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The Crossing - Part 26 free porn video
I was an escaped PoW living as a woman in Nazi Germany and had become a
Countess. Now, with 1944 drawing to a close and Allied forces advancing,
it was a more dangerous place to be than ever.
THE CROSSING - part 26
by BobH
(c) 2016
- 60 -
On August the 25th, less than a week after the wedding, the Americans
bombed Peenem?nde again in a daylight raid that saw several German
airfields take a pounding too. When the phone lines were restored Helmut
heard from Wernher that V-2 Test Stand VII had been damaged, but he was
confident repairs could be made and launchings resumed within six weeks.
Once again I had to wonder if the effort expended on these raids was
worth the damage they achieved. On the other hand, putting the programme
back by six weeks at this stage of the war was nothing to be sneezed at.
August the 25th was also the day Paris was finally liberated, the Free
French troops parading triumphantly down the Champs-?lys?es led by their
leader General Charles De Gaulle. Over the following days Allied forces
took Grenoble, Avignon, Toulon, Marseilles, and Rouen, after which the
Americans turned over the government of France to the Free French. As
September began Allied troops entered Belgium and in short order
liberated Brussels, Antwerp, Ghent, Li?ge and Ostend, allowing the
Belgian government in exile to return from London, where it has spent
the war. The Nazi empire was crumbling and the peoples they had
conquered were finally being freed.
All this we learned of not when it happened but sometimes days or weeks
later. State control of the media in Germany meant censorship of news
reports and placing the best possible gloss on the stories that were
allowed through, all while exhorting us to ever greater efforts on
behalf of the Reich. By contrast, what happened on September the 8th was
something I learned of within the hour. It was shortly before dinner
that evening that I found Helmut at his desk in his study, nursing a
whisky and staring into space. I knew him well enough by now to see that
something was troubling him. Seeing me at the door he beckoned me in,
turned his chair side on to the desk, and patted his lap. When I'd taken
my place there and put my arms around his neck he looked me in the eyes
and smiled sadly.
"Do you know what the important difference is between a V-1 and a V-2?"
he asked. "I'll tell you. The important difference between a V-1 and a
V-2 is that you can intercept a V-1. They fly slowly enough that you can
shoot them down. We've also received reports of Spitfire pilots flying
alongside them and using the wings of their own aircraft to flip over
those of the V-1, causing it to crash, if you can believe it."
He shook his head and gave a wry, disbelieving smile. He didn't know RAF
fighter boys like I did. I could well imagine them doing this even if
they had enough ammunition left to shoot V-1s out of the sky.
"Those on the ground also know when a V-1 is overhead," he continued,
"thanks to the distinctive sound of its ramjet engine. And when they
hear that engine cut out they know the V-1 will then start to descend
and explode somewhere nearby. None of that applies to the V-2. There is
no stopping it and you get no warning. One minute you're going about
your business and the next it explodes in your midst."
"Why are you telling me this?" I said, experiencing a sinking feeling in
my stomach. The last time I'd seen Helmut like this was when the V-1
campaign began.
"Allied forces overran the last of the V-1 launch sites a week ago," he
replied, absent-mindedly stroking my stockinged thigh. "The V-2 is
finally ready for action. Tonight they were launched against the enemy.
The first one aimed at London would have struck the British capital half
an hour ago, shortly before 7.00pm. It won't be the last."
He sipped his whisky.
"This targeting of each other's civilian populations is a dishonourable
way to fight a war. I did what was asked of me, but no more. I've
discharged my duty to the Fatherland and I don't accept that more can
rightfully be asked of me. I'll continue with my calculations, working
on the intercontinental version of the rocket, but those calculations
will be for the Allies, not the Nazis. It will be something to hand over
when we surrender to them."
As a Briton and a Londoner I did not welcome the news about the V-2, but
my dismay was somewhat assuaged by the continuing bad news for German
forces, which was deeply satisfying. Over the next few days American
troops reached the Siegfried Line, the western wall of Germany's defence
system, the Soviets launched a new offensive in the Baltic, and Allied
paratroops landed in the Netherlands to take on the Wehrmacht.
