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The Crossing - Part 27 free porn video
A PoW masquerading as a woman in Nazi Germany, I was now married and a
Countess. As 1944 ended and 1945 began, hard choices were going to have
to be made.
THE CROSSING - part 27
by BobH
(c) 2016
- 62 -
It was cold the morning the dealer came to take away Helmut's beloved
Duesenberg. I couldn't quite believe what he brought along to replace
it.
"You're trading in the Duesenberg for *this*?" I said, wrinkling my
nose.
The car was low, small, rounded, and vaguely bug-like.
"What is it, anyway?" I asked.
"That's a Volkswagen Type 1," said Helmut. "Not long after coming to
power, Hitler directed that a cheap, simple automobile should be mass-
produced for use on the new Reichsautobahn road network. He gave
Ferdinand Porsche the job of designing it and this is what Ferdy came up
with, a two-door, four passenger, rear-engined economy car. The design
was ready by 1938, but then war broke out and the factories that would
have produced it were instead turned over to the manufacture of
K?belwagens."
The K?belwagen was the Germany military's equivalent of the Jeep.
"If it never got into production then how can this be here?"
"A handful of Type 1's were eventually produced in 1941. Most of them
went to the Nazi elite. Ironic, really, given it was intended for the
general populace."
"If so few were made then how did Herr Brandt here acquire this one?" I
demanded, indicating the dealer.
He had the look and demeanour of second-hand car dealers everywhere,
suggesting it was the sort of enterprise that attracted the same type of
people regardless of geography.
"Best not to ask, Countess," said Brandt, tapping the side of his nose,
"best not to ask."
"The reason I'm doing this swap is because the Duesenberg is what the
Americans refer to as a 'gas guzzler'," said Helmut. "With gasoline
supplies being restricted, using it for anything much more than trips
between the castle and the train station has become untenable. By
contrast the Volkswagen is very economical in its fuel consumption. If
we need to drive long distances - and with the situation continuing to
deteriorate there's a very good chance we soon will - this is the
automobile we'll need."
It was difficult to argue with Helmut's logic, but the Duesenberg was
beautiful and losing it was going to hurt. I turned to the car dealer,
shivering as a sudden frigid gust whipped my now shoulder length hair
about my face and also found its way under my dress.
"You're getting the best of this exchange in terms of the cars
themselves, Herr Brandt," I said, "but what Helmut says about fuel
supplies surely applies to you, too?"
"Indeed it does, Countess," he replied, "indeed it does. Fortunately, I
have somewhere safe I can hide the Duesenberg until after the war. When
things return to normal I should then be able to sell it for a tidy
profit. I'd love to talk more but, alas, I've got a long drive ahead of
me so I really must go now. It's been a pleasure doing business with you
and your husband."
He got into the Duesenberg and drove it across the courtyard
and out through the main gate. Helmut put his arm around my shoulders
and we watched it descend the hill. We continued watching until it was
lost to our sight among the houses in the village. Helmut let out a long
sigh.
"It had to be done," he said, sadly. "This is not the time to be
sentimental about material possessions of any sort. And we have a new
car to replace it."
I looked at the Volkswagen dubiously.
"So this is what Hitler expected the German people to buy in droves, is
it?"
"On this he might well have been right," said Helmut. "If the car goes
into full production after the war I can easily imagine it being very
popular."
I couldn't see it myself. It was just too different from what people
were used to.
"Are you still going to have Heinrich drive you?" I asked.
"No, I think that might look a little silly, don't you? Maintaining it
will be part of his duties, just as maintaining the Duesenberg was, but
I'm going to gradually get him to takeover the running of the castle.
Someone will have to run it when we eventually leave to join up with
Wernher von Braun and his rocket group, and he's the obvious choice."
We used the Volkswagen for the first time that afternoon when Helmut
drove us down to the village square. I can't say I was impressed, and I
didn't like the sound the engine made, but I suppose I'll get used to
it.
The reason for our little trip was the inaugural square-bashing session
of the local Volkssturm unit. Helmut was drilling them in the village
square for the first time and I'd come along to watch. There were about
twenty men. I recognised a few of them including Heinrich, whom Helmut
had appointed as his number two. Not everyone was armed, some of them
carrying brooms or shovels in place of long arms so they could drill.
