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Subject: {ASSM} Ostafrika (Part 3) By Katzmarek (MF, Hist, slow)
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<1st attachment, "Ostafrika3.txt" begin>
OSTAFRIKA 03
By KATZMAREK
--------------------------------------------------------------
Author's note.
This is a work of fiction. It cannot be used for gain without the
Author's express permission in writing.
----------------------------------------------------------------
Ostafrika (Part 3) Gertrude
Lottie, Frau Fleischer's maid, opens the door to Guy Martin, the
French ivory trader. With a respectful smile, she tactfully
withdraws through the door below the polished mahogany main
staircase. The Frenchman proceeds up the familiar stairs
unescorted. At the third door, he taps lightly and enters.
Frau Gertrude Fleischer sits fanning herself by the large bay
window of the master bedroom. The window has a commanding view of
the town. The Fleischer's house being one of only two
double-storey buildings in Rungwa.
At 42, Gertrude Fleischer is statuesque and proportionate to her
nearly 6ft height. Her face, though now showing signs of middle
age and the African sun, is softened by her twinkling amber eyes.
Eyes that betray a gay and passionate personality.
For Frau Fleischer is French, not German. She'd met her husband
Helmut in Metz, Lothringen, the former French province of
Lorraine. At the time a struggling Accountant, Helmut Fleischer
had met the then Gertrude Sanson at a flower stall in that town
and somehow he'd recognised a kindred spirit.
Gertrude had been an ill-educated daughter of a flower-seller
when they'd met. Helmut, a German 'Jack the Lad' with big
ambitions, had intrigued her with dreams of wealth and
opportunity. He had, though, a disturbing habit of helping
himself to his employer's money. With the law closing in, they'd
fled to East-Africa.
Their life had been a topsy-turvy world of poverty and wealth.
They had lost two fortunes before finally gaining some measure of
security in Africa. Gertrude, though, never lost faith in her
husband's ability to set things right.
Helmut knows how to pick partners in business. He is a shrewd
judge of character, and in Guy he found someone with an amoral
lust for money that matched his own. They'd worked well together
and between them had amassed a sizable fortune.
One thing Helmut cannot do, however, is to please his wife in the
bedroom. It had confused her at first; blaming herself for not
being attractive enough for him, but then the awful truth had
come out. Helmut Fleischer prefers the company of men.
"How is your daughter progressing with the good Capitain?" Guy
asks her.
Gertrude gets up from her chair and draws the curtains.
"Very well monsieur, she is playing a very clever hand," Gertrude
tells him as she moves towards the big canopied bed.
"No doubt, ma cherie, she has been thoroughly schooled?"
Guy stands behind her as she pins aside the mosquito netting. His
eyes are fixed on the familiar sight of Gertrude's big rounded
bottom as it stretches the silk of her flowing long dress. The
woman pulls one of the pillows down from the head of the bed and
arranges it on the covers before her. She stands back up as Guy
moves a little nearer.
"She's doing fine without my help. It must be in the blood,"
Gertrude explains.
Guy takes her hand and places it on the front of his trousers. As
she starts to rub him, he places his own hands on the woman's
large derriere and caresses her.
"And when will you have a taste of the confection yourself?" Guy
asks. "He has distracted you, I can tell."
Guy bunches up the fabric of Gertrude's dress, gradually raising
the hem to her knees.
"As usual you presume too much, Guy. What makes you think I could
take liberties with the husband of my own daughter?"
She sucks in her lip as the hem slides over her thighs. Deftly,
she picks at the fly-buttons of Guy's trousers. With one hand
holding her dress, Guy unbuttons himself and presents his growing
erection to the Madam's hand.
"Because, ma cherie, I know you so well!"
Gertrude sucks in her breath and curls her hand around Guy's
cock. With just the right amount of pressure she slowly works it
up and down.
"Besides, he hasn't officially asked her... uh... yet. He may get
cold... uh... feet?"
Guy pulls the hem up over her bottom. As usual, she's naked
underneath and his tongue dries out at the sight of those great
white swells of flesh. Eagerly he squeezes her cheeks and pushes
his fingers into her cleft. His cock jumps and becomes ramrod
hard. With his middle finger he teases the hot slippery entrance
to her sex.
Madame bends over a little, allowing Guy more access with his
finger. She sucks in more air and shivers.
"Has she sampled the... uh... goods yet?" Guy asks.
Bending forward, Frau Fleischer sets her elbows on the pillow in
front of her. Guy rolls her dress up and tucks it up her back,
before resuming his stroking of her. He slides his cock into the
cleft of her bottom and moves it back and forth. His finger is
still inserted in her vagina.
"My daughter... uh... is keeping him... uh... interested. A...
oh... a little... uh... playing, I think."
"Has he shown... uh... her all that... uh... he has to offer?"
Guy moves the head of his cock lower.
"I... oh... uh... believe so," she gasps.
