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Subject: {ASSM} Ostafrika (Part 4) By Katzmarek (Slow, MF, Hist, Rom)
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<1st attachment, "Ostafrika 4.txt" begin>
OSTAFRIKA 04
By KATZMAREK(C)
-------------------------------------------------------------
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 4) Gerda
"Ach!" mutters the Feldwebel, "look boy, see that blueing around the
crank journal?"
The new 'apprentice' mechanic nods.
"It has run out of oil at some time, see? The metal has become
brittle and will fracture. We'll need to strip down the
spare engine and use the best parts to rebuild a good one."
The two men work on into the night on their improvised workbench in
the old shed. They are surrounded by pieces of motor and tools in an
effort to get the cranky Gnome aero-engine running. Nearby, several
soldiers are busy 'doping' the wings and fuselage of the old
aeroplane. Our resident 'artist' has turned up to paint iron crosses
on the wings. It has become a community project.
Leutnant Spangenburg has assembled the makings of a ground crew and
support staff for our little air force. The only person lacking is
someone to fly it.
News travels fast in the little East-African community of Rungwa. In
no time, everyone is aware of Spangenburg's efforts to get the
absentee aristocrat's old Etrich Taube in the air. Some romantics
have even offered themselves as pilots. However none have actually
lifted a flying machine into the air. None, except one woman, Frau
Gerda Carpentier, the schoolteacher.
The pre-war sport of aeroplane flying was mostly reserved for the
sons, and sometimes daughters, of the fairly well-to-do. Although
simple by today's standards, the aeroplanes were all hand built over
many hours and thus quite expensive. Only those with a surfeit of
money and time on their hands could afford to indulge. And of course,
they were, and still are, dangerous, unreliable and temperamental.
Not a 'sensible' pastime for any but the most adventurous.
Gerda Carpentier is the youngest daughter of the von Volk's, the
rich industrialists who made a fortune in mining and steel. From
Saarbruecken, she had the idle upbringing typical of someone born
with a silver spoon. That is, until she met George Carpentier, a man
with a mission to raise the weak and ignorant into the shining light
of civilisation. They married in early 1914 and travelled out to
darkest Africa shortly before the declaration of war.
Frau Carpentier learnt to fly on her father's rolling country estate
in Thuringen. The aeroplane was her brother Jurgen's, a French
Antoinette not unlike the Etrich Taube. Stunning in appearance, and
vivacious in personality, Gerda had no problem in persuading her
brother to teach her.
Having heard Spangenburg was looking for pilots, she immediately
volunteered, convincing George, her husband, it was her Imperial
duty. The Leutnant turned her down flat, however. It was unthinkable,
he said, for a woman to fly an aeroplane in such circumstances. As
the days passed, though, it was becoming increasingly obvious there
was simply no one else.
So, reluctantly Leutnant Spangenburg invited Gerda back to our
little air-station. He thought that, at least, she might be able to
teach one of the 'romantics' to get into the air and land without
wrecking the flying machine.
----------------------------------------------------------------
Meanwhile, I receive a message from von Lettow. The army is heading
for the Mozambique border, having
immobilised the British and South African forces opposing him in
Rhodesia. The General suggests I take our small
force and shadow any allied relief expedition. If possible, we are
to strike at their supply lines. To enable this to happen, we must
not allow ourselves to be discovered and be engaged by the full
strength of the enemy.
The enemy will have to march via Uwimbi to move south from the
railway. Clearly, if we are to be able to use the SS Goethe, we'll
have to move it from there. Therefore I assemble our volunteer crew
of civilian steamboat men and Africans and send them off with an
escort of Spangenburg's cavalry. Their orders are to move the giant
vessel upriver away from the enemy and closer to Rungwa. At their
best speed, it should take them the better part of a day to ride the
distance.
Guy Martin watches the goings-on with interest from his suite of
rooms at the Rungwa Hotel. Leaving his room, he goes down the hall to
the British General's rooms and knocks.
