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The Crossing - Part 36 Of 37 free porn video
I was a British PoW who had assumed the identity of a dead woman and
spied for the Allies during World War Two. Now the war was over and I
was about to face the man who would decide my fate.
THE CROSSING - part 36 of 37
by BobH
(c) 2016
- 82 -
I stared at Benton open-mouthed. Only when my shock abated did the
details of his uniform come into focus.
"You're a colonel now?"
"Promotion. For my work in the field. With you. Please be seated,
Ripley."
I took the seat in front of the desk, Benton not taking his own until I
was seated. Interesting. He knew I was a man yet he was treating me like
the woman I appeared to be. I didn't know whether to be amused or
disturbed by this.
It's good to see you again, Ripley," he said, studying me.
"You too, sir. I'm pleased to see you made it safely back to England," I
said, and I was.
"Me and three others. Of the forty one men who escaped from Stalag Luft
XII with us in August 1943, thirty four were recaptured, four made it
home including me, and three are missing presumed dead."
"That many were recaptured?" I said, aghast. "Do you have the names of
the missing?"
"I do. Those officially missing presumed dead are Robert Simpson, Alec
Delon, and you."
"Well, we can reduce that list by one when I go back to being Paul
Ripley again," I replied, saddened that Simpson never made it back to
his wife, but anticipating my own future.
"Yes, but not just yet. The brass want you to continue being the
Countess for a little while longer."
"What? But why? Haven't I already done my bit?"
"You have, and if it was up to me you'd leave this room as Paul Ripley,
but there are other considerations."
"What other considerations?"
"Now that the war is over in Europe a race is on for the spoils. We and
the Americans may be military allies but when it comes to grabbing all
the advanced German technology we can we're rivals. A case in point is
the V-2. We're not supposed to know this, but on May 22nd they loaded up
and sent off a forty car trainload of V-2 parts captured at the
Mittelwerk facility in Nordhausen. These shipments continued for the
next nine days. On May 31st the last of more than three hundred rail
cars left Nordhausen bound ultimately for Antwerp, where they were
loaded onto sixteen Liberty ships. These are now on their way to the US.
Our boffins estimate they took enough parts to make around sixty
complete V-2s. We protested that as per prior agreement half the
captured V-2s should be turned over to us. Our protests were ignored,
but we were permitted to gather materiel before the Soviets took control
of the Nordhausen area. We think we've been able to assemble enough
parts to build eight almost complete V-2 rockets. We're currently
negotiating with the Americans for them to supply the parts we're
missing from their vast stocks of same, but eight is still a lot fewer
than we're entitled to. It's just not cricket, damn it! Sadly, we're not
in any position to make demands at the moment. The Americans are also
going to need to ship over German rocket scientists to make proper use
of their V-2s. Helmut von Rumstahl will almost certainly be one of those
scientists, and he will insist that his wife goes with him."
"You want me to stay with the group so that I can keep track of their
progress," I said. "I'd be spying on America for Britain."
"Exactly so. You've been playing the part of Eva for almost two years
now. We're asking you to do so for a few more months, old man, find out
what you can before we pull you out."
This was not what I wanted to do, but on the other hand I felt guilty
about the relatively cushy number I'd had while
others were fighting the war. Perhaps this was a way to balance the
scales a little, to carry on serving while others were being demobbed,
and it would only be for a few months. I nodded, feeling a strange sense
of relief about continuing as Eva alongside my disappointment at not yet
being able to be Paul Ripley again. This whole situation was making me
feelschizophrenic.
"Good. Your contact, someone serving the same role I did in Rumstahl,
will eventually make himself known to you. In the meantime just carry on
as you have been doing. Now, what can you tell me about the Mittelwerk
complex and those who worked there?"
"Not a lot. I know that manufacture of the V-2 was moved there after the
first raid on Peenemunde by the RAF. Hans Kammler ran Mittelwerk and I
believe Walter Dornberger was a regular visitor. Wernher von Braun
stayed on at Peenemunde. I think he visited it once or twice, but day to
day manufacturing wasn't his purview. Rocket test flights were."
"And Helmut?"
"He never visited it at all. Why are you asking about Mittelwerk?"
"Because those assembling the V-2 were slave workers. They were worked
to death by the Nazis, then replaced by others from the nearby
Mittelbau-Dora slave camp. Someone has to answer for that, and for the
Nazis other crimes against humanity. Do the names Treblinka, Dachau,
Buchenwald or Auschwitz, mean anything to you?"
