Willie declined the whisky, so Mortimer poured out only two measures.

"You could do worse than make a thing of it with this fellow, y'know." he said to him. "Jimmy as a sharp mind and he'll go a long way in the army, just like old Sir Neville. I've always been a disappointment to the rest of the family, you see, and everyone relies on Jimmy to make amends for my own wish to remain a civilian."

As he finished speaking he stopped and paused and his eyes lifted to the ceiling. All three looked up as a faint droning hum began to invade their hearing. It came from outside, high in the night sky.

"Jerries." murmured Mortimer. He went to the window, hauled down a blackout blind and closed the heavy drapes.

Willie wet his lips nervously with the tip of his tongue. "Are they going to bomb us?"

Mortimer gave him a reassuring glance. "Shouldn't think so, they never have in the past. We'll be safe enough as long as the windows are screened. Mrs Whippet will look after the rest of the house."

The droning of heavy-engined aircraft increased until it became a deafening crescendo, then as the aircraft passed overhead it slowly eased and began to fade away.

"We're lucky," remarked Jimmy, "Some poor townie's somewhere are going to get it hard tonight."

"I love the sound of aircraft, or rather used to." Mortimer said, reaching for his glass and taking a hefty swig. "The war ruins all kinds of simple pleasures."

He and Jimmy soon became engaged in a discussion about America's dissatisfaction with Japanese conduct in China, the embargos and trade sanctions that had been imposed, and how it could all eventually lead to a hostile confrontation between the two nations. Not wishing to learn anything about yet another possible theatre of war, Willie made his excuses and went to bed.

He dozed lightly enough to hear Sir Mortimer go to his room, and later he awoke more sharply when he became aware of a noise outside on the stairs.

It was a noise like a man makes when having a discussion with himself, and when he went outside to look he saw Jimmy halfway up the steps, clinging to the banister rail, reeling and staggering with uncharacteristic clumsiness, legs not moving properly. He was in trousers and shirtsleeves having lost his jacket somewhere, and he was as drunk as a lord and looking very much the worse for wear.

Willie stared at him, his big blue eyes growing bigger. Dragging him up onto the landing he scolded him like a harridan wife. "You shouldn't have stayed up so late drinking on your own. Mortimer went to bed ages ago." 

The man reeled back against the wall and groaned, and Willie then became concerned. "Are you feeling ill?"

Leaning against the doorpost Jimmy's posture was lazy but his eyes were tight on Willie's face. "You don't understand, Willie. You just don't get it."

Willie frowned. "Oh, I think I do. You have a 'black dog' mood tonight."

A shadow seemed to pass over the man's face and he stared at Willie while he groped at his already dishevelled hair. "My tank brigade is going away soon, and I think this is it, Willie. This time I'm not going to come back. But I'm not afraid and I'm not going to funk out. I'm bound to Mithras, the soldier's god of Duty. You heard what Uncle Mortimer said, everyone expects me to live up to the tradition of Sir Neville."

At last Willie did understand. Jimmy Hyde's brush with death in France had changed him. He sensed that when he said he was not afraid to die he meant it, and that was the problem. Men who lacked fear refused to recognise danger and exposed themselves to death much too readily, which was just as much a sickness as chickenpox or measles.

"It's your life and you must live it for yourself," Willie whispered urgently. "The way you think is wrong. You must get help."

Jimmy's somewhat severe face mellowed at the obvious sincerity and he stroked back a lock of Willie's hair with one finger. "Dear Willie, you still don't understand, do you? I must live up to that tradition of Sir Neville for myself. It's important to me. It's what I want, even if it means I die."

Willie didn't understand and he didn't want to understand such a foolish way of thinking. "Oh no. Oh please, that's crazy. You must see a doctor. Life is sweet, life can be so sweet. You dwell on things too much. Stop thinking so deep. Everything will be fine if you seek help now."

Jimmy smiled, listening to the girl; he wasn't going to argue with her. She was young and beautiful. She was an innocent houri from an Arabian dream and still had much to discover and learn. It was always an odd feeling to know more than anyone else when it came to the subject of his own fate. 

Willie put an arm around him and gently but firmly he guided him to his room. The ceiling light was off when they arrived, a warm glow from a table lamp in the corner of the room the only illumination.

The man slumped across the bed and rolled sideways. "I'll be all right in a minute. Leave me."

The front of his shirt burst open and moonlight streamed in through the window, leaving a silver trail on his naked flesh. Willy traced it with his finger, frowning as he found the scar of a former wound, and at that moment he knew he couldn't leave him.  

Overwhelmed by his feelings, he bent his head and placed his lips against the puckered ridge of skin. Moved by a profound sadness to protect and care for him he wrapped his arms around him, pushing the warm comfort of his breasts against his ribs.

Just at that moment the lonesome drone of a single aeroplane made itself known, and Jimmy tensed. "Luftwaffe. They're above us and circling," he said, "They've probably been told there's an armoured brigade laagered nearby and the fool's are trying to spot a sign of it in the dark."

He didn't know his face was revealing his thoughts, but as he turned his gaze back to Willie his eyes had turned as black as ebony. Suddenly their faces were very close and on impulse he said. "I could easily fall in love with you."

"That's silly." Willie chaffed, "I mean it. You're not thinking properly. You are tired, emotionally and physically. Don't go on punishing yourself tonight. Go to sleep. You can dream of me as long as they are good dreams, okay?"