"What's up, Martin, what's the fuss?"
Guy walks to the window and stands beside the General.
"They're going to Uwimbi, General. To get a steamboat, I hear," he
tells him.
"What the deuce for?" the General asks.
"I believe the Captain wishes to sail to the coast."
"Oh does he now!" the General replies, "is the fellow making a run
for it?"
"I think so. And to cover his General, so I've heard. Von Lettow is
bound for Mozambique once again."
"Can you get a message out?" the Britisher asks.
"Maybe," Guy considers. "It is not as easy as before, General.
Spangenburg's troopers are all over the place. I hear they now have
an aeroplane too... I'm afraid it could be very expensive."
"You will be more than adequately compensated, Martin. When you have
arranged matters come and see me. Oh, Martin?" he calls to the
retreating Frenchman, "don't let the grass grow too long, what?"
"Of course, General. Things should be ready in a couple of days."
When the ivory trader goes, Brigadier Maitland-Evans sits at the
writing desk and composes a letter on the hotel stationery. To deal
with such people, he thinks, is distasteful. He really doesn't trust
that snake of a Frenchman and as for that weasel Fleischer...
Traitors and scoundrels the pair of them. Colonies everywhere are
full of such people and it gives him no pleasure to have to associate
with them.
---------------------------------------------------------------
I see off the Uwimbi party with trepidation. I don't like losing the
escorting soldiers and so many valuable horses. The troopers are
under orders to complete their task quickly and return with all the
spare mounts. The steamboat crew will remain with the vessel with a
small number of armed guards to await our arrival. It will be an
anxious three or four days before the escort returns.
Meanwhile I receive a message from Frau Fleischer to visit her. She
attends me in her drawing room. She's moody and depressed and speaks
slowly and deliberately.
"Wolfgang, I think my husband and Guy are up to something," she
tells me. "We must go now, without delay."
"I can't. Not without news of the enemy. Otherwise we could walk
right into them."
She sighs and shakes her head in frustration.
"I am not a party to my husband's affairs," she says. "This is the
first time he hasn't told me what he's doing. Helmut and Guy... they
stop talking when I enter the room - they have these silly looks on
their faces - I know they're up to something and they don't want me
to find out."
I ask her what she does know. She answers that it is not much but
she thinks it has something to do with the British prisoner.
"Perhaps my husband is taking out a little insurance for after the
war," she adds.
"You think they're selling us to the British?" I ask in alarm.
"I don't know," she admits, " but really... what have they got to
lose?"
"Still, treason... I mean..."
"You can't believe it, Wolfgang, because you are an honourable man.
Men like Helmut Fleischer and Guy Martin, they have no honour, only
their greed."
When I leave Gertrude's house, I am stunned and go to see
Spangenburg at our aerodrome. When I pass on the news, he advises me
to lock the two of them up. I can't, in all conscience, take such
measures against civilians, so I decide to enlist the aid of the
Police chief. Inspektor Palmier assures me he will keep an eye on the
pair. Nevertheless I assign a guard to the General with instructions
not to let any unauthorised people near him.
---------------------------------------------------------------
From the railway town of Kilamintinde, on the main line from
Daressalam to Tabora, a giant overstuffed serpent is slowly
uncurling. Provisionally titled 'The East-African Expeditionary
Force,' this army numbers nearly 55,000 and is buttressed by the 10
excellent infantry battalions of the 'King's African Rifles.'
Accompanying the infantry are elements of the 2nd Indian Division,
including a regiment of Bengal Lancers and the 18-pounder batteries
of the Punjabi light horse Artillery.
This giant rolling mass of men and horses begins to snake its way
inexorably towards Uwimbi. A little way out of town, however, the
Bengal Lancers split from the main host and, together with a battery
of guns, head in the general direction of Rungwa.
---------------------------------------------------------------
As yet oblivious to our peril, that evening after dinner, I take
Trudi Fleischer for a ride out to see our aeroplane. For the last
week the pressure of other matters has prevented me from spending
time with my prospective fiancée.