As Guy pushes himself into her, she braces herself against the
onrush of sensation. Holding her by the hips for leverage, Guy's
thrusts are slow and deep.
"You would prefer it... if he were... uh... standing... right
here?"
"You tease! Oh... no... uh... oh... yes...."
Guy pushes into her with more urgency. Gertrude's legs strain
with the effort of keeping her body supported. She bites into the
pillow as Guy's hard pounding threatens to shove her headlong
over the bed. Growling, Guy withdraws from her and she feels the
warm splashing of his liquid over her bottom and thighs.
Breathing heavily, Guy watches as she lies face down on the bed.
Urgently, she puts her hand to her pussy and frantically rubs,
squirming her bottom as she does so.
"That's it, my lady, feel the Kommandant's cock."
"Yes... oh yes...," she gasps.
"He wants you...badly," Guy continues.
"OooHHH... OOOHHH...." She moans louder and louder, her hand
becoming a blur.
Screaming, she jerks her pelvis against the bed cover in two,
three long spasms.
Afterwards, Guy watches as she lies still. Her head is buried in
the pillow and Guy thinks he can hear her sobbing.
"Gertrude?" he asks, concerned.
"Go, now," she tells him in a small voice.
Tactfully, he fixes his trousers and backs out the door. Lottie,
Gertrude's servant is standing out in the hall. She smiles at the
Frenchman.
"Herr Martin gave it to her good!" she tells him.
"You are too nosey, Lottie."
Putting an arm around the maid, he plants a big sloppy kiss on
the girl's mouth.
"You got some left for me?" she asks, grinning.
"Not today," he replies. "Perhaps in a day or two."
"The mistress too much for you?"
Rubbing the girl's stomach, he replies,
"Put it this way, I'll be grateful when the Hauptmann can lend a
hand," he laughs, "how's our son?"
"Daughter." She smiles. "Shemba says it's a girl."
-----------------------------------------------------------------
The river Pangali is one of the great tributaries of the Rufiji.
50 kilometres from the town of Uwimbi it divides into the greater
and lesser Pangali. Some way along the latter river in the early
evening, a group of horse soldiers canter towards a rise. They
are responding to a column of dust seen earlier. Wachtmeister
Julius Mashona pulls his horse up halfway to the ridge and
dismounts. Creeping up the rest of the way, he looks out, putting
a pair of binoculars to his eyes.
"Motorcar and a lorry," he announces to his companions, "heading
southeast."
"British?" a white officer asks.
"Can't tell, Herr Leutnant."
Leutnant Spangenburg follows the Wachtmeister to the ridge and
stares for some time at the dots under the dust cloud. Taking his
binoculars from his face he looks for a moment at the Askari,
thinking.
"Let's take a closer look," he suggests, eventually.
The Wachtmeister signals to the rest of the squad and retrieves
the reins of his waiting horse. Together they trot at an angle to
the progress of the distant vehicles. Spangenburg turns to the
man nearest him. He's holding the black/white pennant of the
squadron.
"Lower that, Llongwe, I think the Union Jack,"
Grinning, the man gathers in the flag on his staff. From his
saddlebag he pulls out a British flag and replaces the German
colours. As they near the little convoy, it begins to slow. While
the rest of the troop range themselves alongside, Spangenburg and
the Wachtmeister pull their mounts up in front. From the backseat
of the car, a head pokes out.
"WHAT'S THE TROUBLE?" the man asks in English.
Replying, Spangenburg, a fluent English speaker, tells the man to
alight from the car, 'if you please.' Already, the Askaris have
pulled the lorry driver, complaining, from the cab of his
vehicle.
"THEY'RE BLASTED BOCHES," the Englishman splutters and orders his
driver to continue.
The driver, however, has other thoughts as he stares into the
muzzle of a Mauser rifle. Still staring, he climbs down from the
car.
"I'm sorry, General," the Indian apologises to his passenger.
"Scoundrel!" the General mutters as he resigns to the inevitable.
Upon alighting from the car, he pulls himself erect and looks
Spangenburg in the eye,
"Brigadier-General Maitland-Evans, Indian Army. Whom do I have
the honour of addressing?"
"Leutnant Spangenburg, East-African Light Cavalry Detachment,
East African Defence Force. Your servant sir!" The German
replies, formally.
Spangenburg knew he'd netted a large fish, a very large fish.
"I shall complain to your General about the use of a British
flag, Lieutenant. Damned underhand and illegal, sir."
"I apologise, Herr General," Spangenburg replies, "but your lorry
might have been full of soldiers. Until we knew, I thought it
prudent to adopt a disguise."
"Well..." the General blusters. "I suppose you are going to
supply me with a horse, or do you expect me to walk to your
encampment?"
"You may ride in your car if you prefer Herr General. I must,
however, provide you with a guide to show you the way. Your
weapons, please?"