Jimmy Hyde made no effort to answer; instead he put his arms around Willie and buried his face against his neck. So delicate and so sweet. His embrace became urgent has his hands slid down from Willie's shoulders to his waist, and then lower to begin circling movements at the base of his spine. Willie shivered involuntarily, loving the touch and knowing what it could lead on to.

Jimmy's hands caressed the girl's throat and slid beneath the robe to cup the softness there. She was gorgeous, as beautiful as anything he'd ever known. Her soft flesh filled his hand as his thumb caressed the taut peaks.

Enflamed with passion Willie allowed his nightdress to be peeled back until the twin pinnacles of his small breasts became exposed, and he shuddered with a mixture of pleasure and apprehension, hoping he was beautiful for Jimmy, good enough for him. 

Hauling him down Jimmy took a nipple in his mouth, his tongue stroking. Until that moment he didn't really know just how little he knew about pleasing a woman. He'd always thought of them as a sort of different species, wonderfully satisfying in bed, but totally alien to his mind. His relationship with the opposite sex had never progressed far enough to make such knowledge important.

He couldn't breath, kissing one breast and then the other. Worlds apart in the way they lived, but together that night, each eager, willing and passionate. He relished it all, knowing the lovely girl was responding wildly to his touch. She was bubbling radiant energy, and he wanted to take that energy and transform it into passion. His tongue played over her mouth while one hand banded her tiny waist. 

Willie began to exhale in a rush. He smiled, but his lack of control appalled him. What kind of message was he sending? Jimmy only had to touch him and he melted, but he didn't know the sort of person he was dealing with. He still believed Willie Naarden was just a pretty girl from Holland, and he didn't want an affair that could only end in horrified rejection. That would be worse than Jeremy leaving him. 

Outside the night sky gave birth to the thrumming of aircraft. Not just one now, but many. They were gathering in a multitude and streaming in like ravenous vultures over a carcase.

But events outside held no interest for those indoors. The man's mind could only think of the girl. Her full lips were like an invitation, and the next moment his mouth was pressing gently on hers. Her lips were satin-soft and sweetly yielding. She put an arm around his neck, and as their bodies met in an embrace he felt a shudder of passion run through her. When their long kiss ended she gave a little laugh and murmured. "Willie, I want you."

He tried to reach up, but Willie held him in a tight grip, soothing him like a child, one hand stroking his head, the other pinning his hands. As he caressed him Willie pulled his shirt wide open and trailed his fingers over his chest, enjoying the feel of firm manly flesh. He tugged at his belt, struggling to get it unbuckled, and having succeeded just a few strokes with his hand raised a tower of male desire. Everything was tense, and Jimmy's manhood didn't disappoint when it stood stiffly to attention like a well drilled soldier. The man moaned almost imperceptibly as a hand took a grip and slid up and down the engorged shaft. 

Willie was very heated himself, and he did want to give the man's tortured soul a few moments of sublime happiness before he went away to fight in his war. In the half-light of the room he believed he could at least do that. Slumping forward he pushed back Jimmy's foreskin with his lips and held the moist round tip in his mouth.

When his body was hard and ready Willie shifted, twisting and hitching his leg so he was astride him, facing him. He wanted Jimmy to take his pleasure at that moment. It could be done so easily. His buttocks were open and ready and Jimmy's stiff flesh was nestled, hot and hard between them. He squeezed himself down a little and rejoiced at the resultant tiny gasp. Jimmy had responded. He radiated pleasure. 

Willie turned his head a little and felt compelled to look away, hoping that in his confusion the young man wouldn't detect the difference between a boy and a girl?

Jimmy's pulse roared and he reached up for him, but Willie gently laid him back. "Don't move. Let me do this. I'll do everything." 

Taking the standing flesh in his hand and guided it onto its place, rotating his bottom, relaxing himself before squeezing down onto its tip. 

Somewhere in the near distance a bomb exploded, then another and another. That night it seemed the enemy had chosen to destroy completely the little part of Essex in which they lived and the noise and vicious flashes came at them like a thunderstorm spawned by the devil.

Blind and deaf to everything around him, Jimmy made a soft sound of pleasure in his throat; an aching recognition of what was happening to himself, without knowing what was really happening. The whisky he had consumed combined with his state of mind made confusion complete. His senses told him he was in bed with a beautiful girl who was bestowing on him her most intimate and personal favours, and Willie took care not to disturb that illusion by exposing too much of his body. He was determined that Jimmy would never know the truth about what was happening.

Once established he found a rhythm, rising and falling, romping up and down while the man lay on his back, cherishing every movement the girl made, returning the passion, thrusting up hard with his hips in heated sexual collusion.





Willie's War Ch. 10



Suddenly the loud noise of aircraft engines descended on them like a howl from hell and a machine made a low pass over the house. Beyond the bedroom window a flare burst red in the sky, spluttering as it floated towards the earth on its parachute. 

A second followed, they were both at a distance but glowing bright. The second flare was almost gone when there was an ear-splitting CRUMP and an enormous, luminous orange flash. For an instant night became day outside and a split second later the bedroom window rattled violently from the bomb blast.

Jimmy's whole body became as taut as a piano wire, and he cried out as he found the magic of release, while Willie's bottom churned and clenched to extract the last drop of his essence.