Unfortunately this last one did not go well for us.
Still, that was a rare victory for the Germans, with the tide of war
seemingly turning against them everywhere else. This was perhaps best
symbolised by the surrender of the German garrison in Calais to Canadian
troops at the end of the month. At the height of his power Hitler had
expected Calais to be the embarcation point for the cross-Channel
invasion of Britain. Now it was just one more lost prize. Where I was
thrilled by the mounting Allied victories but couldn't show it, Helmut
was depressed by them and did.
The news all rather melted into one long litany of disaster for Germany
after that, despite the efforts of the Ministry of Propaganda to put the
best possible gloss on matters. Individual events did stand out however,
though not always the obvious ones. For instance, Helmut and I were on
the couch together listening to the radio in the family room after
dinner one evening early in October when a particular news item caught
our attention.
"Field Marshal Rommel, a hero of the Reich, died today after succumbing
to injuries sustained during an attack by enemy aircraft in July," said
the announcer. "He will be buried with full military honours."
"Did he succumb to injuries, though?" mused Helmut. "We know Claus von
Stauffenberg wanted to recruit him to their cause in the plot against
Hitler. If he was in fact recruited, and if the Nazis found out...."
He didn't need to say any more. We both had a pretty good idea as to
what the real story of Rommel's death might be if that were the case.
"Poor Claus," I said, "shot by a man who was supposed to be on his side.
Still, being a part of that conspiracy was his choice and he knew the
risks. I wonder if he let his family know what he was up to? Gerda tells
me Nina was pregnant with their fifth child. The Gestapo took her and
the children into custody after the assassination attempt. No one's
heard from them since."
Perhaps I was being harsh. Perhaps Nina had known and approved of
Claus's plans. But then, would he have gone ahead with those plans if he
had known it could put his family in danger? Or was he so convinced he
would succeed that he believed there was no risk to them? It was a
question I doubted I'd ever know the answer to.
I still had to pinch myself when I woke every morning and thought about
my situation. I was Flying Officer Paul Ripley of the Royal Air Force
and an escaped prisoner of war, yet I was now living as a woman. I had
married another man, with Adolf Hitler himself walking me down the
aisle, and was now Countess Eva von Rumstahl. It was incredible,
impossible, but here I was.
As Lexi had warned me it would, my new position had brought with it a
number of extra duties and responsibilities, most of them associated
with the running of the village and the von Rumstahl family estates, the
latter consisting mainly of the tenant farmers who worked the field in
the valley. Initially though, I took over some of Gerda's workload.
Villagers came to her not only with their medical problems but their
non-medical ones too. Given she was sister to the lord of the manor who
owned all the land hereabouts this made sense. She had been the person
most likely to be able to intercede with him on their behalf, after all.
Not any more. Following our wedding that person was now me. So, like a
politician back home meeting his constituents, I was the one who got to
hear their grievances. Gerda gave me a spare room at her office in the
village for this purpose and left me to it. A lot of the time I was just
a sounding board for their anxieties, as happened in mid-October when
Hitler ordered a call-up of all men from 16 to 60 for duties in a new
home guard organisation to be called the Volkssturm.
Back in England the Home Guard was made up mainly of those who were too
old to fight, hence its affectionate nickname of 'the Dads Army'. The
same was largely true in Germany, too, but whereas the Home Guard in
England must by now have been stood down with the threat of invasion
having faded, the opposite applied here. Most of Rumstahl's fit and
able-bodied young men had long since been conscripted into the military.
Now their fathers and grandfathers were being asked to take up arms. I
discussed all this with Helmut when I returned home that evening,
relaying the concerns of the villagers.
"We've already got an informal home guard unit made up of volunteers
prepared for the unlikely event of an Allied assault on the village," I
said, "so I told them not to worry. That this was just a formalisation
of what we were already doing."
"That's not strictly true, darling," said Helmut. "As the local Nazi
party agent, Frau Englemann took delivery of a couple of boxes of
armbands that arrived on the train this morning. Recruits will be
required to wear these in place of the uniforms the country is no longer
in a position to supply to everyone. She brought some armbands up to the
castle for me and the staff while you were out. I'll be expected to head
up our village unit, of course."