"I might have heard of that last one somewhere," I said, frowning as I
tried to remember, "but no, not really."
"They will," said Benton. "They're names that are going to become
synonymous with evil and human depravity, places where the Nazis
murdered millions of men, women, and children they considered inferior,
sub-human, or deviant."
"Millions?" I said, not quite believing him.
"Millions," he repeated. "We have films taken in the camps that every
last bloody Nazi in captivity is going to be made to watch so they can
never say they didn't know."
I'd never before seen such cold fury in Benton's eyes. He looked ready
to kill the perpetrators of these atrocities with his bare hands. I
decided to change the subject.
"Did you take part in the VE Day celebrations?" I asked.
"I did," he said, visibly relaxing his frame. "I was in Trafalgar
Square, partying with what looked like half of London, all of us
deliriously happy the war in Europe was over and we'd survived. I could
swear I caught sight of Princess Elizabeth and Princess Margaret in a
conga line at one point, but for that to be so the girls would have had
to have sneaked out of Buckingham Palace and made their way down the
Mall, so it's not very likely, is it?"
There was a knock on the door.
"Enter!" said Benton.
It was 'Betty Grable' with a pot of coffee and a tray of sandwiches.
"Excellent!" said Benton. "Just put the tray down on the desk, please."
After she had gone I asked Benton the question that had been puzzling me
since arriving at the castle.
"Just what is the deal here between us and the Yanks, anyway?"
"They're allowing us this single day to interview the elite engineers
and scientists, and we intend to make the best of it. You're likely to
be here some hours, Ripley, so tuck in. I'll get you back down to the
entrance lobby before the others return and you can say you waited for
them there all day. In the meantime, tell me everything that's happened
to you since we last saw each other."
So I did.
- 83 -
By the time we got back to Witzenhausen it was already dark. We pulled
up outside a two storey building, an old school house. It had armed
guards on the door who saluted Lt Colonel Williams as we entered.
"This is where you'll be housed during your time here," he said. "My men
have installed cots with bedding for each of you and will now hand out
keys to your rooms. This is also where you will continue to work on
future rocket plans while we decide on your futures. Any questions?"
There were none. I think we were all too tired after the day we'd had.
After being given our keys we mechanically made our way to our allocated
rooms and collapsed on our beds, or 'cots' as Lt Colonel Williams had
referred to them. They were standard US military issue folding camp beds
of the type that must exist in their thousands throughout Germany by
now. They only came in singles, of course, and ours had been set up
along adjacent walls of the former classroom that would be our home
until the next time they decided to relocate us.
"I'll see if I can rustle up a double bed for us tomorrow from somewhere
in the village," he said, coming over and kissing
me on the forehead, "but these will have to do for now."
I don't remember whether I mumbled something in response, but I do know
that I was asleep seconds later.
One advantage of being housed in a school building was that it had a
dedicated kitchen and dining room. When we checked it out the next
morning we discovered the US Army had stocked it with food for us:
bacon, eggs, fresh bread, and coffee. We soon had this cooking and
shortly afterwards were able to sit down to a hearty breakfast. Helmut,
Wernher and I sat together at a four person table and compared notes
about our experiences at Kransberg Castle.
"I was questioned by an Englishman named L.S. Snell," said Helmut.
"Impressive man. He really knew his stuff."
"We were all qustioned by Englishmen," said Wernher. "There's obviously
some sort of agreement with the Americans that they get a crack at us,
too. Yesterday was just the preliminary interview. The Americans have
agreed to 'loan' some of us to the British for a few weeks. We're going
to be taken to London."
My heart leapt at the news. To see home again after all this time!
"Have they decided who?" I asked, carefully keeping my voice
neutral, though not neutral enough for Wernher.
"Hah! Hoping to visit England are you, Eva? They want me, Dornberger,
and a few others but, sadly, not you and Helmut. A shame, I'd gladly let
you go in my place."
"Why?" I said, genuinely puzzled.
"I'm the man who designed the rocket we fired at London, remember. I
can't imagine my welcome is going to be a warm one. While we're over
there, the British will be setting up a launch area in their Zone of
Occupation where they can test fire some of the V-2s they've captured
and write a proper manual on specifications and launch procedures,
something we never had time to do. They're going to have to pull a lot
of our boys from Garmisch if they want to be successful. They're the
ones with the hands-on technical experience, after all."