At last Jimmy Hyde sank back against the pillows, closed his eyes and pulled Willie's pliant body closer, enjoying the petal-soft feel of his bare skin against the length of his body as he marvelled at the girl. She was so extraordinarily lithe and full of life. The sparkle she displayed when enjoying herself was an antidote to the dark thoughts that so frequently plagued himself.

Amid the air raid he had lost himself in the warm depths of her body, drinking in its sweetness as would a man dying from thirst. It had never been like that with a woman before, so pure and so intense. Their bodies had come together in one incredible passion after another. Yet it wasn't just his body that felt fully sated. His heart was content along with his soul. For the first time in a very long time he felt truly happy.

***

When he first heard the aircraft in the night sky above Tom Soames stepped out from the back door of his cottage breathing heavily with excitement. A fingernail moon hung low on the horizon, and the sky was a blanket of wet shimmering stars. He tried to contain things and breathe slowly, but it was only natural to feel elated. He had put so much effort into this moment. 

He had seen the twin-engined Luftwaffe reconnaissance aircraft pass overhead in daylight two days previously, necessary because of course Jerry would want before-and-after photographs to estimate the damage done in a full scale raid. Detected by British radar it had only been minutes before a flight of Spitfires scrambled out from North Weald had arrived to chase it off over the sea, but by then it had done its job. 

When that had happened he was assured that the people on the other side of the Channel were taking him seriously, and now he was there in person to witness the execution of the plan he had personally designed. It was his own triumphant creation, the destruction of an entire brigade of tanks, his personal contribution to the Fuehrer's contempt for England. Now, overhead in the night sky a large formation of Junkers Ju 88s were wheeling and swooping onto the target area that the Lorenz beams of Y-Geraet had led them to.

For safety's sake he should have got out of the area of course, but his calculations were so precise he didn't believe there could be any danger to himself and with eyes hot and hard with the fury of the hunt he wished to observe the kill. 

Bombs soon began crashing and flashing in a great show, like fireworks on New Years Eve, erupting in orange ferocity and strafing the trees just a mile away with shards of scalding metal. He rung his hands together in jubilation at the power he had released. 

The arteries in his temples swelled and throbbed, and his nostrils flared. But then after just a few moments he became increasingly exasperated, meshing his jaws together and scowling furiously. Flames snapped and wood popped while great belches of smoke rose up blacker than the night. But the German bombs were falling in entirely the wrong place. They were dropping into the farmland and uninhabited woodland instead of onto the target area he had so diligently specified.

Something had gone wrong, there was no need to emphasis that. Unknown to Tom Soames British radio-jamming research had found a way of injecting false ranging signals into the German guidance system with the result that the pilots conducting the raid that night were receiving all sorts of odd information to offset their true position.

At that moment there was an enormous explosion nearby and a hot blast seared his face with the force of a hurricane. The bombing was getting nearer, moving in his direction. A string of explosions was creeping towards him. The air began to reek of fertiliser and cordite mixed with the sweetness of old hay. 

Deafened by the explosions and all but blinded by dust and debris he turned and ran towards the cottage... the motorcycle, he could get away on that. No, there wasn't time to kick-start it. Instead he ran back inside the house and slammed the door, aware that each successive detonation was becoming louder and more threatening. His head rolled to one side and he closed his eyes as he pressed his back against the woodwork. His heart was pounding in his neck as he stood without moving, barely breathing. A vicious hot blast blew in the windows and knocked off half the roof above him. There was no escape. Nowhere else to go...what was he to do?

Those poignant urgent thoughts were Tom Soames last considerations on earth. He felt a momentary absence of atmosphere, a vacuum, the fine hairs on the back of his head lifted away from his skin. The door came crashing inwards, blown forward by the concussion of bomb blast. It slammed against his back and knocked him to the ground. Then the air shuddered with light and he was no more.

*** 

When early morning light began to filter into the room Willie turned on his side and looked at Jimmy Hyde. He was sound asleep and lying on his stomach, the sheets pushed down to his waist. His face was turned towards him and a lock of hair had fallen across his forehead in a way he would never have tolerated if he were awake, and for a second Willie could see the boy in him.

He departed Jimmy's bed quietly, leaving the man still slumbering. Having completed his ablutions he dressed and went down the stairs to find Captain Troughton standing in the drawing room gazing up at the painting of the old man wearing the tropical topi. 

"Toby, how nice to see you again." he greeted.

A voice, soft, cultured and humorous replied, "What ho. Nice to see you too, Willie. You look absolutely the ticket this morning, and a damn sight nicer to look at than all the blasted sergeant-majors I've had to deal with lately."

"Do you like the portrait of Sir Neville?"

Captain Troughton glanced up at it again. "The gentleman is a mite Kiplingesque, isn't he? You know; like a character out of Gunga Din."

"Kipling wrote a lot about soldiers, so he must have loved war."

Toby shrugged lightly. "I don't think he did. He admired the courage and comradeship that war can inspire, but his writings about it were invariably tinged with pathos." 

"Even such things as that conspire to make war glamorous and a thing for heroes, while they ignore the plight of weeping women and terrified children. Did the bombing cause any damage to your Camp last night?"

Toby shook his head with an expression of secret delight. "Those blighters couldn't hit a barn door with a brick at five paces, but I'm afraid they've ruined Sir Mortimer's little bit of wildwood. They dropped a land-mine and the trees there have been blown to bits. I expect you heard it."

"Yes, it was very loud and frightening. It made the earth move."

He stroked his moustache thoughtfully. "I expect Jimmy as told you we're due to move out shortly, the whole cat'n'caboodle of us from down the road. 'Fraid this will be our last visit here for some time."

