FROM PRUSSIA WITH LOVE
EXCERPT
Gruppenfuhrer
Benedikt Ziegler stared out of the window of the staff car as his driver
negotiated the damp streets of London. Everything looked cold and grey and
there was a constant drizzle in the air. Their route so far had taken them from
his office inside the walls of Buckingham Palace, past the corner of Hyde Park,
into an area that they called Knightsbridge.
Craaaaaaaaack!!!!
A loud
crash disturbed Benedikt's reverie. Several cracks
appeared on the windscreen. Somebody had thrown a stone at the car. His driver
swerved alarmingly, blinded by the shattered glass.
"Fuck off Krauts! Go home."
Benedikt
saw a blur as three or four young thugs waved their fists and shouted, before
running off down a side street. Moments later several
soldiers in German uniforms appeared, chasing after the locals.
Rat-a-tat-tat-piaow-piaow!!
The sound
of gunfire and ricochets filled the air.
His
driver used his elbow to push out the splintered glass so that he could see the
road. They continued on their journey. A chill wind
blew into the car.
"Noooooooooo!!"
Benedikt
heard a woman's shrill scream as they rounded a street corner. A huddle of
uniformed German soldiers came into view.
His
driver slowed so that Benedikt could see what was happening. Six German
soldiers were surrounding an Englishwoman. They already had her pinned down on
the pavement with her bare legs kicking in the air. One of the soldiers was
hunkered between her knees. The other five were holding her limbs and laughing.
"Nooooooo
... please ... let me ... aaaahhh ..." she sobbed.
Benedikt
gestured to his driver to continue.
But all
this was not a good omen; stones thrown at his car. Gunfire. Soldiers having to
assault a woman on a public street. None of this was part of the Master Plan.
The war
was over. Now was the time for peace. The British had surrendered. Stones, bullets and force should not be necessary. He was confident
that his highly trained soldiers would behave well as long as
they were welcomed with open arms ...
and open legs of course.
The new
laws were straightforward. It was well known that armies have pillaged throughout
the history of mankind. The spoils of war and all
that. But Britain's unconditional surrender had allowed German High Command to
solve that problem. They had not only made sex with the locals legal. They had
made it compulsory. The R-word was irrelevant now.
As loyal
'New Prussians', all local females between the ages of
18 to 58 were expected to adopt a minimum of two German males as their lovers.
But the important word there was 'minimum'. On
occasions a higher number might be necessary where the ratio of women to men
required it.
Anyway,
this would probably only be a temporary requirement
after all. Convoys of German civilians would be arriving soon enough. Hundreds
of thousands of immigrants and maybe millions of them,
lured by financial grants and free property. Ambitious young men and pretty young women, as well as couples and families, all
superior specimens. Soon his soldiers wouldn't have to
rely on inferior local flesh.
Benedikt
pulled his collar up against the cold. Thinking of German civilians made him
think of home, of his plump wife and their two teenage children. He imagined
his own spouse having to adopt two male lovers. Hah! Those would be unlucky
men. Helga had been slim and attractive when Benedikt married her but
childbirth and apple strudel had since taken a heavy toll on her figure.
The
Englishwoman's screams faded into the distance. Benedikt sighed. By sobbing and
resisting, the woman was committing a serious crime. She should have invited
the soldiers into her home. After all, there were only
six of them. Six men was nothing. During his months in occupied France, he'd seen women taken by thirty, forty men and survive,
messy but unharmed. This Englishwoman would have been much better off welcoming
those half a dozen German soldiers into her bed and they would have all left
smiling, half an hour later, with no harm done to anybody.
Bolton
Square turned out to be a large rectangle of substantial stucco-fronted houses
arranged around a muddy garden square. A few of the
houses had been destroyed by fire and bombs. Others were slightly damaged but
most looked in good condition. The image reminded him of a mouth with just a few missing teeth.
His
driver parked outside a white, untouched house.
The
Brigadefuhrer had already arrived, waiting outside his own staff car, in front
of house number 66, brandishing a folder of papers. He frowned and clicked his
heels.
"Your
windscreen, Herr Gruppenfuhrer?"
"Partisans
threw stones at us."
"They
will be caught and executed, Herr Gruppenfuhrer."
Benedikt
sighed again. "But that is not the long term solution, comrade. We must conquer
the locals' minds as well as their bodies. Whose house is this?"
"Number
66 has been allocated to Hauptmann Dieter Faust from 3rd Police
Division."
Benedikt
nodded. He knew of young Dieter. An
officer with a good reputation.
"And his
Oberleutnant is named Hans Gerwig," the Brigadefuhrer continued, as they both
surveyed the outside of the house.
"And the
owners?"
"A man
called Pettigrew. An English businessman aged 46. He
lives here with his wife, their three children and two staff."
Benedikt
nodded and strode up the front steps. He breathed in the damp, chilly November
air and looked up, counting the storeys and windows. He idly wondered whether
he should put in a request for one of these central London houses. After all, they might be worth a decent amount in a few
decades time?