"I was questioned about future rocket development rather than the V-2,"
said Helmut, "which is what they want us to work on here."
"Makes sense," said Wernher, "and if that's the case you're going to be
very busy, Helmut. You were the one who carried on with that work while
I and the others were getting the kinks out of the V-2, after all."
Being a former school, the building had no shortage of blackboards which
was ideal for the team of elite engineers and scientists staying there.
They broke into smaller groups to tackle specific problems, these being
headed by Wernher, Helmut, and Walter Dornberger. The Americans supplied
them with slide-rules, engineering tables, chalk, and all the technical
books they requested. The men were soon deeply immersed in their work.
Which didn't include me.
As the weeks passed I grew increasingly bored. I memorised what I could
of what Helmut told me so I could pass it on when British intelligence
contacted me, but most days I went out. At first I rummaged for more
clothing and various things we needed to make our room more of a home -
it was me who found us a double bed - but eventually I settled down into
a pattern of visiting a cafe in the village every day, much as I had
back in Rumstahl. Seeing a pretty girl American soldiers would often
flirt with me, but flashing my wedding ring would usually dissuade them
if they tried to get fresh. If that wasn't enough the mention of Major
Staver's name and that I was an interpreter with the rocket group would
do the trick.
In August, the scientists the British wanted to borrow were flown to
London. When they returned two weeks later Walter Dornberger wasn't with
them.
"What happened over there?" asked Helmut later when we got Wernher
alone.
"We were kept at a military camp near Wimbledon...." began Wernher.
"Where they play the tennis?"
"Close to there, yes. Every day I was picked up by an intelligence
officer and driven into London for questioning. I was interviewsd by Sir
Alwyn Douglas Crow, the man in charge of their fledgling rocket
programme. I had expected him to be frosty towards me but in fact we got
on very well. He even tried to recruit me for their programme, but I
respectfully declined. My ultimate goal is still to get us into space,
just as it has always been. That's far more likely to happen with the
resources of the Americans behind me than those of a small country all
but bankrupted by the war."
I bristled slightly at this dismissal of my homeland, though neither of
them noticed
"When it was time for us to be flown back to Germany and returned to the
Americans I was informed that Walter Dornberger would not be coming with
us. Instead he was being charged with war crimes and transferred to a
prisoner of war camp in Wales."
"'War crimes'?" said Helmut.
"Yes, specifically the use of slave labour at the Mittelwerk V-2
manufacturing facility."
"Slave labour?" said Helmut, looking appalled. "Did you know about
this?"
"No, I didn't, not while it was going on, and clearly the British don't
think I did either. If they did I'd now be in that camp alongside
Dornberger."
Had Wernher really not known, I wondered? Listening to him I couldn't
help remembering my interview with Benton. Could my answers to his
questions then have helped decide that Dornberger would be detained and
Wernher go free? And was this really about justice, about taking the
higher moral ground, or was it just tit-for-tat, a way of expressing
British displeasure over the V-2 situation?
"The Americans can't be too happy about losing Dornberger," I said.
"No, they're not, but they're going along with it."
If this was indeed tit-for-tat then Dornberger would eventually be
returned to the Yanks after a year or two. If it wasn't then he was
facing trial and a lengthy imprisonment.
Immediately after this Wernher went into seclusion with a new arrival,
General Holger 'Ludy' Toftoy, as the two tried to decide who among the
many scientists and technicians now in custody should be offered
contracts to work with the military in the US. While this was going on I
was getting increasingly disturbed that no-one from British intelligence
had yet contacted me. The fact that such lists were being drawn up had
to mean those chosen would soon be on their way to America. I had hoped
my own mission would be over before then, but I hadn't even been
contacted yet and I couldn't understand why. It was a very confusing
time.
Early on the morning of the 12th of September, with no notice, we were
informed that we were leaving Witzenhausen. Helmut and I, Wernher, and
six other V-2 engineers were loaded into jeeps and told we were heading
for Paris. The distance between the two was 490 miles and took the
better part of nine hours to cover. We broke our journey at Frankfurt,
where we stopped for lunch, and were then loaded into the back of a
covered army truck to travel the rest of the way accompanied by a jeep.
We knew what this was about of course. We were finally on our way to
USA, the first group of rocket scientists to be brought over. The main
body of those who had been offered contracts by the Americans would
follow by sea in a few months time.