Willie nodded. "He did say. Do you know where you go?"

"We haven't been told, and we wouldn't be allowed to say anyway. But judging by the kind of stuff they're giving us I reckon we're likely to have sand in our shoes before long, and it won't be from the beach at Brighton."

"I'm worried about Jimmy."

"You're not alone there. Most fellows that go to war never imagine going to their own death. They always reckon it will be someone else who will catch the bullet and die, never themselves. Jimmy is different. Since that time in France he sees things the other way round."

"You must help him, Toby. You are near to him in spirit and you must use your influence with him. He is not well in his mind, so you must insist with him that he visits a doctor."

Toby frowned and made a helpless gesture with his hands. "I've already tried that, and he won't have it. Says if I mention it again he'll cut me dead forever." A faint look of despair showed on his face. "He means it, Willie, and I couldn't bear that. He and I have been chums since our schooldays, and I love him." 

A second later his moustache twitched with delayed embarrassment. "I say, I didn't intend for the words to come out quite like that. It probably sounds awful, doesn't it? Does saying I love him sound strange? Does it sound... erm... suspicious? What I mean is, does it sound a little bit, y'know...odd?"

Willie grasped his hand and held it for a moment, scrutinising him as if he were a Vermeer. Eventually he gave it a reassuring squeeze, a simple expression of friendship. "In the narrow minds of most men to say you love your friend would be unacceptable. But there are different types of love, and yours is a caring kind. I believe that to love someone in a caring way can never be a bad thing."

After a further moment he took hold of his hand and tucked it into his elbow. "Come with me. Mrs Whippet will not have expected you to arrive so early, and we must persuade her to arrange an extra place for breakfast."

Captain Troughton pulled a face. "Goodness, do we really need to face that frightful old dragon? She'll make an awful fuss about the food ration."

"We shall not let you starve," Willie promised, "If we are allowed an egg this morning, you shall have mine."

Together they exited the drawing room on their quest to confront a common foe, Toby Troughton at Willie's side bravely chanting: "We're marchin' on relief over Injia's coral strand. Eight 'undred fightin' Englishmen, the Colonel, and the Band."

***

At breakfast Willie was pleased to find Jimmy Hyde in a calm frame of mind, calm enough to quiz his friend about the air raid the previous night.

"They were undoubtedly trying to bomb the tank brigade," Toby said, "But they missed their mark. They caused considerable devastation, but only to a tract of countryside. As far as I know there were no casualties."

"Apart from the young RAF gentleman who rents Lilac Cottage," Mrs Whippet couldn't resist putting in, "That poor man's place received a direct hit, nothing much left of the house, or of him."

Willie stirred his tea absently, even though there was neither milk nor sugar in it. Tom Soames was a clever individual, but clearly there had been a mistake, either in the sending of information or the receipt of it, and the mistake had caused his doom. He felt oddly apathetic to the fate of a man who had proved he had never cared for anything born, or anything made, or anything grown. He was more concerned as to why Sir Mortimer hadn't taken his usual place at the table that morning.

He asked Mrs Whippet, and the woman gave a grumpy response. "He knows when he wants to eat. He went straight into the Gun Room when he received the mail this morning, and he hasn't come out yet."

When several more minutes had passed Willie left Jimmy and Toby eating toast and marmalade and went in search of him, and as soon as he had gone Mrs Whippet stepped forward a second time.

"Excuse me, gentlemen," she murmured in a quiet deferential voice, "May I say something?"

The two men both looked up. "Well, you've grabbed our attention, Mrs Whippet." said Jimmy Hyde "Is it something important? Is it something Sir Mortimer can't deal with?"

The woman offered a slightly smarmy smile. Her nose and chin, though sharp, were delicate, and her eyes glinted with intelligence. "It's probably not that important, but I feel I need to speak to someone, sir. It's about the young Dutch lady, you see."

"Go on."

"I was talking to Mrs Groves at the Post Office yesterday, and I happened to mention to her that Miss Naarden came through the Refugee Centre at Ramsgate. Mrs Groves remembered something about the place, and she went through the postal information circulars she gets. And well, apparently the Centre in Ramsgate closed in February. It's been shut down for ages."

The woman took a pace back. Her lips curved in a smile, but her voice was tense and brittle. "There's probably a perfectly good reason for what Miss Naarden said about Ramsgate, I expect she's got confused with place names...her being foreign as it were. But I thought I should tell someone."

"Thank you, Mrs Whippet. We'll look into the matter." Jimmy replied, and he and Toby looked gravely at each other. 

Willie's mind was tranquil that morning, but a shock greeted him when he entered the Gun Room. He found Mortimer slumped inert in his chair, head bent and leaning on the back of his right hand, his elbow on the desktop. For all intents he seemed like a graven image.

"Is something wrong?"

The elderly man looked up and slowly ran thick fingers through his thinning hair. "There was a heavy raid on Liverpool two nights ago. The area around the docks was severely damaged and there were a lot of casualties."

Willie caught his breath. "Deborah went to Liverpool to meet her friends off the boat from America."

Mortimer nodded. Harrowed and stricken he looked Willie full in the face. "They were all caught in the bombing and killed." His face was gaunt. "I received notification in the post this morning." Immediately his gaze changed to a baffled, dismal expression that held as much understanding of the world as an infant. "Deborah is dead, Willie. What am I supposed to do now?"

