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The Crossing - Part 4 free porn video
I was an escaped PoW now living in a castle in Nazi Germany, where
circumstances had forced me to take on the identity of a dead woman.
THE CROSSING - part 4
by BobH
(c) 2015
- 9 -
Though the castle had electric lighting there was a candlestick and
candles in my room, along with matches. I assume this was just a
precaution in case the generator failed, but it proved a vital aid to my
exploration of the secret passage I'd discovered yesterday. Holding the
candlestick aloft, I slowly and carefully inched my way along the
passage, brushing aside the thick cobwebs as I went. I had barely gone
ten feet when the passage ended in a shaft. Holding the candle over the
shaft revealed a set of metal rungs leading to a continuation of the
passage about six or seven feet lower down. I estimated I was a few feet
short of the corridor outside the room, so this clearly led under that
corridor. I climbed down the rungs and followed the passage until it
turned sharp left several feet further on. I had expected to climb again
after passing under the corridor but that didn't happen, which meant that
although the floor of the passage started of level with the floor of my
room, the floor of the lower passage had to be fairly high up in the wall
of some ground floor room. Eventually, I spotted daylight filtering in
from somewhere ahead. Carefully placing the candlestick on the floor so
as the light from it would not be seen, I made my way towards the
daylight and discovered it was coming in through holes in a rudimentary
airbrick of the type used to provide ventilation. This also marked the
end of the passage. Since it only connected my room and this point it
clearly existed solely to allow someone to look down into whatever room
lay on the other side of that airbrick. I looked.
It was Helmut von Rumstahl's study.
I had a reasonably clear view of his desk, and from the angle of that
view the airbrick had to be high up in the middle of the room, near the
ceiling. The study was empty at present, so I retraced my steps and
returned to my room, entering it through the panel in the closet. I had
worn a headscarf to keep the dust and cobwebs from my hair, and the
female garments created by the tailors in Stalag Luft XII as clothing I
could most afford to get dirty. Stripping these off and tossing them into
a corner of the closet, I went into the en suite bathroom to clean myself
up. While doing so I contemplated the puzzle of the secret passage. It
seemed unlikely it would have been built to connect the two rooms it does
if they had always been used for their current purposes. No, once upon a
time this had to have been the master bedroom rather than the guest room
it now is. It would have given the Count, Helmut's ancestor, a way of
listening in on what was being said in what is now a study but was
presumably something else back then. I imagine it was a way of
discovering if people in the castle were plotting against him.
As I was finishing my ablutions, there was a knock on the door to my
room.
"May I come in?" said a voice.
It was Gerda von Rumstahl. Perfect timing.
"Please do," I replied, knowing exactly why she was here.
She entered, looking very professional in a white blouse and grey skirt
suit, her long blonde hair now worn in a bun.
"I promised I'd help you with your daytime make-up," she said, "so here I
am."
"I am your eager student." I said, and in one sense I was. I might hate
that I had to masquerade as a woman, but if I was going to do it then I
was going to do it right. Down the line getting it right might prove the
difference between life and death.
Gerda carefully took me through everything as she had last night,
finishing up with my nails.
"Now you're living here as a woman you really should grow your nails
longer," she said as she applied nail polish to them, "it will make your
hands look more elegant, more feminine."
"Thank you, I think I will."
"Right, then let's select a summer dress for you to wear today and head
on down for breakfast. It's almost eight and Helmut does like us to be
punctual.
Breakfast was in the dining room but whereas last night's dinner had been
served to us, breakfast was a buffet laid out on a side table that we
helped ourselves to before taking our place at the dining table.
"Good morning, ladies," said Helmut as we entered, his eyes sweeping over
my outfit appreciatively.
"You've started without us?" said Gerda, frowning.
"It couldn't be helped," he said. "I just received word that Wernher's on
his way. He'll be arriving on the afternoon train, which means I have a
lot to get ready before he does."
"Who's Wernher?" I asked.
"An old friend of Helmut's. They met in Berlin when they were both
eighteen years old and hit it off immediately. You'll meet him tonight at
dinner. I think you'll like him. He's very charming, though like all
Junkers a little full of himself."
"'Junkers'? I don't understand," I said. "Remember, I lived in England
for a big part of my childhood so there are things you were taught in
school over here that I missed out on over there."