As we crossed the Saar River into France, Wernher said something
strange:
"We are now leaving Germany, fellows. Take a good hard look at your
country. You may not see it again for many years."
The contracts everyone had been offered by the US Army were for six
months only with an option to extend for a further six months. Was
Wernher being his usual hyperbolic self, or did he know something we
didn't?
Arriving in Paris, we were taken to the officers' club at Orly airport
accompanied by four scientists who, we learned over dinner, were from
the Herman Goring Research Institute. After we'd eaten all of us boarded
a waiting C-54 military transport aircraft. It was pouring with rain, so
we ran across the tarmac and got into the plane as quickly as possible.
The weather might be horrible on the ground but as soon as we were
airborne and broke through the clouds we were greeted by a beautifully
clear moonlit sky. It seemed like an omen, that maybe things were going
to be alright after all. I certainly hoped so.
It was 10.00pm when we left Paris and headed out across the Atlantic. I
slept through most of this leg of the trip, but I woke as we were
landing on the island of Santa Maria in the Azores. We refuelled here,
and again in Newfoundland, before finally reaching our destination of
New Castle Airport in Wilmington, Delaware at 2.00am, local time the
next day. Because we were in military custody we couldn't enter the
country by passing through customs in the usual way, so after a few more
hours we boarded a smaller plane and were flown to a naval air station
in Quincy, Massachusetts. Here we were loaded into sedans, driven to the
edge of the dock, and taken aboard a waiting troopship. This carried us
to a small chain of islands in Boston harbour where, hidden from
civilian view, we were transferred onto a tiny Boston whaler. We were
each lowered down to it by rope and, to my great amusement, everyone was
violently seasick except for me.
On the whaler we were met by a young intelligence officer who
introduced himself as Henry Kolm. He barely looked old enough to shave.
"Lady and gentlemen, very few people know you're in the country. For
various political reasons I don't intend to go into we have to keep it
that way. Soon we hope to transfer you to Fort Bliss in Texas, but in
the meantime you'll be staying at Fort Strong. It is located on one of
the islands here in the harbour and was used as a military training camp
from the Civil War up through World War One. This will be your home for
the short term. It has not been used in thirty years and so is in need
of some repair. That will be your first task."
He wasn't kidding. When the whaler took us the short distance to the
island and we landed on the jetty, the first thing we noticed were the
thick weeds growing in between the artillery mounts. The buildings were
shabby and neglected, all with peeling paint, few with unsmashed window
panes, some with parts of their roof missing. If this was to be our new
home, however temporarily, it was going to take a lot of work to make it
habitable.
"None of you possess either passports or visas, nor did you pass through
immigration on entering the country," said Henry Kolm. "Though you're
classed as special employees and wards of the army, you'll still have to
be individually processed by a civilian agency to give your presence
here a fig leaf of legality."
He led us over to a small building that had obviously been recently
repaired.
"Ladies first, I think," he said, smiling at me. "Inside there's a small
corridor, lined with offices. At the end of the corridor is another
office. Inside it you'll find someone waiting to process you. If you
please, Countess."
I gave Helmut a little smile, then entered the building not knowing what
to expect but with the odd premonition that something life-changing was
about to happen to me.
It was.
- 84 -
In the spartan office was a desk, behind which sat a civilian reading a
file. He looked up as I entered.
"Please be seated, Countess," he said, indicating the chair in front of
the desk.
I pulled this out, tucked my skirt under me, and sat down. I knew who
this man was, of course, having seen his picture in the newspapers
before the war many times, and I couldn't help staring at him. He was
middle-aged, with frog-like features and slicked back hair: J. Edgar
Hoover, head of America's Federal Bureau of Investigation.
Finishing his inspection of the file he closed it and placed it
alongside another on his desk.
"Two files, two lives," he said. "One for Countess Eva von Rumstahl, a
German, a member of the Nazi party, and the wife of Count Helmut von
Rumstahl. The other for Flying Officer Paul Ripley of the Royal Air
Force, a Brit who escaped from Stalag Luft XII in August 1943 but who
never made it back to England."
"You know who I am?" I said, surprised.
"That's what we're here to decide," he said, staring at me thoughtfully.
"You performed an important service for the Allied cause. The Countess
von Rumstahl performing that service is one thing; Flying Officer Ripley
quite another."
"I don't understand," I said.
He pulled two envelopes from a desk drawer and laid them on the table
next to the files.