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Meanwhile, in the public office of the 'Kaiserlichen
Dampferendienst', or 'Imperial Steamboat Service,' Hildegard von
Masurien-Linksdorff and I are going over the river traffic
movements. We're trying to organise an evacuation procedure
should Rungwa need to be abandoned. Standing together behind the
tall counter, we are the only ones present.
"So where would you take us, upriver or down?" she asks.
"No point in going into the interior. It'll have to be downriver
to the lake, then down the Pangali as far as the coast."
"But the British have it blocked."
"Have you any British flags?" I ask her, grinning.
"'Un ruse de guerre'? We'll need coal and supplies?"
"We'll steal it!" I tell her.
"You're crazy!" she exclaims. "Not to mention an overland trek to
the headwaters of the Pangali.... then by canoe to Uwimbi...
hmm... wait a minute!"
Hildegard searches through a stack of Marconi forms on the desk.
Excitedly she pulls a telegram from the stack and presents it to
me.
"There," she says, "SS Goethe, 980 tonnes... it's laid up at
Uwimbi awaiting a cargo. We could hike overland from here, direct
to the Pangali."
I consider for a moment."That's tough country - to take
civilians..."
"We can walk! The British will be on the lake. It'd be much safer
overland."
"I'll need to think about this," I tell her.
Together we make our plans. Dividing people by the number of
available horses and other details.
"Your big guns?" she asks.
"We'll tip them in the river, that'll release more horses for
transport."
Sometime through the conversation, my mind starts to drift to
matters carnal. The Fraulein and I have shared too many of our
nights together since I first entered Rungwa. It's impossible for
me to be alone around her without some memory of our steamy
encounters. Her body has become as familiar to me as my pay book
with its sporadic entries. I move a little closer so our hips
touch. The Fraulein gives me a little sidelong grin before
continuing with the discussion. It's as if our bodies have become
wireless transmitters, for verbal communication is unnecessary.
Casually, her hand touches my bottom, two fingers tracing my
well-muscled contours. In response, my hand finds itself
caressing hers. She leans in, brushing her shoulder against me.
I look around the office, assessing our security for the
operation I have in mind. The cane blinds are pulled down against
the sun and no one can see in.
My hand travels up from her bottom to around her waist. Hildegard
touches me lightly on the front of my short trousers and examines
my state of readiness. Taking a deep breath, she begins to undo
my buttons.
"Are you always on alert, Herr Hauptmann?"
"One must never let one's guard down," I reply.
"Oh but you must!" She laughs. "I'm sure it could become quite
discomforting."
Releasing the main battery from its embrasure, her hand continues
to manipulate me under the privacy of the counter. Falling to her
knees, she engulfs my rigid member with her mouth. After a little
while of her ministrations I'm becoming desperate. Withdrawing,
she suggests we retire out back to a less exposed position.
In pre-war times the office was the private retreat of Fraulein
Masurien. In these leaner times, however it is used mostly for
storage. Against one wall are stacks of files in boxes. Spare
life buoys are stored in one corner and left luggage and parcels
are piled haphazardly by the door. Hildegard's unused desk
dominates the centre of the room. It's now stacked high with
paper. The Fraulein heaves the pile onto the floor and sits on
the oak table, kicking her legs and grinning mischievously.
"Come here," she says in a low voice.
Closing the distance, we fiercely kiss as her hand grabs my cock.
My hands squeeze the contents of her shirt; those big, beautiful,
soft mounds. Urgently I tear at her buttons; frantically she
scrabbles down her shorts. Finally she lies exposed, the flaps of
her shirt pulled wide, her shorts lying at her feet. Thus I fall
onto her.
Fitting me inside her, she says,
"You need to show Trudi a little of this... I think."
Slowly stroking into her, I reply.
"Unlike you... my dear... she's fertile."
"So? Then you'd have to... marry her... Faster my dear... uh...
that's better."
"You want... uh... to be a nanny?"
She looks at me for a moment, her eyes a moist.
"You... me... Trudi... oh... uh... harder! And... Baby... oh...
perfect... yes... oh... oh... do it... oh..."
Growling I slam hard into her in rapid thrusts. Hildegard
babbles, her legs scissor me around the back, she grabs at me and
tries to pull me down. She lifts herself up to meet me, trying to
push as much of my cock inside her as possible. Presently, she
screams through clenched teeth as I pump another load of
scorching liquid deep inside.
Later, we lie together holding each other tight. Hildegard
murmurs in my ear. Compliments and other less intelligible
things.
"You must put a child in her, I think," she says.
"What?" I ask, astonished.
"Yes, then we might become a big happy family, no?"
"What are you saying, Hildegard?"
"Trudi, you, me and Wolfgang junior. We would be perfect!"
"That would be scandalous!"
"But first, you must take care of the poor Frau Fleischer," she
continues. "She really is quite desperate, poor thing!"