At that moment the front door opened and a handsome German officer
appeared on the doorstep in full uniform. He clicked his heels and saluted.
"Welcome,
Herr Gruppenfuhrer ... Brigadefuhrer."
Benedikt
returned the salute and strode through the front door.
The
officer stood to one side to allow them into the front hall. Benedikt saw a
grand staircase ahead, a marble floor and eight English civilians standing in
line; three men and five women. They were all dressed as domestic staff, in
dark suits, brown dresses and white aprons.
"These
are our hosts." Dieter said, gesturing toward them. "Herr Pettigrew ... his
family ... and the older daughter's fiancé."
Benedikt
nodded, appraising an older couple who stood at one end of the line. Mr
Pettigrew looked dejected, a beaten man, avoiding his gaze. Mrs
Pettigrew was an attractive woman in early middle age. She glanced up at him
but otherwise kept her eyes downcast.
"I am
pleased to meet you." Benedikt addressed Mr. Pettigrew in his own, adequate
English. "I trust my officers are behaving themselves, ja?"
"Er ...
hmm ..." the man cleared his throat and glanced at Dieter. "Y ... yes, Herr
Grup ... pen ... fuhrer, they are p ... perfect gentlemen."
Pleased,
Benedikt nodded and smiled his approval at Dieter.
"Good. So
you are all getting along fine. The ladies too?"
Mrs Pettigrew's cheeks blushed even redder. He waited
patiently for the woman to reply.
"Y ...
yes ... er ... Sir. Your officers are ch ... charming."
Benedikt
looked along the line at their three adult children and what he presumed were
two members of domestic staff at the end. He gestured at his Brigadefuhrer who
was holding their file.
"I'm told that you are all aged between 18 and 58. So you are
expected to ... do your bit for our officers, ja? How do you feel about this
ladies?"
All five
Englishwomen stared at him in apparent amazement at his question. But Mrs Pettigrew stammered a reply.
"Er ...
it s ... seems only reasonable to be ... friendly, Sir."
Benedikt
smiled. This was going better than he
expected.
"And the
gentlemen?"
Again,
the three men gawped. One even rolled his eyes rudely.
"We ...
we don't have much choice, do we Sir?"
Benedikt
frowned at the young man's impertinent tone.
Fortunately Dieter stepped forward quickly. He'd
drawn his swagger-stick and he slashed it through the air several times, making
them all cower. The young man who'd spoken covered his
head with his hands.
"I am s
... sorry." Mr. Pettigrew interjected. "My daughter's fiancé is still r ... rather distressed, Herr Grup ... pen ... fuhrer. You see, he's a little jealous, theirs being a n ... new
relationship."
Benedikt
smiled at the trembling older man. Secretly, deep down, he couldn't
blame these people for being a little upset by the new regulations. But he
looked sternly at the young English boy who'd spoken
up.
"You will
have plenty of time to get over your jealousy before
you marry. Your pretty fiancé will spend your long engagement learning how to
satisfy big strong men like the Hauptmann and Oberleutnant here."
Dieter
smiled. "In fact she's already started, Herr Gruppenfuhrer."
Benedikt
raised his eyebrows. "Already?" He nodded in approval. First at Dieter and
Hans, then at all the Pettigrews. "That was quick."
"Ja, Herr
Gruppenfuhrer. And she was even a virgin too."
This time
Benedikt couldn't help a small chuckle. He winked at
the attractive brunette who was blushing furiously.
She was a pretty little thing.
"Excellent.
You were saving yourself for marriage, ja? That is a sign of good discipline. I
like that. And don't worry. Your fiancé can still be
the first English boy to make love to you, once you're
both married. By then he will benefit from your extensive
experience with many German lovers."
Dieter
nodded in agreement and pointed his swagger-stick towards their hosts.
"Ja. And
we have also been using the cane to enforce strict discipline."
Benedikt
smiled thinly at the older Herr Pettigrew. This
was all excellent news. Maybe the conquest of the
British would prove easier than he'd feared? It was his job to guarantee the
country was safe before the influx of German civilians arrived to colonise the
island.
Dieter
continued pleasantly. "Would you be able to linger here for a short while or
two, Herr Gruppenfuhrer? Perhaps even enjoy the 'welcome' of one or two of these fine ladies? And of course, the
Brigadefuhrer should stay a while too."
Benedikt
felt his loins stirring under his uniform. It had been a long time since he'd been with a woman. And this Frau Pettigrew was much
more attractive than his chubby Helga back home.
He took
out his pocket watch and checked the time.
"And what
does Herr Pettigrew say? Would he like us to stay as well?"
There was
a tense silence. The Englishman wiped his moustache nervously and blushed
bright scarlet.
"Er ...
yes, Herr Gruppenfuhrer. It would ... be an ... honour."
END OF EXCERPT