"In one of these envelopes are residency papers for the Countess that
will permit the immediate transfer of her and her husband to married
quarters at Fort Bliss in advance of the rest of your group," he said.
"In the other is an arrest warrant for Paul Ripley."
"What? I don't...."
None of what he was saying made any sense.
"It's very simple. Either the person sitting before me is the Countess
von Rumstahl, an elegant and attractive woman supporting her husband as
he prepares to embark on work of vital importance to the United States
of America and the entire free world, or he's a deserter and a sexual
deviant hoping to gain entry to the US under false pretenses."
"You can't do this!" I protested. "My government...."
"Who do you think passed your file on to me?" he said, cutting me off.
"Flying Officer Ripley may have risked his life performing an important
service for the Allied cause, but how he performed it....well. Given
that homosexual acts are as illegal in the United Kingdom, as they are
over here, it would be embarrassing if the details ever got out. And
governments don't like to be embarrassed. There are many things they
sanction during wartime that they sweep under the carpet afterwards.
Sometimes heroes get their due, and sometimes they get stabbed in the
back."
That was true, I thought bitterly, my shoulders slumping. Look at how
Hugh Dowding was relieved of his command after he masterminded the
Battle of Britain and saved the country. I now knew why no one had ever
contacted me. Had Benton known what was being done to me, or had he been
duped too? Not that it mattered. He would have followed his orders
either way.
"Their betrayal of you is nothing," Hoover continued. "To quote Bogie,
it doesn't amount to a hill of beans next to those they're perpetrating
against groups like the white Russians and the Polish airmen."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"I wouldn't expect you to. It's not public knowledge yet. If the British
government have their way it never will be. Stalin is every bit as much
a monster as Hitler was, but he was a monster we needed on our side. So
dirty deals were done, and now the time has come when we have to to pay
the devil his due."
He paused to take a sip from a glass of water.
"Did you know that Patton wants us to carry on to Moscow, to rearm the
Germans we've just defeated and have them join us against the
Communists? As he puts it 'we know we'll have to fight these bastards
one day, so let's do it now while we still have armies on the ground in
Europe'. When it came to defeating the Nazis, the Russians did the heavy
lifting and it cost them millions of lives. Would it be a betrayal to do
as Patton wants, I wonder, or would it be pragmatism?"
He took another sip of his water.
"So what happens now?" I asked.
"Well now, Countess - I'm assuming it is Countess - you work towards
becoming a citizen of this great nation while taking on the role of a
housewife."
"A citizen? But the contracts are only for a year."
"Only von Braun has been told this, but the contracts will be extended
indefinitely. There are still some in Washington resistant to the idea
of employing former enemies, hence the length of those initial
contracts, but they'll come around. The skills and knowledge your group
possesses are too important to the future security of the United States
for them not to. Your role in all of this will be as a housewife. You
will be a dutiful and obedient spouse, taking care to look pretty for
your husband at all times, to have a meal ready for him when he gets in
from work and, most importantly, to keep him satisfied in the bedroom.
We need him to be happy and productive, and that's the part you'll play
in helping ensure that he is."
"So according to those papers, I'm a woman?"
"Yes, you are legally female and legally married to the Count."
"Meaning Paul Ripley is listed as 'missing in action'?"
"Correct."
"And if I refuse to go along with this, if I insist I am Paul Ripley?"
"Then you go to prison for very long time for immoral acts, attempting
to gain entry to the country under false pretenses, and for
collaborating with the enemy during time of war. Nor will your
government come to your aid."
"'Collaborating'? You *know* that isn't what I was doing."
"In this world no good deed goes unpunished. History will credit other
people with gathering all the intelligence you obtained."
"This isn't fair!" I protested.
"I find that life very rarely is," he replied, shrugging. "So what's it
going to be?"
"You haven't left me much choice."
"No, I haven't. It's how I usually get my way. Now who are you?"
I laid a hand on the Countess's file.
"Very wise," said Hoover, smirking. "You and the Count make an
attractive couple. I wish you a long and contented life as his loving
wife. However, I'll hang on to the other file just in case you ever
attempt to return to your former identity. That would be very unwise.
And as long as you play ball your husband will never find out from us
that you spied on him for the Allies. Oh, and we're not real big on
aristocratic titles over here. It might be better if you became just
plain Mr and Mrs von Rumstahl."
He stood and offered me his hand.
"Welcome to America," he said.
*************************
To be concluded....
*************************
Avriella
- 26.03.2020
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