"Ah, I understand" said Gerda, "so I'll explain. The Junkers were a
social class of nobles that dominated the Prussian military officer
corps, the landowning elite, and the civil service during the last
century and the early part of this one. High social standing could be
inherited or acquired through marriage. They lived in a socially enclosed
environment that gave them a very narrow, very self-involved worldview.
Wernher's father Magnus was a civil servant, a career that gave the
family an enviable quality of life. Being raised in such privilege, with
a sense of his Junker heritage drummed into him from an early age, made
Wernher into a proud, somewhat arrogant man."
"That's a bit unfair, Gerda," said Helmut. "Much the same charge could be
made against us, after all."
"Yes, well, Eva can judge for herself when she gets to meet him this
evening. On the plus side he is quite handsome, Eva, though not as
handsome as you of course, dear brother."
Helmut acknowledged the compliment with a smile and a slight tilt of his
head. Having filled our plates with the food we wanted, Gerda and I sat
down to eat breakfast.
"You ought to go down to the village and explore it later, Eva," said
Helmut, "maybe get to know a few of the villagers."
"That's a good idea," I replied. "Thank you, I think I will."
I was relieved by this suggestion for a couple of reasons. Firstly, I'd
been uncertain of my status in the castle and whether or not I was
actually free to come and go as I chose, and secondly if Mark Benton
survived then it was the village where he was most likely to try to make
contact with me.
"There are inevitably a few in the village who enthusiastically support
the Nazis," said Helmut. "Our postmistress, Frau Engelmann, asked if she
could sign up those who wanted to join the party at the village office. I
agreed, of course - it's important not to be seen as obstructionist - but
asked that she let me know who signed up, which she does. So that's why
the post office is the only building flying the swastika most days."
"When we have certain VIP visitors it can be prudent to put on more of a
show," said Gerda.
"Hmm," I said, digesting this. I had a sudden thought.
"Is there a cafe?" I asked.
"A small one on the village square," said Gerda. "Why do you ask?"
"It's a beautiful day. It occurred to me that after I've looked around it
would be nice to sit at a table in the sunshine and to enjoy a book. I
couldn't help noticing you had a lot in your study, Helmut, would it be
all right if I borrowed one?"
"The castle has a library," said Gerda, "and you're more likely to find
something to your taste there. The books in Helmut's study are all works
on mathematics and engineering, or they're science textbooks. He finds
them terribly interesting, but they'd put you to sleep."
"I hadn't realised that," I said. "Then the library it is. So you're
interested in engineering, Helmut?"
"Very. I used to race cars before the war, and I built several of my own
engines."
"You have good taste in cars; your Duesenburg is beautiful."
"Oh, so you know your cars?" said Helmut, his interest piqued.
"I love cars," I said, "though I've no idea what goes on under the
bonnet."
This was a lie, but I didn't think the person I was supposed to be would
know anything about engines.
"And I would love to to talk cars with you, Eva, but regretfully it can't
be now."
Helmut excused himself and retired to his study. When we'd finished
breakfast, Gerda showed me the library.
"Borrow any book you want," she said. "Now I really must be going. For
some reason Wednesday is always the busiest day in my surgery."
For a private dwelling the library was large and impressive, filled with
bound volumes of the great classics of German literature. After some
deliberation, I decided it was time I caught up on Goethe. I really
should know his work better than I do.
Later I headed out, nodding to the stableboys who had taken the horses
out and were grooming them in the courtyard. I walked down the hill from
the castle, book in one hand, handbag in the other. The first building I
came to was the church. As I reached it so the village priest appeared,
carrying a bag of groceries. He was balding and in his fifties.
"Good morning, Father Gunther," I said, Gerda having told me his name.
"Good morning, Fraulein," he replied. "You must be the young woman from
the train. Such a terrible experience to have to go through, and blessed
be the Count for taking you into his home. He's a good man."
"Yes he is," I agreed, and so far as I could tell he did seem a decent
sort.
"I assume you'll be joining them in church on Sunday morning to give
thanks to God for your deliverance?"
"I imagine so, yes."
"Good. I look forward to seeing you there."
We exchanged a few more pleasantries then went our separate ways. The
church lay at one end of the village, just as the police station lay at
the other. In the middle of the village lay the square, the main road
through Rumstahl being one side of it, a fountain occupying the centre.