I look down at her smiling, impish face. Her breasts flop,
quivering to her sides, the nipples face outward as if
embarrassed by the discussion. I roll the great mounds back into
their rightful position and touch each stiff nipple with my lips.
Hildegard twitches.
"Careful! Even the great Herr Hauptmann hasn't that sort of
stamina."
Realisation strikes me like a lightning bolt from the heavens. I
shake my head in disbelief. My upbringing in the conservative
Baltic port of Stralsund surely didn't prepare me for such goings
on.
"Trudi!" I gasp, "that's who you're really after, Trudi!
You're..."
"I'm what?" she says, smiling. "Unnatural? Abnormal? Or capable
of love irrespective of someone's gender?"
"But... I mean... what about me? I mean... are you using me
to...."
"For sex!" she finishes my question "Of course. To snag my little
Trudi? Yes. 'A man for pleasure, but a woman for love'."
"You calculating bitch!"
Her face sets. She looks at me, appraising.
"Y'know, the trouble with you men is that you don't know when
you're well off. As I said a long time ago, just stay in the
saddle and enjoy the gallop!"
"And do what I'm told!" I tell her, grimly.
"Do your duty, yes, like a good officer and leave the thinking to
your superiors. Now get your clothes on, Herr Hauptmann, before
the world starts looking for us."
-----------------------------------------------------------------
News reaches Rungwa promptly of the capture of the English
Brigadier. Spangenburg sends the information with one of his
riders allowing some preparation for the captive to be made. It
is late afternoon before the convoy is sighted. The Africans
gather so I order the Askari guard to form up before the police
station. A motorcar is something of a rarity in this part of the
world, as is a British General, and everyone wants to see.
The General alights from the vehicle, a luxurious Vauxhall Prince
Henry, while a Thornycroft lorry manoeuvres to a shuddering halt
in the town square. When the clattering of the engines dies down,
I greet our captive.
"Hauptmann Ritter, Kommandant of Rungwa, Herr General, welcome!"
Spangenburg translates for me. He explains that the General wants
to know where von Lettow is.
"I have told him, Herr Hauptmann, that he is elsewhere
campaigning. However he wishes to make a formal complaint about
the use of a British flag during our attack on his convoy."
"A British flag? Shameful of you Leutnant," I tell him,
attempting to keep a straight face. "I will expect a full report
of the incident. Tell the General I'll consider this issue."
"Jawohl, Herr Hauptmann." Spangenburg passes on the conversation
to the satisfaction of the Britisher.
Guy Martin presents himself to me as an alternative translator
allowing Spangenburg to attend to his weary troopers and horses.
His English appears fluent, as far as I can tell, and translates
almost instantaneously, unlike even Spangenburg.
"The General wishes to know," Guy says, "where he and his party
will be accommodated?"
"Tell him we'll find space at the hotel. I will move around some
of the NCO's. I want to know where the General was heading so far
away from his army and in the middle of nowhere?"
After a long conversation, during which I grow in impatience, Guy
tells me he was bound for M'papua from Kilamintinde when his
'fool of a driver,' lost the way in a dust storm.
"Apparently," Guy adds, "the railway has been sabotaged. Such
vandals! I understand he was catching a train from there back to
Daressalam."
"Good grief! He's more than 100 kilometres out of his way!"
"Rather more now, I think," says Guy, grinning.
The lorry contains the man's household; furniture, wardrobe and
all the comforts of a long campaign. While the General is
escorted to his lodgings, our officers pore through the harvest,
looking for any useful scraps of information. Despite our efforts
to guard the cargo, the lorry is pillaged mercilessly by unknown
parties that night.
Although the motor vehicles have been adapted for the most
extreme conditions, I judge that they'd be useless for any
evacuation. Additionally, it'd be next to impossible finding
enough petrol to keep the thirsty beasts running. Nevertheless,
some artist is already painting the crest of our unit and an Iron
Cross on the doors. The boys can't help stamping their brand on
our new acquisitions.
----------------------------------------------------------------
I order mounted patrols to keep watch for any search parties the
English may send out. No doubt, they wouldn't overlook the
absence of so important an officer. Some days later, a rider
arrives with the news that a small column has been sighted, and
it appears to be headed in our direction.
I order action stations and send the men to the rifle pits. Our
two Krupp guns are loaded and ready and the big 10.5cm is ordered
prepared. We then sit and wait for the expected onslaught.
Presently, a group of riders hove into view. Not the enemy,
however, for they fire two shots into the air, the day signal for
our own troops. They turn out to be some members of one of our
patrols, plus a haggard looking Hauptmann Wahl of the Viktoriasee
Abteilung.
"There's nothing more to be done there," he tells me. "The
Belgians have occupied Ruanda province and the British are strung
out between M'uansa and Tabora. We have less than 150 able-bodied
troops left. We've left behind maybe 1000 men, Ritter, between
here and the Viktoriasee. Malaria, mostly. Most of the
Konigsburg's crew are all down with it. I sent the bulk of the
Askaris off. I only have the most loyal with me. They have walked
1000 kilometres; please do what you can for them."