The machine is parked out in front of the shed as we arrive. Gerda
Carpentier and Leutnant Spangenburg are deep in conversation. She
appears to be describing some theory in the science of aviation for
she spreads her arms like wings and swoops around. I sense young
Spangenburg is a little taken with her for he scarcely notices our
arrival.
The aeroplane looks much more the business, although still very
fragile looking. It now sports national insignia on the wings and the
East African crest on the fuselage. Below the pilot's cockpit is
painted a teddy bear with a halo, apparently some symbol from Gerda's
childhood.
The machine can't carry a gun like a military craft. Irrespective of
it's lack of an interrupter gear allowing a machine gun to fire
through the airscrew arc, the 50 horsepower motor is simply not
powerful enough to carry a gun and ammunition as well as a pilot. The
brave woman, however, says she will carry her husband's carbine. How
she is going to fire that weapon while clutching the control stick is
problematic.
"I will hold the stick so, between my knees then fire the rifle like
this, " she says, demonstrating.
Admittedly there is no engine throttle to concern herself with,
merely an off/on switch, but still it looks like it would require the
utmost in dexterity.
Spangenburg looks a little ruffled by our intrusion, therefore I
make an excuse and take Trudi down to the little lake.
"Spangenburg looks like he has adultery on his mind," Trudi says as
we walk hand in hand by the water.
"And what would you know if it?" I ask, suddenly wishing I hadn't.
"I know lots of things," she explains, "I know about you and Mama,
for instance."
"Yes, I guess you would know," I say, chastened.
"She says you were very good to her, very good indeed."
"I... I don't think we need to discuss..."
"Don't be embarrassed, my mother, she's very lonely out here. She
likes you... I'm just glad you could cheer her up."
"You are?"
"Yes. It's not as if there's much else to do in Rungwa" She laughs.
"Everybody's doing it. I'm sure Leutnant Spangenburg has Frau
Carpentier's skirts up as we speak."
Instinctively I look back towards the aerodrome, even though it's a
good 5 kilometres away.
"You think he..."
"Of course he would, you dummy." She giggles. "I think Gerda's
beautiful. Far too good for that stuffy old George Carpentier. And
the Leutnant's quite an eyeful too, or haven't you noticed?"
I shrug my shoulders.
"If I was free, I wouldn't say no to a roll in the loft with him,"
Trudi tells me, grinning impishly.
She goes quiet for a short time, looking out across the lake at the
setting sun. Turning slowly around, she looks into my eyes and utters
in a quiet voice,
"I'm not free, am I?"
"I guess not," I tell her.
"So, are you going to ask me, officially?"
Taking up my courage, I put my hands to her sweet face and gaze into
her eyes. There I perform my duty to the best of my ability. I ask my
lovely Trudi to marry me. Smiling, she insists I kneel before her and
repeat the invitation. Having finally accomplished the task, I take
her head in my hands once again and kiss her.
Trudi presses herself to me as her moist lips and tongue work
against mine. I feel those little twin peaks of hers mash into my
chest. My body tingles with desire as Trudi squirms and clutches me
around my back. She hums, as if in contentment.
"Show me," she whispers in my ear.
I smile at the mention of our old game. Trudi takes things in hand
and begins to undo my buttons. She breathes heavily as I start to do
the same to the front of her long dress. My lover gasps as I draw a
stiff little nipple into my mouth at last. Presently she drops her
outer clothing to stand semi-naked before my appreciative gaze.
'Such a slim and beautiful body she has,' I think to myself. We lie
down in the grass together; her silk-covered thighs immediately trap
my leg as she pulls expertly on my erect member. I lavish praise with
lips and mouth on her bobbing breasts, eliciting more moaning.
Sliding down my body, I feel her honey tongue on my bare thighs and
sense it travel slowly up towards my hard cock.
The night air tickles my skin. It's a strange riot of sensation as
the tip of her tongue lightly probes the underside of my member.