Helmut passed one over to me. It was black and bore the words 'Deutscher
Volkssturm Wehrmacht'. These were bookended by Nazi eagle insignia.
"Everyone not only has to be registered now," said Helmut, "but we also
have to inventory all the armaments in the village that can be employed
for Volkssturm duties. I'm volunteering a couple of my shotguns and a
rifle. You should donate your Beretta to the cause, too."
Damn.
"I don't have it," I said. "It went missing after Bruno Gruber tried to
kill Hitler."
"What? Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because it has to have been Albrecht Grost or Markus Wagner who took it
and it didn't seem worth making a fuss over with either the Gestapo or
the SS."
"Why assume it was them? It could have been your friend Lexi."
"Lexi?" It had never occurred to me it might be her. "Why would she take
it?"
"Why does anyone do anything?" he sighed. "Sometimes we can know a
person's motives, and sometimes we can't, but you should have told me."
"I'm sorry, Helmut. Do you forgive me?"
"Always, my love."
- 61 -
On October 24th the Americans took Aachen, making it the first major
German city to be captured. No one expected it to be the last. When
Canadian troops took Zeebrugge in Belgium in early November it was the
end of German occupation. The country was now completely liberated. I
was happy for the Belgian people, but not as happy as Gerda was to see
the visitor who turned up unannounced at the castle a couple of days
later.
"Hans!" she said, throwing her arms around his neck when he was shown
through to the family room.
He picked her up and spun her round, both of them laughing, but that
absurdly handsome face of his looked tired. The weight of
events was taking its toll on everyone in uniform. When you're winning
there's no better feeling, but when you're losing the stress can be
enormous.
"How are you here?" she asked when she was back on the ground.
"I managed to wangle a pass. All leave is being cancelled until futher
notice, but I was long overdue for some. I made my case and got in just
under the wire. I didn't warn you I was coming because I wanted it to be
a surprise. It's only a twenty four hour pass, unfortunately, but I'll
be here overnight. Oh, and I have a present for you."
He reached into his kit-bag and pulled out a rolled up poster.
It featured Hans, in a luridly patriotic pose, accompanied by text in a
dramatic font urging every citizen to do their part in supporting the
war effort.
"We haven't seen you since Christmas," said Helmut. "I understand why,
what with the Allied invasion. You've gone from Normandy to Paris and
now to Berlin. You've certainly been getting around, and it sounds like
you got out of France just in time."
"Military censors read all our letters so it wasn't something I wanted
to commit to print, but my transfer from Paris to Berlin was thanks to
Leni Riefenstahl."
"Leni?" said Gerda, frowning. "How could Leni do that?"
"She couldn't, not directly, but when she tried to get work as a
newspaper photographer a while back she left her latest portfolio with
various editors. She didn't get any work, no doubt due to Joseph
Goebbels blocking her, but her portfolio was forwarded to him. The
photos inside included a couple she had taken of me here last Christmas,
with my name and details on the rear. Minister Goebbels decided I was
perfect for a pro-Wehrmacht campaign he was planning, had me
transferred, and that poster is the result."
"Well it's certainly being framed and going up on my bedroom wall," said
Gerda, "and I would have chosen you too. But then I'm biased. Did
Goebbels give you a reason for picking you?"
"I am apparently a perfect example of Aryan manhood," he said,
chuckling.
"They'd have been in for a surprise if they wanted you shirtless and got
to see your chest," I said, laughing.
"Hey, I love Hans's chest!" Gerda protested.
"I love it too," he said, "but I don't think the male ideal Aryans
strive for includes breasts."
"I might be a bit more sympathetic towards them if it did," said Gerda.
"So now that you're a poster boy, did you get invited to a lot of social
events?"
"As a matter of fact I did. Minister Goebbels wanted to show me off so I
ended up going to quite a few parties where there were lots of artists,
actors, actresses, and the like. I flirted with the women of course,
because they were beautiful and I'm only human. Some wanted to take
matters further, but obviously that could never happen."
"Their loss."
