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The Crossing - Part 30 free porn video
April 1945: An escaped British PoW living as a married woman, I now found
myself in Berlin with my husband as the Third Reich was collapsing all
around us and Soviet forces were about to reach the city.
THE CROSSING - part 30
by BobH
(c) 2016
- 66 -
Riding across the fields. It sounded so straightforward in principle, but
there were numerous small streams to struggle across with the motorcycle,
all too many fences to find gaps in or gates through, and increasing
numbers of bomb craters to avoid the closer we got to our goal. We took
minor roads and lanes where we could, but many of these were almost as
impassable as the major roads, choked as they were with people desperate
to escape the city by any route they could. Thanks to all of this we
didn't catch a glimpse of Berlin until night was falling. As with the
reichsautobahn, our first view of the city was from the crest of a small
hill. It was still some miles distant, but the light from fires caused by
the relentless bombing made it impossible to miss.
"Mein gott!" said Helmut, awed by what he was seeing.
"And we have to go down into that," I said, shaking my head as yet
another wave of Allied bombers dropped their deadly cargo over the city.
"Yes, but not 'til morning," said Helmut. "Let's make camp here for the
night. It will be easier to decide how we should proceed when it's
light."
I couldn't argue with the logic of that, so we set up the tent and broke
out the food. Since it was still only April the night was pretty cold but
we didn't dare make a fire. There were a lot of desperate people about
and the last thing we wanted was to call attention to our location. When
we'd eaten, Helmut strung a spool of fishing line at low level around
nearby trees, the end of which was attached to a small cow bell in the
tent. If anyone tried to creep up on us while we slept this would
hopefully wake us. The tent was military green rather than white, one of
those single-person ones that two people can only sleep in together if
they cuddle up close under their blankets, which we did. By this point I
was used to sleeping in Helmut's arms, our naked bodies pressed together
so, despite the distant sound of falling bombs, I fell asleep in no time.
We woke not long after first light, exited the tent, and gazed over at
Berlin. Fires were still burning but, for now, the bombing seemed to have
ceased. We were under no illusion this was anything other than a brief
respite. The roads we could see seemed relatively clear. Whether this was
a result of the earliness of the hour or because most of those who were
going to flee the city had already done so we had no way of knowing. One
thing was apparent, however.
"We need to go now while we have a clear run on the roads," said Helmut.
We had a quick breakfast, broke camp, stowed our gear, and were riding
across open ground to the nearest road fifteen minutes later. As soon as
there was a proper surface beneath our wheels, Helmut opened up the
bike's throttle and I had to hang on to him for dear life. The road we
were on was a minor one to the south of the reichsautobahn we'd seen
yesterday. As we progressed so the gaps between the houses we passed
shrank until we found ourselves in the outskirts of Berlin. Here we
encountered our first checkpoint.
"Halt!" shouted the man in the middle of the road, his arm out, palm
facing us. He wore a Volkssturm armband and had to be at least sixty. As
Helmut brought the bike to a stop in front of him so others emerged from
behind the burned-out vehicles on either side of the road serving as a
barricade. And what a ragtag bunch they were. There were two Hitler Youth
members who could not have been older than fourteen, a wounded Wehrmacht
corporal, his head wrapped in a bloody bandage who was staring at me
intensely, and a middle-aged man in a uniform which I didn't recognize.
They had two carbines and a pistol between them, all of which were now
trained on us.
"State your business," said the man who had stopped us.
"My wife and I are on a mission we're not at liberty to divulge," said
Helmut, reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket for his papers. "I
have a letter of passage here personally signed by the Fuhrer himself
that permits us to go where we will."
The man took the papers, his eyes widening when he read Hitler's letter.
He stared at the two of us more closely.
"It is you!" he said, "Count and Countess von Rumstahl! I should have
recognised you immediately, Herr Count. My apologies."
"Don't worry about it," said Helmut, taking back his papers. "It's been
many months since photos of our wedding were in all the newspapers."
"Yes, but Klaus here," he said, indicating the Wehrmacht corporal, "has a
photo of the Countess pinned over his bunk that he tore out of Der
Sturmer ."