Not surprisingly for a primarily agricultural region, most of those who
were armed had shotguns, but a few had rifles. To my surprise one of
these was a Lee Enfield, the standard rifle used by British armed forces
since Queen Victoria's day. It was probably a trophy taken during an
earlier war, but still. I wonder if its owner has any ammunition for it?
Shortly before the drill began, Gerda turned up and fell in beside me.
"I thought I'd take a short break from my surgery and come over and
watch," she said, lighting a cigarette.
When she exhaled an icy wind whisked the smoke away. Given how cold it
had been in the castle courtyard this morning I had donned a heavy coat
and was wearing a fur hat. Gerda was no less warmly attired. At Helmut's
shouted command the men started drilling, happy to be in motion if only
to help stay warm.
"Looks like we're not the only spectators," said Gerda, nodding towards
the opposite side of the square where Frau Engelmann was watching from
the cafe.
The way her chest swelled with pride at the sight you'd have thought
Helmut's squad were an elite SS unit rather than the motley group they
really were. And yet, as I watched them march up and down I had to admit
they weren't the shambles I'd anticipated. Helmut was also more
commanding than I'd expected, confidently barking out orders. I smiled
as I watched him direct his men. His 'uniform' might consist of nothing
more than an armband worn on a normal jacket, but he looked surprisingly
dashing. Beside me, I heard Gerda chuckle.
"What?" I said looking up at her.
"I just think it's cute the adoring way you gaze at your husband when
he's giving orders. You really are aroused by men being strong and
commanding, aren't you?" she said, taking a drag on her cigarette.
I said nothing, but I felt myself blush.
Gerda took a final, long drag before dropping her cigarette to the
cobbles, crushing it out with the toe of her boot.
"I have patients waiting so I should get back to them. Enjoy the rest of
the training session, Eva."
She took my shoulders, leaned down to give me a quick peck on the cheek,
and then she was gone.
The drilling continued for another half an hour before Helmut decided to
end things so that everyone could get in out of the cold. He quizzed me
about the session on our drive back to the castle.
"How do you think it went?"
"Better than I thought it would, actually," I said.
"Me, too. Fortunately, over half the men are veterans of the last war.
In their case it was just a matter of remembering old routines, and they
led the others by example."
"What worries me," I said, "is whether such a rag tag and elderly group
has a prayer against seasoned soldiers who've spent months fighting our
armies to get to us. Are we really this desperate, or is the whole
Volkssturm project just for show, something designed to fool people into
thinking we still have a chance?"
"I don't honestly know," Helmut admitted. "Let's hope we never have to
find out."
- 63 -
It was early December. The day after we said goodbye to the Duesenberg
the first snows of winter started to fall in the valley. It snowed
solidly for two days and nights. On the morning of the third day Helmut
got his axe and headed out on his horse.
"Time to go and get a tree for Christmas," he said.
I had suggested we consider scaling back the celebrations this year.
Helmut had argued that we should do the opposite, that with things as
they were we should go for a big blow-out to help take everyone's minds
off the war, at least for a little while. There was plenty for them to
want to get their minds off, too. In France, Metz and Strasbourg had
fallen, in Italy fighting had ground to a halt thanks to heavy rains,
and in Belgium the port of Antwerp was now the main location where
supplies for the advancing western Allies were being landed. This last
was particularly bad news for the Germans. Prior to taking Antwerp, the
western Allies had lacked a deep water port on the Continent through
which to bring in supplies. Having to do so via their Normandy beachhead
had severely handicapped resupply efforts. As a result their advance had
ground to a halt for a while. They had probably planned to use the deep
water port at Cherbourg before they invaded, but the retreating Germans
had mined that so successfully as to render it unusable for several
months. Even now, if the news broadcasts were to be believed, it had
only been returned to limited use.
As we had done last year, Gerda and I decorated the tree Helmut returned
with after it was erected in the Great Hall.