"Mama said you like this," she murmurs to me.
I look down in surprise as she engulfs me with her mouth.
Fascinated, I watch the ringlets of her blond hair swirl around her
bobbing head. Her breasts graze my bare skin. Presently she looks up
at me nervously and whispers my name.
"Mama said there was something else you might like," she says.
As I stare back at her, curious, she lies back down on the ground
and draws down her bloomers. Holding my breath, I see for the first
time the little thatch concealing her sex. She slowly opens her legs
while watching me for my reaction. Gingerly I place my hand over it.
"Do you... like it?" she whispers.
"Beautiful!"
"Mama said... you must make it... slippery, for..."
"For?" I ask quietly.
"To put your... thing in me."
Overjoyed and boiling with desire, I bend down and kiss her between
her legs. Her body jerks and she emits a little gasp. I ask her if
she's all right and she motions for me to continue. I willingly set
about the task of preparing my bride-to-be for physical union. With
me lapping gently at her sex, she writhes and sighs in appreciation.
So expert with the tongue have I become that presently I have her
grinding and moaning in ecstasy, while emitting a fair amount of
lubrication for the next act.
"Are you ready, my love?" I ask her.
She nods, though apprehension is written on her face. Shuffling
forward, I suck her little titties before placing myself at her
entrance. She grits her teeth like a brave trooper. I ease slowly
into her. Curiously there's no obstruction. Not uncommon, so I'm
told, for those used to riding horses. Out in Africa, I have learned
not to question this phenomenon too much.
Virgin or not, Trudi clamps me very snugly indeed. Taking my time, I
work my length slowly inside her until at last she has fitted me
completely. She manages a little smile of triumph at our success, but
I suspect she's not altogether comfortable as yet. I work myself
slowly and gently around while placing my thumb on her button.
Suddenly her eyes flick open wide, she lets go a big rush of air,
and howls through her clenched teeth. Pushing herself hard against me
she stiffens, then relaxes. Having undergone much practice of late, I
am able to hold back my own crisis.
---------------------------------------------------------------
Some five kilometres away, meanwhile, Gerda Carpentier is undergoing
her own crisis. She knows she should have returned home hours ago;
her husband would be growing concerned. At the same time, Leutnant
Spangenburg is a very interesting man indeed. His interest in her is
obvious; he smiles a lot at her, watches her, then pretends he's not.
Gerda, on the other hand, can't resist a little teasing. She smiles
back, flutters her long eyelashes, pushes out her bottom a little
when he's behind her and her chest when he is in front. She's wearing
some borrowed service trousers and a military tunic. Clearly feminine
attire would be a handicap in an aeroplane. Baggy though the
clothes are, Gerda is adept at demonstrating to the Leutnant that
there is a woman's body inside.
'What am I doing?' she asks herself, 'I'm a married woman.' However
the thrill she feels through her body during this little game is
overriding her sense of morality. She looks at the young officer once
more. Notes his brimmed hat with one side pinned to the crown, his
buttoned-up military jacket and cavalry trousers tucked into high
boots. Such a man of action! A brave warrior of the Kaiser fighting
an increasingly hopeless battle. A man of honour and purpose. In
fact, a man not unlike her own husband. Or at least George was,
before setting foot in Africa. She sighs.
For her own George has lost his honour and purpose amid the
debauchery of the white colonists of East Africa. He'd been
corrupted; subverted by the boredom, the isolation and the
licenciousness. Entrusted with the care and education of young
African teenagers, he'd developed favourites. And these 'favourites'
were vulnerable young girls. From guardian to abuser, she knew he'd
crossed the line, and more than once. She didn't think she could
ever forgive him.
'Sweet revenge, or a simple tit for tat?' She'd kept her pain to
herself. Held true to her marriage vows all this time. Now this
handsome soldier wanted her and she didn't know what to do.
------------------------------------------------------------------
"Oh Wolfie," my Trudi gasps, "... so nice... uh... Mama was right."