I glanced at Klaus but he averted his gaze, looking embarrassed. I felt
my own face reddening as I tried not to think about what he probably did
in his bunk while looking at my photo.
"Are there more checkpoints ahead?" asked Helmut.
"Not on this side of Berlin, no. You should have a clear run to the
centre - if the roads are passable. I haven't heard what last night's
bombing has done to them yet. Speaking of which you'd better not hang
around. It's unnaturally calm at the moment but a daytime raid could
disrupt that at any moment."
We thanked him before continuing on our way.
"What was that uniform the middle-aged one was wearing?" I asked Helmut
as we pulled away from the checkpoint.
"U-boat crew," he replied. "Taken together with those boys from the
Hitler Youth, the wounded veteran, and the Volkssturm member it looks
like we don't have enough regular troops left to perform that duty. We're
really scraping the bottom of the barrel now."
We spoke no more after that, the wind rushing at us as we sped towards
the centre of the city rendering conversation all but impossible. This
far out bomb damage was intermittent and the
buildings on the streets we rode down seemed mostly intact, though with
very few people about. The closer we got to the heart of Berlin the more
that situation changed. Soon, most of those we saw were damaged with only
the occasional building fully intact. Long before we finally reached the
centre the bomb blasted landscape around us had become one of rubble and
vehicles turned to twisted scrap. Fires burned everywhere, exhausted
firemen doing what they could to fight them while weighed down by the
knowledge that anything they accomplished was no more than a holding
action until the bombers returned. The London of the Blitz had been bad.
This was worse.
"What now?" I said.
"Now we locate someone in authority who might know where we can find
Hans."
The Wilhelmstrasse in the heart of the city was where the Reich's great
ministerial buildings were located, including the Air Ministry. An
intimidating, brutalist structure it was constructed of reinforced
concrete. Seven stories tall with twenty eight hundred rooms, four
thousand windows, and four miles of corridors. Once four thousand Nazi
bureaucrats had toiled away inside its walls, but not any longer. Now
most of the windows were shattered, its exterior walls were cracked and
heavily pitted, and it housed a small fraction of that number. When we
pulled up outside I knew why Helmut had chosen this one out of all the
ministerial buildings without needing to ask: it was the only one still
standing.
There were armed guards on the entrance. Unlike those we encountered at
the checkpoint on the outskirts of the city these were not old men or
young boys but Luftwaffe officers in their prime. They looked tired, as
everyone here did, but these were not men to be trifled with.
"State your purpose in coming here!" demanded one on them, while the
other looked me over with barely disguised lust.
"We hope to conclude our business in the city as quickly as possible and
then get out while we still can," said Helmut, "but we need somewhere to
operate out of while we're here."
"And you thought you'd turn up at the Air Ministry and we'd let you in
just like that, did you? Half the people left in the city would like to
get inside these walls. Why should I let you in when I have orders to
keep them out?"
"Because of this," said Helmut. He produced Hitler's letter of passage
once again, and once again I watched someone's eyes widen as he read it.
"Welcome to the Air Ministry, Herr Count," said the guard, snapping to
attention. "I'll have someone bring in your motorcycle and assign you and
the Countess a room in the basement where you'll be safest from the
bombers."
"Thank you," said Helmut, as the guard handed back the letter and ushered
us both inside. He called over a young woman in the uniform of a
blitzmadchen, quickly briefed her as to who we were, then returned to his
post.
"If you'll please follow me," she said, leading us over to a staircase.
"Are there many people living underground here?" asked Helmut as we
descended them.
"Everyone in Berlin lives underground now," the woman said. "The bombs
have turned us into a city of subterranean dwellers. As for the Air
Ministry, there are several hundred people currently in residence in
makeshift accomodation."
At the bottom of the stairs we turned right and walked maybe a hundred
yards or so before stopping in front of a nondescript door. There was a
key in the lock, which she proceeded to turn before pushing the door open
and flipping on the lightswitch inside the door.
"Your room," she said, "a former records office. Unfortunately bedding is
at a premium so you'll have to make do as best you can."