Rumstahl existed on three levels. The highest point was the hill on which
the castle sat. At the bottom of the hill lay the village. When you
passed through the village the road dipped down to the third level, which
was the floor of the valley. Here lay the railway station, the railway,
fields dotted with small farmsteads, and a meandering river that was a
tributary of the much larger one that had carried Mark Benton away. Most
of the farmsteads were home to tenant farmers, the von Rumstahl family
owning the land for miles around.
As I walked through the village, admiring the brightly coloured and
picturesque houses, nodding to the occasional passing local, I was glad I
wasn't wearing heels. The cobblestones might be flatter and less rounded
than you'd find in those English villages that still have them but it
would still be possible to turn an ankle on them.
I came to a shop that had a small swastika flag flying outside and so
must be the post office. On impulse, I went inside. Prominently displayed
on one wall was a framed photo of Adolf Hitler, draped in the Nazi flag.
"A great man!" said a female voice. "The saviour of Germany! If you'd
been here two weeks ago you could have seen him in the flesh."
I turned to see the speaker, a small, round, middle-aged woman, emerge
from a room at the rear of the post office, presumably part of her home.
"Frau Engelmann?" I said. "I'd like to purchase some stamps."
"Then you've come to the right place, Fraulein," she said, smiling.
I'm not sure what I'd expected of Rumstahl's most prominent Nazi, but
Frau Engelmann seemed almost, well, 'jolly'.
"Why was the Fuhrer in Rumstahl?" I asked, thinking about Benton's
missed opportunity to assassinate him.
"It was a private visit," she said, as she pulled out a small box
containing the stamps, "to see the Count."
"They're friends?"
"Oh yes," she said, proudly. "The Count's father, the previous Count,
served with the Fuhrer in the Great War, back when he was still only a
corporal. He saved Hitler's life at the cost of his own. It's a debt the
Fuhrer has never forgotten."
So *that* was it. That was why the Count seemed on such good terms with
him. Hitler felt a sense of responsibility towards Helmut and Gerda. If
their father died in that war, the twins would not have been older than
five or six when they were orphaned.
"How many stamps would you like?"
"What?" I said, Frau Engelmann's question pulling me back to the present.
"Oh, four will be enough."
I didn't really need the stamps, but I did need an excuse for being in
the post office. I took out my purse to pay, but she shook her head.
"No, no, Fraulein Schumacher. The Count has given instructions that all
bills for anything you buy in the village should be forwarded to the
castle, and that he will cover them."
So she knew my name. Not surprising that word would get around in a
village this small, I suppose. The only money I had was the couple of
hundred reichsmarks the real Eva Schumacher was carrying when I stole her
identity so I was happy for Helmut to pay. Those reichsmarks would be
vital should I need to flee the castle so I wanted to deplete them as
little as possible.
Taking my leave of Frau Engelmann, I explored a few of the smaller
sidestreets, some of which were barely wide enough to take a bicycle,
before eventually making my way to the cafe on the village square. I sat
at a table outside, reading my book and glancing up every couple of
minutes to see if there was any sign of Benton. There wasn't. After
twenty minutes or so someone stopped in front of my table. I looked up.
It was Captain Wendt.
"Good morning, Fraulein Schumacher," he said touching the brim of his
cap.
"And good morning to you, Captain Wendt," I replied, giving him a smile.
"What can I do for you?"
"Oh nothing, nothing," he said. "I saw you sitting there and thought I'd
update you on my investigation into the death of Paula Grunwald."
"Have you caught her killer?" I asked, my heart sinking.
"Alas no. You gave us a good description - tall, solidly built, wild-
eyed, bearded -but no one matching that description has been spotted."
"Do you think he drowned when he leapt into the river?"
"It's possible, but what really intrigues me is his victim."
"Why?"
"Because despite the checking I've done to date I can find no record of a
Paula Grunwald. So far as I can tell she doesn't exist."
"Well she was a thief," I said. "Wouldn't it make sense for her to have
used a false identity?"
"Perhaps. Anyway that's where things stand at the moment. Have a good
day, Fraulein Schumacher."
"You too, Captain Wendt."
He touched the brim of his cap again, gave a slight nod, and headed off.
I sat at the table for another few hours, apparently engrossed in my
book, until it was obvious that Benton wasn't coming. I summoned the
cafe's owner over to pay for the coffees I'd consumed, but I got the same
response from him as I had from Frau Engelmann: the Count was covering
the cost of anything I purchased in the village.