I continue slowly stroking into my sweetheart. Supporting myself
with my hands I'm able to watch her; watch her body jolt when I
thrust in. Her sweet mouth opens to emit another lung-full of air.
Her little breasts wobble on her chest. Her hands grip tightly to my
arms. Her bent knees flap on either side of my body. Her pale white
skin is now
flushed and blotchy with arousal.
"Shall I go faster now?" I whisper to her.
"Oh yes... faster, please!" she gabbles, "make our baby... oh...oh
Wolfie... uh..."
Again she thrusts up to meet me, stiffens, and then flops back down
onto the grass. After a short rest I resume thrusting, but this time
more rapidly. Trudi is becoming spent, so I attend to my own need. As
I pump rapidly into her, her face is to the side. Her eyes are
closed, her mouth open and she is grunting weakly as I continue. I
take her head in my hands and fasten her sweet lips to mine. She
grimaces, then smiles as, roaring, I pump my hot fluid deep inside of
her.
Some time later, and it is fully dark now, we walk cuddling and
kissing back to the horses. Upon arriving at the Fleischer's house,
Trudi invites me in, much to my consternation.
"It'll be alright," she whispers, "go on up... last door. I want to
lie with you tonight."
"B... but." I stammer out.
"Mama won't mind... husband," she reassures me, "she's been
expecting it."
Presently I lie nervously in her bed when she enters. She's carrying
a tray of supper she fetched from the kitchen. Increasingly more
confident, I sit with her in bed while we ravenously fill our
stomachs. I drift into a well-earned sleep while holding her naked
body next to mine.
---------------------------------------------------------------
Meanwhile at the aerodrome, Gerda looks into the smouldering eyes of
her would-be lover.' Maybe,' she thinks, 'just a little kissing and
cuddling. A little something for our brave fighting men.' She tries
to ignore the evidence from her own body. The tingling in her breast,
the itch between her legs, the hot flush in her cheeks as the flame
of desire begins to grow.
"Hadn't we better be getting back now?" the Leutnant gallantly
suggests.
"If you think it's proper," she replies coyly.
"People will miss us," he tells her, "gossip..."
But he makes no move to go. Standing face to face by the aeroplane,
they study each other for a moment; their faces are soft and luminous
in the moonlight. After a nervous period of silence, the Leutnant
says,
"Tell me about yourself?"
Gerda shrugs a reply. She's not interested in conversation right now.
"Maybe later," she tells him smiling.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Some 150 kilometres away, on the border of the administrative
district of Ukimbu, lies a small African village. Ukanjulu consists
of mostly herdsmen and their families, perhaps no more than 200 or
so. As night begins to fall, a young boy runs as fast as he can to
the headman's house. Panting and blowing he can barely get out the
news.
"Many soldiers coming," he tells the old chief, "that way."
The old man rises and picks up his ceremonial walking stick. Outside
the children flock towards the visitors, excited and curious. The
first rider, a white man, roars at them in a language he'd never
heard before, a white language. As the children scatter before the
whips of the visitors, the Chief stands proud and erect before his
house. Courtesy demands that the visitors properly introduce
themselves and offer a small gift in return for the village's
hospitality.
Astonished, the chief watches as the riders pass on through and
water their horses at the village pond. The chief waits, still
expectantly, as the force of dark soldiers and white chiefs rumble
through his little domain with their carriages and equipment.
Affronted, he doesn't know what to do. His people look at him,
puzzled, waiting for some leadership. A dark wave of shame courses
through the old man. To be treated as nothing in front of his people
reminds him of a time long ago when the turbaned men came out of the
west to snatch his uncles and aunties away. He watches in dismay at
the headdresses of the dark riders - turbans!
Snapped at last into action, he quickly orders his people to flee.
Grabbing a young man by the shoulders he tells him urgently,
"Ride, son. Tell the villages the turbaned ones have come. Tell
Lettow-Bwana and the Askaris. You must spread the news... go!"