For a moment he struggled to keep from bursting into tears. He had not realised how emotional he was until Willie had arrived, but now the weight of tragedy seemed too much for him to bear.

Willie's hands flew to his face as he groped for words that would convey a fraction of his feelings. When he spoke all lightness had gone from his tone and the words were mingled with a sudden feeling of sickness in his stomach. "Oh no. Deborah was my friend. She called me her little sister."

Mortimer grimaced. "She was my wife in all ways possible. I know she wasn't entirely faithful, but her indiscretions were infrequent and I know she loved me. I certainly loved her. Everyone thinks I'm just a depraved old coot who enjoys being with men who wear dresses, but Deborah was the best thing that ever happened to me."

He slapped the top of his desk with an open palm hard enough to send papers flying. "I can't do as you wish any longer Willie. I won't do it." he scowled amid a mixture of grief and accumulating fury. "You are naïve. Hitler has no honour or respect for human life."

He clearly wished to be alone to mourn, but rather than demand Willie leave the room he decided to leave himself. As he brushed past, Willie reiterated his sympathy. "I understand your feelings, and I don't expect you to continue with any peace initiative."

"Peace!" Mortimer's face became near manic and his voice had all the power of a shout, "I can't encourage people to seek peace with a madman such as Hitler. He's something more than a ruthless dictator, he's a monster in human form, and he must be stopped."

He paused as he passed through the door, tears brimming in his eyes. "I've been a pacifist all my life, but if the only way to stop him is with guns, then so be it."

Left alone in the room Willie's heart seemed to sink. He had failed in his mission. There was no possible chance now that Sir Mortimer would pursue the policy of a peaceful settlement with Germany. It had all been going so smoothly. He had Sir Mortimer convinced and enthusiastic about the merits of an early agreement. But now in one morning all hope of such a thing had withered like grapes on the vine in unseasonable frosty weather.

Two years previously Eduard had been killed, and then Felix Haushofer had been murdered. Now Deborah was dead, Jeremy had gone, and Jimmy Hyde was going. Every person he had ever had feelings for was being taken from him. Even Sir Mortimer had deserted him, and the war was the cause of it all.

He stood in front of the gun cabinet, and could think of no alternative to what he must do next. The adrenaline in his system was working overtime and tears of rage threatened to spill from his eyes, but he controlled the urge to cry with a steely resolve. He had made a decision. 

A small key lay in the lock of the gun cabinet, so there was no problem about swinging open the glass that fronted it. His hands shook. On the lowest tier of the display were hooked a number of hand guns and he pulled one out, selecting it because it looked a little bit like the cowboy six-shooters he'd seen in American movies, which gave him a rough idea of how such things worked.

Exasperated and angry at his failure he scrabbled around in the draw beneath the cabinet, emptying out cartridge boxes until he found some bullets that seemed to fit the five chambers in the revolvers cylinder. Five bullets. Only five, but that gave him five chances to kill Winston Churchill.

There was a sudden clatter of footfalls in the hall and a gruff interchange outside the door. Willie dropped into the chair behind the desk and buried the pistol between his knees.

Jimmy and Toby came in, and Jimmy started towards him. "I'm sorry to startle you," he said, "but I have something to put to you that needs an answer. You see, Toby and I have been chatting with Mrs Whippet. She made some enquiries yesterday and discovered that the Refugee Centre in Ramsgate closed down months ago; everyone fleeing from the continent is processed elsewhere now. That means I have to ask you a few questions, Willie."

It didn't require a wise man to explain to Willie that he was about to become ensnared in a trap of misinformation relayed in his own words. Knowing of no way out from it he sprang to his feet and levelled the gun at arms length, pointing it directly at Jimmy Hyde's chest and using both hands to hold it steady. 

"Mrs Whippet is a very correct lady and very smart."

The soldier looked at the pistol in astonishment. "What on earth are you doing with that?"

"I'm going to shoot Prime Minister Churchill." Willie replied candidly.

Jimmy took a step forward. "But you have always been opposed to violence."

It was Toby who first noticed the manic look in Willie's eyes, and how his voice was not at all steady. "Careful, old chap. The lass looks rather pent-up and emotional."

Jimmy then noted the wildness in his eyes too. "Yes, you are emotional, aren't you Willie? You're an emotional person always wanting to do the best for people, and although I don't know why you came here, I certainly think it's impossible for you to be an assassin. The instinct for murder isn't in you."

"Are you sure about that, Jimmy Hyde?"

"Fairly sure." he said, taking another pace forward.

There was a slow click, the sound of a revolver being cocked, or the safety catch being released. "Keep back or you'll find out how wrong you are. I have to bring the war to an end. I've tried persuasion and it hasn't worked, so I'm left with no choice."

"I see. And do you know where to find Mr Churchill and how to get to him?"

"I have to find out those things and make a plan. I'm not stupid, I can do it."

Ignoring the impracticalities of any scheme Willie may dream up Jimmy tried a different tack. "If you kill him Halifax or Eden, or someone else will take his place. It will change nothing. The struggle against Hitler will continue."

Tears finally began to form in Willie's eyes and the muzzle of the gun started to tremble, but when he spoke his voice was firm and resolute. 




Willie's War Ch. 10



"You're wrong. Things will change. No one else inspires people like Churchill. No one else as the same grip on things that he has, and no one else has the same insane determination to keep on punching each time he's knocked over. Lesser but more reasonable men will seek an honourable end to all the butchery."