On my way back to the castle I spotted the Duesenberg parked outside the
church. Peering over the hedge I saw Helmut kneeling before one of the
graves in the churchyard. He had to be on his way to meet the afternoon
train and pick up his friend Wernher, but he'd obviously stopped to pay
his respects to someone. Gerda had mentioned last night that there was a
family vault in the bowels of the castle where the remains of all the von
Rumstahls were interred, so whoever it was they weren't family. My
curiosity piqued, I decided I needed to know more. Hiding behind a tree,
I waited until Helmut returned to the car and it drove off before
entering the churchyard and seeking out that grave. When I did I got a
shock. The headstone read:
RUDOLF SCHUMACHER, 1921 - 1942
Schumacher. This couldn't be a coincidence. He had to be related to Eva
Schumacher, the dead woman whose identity I had stolen. He was 21 at the
time he died, the same age as I am now, but who was he? If I was Eva
Schumacher now then I obviously needed to know everything I could about
her life, so why would the von Rumstahls not have mentioned this Rudolf?
Lost in thought, I made my way back up the hill to the castle. By
coincidence, I arrived there just as the Duesenberg pulled into the
courtyard. The chauffeur, Heinrich, climbed out and opened the rear doors
letting out first Helmut and then the other passenger before opening the
boot and removing two bags, one obviously an overnight bag holding a
change of clothing and the like, and the other containing something
considerably heavier judging by the way Heinrich struggled with it.
Helmut's face lit up when he spotted me and he beckoned me over.
"Eva," he said, "you must meet my friend."
He was stockier than Helmut, but as handsome as Gerda had said.
"Wernher this is Eva Schumacher. Eva is staying with us at the castle."
"I'm delighted to make your acquaintance, Fraulein," he said, giving a
little bow of his head.
"And Eva, this is my good friend, Wernher von Braun."
- 10 -
"You know what we promised as well as I do, Wernher," said Helmut,
sounding exasperated. "A liquid propellant missile extending some 14
metres in length, weighing 12,000 kilogrammes, flying at speeds in excess
of 5,500 kilometres per hour and delivering a 1,000 kilogramme warhead to
a target 800 kilometres away. The test flight of the first one was ten
months ago in October 1942. We should have overcome the guidance problem
by now."
My eyes went wide on hearing this. After our brief introduction, Helmut
and his visitor and locked themselves away in Helmut's study and I had
taken the secret passage from my room to the airbrick high in the wall of
that study to listen in. I had got far more than I'd bargained for. They
were part of some programme developing ballistic missiles. We had no
defence against the type of weapon they were discussing. Heck, we
wouldn't even hear it coming.
"That's why I travelled here from Peenemunde," said Wernher. "The others
can continue with testing the motors while I'm gone, but I could do with
your input. I know we agreed that your connection to Hitler meant you
were more use to our work lobbying on our behalf than working at a test
bench in Peenemunde, but you have one of the best engineering brains I
know. That's why I brought along components from one of the guidance
units giving us trouble."
Ah, so that was what was in the bag Heinrich had struggled with. I
couldn't see it from this angle given my limited view of the study, but
it was a fair bet it was in that room. Helmut leaned back in his chair
and sighed.
"This all seemed so much easier when we first met in the VfR, back in
Berlin," he said. "Of course it helped that we were both eighteen and
thought we were invincible. Do you ever miss those days at Reinickerdorf,
Wernher?"
"Of course. I recall Verein fur Raumschiffart with great affection. Those
were some of the happiest days of my life. Remember how proud we all were
when we demonstrated our rockets to Dornberger and his army superiors at
their Kummersdorf firing range?"
"We wanted to get to the moon," said Helmut, sadly, "but they only want
us to get to London."
"I share your regret," said Werner, "but to think our little amateur
rocket society would have been allowed to continue as it was and not be
co-opted by the military is naive."
"Or that, having done so, I wouldn't end up doing what I do rather than
getting my hands dirty, as I'd prefer. Working on car engines in my spare
time is not the same."
"And I still can't talk you into relocating to Berlin? You'd be much
closer to the levers of power there."