Slipping through the back of the village as the women and children
scramble towards their old hiding places, the boy bounds lightly on
top of the village horse. Spurring the mount southwards, he carefully
gallops around the newcomers using the old sunken creek bed.
At the next village the boy encounters a pair of Askaris. They are
recovering from the yellow sickness. The boy passes on the news after
first paying his respects to the headman. The soldiers know what to
do. Taking the boy's horse, Oskar Nimbu, mounts and rides back to
Ukanjulu to see for himself. Although still weak from the fever, he
takes one look at the soldiers and knows instantly who they are, for
he'd seen such soldiers in Kenya.
"Indians!" he tells the Headman upon returning, "they are looking
for Lettow-Bwana and the German-whites. Pass your message down the
villages' 'war-link' to Rungwa. We must not delay... tell Kommandant-
Chief they have one hand of carriage guns and maybe four hand's times
two hand's of sabre men on horses."
The Chief accepts the Askari's advice and orders the village rider
to set out on his own mount.
The news is relayed from village to village through the night until
it finally arrives in Rungwa in the morning.
----------------------------------------------------------------
However the previous evening, Gerda Carpentier finally makes her
fateful decision. She stares into the Leutnant's eyes as he slowly
closes the distance between them. As he kisses her she puts her arms
around his neck. Leaning back against the fuselage of the aeroplane
they remain kissing for some time, both uncertain how far the other
wants to take this liaison. She wants this man to be close to her.
As Spangenburg's mouth communicates fire and passion, she puts her
hands on the back of his trousers, parts her legs, and allows him to
push his crotch into hers. She gasps at the hot contact as the
Leutnant places his own hands on her bottom and levers her fully
against the
hardness in his trousers.
"Perhaps," the Leutnant pants, "we should go... inside?"
Nodding, she allows him to take her hand and guide her to the main
house. The Junker's bedroom is just as he left it. Some covers have
been draped over the furniture but the bed remains made and ready for
the master's return. Spangenburg sits on the bed and begins to take
off his boots. Gerda remains by the door, a chill feeling of doubt
suddenly grips her. Out there in the night, it'd seemed so simple,
so easy to give herself over to the passion of the moment. But here,
as the young officer pulls off his boots and prepares himself for
lovemaking, it hits home to her just what she is about to do.
Spangenburg seems not to notice anything as he loosens his tunic.
Impatient, he pulls the half-unbuttoned garment over his head.
Standing, Gerda watches as he undoes his belt and steps out of his
trousers. His underpants strain with his arousal, clearly indicating
the size of his member. As the Leutnant stands puzzled before her,
Gerda looks down towards his waiting manhood. 'Campaigning,' she
thinks, 'has not done this man any harm.'
"Is anything wrong, Gerda?" he asks her.
Shaken from her appraisal, she shakes her head doubtfully.
Spangenburg smiles and comes over to her. Taking her hands in his,
she accepts his peck on her lips.
"Are you getting undressed?" he asks her.
Slowly pulling her tunic from her pants she thinks that maybe if
they're quick, her husband would never find out. A good cover story
about some problem with the aeroplane, perhaps. Yes, we must do it
quickly, she decides.
However, as she tries to take of her clothes, the Leutnant holds
her, caressing and kissing each patch of skin as it's revealed. She
tries to take down her breeches as Spangenburg licks and sucks her
breasts. His hands squeezes and feels them as he nuzzles her neck.
Then his hand is down inside her opened pants feeling for her sex,
all the time nibbling and murmuring against her skin. 'Please let's
get this thing over with,' she pleads to herself.
As if in a dream, she finds herself across the bed with the cool air
on her legs and kitty. Spangenburg is burrowing beside her, sucking
her apple breasts and feeling her with his hand. He is completely
naked, for she can feel his hot urgency with her leg.
"Quickly!" she begs him as she grabs for his erection.