Slowly Jimmy kept moving forward. "You picked a good pistol. It doesn't need to be cocked for every shot. It as a double-action mechanism and can be fired faster than a Colt."

He took a final step and pressed his chest against the muzzle of the gun, but his hands remained down by his side, making no attempt to snatch at the weapon. "You're going to have to kill me before you can carry out your plan, Willie. I've been walking in the shadow of death ever since Toby saved my life last year, so maybe you are the one to do the deed. It will be a good test. If you can't kill a volunteer like me you won't be able to kill Churchill."

Willie sighed, letting his breath out as his narrow shoulders sagged forward. Tears at last spilled from his eyes. "I don't wish to kill anyone. I just wished for all the slaughter to stop, but everything has gone wrong."

The pistol drooped in his grip and Jimmy gently lifted it out from his hands and held it at arms length until Toby came up to take it from him and make it safe. Then he leaned forward and pulled Willie close, conscious only that Dutch girl was thin and seemed to be all arms and legs at that moment. Her elfin frame, wracked with sobs felt unbelievably delicate in his arms. 

For a moment he refused to release her, knowing that in her near hysterical state she wasn't thinking straight and could hurt herself. "You've got yourself into a mess, Willie."

"Yes."

"People can be vicious in wartime; you could get into nasty trouble for just thinking the way you do. Toby and I can forget about this nonsense business with the gun and you won't be turned in as a spy, but we shall have to declare you to be an unregistered alien. That will mean you may be interned until the end of hostilities. Can you accept that?"

Willie nodded miserably and wiped his eyes with the back of his hands. "I'll pack some things now. I'm ready to go at once." Drawing back he offered a wan smile at Jimmy's apprehension. "Don't worry about me trying to escape. I have nowhere to run to anymore."

When Willie had gone from the room, Toby expressed a note of relief. "You played things pretty close to the wind there old friend. This Dean and Adams is a dinosaur of a weapon, but it could still have done you harm." 

He began to unload the gun and for a moment struggled in ejecting the bullets. "Dash it. It's a .44 calibre and she's forced it to take the wrong ammunition."

"You mean it wouldn't have fired if she'd pulled the trigger?"

"Oh it would probably have done something. It may have blown her hands off or blown your backbone across the room. Hard to say which."

***

The police enquiry concerning the identity of Wilhelmina Naarden eventually reached an office in the Central Register for Refugees, where it remained among a batch of similar notes for a week before being moved to a desk for crosschecking. It lay on top of a pile for a further day before a harassed, over worked official inadvertently skimmed it onto the floor with the sleeve of his coat. There it stayed to be trampled on by sundry shoes until the following evening when it was scooped up and stuffed into a waste bin. Nothing else was heard of it.

It made little difference to Willie anyway. On presenting himself at the police station in Nuttsford as an unregistered foreign national he was immediately locked up. There were no tears in his eyes any longer. He had done his crying. Nor was there any hesitation in his step when two days later he went before a tribunal, at which despite testimonials from two serving officers as to his good character he was adjudged a 'Category A' alien and interned. 

Some time later, despite Sir Mortimer's loss of interest, a Vote of Censure was placed on the Order Paper in the House of Commons by Sir John Wardlaw-Milne, an influential member of the Conservative Party. It stated: 

'That this House, while paying tribute to the heroism and endurance of the Armed Forces of the Crown in circumstances of exceptional difficulty, as no confidence in the central direction of the war.'

It was seconded by Admiral Sir Roger Keyes, and supported by, among others, Mr Hore-Belisha, the former Secretary of State for War, and Lord Winterton, the Father of the House.

It was the way things were done. A Vote of Censure required a full debate, and then a vote to reflect the feelings of all the Members present. A majority vote of No Confidence in this instance would oblige Winston Churchill to stand down as Prime Minister.

All the critics had a chance to make their views known, and in the end Churchill gave his response. He was a war-horse that was in no way humbled. He had been a soldier as a young man, and afterwards during forty years in politics he had been head of each of the Service Ministries, of the Home Office, the Colonial Office and the Board of Trade, and he had once been Chancellor of the Exchequer. Such wide experience enabled him to pour scorn on ill informed presumptions and lack of martial savvy, and he destroyed each point raised against his administration with measured precision. 

At one point he duly reminded Mr Hore-Belisha, who had heavily criticised the poor performance of British tanks and their abysmal lack of fire power, that it was he himself as the former Secretary of State for War who had approved the design and manufacture of those tanks.

"We have a National Coalition Government," he ended, "which came together to try and pull the nation out of the sombre plight into which inaction by all political parties over a number of years as landed it. Twice in my lifetime the Teutonic race as disturbed the peace of the world, but we do not make war with races as such. We war against Hitlerite tyranny and we seek to preserve ourselves from destruction. Until that is achieved there is no sacrifice that we will not make, and no lengths in violence to which we will not go. 

"Risks must be run and chances taken, and if sometimes the results fall short of our desire we should still not regret having tried them. My hope is that when called on by victory to help shape a peaceful world, we shall do it stoutly and show the same poise and temper we do now in these times of mortal peril."

When the House divided, the motion of No Confidence in the leadership was defeated by 475 votes to 25.

Adolph Hitler had been a brave man in his youth and displayed bold if warped ambition in maturity, but egotism compounded by years of success wouldn't allow him to leave the war in Russia in the hands of his generals. He refused to consult them seriously and instead surrounded himself with yes-men, eventually nominating himself as Commander-in-Chief despite having little knowledge of foreign countries and having had no General Staff training.