This was my second Christmas at the castle. I didn't expect to still be
here when it rolled around again yet here I was, and the mistress of
Castle Rumstahl.
"I wonder if we'll ever decorate a tree together at the castle again," I
said to Gerda as we hung the fine glass baubles that had been in the
family for decades.
"Maybe not next year," she replied, "but after that, who knows. When
this dreadful war is over and foreign troops eventually return to their
own countries, perhaps everything will return to normal and we can come
back here."
"Do you think that's likely to happen, though?" I said.
"Will things ever go back to the way they were?"
"Oh yes," she said, "or something very much like it. I mean the British
and the Americans aren't going to let the Russians establish a communist
state here, are they? They may be in a marriage of convenience for the
moment, but they're far from natural allies. The western democracies are
as opposed to Soviet expansionism as we are."
What she said was perfectly logical, but I had an uneasy feeling that
things wouldn't be quite that simple.
"Did Helmut tell you he plans on taking another wild boar so that we
have meat other than rabbit for Christmas?" I asked her.
"Yes, and though I wouldn't usually condone him taking another one this
year I think our situation warrants it. We're inviting all the children
of the village to have Christmas dinner with us this year after all."
"Don't I know it. I've spent a lot of my time over the past few days
wrapping toys for them."
That in itself was some indication of how uncertain Helmut was about the
future of the village. Most of his old toys - which were plentiful and
of very high quality - had been stored in a room in one of the towers to
be brought out when he had children of his own. Only now he'd now
decided to play Santa and hand them out to the children of the village
instead. Gerda too had donated her old toys so that there would be gifts
for both boys and girls. She might talk about them returning to the
castle when the war was over, but Helmut clearly thought this might not
happen. These were stressful times, and though he tried to hide it he
was clearly worried.
"How have you been finding giving the children English lessons
at the village school?" asked Gerda.
This was another responsibility I'd taken on recently.
"It's been more enjoyable than I expected," I said, "though I do wonder
if they'd be better off learning Russian instead. If
Lexi was still here she could teach them."
"Lexi speaks Russian?" said Gerda, surprised. "She kept that quiet. Do
you know how she came by it?"
Damn it. That wasn't something Lexi had ever revealed and she certainly
would not have wanted people to know her mother was Russian.
"To be honest I don't really know," I said, giving a vague shrug.
"Hmmm. Well, it probably doesn't matter, but you're right. It would have
been very useful having her teach the children Russian, too. Who knows
which of the two they're most likely to be needing soon?"
In the middle of December came surprising news, the first good news for
Germany in quite a while. After being on the edge of his seat while
listening to the news from a radio presenter whose announcement was both
triumphant and tinged with relief, Helmut leaned back on the sofa, and
stared thoughtfully into the middle distance.
"The Ardennes," he said, "we've launched a counter-offensive in the
Ardennes. Unless we have more aircraft, tanks, and troops held in
reserve, this could be our last roll of the dice. It's a bold move, but
if it works...."
"Could it really make that big a difference?" I asked.
I had thought Germany was done for, that the demise of the Third Reich
was just a matter of time, but the note of hope in Helmut's voice
suggested otherwise. I wasn't surprised by that hope. Helmut might not
like the Nazis, but he was still loyal to his country.
"It's a long shot, a very long shot, but it just might. If we can smash
through the Allied line there and break out," he said, "we could be in
with a chance in the west. The Ardennes, I can't believe they've let us
take them by surprise in the Ardennes again."
"Again?" I said, puzzled.
"During the Great War, we gambled that we could rapid advance through
the Ardennes and attack what was a lightly defended part of France. What
worked against the fathers back then has now worked against their sons a
generation later. The Allies didn't learn from history. If they had they
would have strengthened that part of their line accordingly."
"Why do you think they didn't?"
"The region is bordered by the Ardennes mountain range and the Moselle
and Meuse river basins. Because of its large forests, rugged terrain,
hills and ridges, it's regarded as unsuitable for large-scale military
operations. Today's Allied military planners looked at it without regard
to its history. Now they're paying the price. Personally, I'd court
martial them for negligence."