The man rolls between her legs and places his erection at her
entrance. Gerda lifts her legs into the air as the Leutnant ploughs
into her in one headlong rush. Their coupling is fast and furious.
His cock, much thicker and longer than her husbands, stretches and
touches places she'd never experienced before. She screams and
clutches him frantically as he pounds her, driving his seed deep
within her.
Momentarily stunned by the fury of it all, she's gradually aware
that the Leutnant is still grinding slowly against her. She opens her
eyes to his smiling face looming above her. She looks down to where
his still-hard cock is working its way in and out. She opens her
mouth but no words come forth. Drenched in sweat and bodily fluids
she holds him, feeling again a growing urgency.
"Leutnant... please!" she croaks, "we must... get back!"
"Klaus," he says.
"What?"
"My name's Klaus," he tells her.
"Klaus," she says, pushing through the feelings gripping her, "we
must go, quickly."
Klaus Spangenburg just smiles and continues slowly stroking into her.
"Not yet, my love," he whispers to her.
Miraculously, the Junker's wall clock is still ticking, as later,
much later, the couple lie exhausted in each other's arms. It's 3am,
Gerda reads by the light of the moon flooding into the open window.
Klaus is folded in behind her and sound asleep in the same position
that they'd last made love. His slimy, limp cock lies tickling her
bottom, but his hand is on her sex in the same fashion that had
brought her to a climax, again.
She knows she isn't going anywhere tonight. Nowhere but in the arms
of her lover, now snoring contentedly in the rosy afterglow of their
passion. Her swollen and abused pussy is still leaking their juices
into the Junker's sheet. Abused, yes, but in a nice way... a very
nice way.
---------------------------------------------------------------
"Spangenburg!" I roar through the main street of Rungwa, "where the
hell is Spangenburg?"
It's morning and I have set the Askaris running through the town in
a panic. Eventually an NCO rushes up and informs me he thinks he's
still at the aerodrome.
"Go and get him," I order, and then as an afterthought, "tell him to
get that kite warmed up, we made need it."
"Jawohl, Herr Hauptmann," he says, followed by the scamper of feet.
"What's the trouble?" calls Hildegard running towards me, "why the
fuss?"
"The English, they're coming right here... no more than 100
kilometres away."
"Relax," she says. "They won't be here till nightfall, I'll get my
things."
The panic begins to subside as people begin to organise. Inspektor
Palmier rushes up for orders, as this is a military matter. I tell
him to get everyone across the river for safety.
"You're going to make a fight of it?" he asks in surprise.
"I think so. There is maybe only a regiment of troopers and 5 guns.
We should be able to hold them off."
"Why so few?" he asks.
"I don't know for sure. But I think it's just a scouting force,
protecting the flank of their main army."
"So? If they get into a fight here, won't they call on the rest?"
"In which case we'll retreat," I tell him.
He wanders away shaking his head and muttering to himself.
A while later Spangenburg gallops up with Gerda Carpentier. Ignoring
the obvious implication, I pass on the news in detail.
"They spent that night at Ukanjulu," I explain. "They can only be
heading this way, so I want your troopers out scouting. Perhaps your
aeroplane can go out there for a look. Follow the Lyjolas stream on
your left and it should take you right to them."
"Hear that, Gerda?" he tells his companion. "If you are at all
unsure..."
"No, I can do it, Klaus," she tells him.
I'm distracted by their obvious familiarity. I just hope the
Leutnant and Frau Carpentier know what they're doing.
----------------------------------------------------------------
"You can't do this!" George Carpentier yells at his wife. "You're
crazy!"
"Oh give me the gun and stop being a baby," Gerda tells him, donning
her old flying jacket.
The Feldwebel snatches the carbine from the schoolteacher's hands.
Grinning, he tells him:
"Confiscated for military use," and hands it to Gerda.
George eyes Spangenburg suspiciously as the Leutnant directs the
fledgling ground crew in the preparation of the aeroplane. He knows
the Leutnant and his own wife had spent the night together.