"You know you're the only woman for me, Gerda. Oh, and I finally got to
meet your cousin Albrecht at one party. He stuck out like a sore thumb
among all those arty types, so I can only imagine his invitation was a
reward for something or other. What a charmer."
"Isn't he, though?" said Helmut. "Add Albrecht to any social occasion
and its quality is instantly diminished."
"I didn't tell him I knew you. For some reason I sensed that might not
be a good idea. He had a very pretty girl with him.
A bit vain but, to be fair, with much to be vain about. She flirted with
me, too. Her name was Lexi."
"Oh?" said Gerda, visibly bristling.
Hearing her tone, Hans frowned but had the good sense to tread
carefully.
"Nothing happened between us, my love, and nothing could," he said,
"particularly if she ever saw what I was actually like under my
clothes."
I wasn't so sure about that. Knowing Lexi, I could imagine her finding
Hans quite intriguing. I also knew why Gerda had reacted as she had.
Unlike the other women Hans had flirted with this was someone she could
put a face to. Gerda and Helmut had been polite and acted correctly
towards Lexi while she was staying at the castle, but neither had warmed
to her. Like me, they had been suspicious of anyone who would be Grost's
mistress, but unlike me they hadn't really got to know her during the
weeks she was here.
"Did you get up to anything else in Berlin besides partying with
Minister Goebbels and his artistic set?" asked Helmut, sensing this was
a good time to change the subject.
"Not much, no. I understand the need for this sort of propaganda work,
but I'm a soldier not a model. I asked to be assigned to one of the
units defending the city and my request was approved. I'll be joining
one made up primarily of veterans of the Russian campaign when I get
back."
"Then we've got no time to waste," said Gerda, taking his hand and
leading him from the room. At the door she turned to face Helmut and me.
"I'm sure you understand I want to spend as much time as I can alone
with Hans until he has to return to Berlin."
"Of course," I said. "Have fun, you two."
From the way they looked at each other over breakfast the following
morning I think it's safe to say they did.
A couple of days after Hans's flying visit we finally resolved the
matter of our new policeman. Despite the villagers being a very law-
abiding lot, finding a replacement for the late Captain Wendt was
something we had put off far longer than we should have
done. When I went to discuss the matter with Helmut I found him in the
stable, which as usual smelled of dung and hay. It was a smell I always
found oddly reassuring. Helmut was brushing one of the mares.
"I thought we had stable boys to do that," I said.
"We do, but there's something relaxing about grooming a horse.
Doing so occasionally halps me think. And what I was thinking about is
whether we might have to eventually slaughter one of the horses for its
meat."
"Surely things aren't that bad yet," I said. "Yes the only meat most of
the village has had to eat recently is rabbit, but we're still a lot
better off than they are in the cities."
"No, things are not that bad, not yet, but I have to consider the
possibility they may reach that point."
Rationing and the increasing proportion of our crops and livestock we'd
been required to provide for the war effort meant we were all having to
make do with less food than we had eaten in better times. Meat would
have all but vanished from our diet if not for rabbits. They had the
advantage of being both plentiful and neither crop nor livestock and so
not part of the accounting made of our food by the authorities. There
were more snares out in the valley to catch them now than there had ever
been. I'd never particularly liked rabbit, but the castle's chefs worked
wonders with sauces, herbs and spices to at least give it some variety.
"At one point we kept six horses at Castle Rumstahl, now it's only
four," said Helmut, gazing wistfully at the two empty stalls and the
rail where six saddles still resided, three of standard design along
with three side saddles.
"Circumstances change and we have to adapt to them," I said with a
shrug, "which brings me to your choice for our new policeman.
Joachim Steiner? Really?"
I liked the cafe owner well enough, but I was dubious about his
abilities.
"Why not?" Helmut replied. "He's the youngest adult male in the village,
and although he and his late brother were exempted from military service
on medical grounds he still has the level of fitness the position
demands. None of the other potential candidates really do."
"You think he's up to the job?"
"He's very keen and he's certainly bright enough, so yes."
"He's terribly shy around women, though. I'd have thought that might be
a problem if he ever has to interview a pretty girl."