He had planned for the conquest to be completed during the summer and had that happened he may have achieved his aims, but the start-date had been delayed by a need to assist his Italian ally in the invasion of Greece and the Balkans. The timetable never caught up, and no provision had been made to continue the fight into a winter that was fated to be the worse on record for 140 years. 

The very scope of the Germans' advance, the depth of their armoured drives, and the manner they forced the pace threw a great strain on both the men and the machines they were using. Armies needed to be maintained and things needed to be replaced, but that was far from easy. The primitive Russian roads became quagmires in wet weather, and their railways ran on a different gauge of track to the rest of Europe.

Hitler and his sycophant planners had failed to appreciate the vastness of the country they were dealing with, and they had also underestimated the Soviet Unions ability to absorb massive casualties and replace them. German armoured units once came within twenty miles of Moscow, but that was as close as they ever got.

After a short spell at a converted former Holiday Camp at Clacton, Willie Froehlich found himself on the Isle of Man, a place in the Irish Sea midway between England and the Irish coast. The Churchill government took no risks when it came to the possibility of having a filth column develop in their midst and several thousand internees lived there, most of them entirely innocent of any pro-German activity but considered suspect because of their inconvenient German or Italian family background.

Like many others he found himself sharing an existing property in Port St Mary on the south side of the island. It was a women's camp. The regulations there were strict and rather cruel; the married women were only allowed to meet their husbands for a few hours each month, and no provision was made for the continuance of sexual relationships. But for Willie it was bearable. He lived quietly as a female but neither wished for lovers nor paid attention to anyone's desire to know him intimately. The accommodation was mostly requisitioned boarding houses and hotels and internees were given the same scale of food ration as everyone else in the population. The only real problem was how to fill in great stretches of time.

Willie ached. He was sad and angry, but that was all kept beneath a convincing show of serenity. He learnt to read the English language to benefit from the books that were passed around, and when needing a change from that he scrounged artist's materials and tried to be creative. He also spent time in long academic discussions with retired professional people, and in so doing gained the confidence to stand up and make reasoned presentations on a number of issues. 

He had arrived there as an angry and unhappy person, but over the weeks the anger departed and his sadness lifted. The war, its cruelty and inhumanity and its futility, he dismissed from his thoughts, and although there remained a certain mantle of melancholy over him, it became subdued and in time began to let through glimpses of his gentle and sensitive nature. He never lost hope for better times. Hope like his arms and legs, was a structure of his body.

He'd been there some while when he received a brief note from Toby Troughton: 'Dear Willie, You were a good friend to Jimmy Hyde when we were in England. He spoke about you a lot and I think he was a little bit in love with you, so I think you should be told that dear old Jimmy is dead. We had a sharp scrap with some Panzers a couple of days ago and his tank was hit. When I had the chance I tried to pull him out from the hatch again like I did that time in France, but he'd copped it outright on this occasion. 

We buried everyone together the following morning, all the bits we could find. Jerries and Brits all in one hole; no time to do anything else. It was strange the way all the bodies looked much the same. Brothers, but only in death! You and I knew what was going to happen to Jimmy one day; the silly beggar knew it himself but refused to quit. God Bless him. He was my best friend and I'm fairly cut-up about it. Hope you don't mind me sharing my grief with you.'

Willie folded the letter and placed it between the pages of the book he was reading. As a bookmark he knew he would keep it for a long time. 

Early in 1942 his Category was reduced to 'B' when Sir Mortimer Brascombe MP took up his case and offered to stand as a guarantor. A 'B' category meant he was not libel to internment and was allowed to live once more on the mainland, but he was still subject to restriction. He was not allowed to travel more than five miles from his place of residence and he was forbidden to own a car, a camera or a large scale map.

Willie was met at the railway station in Nuttsford by Sir Mortimer driving the Daimler tourer. There was a brief peck on the cheek for him, and then Mortimer drove home at his best speed, which was slow, and by his own route, which was a very narrow country lane he could easily follow. He was now a crumpled looking individual who looked his years, with tired eyes as well as thinning hair.

"You are looking very well." Willie told him.

"There are three stages in life," the man remarked cynically, "Youth, middle-age and 'You're looking very well.'" He gave a brief glance sideways. "Do you know about Jimmy?"

"Yes, Toby wrote to me."

"Bad business. His family are mortified. Jeremy de Vere travels a lot these days and he's rarely in England. He's in Cairo now someone told me, but he doesn't keep in touch."

"No, he's not one to keep in touch."

Mortimer gave him a guilty look. "I'm sorry I've ignored you for so long, Willie. It took me quite some time to accept the lose of Deborah and I've not been good at concentrating on other things. I hope you'll stay with me for a while. The house feels empty these days and I badly need the comfort of a friend."

"When you lose someone you love deeply it comes as a heavy blow." commiserated Willie solemnly, "I've suffered that experience myself, so I know. But the dance of life goes on. Deborah would not wish for you to be sad. She would want you to fall in love again."

"Love is a game for young people," Mortimer said in a tone that was obstinate and final, "From now on I intend to stick with growing cabbages in my spare time."

"Spare time," murmured Willie glumly, "I've had too much of spare time lately. You have shown great kindness in bringing me back to the mainland but I will not be a millstone round your neck, as the English say. I will make arrangements to move as soon as I am able."