"I shall send horses and whatever wagons I can lay my hands on."
"Good, good," Wahl says weakly. "I must see the General...."
The Hauptmann tells me he plans to rest a while, then to head
southwest towards von Lettow. A sterling fellow, after such
deprivations he's still anxious to get back into the fight.
"Rhodesia... yes... then I shall cut into the Kongo and give
those Belgian swine a little taste, eh?" he mumbles, more to
himself than to the little audience. "They're bastards, Ritter,
bastards! Ritter?" he pleads, "don't let your people fall into
their hands... I'll tell you... they're worse than the Dutch!
Promise me?"
I tell him I didn't intend to allow myself into anyone's' hands.
"Brave words, Ritter. You have, what, a few hundred here?"
"1000, in round figures," I tell him.
"Too few," Wahl insists, "your perimeter is too large to defend
with that many. Come with me to von Lettow. We must consolidate
now."
"How is the enemy disposed?" I ask him.
"The Belgians have their main forces in Ruanda. They are busy
claiming the territory as their own and are not moving. The
British are in Tabora but are busy repairing the railway. That
should take them at least a month. We burnt the three trestle
bridges at Tura when we passed through."
"Ah, so you are the vandals?" I grin.
"Yes. We had to hide from their patrols for days afterwards. They
were not pleased!"
I send the Hauptmann to the Hotel to rest while I order the
transport to set out for the remains of his detachment.
Although the news from the north is grim, I'm not downcast. If
Wahl is correct, we shouldn't see anything of the enemy for at
least 6 weeks. Time, I think, for us to organise.
---------------------------------------------------------------
That evening, I feel strange after the revelations concerning
Hildegard. I smoke my after dinner cigar alone on the Fraulein's
balcony, watching the sight of the herdsmen bringing in their
stock for the night. I'm struggling to make sense of it all. Of
course I've heard of women who prefer women, as there are men
that prefer their own gender. But it's beyond my understanding
how Hildegard can bed me, and apparently enjoy herself, when all
this time she is in love with Trudi Fleischer. Indeed, it seems
to me I've been used as some strange proxy, reporting everything
in minute detail back to Hildegard. Everything, from the way she
looked, the way her body felt, things she said and the way she
said it.
"Are you in a sulk?" asks Hildegard as she comes out to join me.
"I... I don't understand you," I shrug.
"That's because you think too much," she tells me, "and not with
your brain. Men are incapable of love, only lust. Put a baby into
Trudi and marry her, in no particular order. Then bring her back
here, that is all you need to understand."
"For you? Are you sure Trudi wants to... with you?"
"She is young and curious, she will!" she says, confidently. "You
may have your honeymoon, of course, and I'm sure she'll still
want a man afterwards, occasionally. I'm sure you won't miss
out."
"That's not the point!" I explain, "how can it be a proper
marriage... with you... and she... and..."
"A proper marriage?" she asks, "what may I ask is a 'proper'
marriage. How many 'proper' marriages do you see, eh? Go on, name
one, and I'll show you great unhappiness. Were your own parents
content?"
"I, uh, I suppose so. My father was away at sea for so long
that..."
"Navy?" she asks.
"A Kapitan. Of the SMS Frauenlob.... My mother seemed happy
enough when he came home."
"Seemed? You don't 'seem' so sure?"
"Well... I suppose they fought sometimes - and Papa used to drink
a lot - but everyone argues, don't they?"
"Of course," Hildegard replies, "and he would rather drink than
make love to his wife?"
"That's not fair! You can't know..."
"My dear, I'm still waiting to hear of a 'proper' marriage?"
I raise my hands in resignation. I had to concede I knew of none,
especially in Rungwa.
"There!" she says, triumphantly, "now we can make some progress!"
----------------------------------------------------------------
This war is involving more countries and peoples than anytime in
recorded history. A vast upheaval of hopes, dreams and morality
is taking place before our eyes. Small wonder that Hildegard's
description of her strange desires should fall on fertile ground.
Indeed it seems that anything is possible these days. When vast
armies are pounding themselves into oblivion and unbelievable
cruelties visited upon ordinary lives, her plans seem almost
mundane.
My marriage to Trudi would provide the impression of
respectability. Perhaps, to the outside world, we might be
congratulated for giving a roof over the head to a poor
dispossessed spinster woman. So much about family life seems
taken with the pomp and veneer of normalcy. In reality, perhaps
it always was just a bold lie.
The next morning Lottie, the Fleischer's maid, delivers a message
asking me if I'd call on the lady of the house that evening.
Madame Fleischer wants to discuss my 'intentions' with her
daughter. Lottie, a sweet girl of about 20, looks a little
rounded in the middle since the last time I'd seen her. 'Is there
no end of it?'