Desperately, he sees his wife fading in his mind's eye. The smiles,
the sidelong glances, the obvious affection between the two lovers
all explain to him that things are never going to be the same again.
He watches miserably as the ground crew roll the machine out. He
sees his wife struggle into the cramped cockpit and the engine man
swing the airscrew.
"Ignition on... contact!" she yells as the prop is swung.
A horrendous din assails his ears. Around him men are cheering,
shrouded in the blue smoke from the clattering engine. His wife waves
towards the men like some pioneering aviatrix before taxiing to the
end of the field. Once into the wind, her guiding ground crew sprint
away as the machine bumps and hops along the grass runway and
into the air. He stands silent, watching the dot recede into the
distance then turns and wanders back into town. Leutnant Spangenburg
watches him go, bows and shakes his head. 'There are always winners
and losers,' he sighs to himself.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
An hour or so later, at the head of the column of mounted soldiers,
Colonel Rogers notices the droning from somewhere in the sky. Turning
his binoculars towards the sound he scans the area. He's unconcerned,
because he knows the only country with aeroplanes in this part of the
world is Britain. He is surprised, though, because he was unaware the
navy could fly so far inland.
"Who is it, Colonel?" asks the Captain at his side.
"Ah," replies the senior officer. "There it is... just off to the
right there... see it?" He points.
"It appears to be a monoplane, sir. Perhaps if it turns a little
more I can get a better look."
Gerda Carpentier sees the dust and points the little aeroplane in
its direction. The cold rushing air stings her face, even though her
goggles and scarf are wrapped tightly around her face. She feels on
top of the world, however, and flushed with the exhilaration of
flying with the birds. The machine is heavy on the controls, heavier
than her brother's Antoinette, but nevertheless it can swoop and turn
with ease. She points the Etrich down to get a better look at the
enemy column. Klaus told her how to count the numbers... simple
mathematics based on so many across and so many deep.
"It's a HUN!" cries the Captain in shock.
"Are you sure?" asks his superior.
"Black crosses on the wings... I can see them clearly!"
"SIRDAR!" the Colonel yells, "shoot that blighter down!"
Behind them the Lancers begin to dismount and run into the
surrounding field. Their NCOs roar orders while trying to cope with
the restless horses. The first rifle bangs, a haphazard shot in no
particular direction.
"Up there you blasted fools," yells a senior NCO.
Gradually the sound of rifles cracking begins to gather in momentum.
The air is filling with the acrid smell of burnt cordite as the
soldiers find a position and point their rifles skyward.
Gerda watches the little puffs of smoke below with fascination. It
doesn't take long, however, before she realises the soldiers are
firing at her. Over the roaring Gnome motor, she can't hear any other
sound. Alarmed, yet thrilled at the same time, she turns side on to
the enemy and pulls her carbine up from her feet. Holding the control
stick steady with her knees, she puts the short rifle to her shoulder
and fires towards the soldiers below. Unnoticed by anyone, the bullet
plops ineffectually into Lyjolas creek.
Having made her demonstration, and gathered the information she was
sent to retrieve, Gerda turns the machine around and heads back
insolently towards Rungwa.
By the time she spots the little landing field, her petrol is
running low. Already the motor is beginning to splutter, so she
wastes no time in setting the machine down on the ground. She wonders
if there is anyone manning the rifle pits because it seems like the
whole of the town and their little army has come out to watch her
come in. She
switches off the engine as she touches down and the ground crew run
excitedly to the machine to push her off the field. She's then
hoisted high on the shoulders of the singing Askaris and brought
proudly back to the shed for her debriefing. Having delivered her
intelligence to the officers, she watches Klaus Spangenburg's look of
proud satisfaction.
"See, Herr Hauptmann," he says while still looking at Gerda, "it is
maybe not such a toy!"
I look from one to the other. The silent dialogue is passing between
them making it uncomfortable to be in the same room.
"Yes," I tell him, "you were right after all."
I tactfully leave them to it.
(C)Katzmarek
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