"Berlin is a viper's nest," replied Helmut, with feeling. "Hitler
encourages the formation of little fiefdoms among those beneath him, all
of them vying for his attention and stabbing each other in the back. If I
was in Berlin it would be almost impossible not to get sucked into all
that nonsense. No, I'm far more useful to the project here. Good phone
connections to the capital mean I don't have to be there in person. So
long as I don't abuse the privilege by ringing him every week, Hitler
takes my calls. Which means I only have to go up to Berlin once every six
to eight weeks so that I'm seen by other people and they don't forget I
exist."
"I know, and I know that you're doing good work," admitted Werner.
"Himmler would very much like to get his hands on Peenemunde. Without
your efforts he might already have done so by now."
"How is the flying bomb coming along?" asked Helmut.
"Well," replied Wernher, "perhaps too well. They're also having guidance
problems, but I think it's going to be operational before our missile
is."
A flying bomb *and* a ballistic missile? Whatever this Peenemunde was it
sounded like it could pose a serious threat to Britain.
"Time to roll our sleeves up and get stuck in," said Helmut, getting to
his feet. "That guidance unit is not going to fix itself."
I'd heard enough. As silently as I could I retraced my steps along the
passage, retrieved the candlestick from where I'd left it, and returned
to my room. I knew what I had just learned was extremely important, but
without Benton I had no way of getting that information to London.
I used the hours leading up to dinner to practice doing my make-up, as
I'd promised Gerda I would, took a leisurely bath, and got dressed. Gerda
had suggested I wear the yellow gown tonight, so I did. My timing was
impeccable. As I finished putting my jewellery on so she knocked at my
door.
"Come in, Gerda!" I said.
She swept in, and proceeded to give me the sort of inspection I'd only
previously received on a parade ground. Although if I'd ever turned up on
a parade ground as Flying Officer Paul Ripley looking like this I'd have
been up on a charge so fast it would have made my head spin.
"Acceptable," said Gerda, having had me turn around several times and
subjected my make-up to intense scrutiny. "I think we might just make a
lady of you yet. Now to dinner."
She opened the door for us to go down to dinner and there, to my
surprise, stood Helmut.
"Shall we?" he said offering me his arm. I took it and he led me down the
staircase and into the dining room. I knew he was grateful to me for my
part in ensuring the mysterious contents of that envelope didn't fall
into the wrong hands, but all this attention and old world courtesy
seemed a bit over the top. Wernher was already waiting for us when we
arrived, but only after Gerda and I were seated did the men sit down and
the staff begin serving the food.
It was another excellent meal, and the conversation afterwards was
stimulating, if a lot shorter than the previous evening thanks to Helmut
and Wernher excusing themselves early and heading off to his study again.
I needed to hear whatever it was they were going to discuss there, so as
soon as I reasonably could I excused myself as well, telling Gerda I was
feeling a bit unwell and needed to lie down. Once back in my room of
course, I immediately made for the secret passage.
I'd hoped to learn more about Peenemunde, but Helmut had broken out the
schnapps. It appeared they were reminiscing about their time together as
students in Berlin, and what they had got up to together in various beer
halls.
"Do you remember that one barmaid...what was her name again...ah yes,
Heidi!" said Wernher. "Now *there* was a woman with enough meat on her
bones to gave a man lots to grab hold of. Well, those of us who like that
sort of thing, anyway. Your taste always ran to slender, almost boyish
women."
"It would be a very boring world if we all liked the same things," said
Helmut.
"You must love having Eva staying here. Slim, boyish, very pretty; she's
just your type."
Just his type? Did that mean that he...no. No, the very idea was absurd.
I might look like the girls he was attracted to, but I'm a man and he
knows that. I put the thought out of my mind.
"She kind of reminds me of Steffi...," Wernher continued, then his face
dropped. "Oh, Helmut, I'm so sorry."
Wernher obviously thought he had committed some sort of faux pas by
mentioning this Steffi, but Helmut waved aside his apology.
"It's OK, Wernher," he said, giving a sad smile. "I'll always miss her,
but it has been over a year now. Time does heal all wounds, or at least
dull the pain."
He poured them both another glass of schnapps. It was the first of many.
I stayed there listening for another hour but all that happened was they
gradually got drunker and drunker, and their reminiscences about their
student days got filthier and filthier. It was clear there was no more
intelligence to be gleaned from them tonight, so I turned and made my way
back to my bedroom. As I traversed the passage only one question
dominated my thoughts:
Who was Steffi?
************
To be continued
************
Note: Version originally posted had too many typos/missing words, hence
this corrected version.
Kaidence
- 03.11.2020
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