I try and avoid Hildegard's smug expression. She tells me I must
wear my Navy whites complete with officer's sword.
"Gertrude Fleischer will be most impressed," she explains, "I
hear she gets quite overcome at the sight of a full dress
uniform."
When I return for her inspection, she positively drools. Clearly
Madame Fleischer isn't the only one to go weak at the sight of a
clean crisp uniform. After asking me to parade in front of her,
she decides there's one little detail that requires fixing.
Kneeling, she tells me I need to relax more, before kissing the
front of my trousers. Resigning to her wishes, I allow her to
pull my cock free and 'relax' me with her mouth.
"Rest assured, Herr Hauptmann, I shall not spill a drop on your
uniform," she tells me.
The lady is true to her word.
----------------------------------------------------------------
Frau Fleischer waits for me in the drawing room. She apologises
for her husband, telling me he is away on 'business'. The
'business' of Herr Fleischer doesn't bear too much speculation.
No doubt the Police chief, Inspektor Palmier, has been well
provided for and is thus not too curious. 'Such is the nature of
Rungwa,' I sigh to myself. Gertrude smiles at my attire.
"A most handsome display, Herr Hauptmann," she tells me.
She glides around the room furiously fanning herself, even though
I don't think it's too hot. Her graceful elegance appears to have
fallen away a little and she seems as fidgety as her husband.
"I've asked you here," she says, a little uncertainly, "because
I've become aware that you've been seeing a lot of my daughter."
She punctuates her little speech with a wry grin. Betraying,
perhaps, a little double meaning in the phrase, 'seeing a lot.'
"I wish to know," she goes on, "just what your future intentions
are?"
Momentarily lost for words, even though I have been rehearsing in
my mind, the Madame fills in the little pause for me.
"My daughter is such a passionate creature," she continues,
"surely it would be most ill-mannered of you to allow her to
believe you had any but the most honourable intentions?"
She emphasises the word, 'passionate.' With all that Hildegard
has told me about this lady, I can't help thinking that in
reality she's describing herself.
"No, Frau Fleischer," I manage to break through my inertia,
"please rest assured I have only but the most honourable of
'intentions'."
'Heavens,' I think to myself, 'this is such a farce!'
"Good. Do you wish to propose marriage to her? In these times, it
would be prudent not to delay too long."
"I would be happy to do so," I tell her.
"Well said!" The lady pulls the bell rope for the maid. "A little
celebratory champagne?" she suggests.
Sometime later she orders another bottle as the first is laid to
rest. The atmosphere is changed in the room to one of
light-heartedness. I am measured in my drinking, due to a low
tolerance to its effects. Gertrude, however, is less restrained.
Being French, I suppose, she was raised on the stuff.
"I'm sure," she says, "that my daughter will be quite a handful,
even for you. She has always been most wilful and determined."
"Perhaps like her mother?"
"I always get what I want," she tells me, suddenly serious, "is
that so bad?"
"Surely that would depend on what the lady is after?"
"Ah, Herr Hauptmann, and what do you suppose I'd want that I
don't already have? Do you see this diamond?"
She points to a large necklace at her throat. She holds it up for
my inspection. It would not disgrace a Tsarina.
"Have you any idea what this is worth?"
I confess I know nothing of jewellery. I do suggest, however,
that perhaps money isn't everything.
"No indeed," she replies, "but if you'd known the poverty that I
have...."
She tails off the sentence. Clapping her hands, she orders more
Champagne.
"Hauptmann?" she asks, her face grim, "there's one more thing I
wish to discuss with you."
She closes the distance a little towards me. My heart leaps in
expectation.
"I understand you have plans to evacuate Rungwa - and perhaps
continue the fight elsewhere?"
"I have a plan," I tell her, "to move out those who choose to go.
I intend to make for the coast -perhaps find a ship - or..."
"Then where?" she asks.
"I hope to make it back home, uh, eventually."
"Ah, and then what? Join a warship?"
"Something like that," I explain, "I'll present myself to the
Navy for whatever...."
"And my Trudi? She becomes a Navy wife?"
"I guess so," I reply.
"A man such as you... can't think of something, ah, more
rewarding?"
"Such as?"
"Some business opportunities. Perhaps with a little capital..."
"Me... a businessman!" I exclaim, "I know nothing...."
"Well then, perhaps you need a little advice." She continues, "I
hear that there are many opportunities in America. Have you
considered that?"
"No," I confess.
"Perhaps then, you might consider it. I'd... be willing to
offer... ah... my advice to any enterprise. I have been running
the business side of things here for years. My husband... ah...
is not too careful, you see. He trades, indeed, he can charm a
merchant out of his stock, but he lacks... ah... skill in
handling things."
I'm at a lost for words. I shake my head in confusion. The lady
moves closer and puts her hand in mine. She is swaying a little
from the effects of the alcohol.