The Ardennes counter-offensive was to occupy our thoughts for the rest
of the month. We hung on the news announcers' every word as they gave us
the latest reports from the front each evening, trying to sift fact from
propaganda. Unfortunately, beyond the fact that most of those on the
Allied side in this particular clash appeared to be American, it was
difficult to get a handle on exactly how it was being fought.
Wernher von Braun phoned Helmut one morning shortly before Christmas.
They used to be in contact on an almost daily basis but this was the
first time we'd heard from him in weeks. I happened to be in Helmut's
study with him when the call came in. They chatted for about twenty
minutes. When he replaced the receiver on its cradle, Helmut stared at
the phone for a few seconds, his expression unreadable.
"What's the news from Wernher?" I asked.
"Hmmm? Oh, he's feeling the stress like everyone else in Germany.
Peenemunde may not have suffered the level of bombing our major cities
have had to endure but Wernher still has a thousand people under him.
That's a big responsibility, one not helped by the conflicting orders
he's been receiving recently. Then there are the ongoing quality control
problems on the V-2 production line. Hans Kammler has summoned him to
Mittelwerk several times to sort those out."
"'Mittelwerk'?"
It was the first time I'd heard the name.
"That's right, I never did tell you when I eventually learned where they
were manufacturing the V-2's, did I?" he said. "Mittelwerk is an old
gypsum mine in the middle of the country that was extended so that V-2's
could be made in its tunnels. After that first raid by the RAF in August
1943 they knew they needed to move the manufacturing plant somewhere
safe from Allied bombers, and it was decided their best bet was a
subterranean site."
This would have been useful information to have known when I was in a
position to pass it along to London.
"No mention of 'Frau in Mond'?"
"No, none. Wernher says the Red Army will reach them eventually, but he
thinks they have another four or five weeks until they'll have to either
abandon Peenemunde or stay and fight. As he told us last time we saw
him, he and his team won't be allowed to surrender. Before that could
happen they'd be executed to prevent them falling into Soviet hands.
Whatever happens, he's soon going to have to make some very hard
decisions. There are a thousand people whose fates rest on the choices
he'll make."
I shuddered.
"I wouldn't want that responsibility," I said. "I don't think I could
handle it."
"I *do* have it, and I'm about to abrogate it," said Helmut.
"What? I don't...."
"The villagers. As their Count they look to me for leadership, but if
Wernher can get away from Peenemunde I'll be abandoning them to join him
in surrendering to the western Allies."
"You have no choice. If the Soviets get here first they'll take you back
to Russia and force you to work for them. This way at least there's the
possibility you'll be able to return to Rumstahl someday and be their
Count again."
"If that day comes, they'll want their Countess back, too," he said,
squeezing my hand.
I smiled, but now it was my turn to feel guilty. By the time that day
comes, if it ever does, I'll have my old like back and Helmut will have
to return alone.
Christmas came and went and the celebrations were a great success. The
children loved attending the castle for Christmas dinner and were
delighted when Helmut, dressed as Santa, handed out presents, but our
thoughts kept drifting back to the Ardennes. The stakes could hardly
have been higher, so this wasn't too surprising.
A happy if apprehensive Christmas was followed a week later by a sombre
New Year's Eve. Helmut, Gerda and I saw in the New Year by getting very
drunk, but there was little joy in the occasion. The twins were both
far too worried about what 1945 had in store for them to greet its
arrival with anything other than dread. Yet to our surprise the year
began with good news for Germany.
In the first week of 1945, the army launched a surprise offensive in
northern Alsace, ten different fighter wings of
the Luftwaffe attacked western Allied air bases in Belgium and Holland,
and Germans troops broke out of the 'Colmar Pocket', a bridgehead on the
Rhine, and headed east planning to retake
Strasbourg, which had recently been captured by the Americans.
At the same time as all these initiatives were happening it became
increasingly clear that the Ardennes counter-offensive had failed.
Helmut had little hope they would prove any more successful.
"These are just the death-throes of a dying beast," he said, "the final,
violent thrashing about before its end. When they're done, so are we."
******************************
To be continued
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Bree
- 13.06.2021
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