"We have our own," I said, indicating my rucksack.
"Then you are very fortunate. Remember to lock the door behind you and to
take the key when you venture out. The guards will hold on to the keys to
your motorcycle and will bring it around when you need it. If that will
be all?"
"Yes it will," said Helmut. "Thank you."
The room was full of metal filing cabinets, many of the drawers still
open, their contents long since gone.
"Looks like someone has been destroying records," said Helmut.
He picked a stray sheet of paper up from the floor.
"Hmmm, nothing obviously incriminating, but I suppose it's better to be
safe than sorry when it comes to stuff falling into Soviet hands. Right,
I'll start moving the filing cabinets back against the walls to clear as
much space in the middle of the room as I can. While I'm doing that you
should find out where the toilets, wash rooms, and other facilities are."
"Of course."
I dropped the rucksack on the floor and stepped back out into the
corridor. No sooner had I done so than someone called out my name.
"Eva?"
I turned and there she was, as stylishly turned out as ever with her long
blonde hair tucked up in a net at the nape of her neck, a tight fitting
dress suit showing off her fabulous figure, and heels making the most of
her amazing legs.
"Lexi!" I squealed - yes, squealed - surprised and delighted to see her.
Then she had closed the distance between us and we were hugging and
laughing while Helmut looked on, bemused by this display of
emotion.
-67-
"Why the bodyguard?" I asked, nodding at the stern-looking Gestapo man
sitting a few tables away, watching us intently.
Lexi and I had retired to the Air Ministry's canteen to catch up while
Helmut was being shown the room we'd been assigned. The Gestapo man had
fallen in behind us.
"Albrecht's idea. He claims it's for my own protection, but
Horst was only assigned to me after we got into a blazing row following
one of Goebbels' parties where Albrecht caught me flirting with a
handsome young Wehrmacht officer. That was months ago, and Horst still
follows me everywhere."
"Horst!" I said, snapping my fingers. "That's who he is. I thought he
looked familiar. He's Grost's chauffeur."
"Was his chauffeur," said Lexi. "Albrecht doesn't have the same need for
a chauffeur here as he did when he was a Gestapo regional head, so he
reassigned Horst to this duty. You can imagine how delighted I was."
So on top of everything else Albrecht Grost was jealous and possessive.
Poor Lexi.
"That must've put a crimp in your plans to find someone else and dump
Grost."
"You have no idea. I've had to shelve those plans for now. Berlin is
doomed. Surviving and planning a way out of this situation has been my
top priority."
"So you have a plan?"
"Always, but I can't put it into effect until the Russians get here,
which will happen soon. I'll have to give Horst the slip first, which
could be a problem. Still, I managed it once. Now I just need to figure
out how to do it a second time."
I smiled at Lexi, eyes drinking in that beautiful face, and placed my
hand over hers.
"It really is good to see you, Lexi," I said.
"You too, Eva. I told you we'd meet again."
I looked around me at the utilitarian tables and chairs in the canteen.
We were in the basement so the room had no windows, illumination being
provided by two rows of electric light bulbs set into ceiling fittings.
Good to know the building's generator had fuel and was still working.
Apart from we two and Lexi's shadow there were maybe a half dozen men in
the room clad in a variety of uniforms, not all of them Luftwaffe. They
were silently eating their meals and paid us no attention.
"We'd heard the food situation in Berlin was desperate," I said.
"It is, for the civilian population. The military has first call on all
supplies and though we'd all like more to eat no one in this building
goes hungry."
"And Hitler? Where is he while everything around him is falling apart?"
"Holed up in his bunker under the Reich Chancellery. It's his fifty-sixth
birthday two days from now, on the twentieth. I'll be very surprised if
he lives to see his fifty-seventh."
"The Reich Chancellery is still standing?"
"The shell is. I've visited it with Albrecht several times
in the months we've been here, the last time only a couple of days ago.
Apparently it used to be an impressive building. From what I've heard,
its huge rooms featured vast slabs of marble and porphyry, enormous
doors, and rows of candelabra. It was where the elite of the Third Reich
held their grand parties and triumphal gatherings. Now it's a burnt and
bombed-out shell. A command post is maintained in the ruins, but the real
business of the place is conducted fifty feet below ground, in the
bunker. You reach it via stairs leading down through what used to be the
butler's pantry."