"Willie, I know you to be slight in body, but you're sometimes amazingly strong in your mind, and I know how independent you wish to be. But for once put yourself first. You need a break. You need time to relax and reflect, to pick up the threads of your life and weave them into a new pattern. You need breathing space. I want to give you that space and I shall feel hurt if you refuse."

They ended the journey in silence. A mournful, aging man and a failed spy, shell-shocked by events in their lives, raped by their emotions and stripped of any desire. 

They had known one common theme; love, and it was their salvation. For although the human heart is selfish, they had learnt that a person may struggle against selfishness and learn humility; and because of that there was always hope that beauty lost can be recovered, and that which as been reviled can be redeemed. And perhaps because of their enduring appreciation of love they had found their redemption, and also some kind of personal peace.

At a further tribunal later that month Willie was discharged as 'Category C' and fully liberated from the obligations of an internee, and at Sir Mortimer's behest the Ministry of Labour sent an official to help decide if he should be allowed a Work Permit.

The housekeeper, Mrs Whippet, regarded him without malice on his return and was in no way triumphant at his recent downfall. Having had her suspicions justified and, in her eyes, seen justice done, she became inoffensive and even helpful on occasions. 

Following a brief exchange between the two of them, it was she who brought to Sir Mortimer's notice that, while 'the girl' had no great objection to being gainfully employed, her most fervent desire was to complete her university degree course. Sir Mortimer at once took on the father-figure role that had once been the province of Felix Haushofer and enquired on Willie's behalf for a place at Morden College in Oxford, a seat of learning that had catered for female students since 1908.

It was while they were awaiting a reply from Oxford that Dame Freda Lemming arrived at Brascombe Manor driving a 1936 baby Austin. She was the leading doyen of the Women's Voluntary Service in the area; a skinny, brisk, officious and rather snooty woman who expected events to revolve around the wave of her finger. 

When Mortimer asked her to take tea she sat down rigidly in the uniform of her organisation; a grey-green outfit garnished with a ruby-red jumper and a felt hat. The WVS in Sir Mortimer's constituency had blossomed out of the Women's Institute, and some of the more caustic English referred to it as Widows, Virgins and Spinsters. 

Dame Freda was a perfect representative. Her white hair was cut into a kind of pageboy, with a fringe of bangs falling into a line so straight Willy thought they must have been trimmed with a ruler. The face under the hair might well have once been pretty, but the features were now lost in a mash of wrinkled skin. Mortimer joked afterwards that meeting her on a dark night would scare most Nazis to death.

"The Ministry of Defence are converting part of the disused army camp in Foxley Wood into a prisoner-of-war enclosure." declared the visitor. "Nothing to worry about we are assured, just a hundred men recovering from severe wounds who are unlikely to leap over the fences to murder us."

She stirred her tea and took a dainty sip, patting her mouth afterwards with a napkin. "They have asked me if I can initiate some recreational facility for them, a reading room perhaps. They are allowed no newspapers or radios, since its government policy not to allow them to know how the war progresses, but they are allowed books and magazines of a censored nature." 

The old lady looked pointedly at Willy. She was rich and pampered, but she had given herself to the WVS as a patriotic sacrifice and she perched in her chair so stiff and ramrod straight he suspected that beneath her uniform she was corseted in impenetrable armour-plate from breast to groin. 

"My ladies of the WVS are all good souls and have no wish to withhold small comforts even from vile Germans," she pushed her lips together and wrinkled her nose. "I want to forestall any possible problems and I believe Miss Naarden has some understanding of their language." 

Her eyes bored into Willie, her fingers now laced in her lap, her long fingernails flawlessly manicured and painted deep red. "Some understanding of the beasts would be of immense help. How would you feel about dealing with the enemy, Miss Naarden? You don't have any overwhelming prejudice against Germans, do you?"

Willie seesawed his head, picturing a sad multitude of his own young countrymen with bandaged eyes and amputated limbs, all struggling to get around on crutches. "I have no prejudice against any living thing." he said.

And so began his association the Women's Voluntary Service. The POWs in Foxley Wood were housed in wooden buildings and Nissan huts cordoned off with fences of razor-wire, and fate brushed Willie Froehlich through the outer gate and in amongst them with an indefinable hand. 

Coming down the steps from one of the huts he caught sight of a figure in a battered Luftwaffe uniform that seemed familiar, a man with his chin pushed up and who walked with an easy striding gait amid others who had lost arms and legs. Willie recalled that particular posture with startling vividness, it was indelible in his mind. It stood out like a mirage amid the other people around him.

"Eduard!" he breathed softly. The man didn't hear so he shouted aloud, "Eduard, Eduard Dietz." 

At this the figure glanced in his direction and smiled a grim smile. And it was Eduard...his Eduard... back from the dead.

"Willie! My God, what are you doing in this place?" he exclaimed in obvious astonishment.

"It's a long story. Your sister told me you had been killed."

"The message sent to Celina would have read, 'Missing in Action, BELIEVED killed', which is not quite the same."

Willie was unable to resist checking out the figure of his long lost lover. He had never forgotten him, never completely absented him from his mind, and he was relieved to find he was whole, two arms, two legs and for all intents and purposes normal. But fate wasn't being as kind as it first appeared. When Eduard turned his head he displayed a black patch over his right eye and a searing red rippling scar entirely covered the side of his face. His right ear was totally missing.