She lowers her voice, "I recognise in you great talent, Herr
Hauptmann. You have a clear and wise head; you're handsome and
charming. Such qualities will go far, I think."
She squeezes my hand. Madame's height is at least the equal of my
own, therefore her eyes are level and shine into mine.
"Take me with you, Herr Hauptmann. I can help you - indeed you
need me."
"I do? I mean... " I stumble out my words. "Your husband?"
"He can't go back," she says. "The fool will be arrested. He has
fraud charges everywhere and unsavoury types wanting to cut him
into little bits!"
"He does?"
"He's careless and greedy - unlike you, Herr Hauptmann. You
haven't the, ah, flaws he has. You're a real man, Herr Hauptmann,
a real man."
Breathing deeply her gaze wanders from my head to toe. Sighing,
her diamond necklace twitches as her heavy chest heaves.
"... And very talented too, ah, so I hear." She says, "At least
the Fraulein Masurien thinks so. I think," she continues,
dragging a middle finger down my chest, "that my daughter will be
very lucky to have you... as a husband. Very lucky indeed!"
My hands of themselves drift towards the Madame's waist. Catching
her lip, she whispers,
"No! Not here, Herr Hauptmann... not yet."
I hastily withdraw my hands. Frau Fleischer walks over to the
bell rope and tugs on it. Turning back to me she says,
"You must go now, I think. Perhaps you can call on me tomorrow...
around midday. Lottie will show you the way... good night, Herr
Hauptmann."
The maid enters and show's me to the door. Grinning I make my way
back to Hildegard's.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
The next morning I answer a request from Spangenburg to visit a
cattle ranch, some 10 kilometres out of town. The ranch is owned
by an aristocrat who returned to the colours shortly before the
war. He'd left the property in the hands of his farm manager.
Spangenburg intimated I'd find something interesting in one of
the out buildings. As I ride up, Spangenburg has one of the white
NCO's with him, a Feldwebel in the technical services.
"It's in that shed, Herr Hauptmann," Spangenburg proudly
announces, "pretty good condition too, considering."
In the outbuilding is a canvas, wood and wire contraption that
could only be an aeroplane. It's spindly appearance looks
toy-like, or a chicken coup gone horribly wrong.
"It's a Taube," the Feldwebel tells me, "An Etrich. That motor is
a French Gnome, if I'm not mistaken, or one of our copies."
"So?" I ask, "it is nothing but a toy for the Junker. I can't see
what use it could be here. Even if you can get it flying, it can
only carry one person, and barely at that."
A Taube (Dove) is a pre-war monoplane design that was quite
common before the superior qualities of the biplane became
obvious. To turn, you have to warp the wings with the use of
control wires. These fan out from the top of a post that stands
in front of the pilot's cockpit. It gives the impression of being
in a cage. The wings are shaped like those of a bird, hence the
name, and curve back in a most graceful manner. It is nothing
more than a sporting aeroplane, and I fail to see any useful role
for it.
"Reconnaissance!" declares Spangenburg. "We can see for
kilometres from it. There is petrol aplenty for it in the shed
over there."
"Petrol, you say?" I'm suddenly interested. "Now that is useful."
The Feldwebel and Spangenburg look expectantly at me. I can't see
any harm if they wish to waste their spare time in getting this
machine flying. I therefore allow them to do what they can with
it, providing their duties are not neglected. I leave them to
their toy and ride on back to town.
I order 'our' lorry to go and retrieve the petrol, leaving
sufficient for Spangenburg's team to complete their venture.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
I take morning tea with the British General. An awning has been
erected behind the hotel with excellent views of the river.
There, the Britisher's 'batman' servant and staff from the hotel
ferry delicacies to the table. It's quite peaceful and weirdly
unreal in the middle of a war. Inspektor Palmier, Guy Martin,
George Carpentier, the teacher, and some of the other leading
citizens are also present. Guy is required to perform translation
duties as usual.
"The General wishes to know," Guy says, "how you can live so well
in the middle of a war, with your coast blockaded, and enemies
all around you?"
"Tell him the whole of the German Empire is living like this."
Guy grins as he passes it on. The General nearly chokes on the
fresh pate.
"He thinks India is the same. 'A deuced fine life,' he says."
After tea a box of cigars is passed around. The General reads the
band of his Havana and exclaims,
"I'll be damned if they're not from the Officer's Club in
Mombassa! How the devil did you lot get your hands on them?"
Guy looks sheepish as he translates. I shrug a reply in his
direction. In Rungwa, surprises are everywhere.
"Damned thieves!" the General mutters as he lights up.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
-
After lunch, I answer Frau Fleischer's request to visit her. I
dress in my khakis, albeit with my white service cap. Not as
resplendent as last night perhaps, but not undignified.
Wordlessly, Lottie shows me upstairs to the third door on the
landing. Tapping, Lottie advises me to go right on in.