"You're pulling my leg."
"I swear I'm not. If nothing else it shows the Nazis planned ahead. Of
course, none of that's going to save them. In a few days time, maybe a
week, the Russians are going to smash through the motley crew of SS
guards, U-boat crews, Hitler Youth, anti-aircraft troops and policemen
who by that point will be all that's left of Berlin's defenders. Then
Russian T-33 tanks will come clanking down Wilhelmstrasse and the Voss
Strasse, train their guns on the bunker, and blast it to smithereens."
"What's it like in the bunker?" I asked, my curiosity piqued.
"The first section you arrive in consists of a dozen rooms, all of them
small, on each side of a central passage. Last time we were there, at the
other end of that passage, we saw a number of men standing having their
picture taken for some reason. I'd been in Berlin long enough know that I
recognized all of them - Bormann, Burgdorf, Mohnke, Guensche, Linge,
Kempka, and the gigantic Stumpfegger, all save Stumpfegger in uniforms
attesting their high status. The man with the camera was Artur Axmann,
head of the Hitler youth. But it was someone who scurried by behind them
who captured my attention. I only caught a brief glimpse, but there was
no mistaking that duelling scar and beaked nose. It was Wilhelm Tranger."
"The neurosurgeon you met at Dr Frankenheim's clinic?"
"The very same. Now what do you suppose he was doing in the bunker?"
"I can't imagine."
"Neither can I, but seeing Tranger did get me thinking again about what I
saw at the clinic. Those casts of the faces of
leading Nazis, the men who would pass through with their faces heavily
bandaged after surgery...."
"What do you think was going on?"
"I think volunteers, fanatical Nazis prepared to sacrifice their lives
for the cause, were having facial surgery to make them the doppelgangers
of those leading Nazis they physically resemble.
When the war is lost these are the men who will be taken into custody
while the real Nazi leaders slip away and have facial surgery of their
own to give them new identities. There was a Wehrmacht sergeant there at
one point who already bore a striking resemblance to Himmler. For someone
with Dr Frankenheim's skills it wouldn't have taken much to make him a
dead ringer for that evil bastard."
"I don't know, Lexi," I said, dubiously, "it seems a bit fanciful
to me."
"So would the idea that a man could be so convincingly surgically
feminized that even a lover couldn't tell they hadn't been born a woman,
yet here I am."
"Point taken," I conceded. "Still doesn't explain a neurosurgeon in the
bunker, though."
"No, it doesn't. That's a puzzle, right enough."
From outside came the sound of air raid sirens blaring.
"That'll be the Yanks," said Lexi, looking up. "The RAF bombs Berlin
during the night, the Americans during the day, and the Russians whenever
they feel like it.
"You seem to be holding up pretty well considering you've endured months
of this now."
The men sitting around us were trembling, their nerves shot. Lexi wasn't.
As soft and feminine as she'd always been, even when male, the woman had
a core of steel running through her.
"You can get used to anything," she said, "and I'd already lived through
the Blitz."
A few minutes after the sirens screamed into life the first bombs began
to fall, several of which shook the building we were in. Many more would
do so in the hours that followed.
"It's probably not going to be safe to go outside again until tomorrow,"
said Lexi, "so whatever you came to Berlin to do will
have to wait."
"Helmut and I are here to find Gerda's boyfriend and bring him home to
her, but Berlin's a big city and we have no idea where to start looking."
"What's his name?"
"Hans Strohmann. He's a lieutenant in the Wehrmacht."
Lexi's eyes went wide at this, then she started laughing.
"Why is that funny?" I asked, frowning at her reaction.
"It's funny because I know exactly where you can find him."
"You do? How is that possible?"
"He's someone I've been keeping track of. When Albrecht got jealous and
assigned Horst to keep an eye on me, the handsome young Wehrmacht officer
he caught me flirting with was Hans Strohmann ."
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To be continued....
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Virginia
- 06.07.2020
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