"Ah, then you haven't heard."
"Heard what?"
"He finally plucked up the courage to talk to a woman and is currently
dating. She's really brought him out of his shell in that regard."
"Huh. I never would have expected that. Who is he seeing?"
"Gerda's maid Helga. Really, Eva, you need to start keeping your ear to
the ground for gossip around the castle."
Apparently so. I had another question.
"What about the cafe?"
"Joachim only continued with it out of a sense of duty when Franz died,
but he's now found someone to run it for him. Frau Engelmann has agreed
to take it on. She'll move her post office material and the like across
to the cafe and combine the two."
I no longer visited the cafe as often as I had when Benton was here, but
I can't say I approved of this development. The beverage of your choice
with a side order of Nazi propaganda did not strike me as a winning
combination. The village was changing inexorably. This was just the
latest of those changes. I wondered how many more were to come. Not that
we were the only ones having to deal with change.
On November the 20th, just as Markus Wagner had predicted he would
eventually have to, Hitler abandoned his Wolf's Lair headquarters at
Rastenberg. It wasn't surprising his situation there had become
untenable. East Prussia was the easternmost part of Germany and lay at
the end of a finger of the Baltic coast that stretched many miles along
the north of Poland, the vast majority of that country laying to its
south. Indeed, before the war East Prussia had been separated from the
rest of Germany by the 'Danzig Corridor', which was created after the
Great War to give Poland access to the sea. When this war is over
there's a good chance East Prussia and that coastal 'finger' will be
ceded to Poland. Losing territory when Germany went to war to gain it
would be ironic but just.
But that was a decision for the future. The fact that Hitler had finally
been forced to relocate to Berlin meant it was now impossible to deny
that the war in Europe was approaching its end.
I only hope I survive to see it.
*********************************
To be continued....
*********************************
Notes:
1) Rommel was given the choice of being executed as a traitor or
voluntarily committing suicide to save his family and be buried with
full military honours. He chose the latter course.
2) After her husband's failed attempt to assassinate Hitler, Nina the
Countess von Stauffenberg was arrested by the Gestapo and taken into
custody under the ancient Sippenhaft law reinstated by the Nazi
government. Her children were placed in an orphanage. At the time of her
husband's execution, she was pregnant and in January 1945 she gave birth
to her fifth child while imprisoned in a Nazi maternity centre. She
survived the war, was eventually reunited with her children, and died in
2006. She never remarried.
3) Some Volkssturm units took their duties much too seriously. In his
book 'Endkampf: Soldiers, Civilians, and the Death of the Third Reich'
(2004), historian Stephen Fritz tells the story of what happened to a
place that sounds like it might have been not unlike Rumstahl:
"In one representative village just north of Bad Windsheim, the
Herbolzheim Volkssturm unit, with its customary composition of elderly
men and young boys under the influence of a few regular army soldiers,
foolishly declared the town a fortress and laid mines in the streets. As
American troops approached in midmorning on April 12, shots from the
village rang out. Angered, the Americans commenced a two-hour artillery
barrage complemented by aerial attacks that gutted the town with
incendiary and high-explosive bombs. With their village engulfed in
flames, the civilian inhabitants, mostly the elderly, women, and
children, fled in search of shelter to the surrounding fields, all the
while under American fire."
4) With this installment 'The Crossing' passes the 100,000 word mark
which astonishes me, particularly as it's written in a fairly lean style
without much padding or excessive description. Stories find their own
length. When I began this one I knew it would be long, but I never
imagined it would be *this* long. If I'd had any inkling I might never
have started it. That's a daunting length, and I think the very thought
of producing that many words might have scared me off. And yet, writing
at this pace has actually been relatively effortless and pleasurable.
There's still aways to go but I don't think I'm giving anything away
when I say we're on the home stretch now. It's funny, I never thought I
had it in me to write something at novel length, yet here we are. And if
you'd asked me what hypothetical novel I'd write if I ever did find it
in me I'd have said a work of fantasy or science fiction, my first
loves. I certainly would never have expected it to be about a cross-
dressing PoW escapee in Nazi Germany.
Libbie
- 25.07.2021
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