As I suspected, it's the lady's boudoir. Frau Fleischer sits on a
chair by the big window, gazing at something in the middle
distance. Next to her is a pair of binoculars.
"I can see your Trudi," she says without moving, "she wanders
amid the native quarters too much, I fear."
"Oh?"
"She has been doing that since she was a little girl. Now I think
it's inappropriate, don't you agree?"
"I dare say she won't come to harm," I reply.
"Harm? No. I was thinking, she may learn a bit more than what is
good for her."
I walk up beside her and follow her gaze. Trudi is sitting
chatting to a mixed group of African teenagers watching a native
game in progress. It resembles what the French call 'Petanque.'
"Doctor Otto does his best," she continues, "but the Africans,
they're not like us. Those young people... they are used to far
more freedom than... we whites consider proper. Don't you think?"
"Different cultures, I guess!" I reply.
"Yes different, Herr Hauptmann," she answers quickly, "not wrong
or right... but different, no?"
"Precisely, Frau Fleischer."
"You know, a man can have as many as four wives. We tell them
it's wrong, but it makes perfect sense to me."
"How so?" I ask.
"You are never lonely, Herr Hauptmann, see? They are like sisters
together. They help each other, care for one another. In their
world, you are never left alone to dream of how things might have
been if, ah, if only... Oh, I'm sorry, Herr Hauptmann, I
sometimes give myself over to... well dreams, I think."
"You are lonely, Frau Fleischer?" I ask.
She lowers her head and nods briefly.
"I'm sorry." I swallow.
Collecting herself, she turns her eyes to me and asks if I'd
thought about her proposal.
"A little," I confess, "I, I gather Fraulein Masurien wishes to
accompany us also."
"Yes," she says, "she would! She has her eyes on your bride to
be."
"You know?"
"There's not much I don't know in this god-forsaken little hole,
Herr Hauptmann. I've known about the Fraulein's... tastes, since
we first set up here."
"You don't mind?"
"I doubt I'll get a say in the matter. My daughter knows what is
what. She'll please herself, she always does. How do you feel
about sharing your nuptials, Herr Hauptmann? I presume you've
been practicing hard for the great day?"
I blush red with embarrassment.
"Oh, we can't have any secrets between us, especially not in
Rungwa. You'll knock that cottage of von Masurien's off its
foundations if you're not careful. And as for my daughter...
she's told me you are very considerate... and most adequately
endowed."
"She what? She told..."
"Of course, Hauptmann Ritter. My daughter and I are most open
about things. She's very keen to have your children, Kommandant,
very keen. And you seem quite admirably equipped for that task -
so I hear."
"I... I..."
"Oh, you really must brush up on your diction." She laughs.
"Does Trudi know I'm here?"
"Of course."
Almost absently, Frau Fleischer lifts herself from the chair and
closes the curtains. Lazily, she strolls to the bed and pins back
the mosquito net.
"At this time of day," she says, "I usually take a nap. Perhaps
you may wish to... lie with me awhile?"
I follow her to the large canopied bed. Gertrude moves across to
give me room and lies still, on her back. A look of nervous
expectation is on her face. As I join her, she lifts her head for
me to put an arm around her. Sighing, she snuggles in beside me.
"You mustn't think me a wanton woman, Herr Hauptmann," she
whispers. "For me, life is a good deal more complex than you can
imagine."
"I think I understand,"
"I doubt that you do," she replies, stroking my chest lightly.
"If you move your hand... so... you may discover I have nothing
on underneath!"
She takes my hand and guides it under her dress. My cock jumps as
I feel slippery, naked thighs ending in the moist, crinkly,
forest of her sex. Lifting her body, she allows me to pull her
dress up and over her head. Once more a woman lies quivering and
naked before me. She studies carefully as I shed my own clothes,
her eyes glow with excitement.
Falling into her arms, I kiss her face, nibble and suck my way
down to her big breasts. Gertrude gasps and moans with each
touch. Eventually she whispers thickly to me,
"You needn't take your time... please... put it in me."
I oblige the lady and push myself inside her. As if she's just
received an electric shock, she writhes and stabs back at me. Her
nails sting my bottom as she tries to pull even more of me inside
her. She urges me to go faster and harder still, while hollering
and shouting filthy things.
Later, sweat-soaked and thoroughly exhausted, we rub each other
down with towels. Frau Fleischer had come perhaps two or three
times, before I at last succumbed. Perhaps some weeks of practice
at Fraulein Masurien's had prepared me well for the workout.
Suffice to say, the lady is most pleased. As if pre-arranged,
Lottie, her maid, taps on the door and looks in.
"Ah Lottie," says Frau Fleischer, "the gentleman will be staying
awhile. Please tell my daughter she needn't hurry home. And
Lottie?" she asks as the maid makes to go, "you may have the
afternoon off."
(C)Katzmarek <1st attachment end>
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