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From: Troubador <yorkieman@btinternet.com>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.gay.moderated
Subject: ST: Convergent Paths Part 2 (M/M, Hist)
Date: Wed, 16 Sep 2009 17:39:55 -0500
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===================


After his arrival back in England Peter found himself returning to his 
father's home and laying out plans for the future. His father wanted him to 
stay and work one of the farms but Peter had already been briefed by a 
friend at the War Office, should war come then all able bodied men would be 
drafted there would be no exceptions.  So he told his father he'd be joining 
the army as soon as it was possible to do so. He wanted to the chance to 
begin to climb the ladder before any Military Training Act could be passed 
into law bringing in large numbers of men under conscription to fight. His 
father was a veteran of the the Great War; Major Dmitri Gagarin had fought 
with General Rennenkampf's First Russian Army at the First Battle of the 
Masurian Lakes in what was now Poland. Peter knew his father was only to 
well aware of the price freedom demanded.


      "Would you at least allow me to contact a friend in the Army on your 
behalf?"


      "To what end?"


      "I think I can get you into The Wiltshire Regiment probably as an 
officer cadet. We've not lived in the county long but it might help you in 
the future once the war is over if you serve in the county's own regiment."


      "Very well," Peter nodded, "but don't go pulling any other strings to 
get me special favours."


      "Now would I do that?" His father said with a smile.

      "From the stories you used to tell me that type of things was common 
in the Russian Court, so yes, I think you would. So just promise!"






Peter Gagarin found himself assigned to the Second Battalion of the 
Wiltshire's. Despite being an officer he trained assidiously along side his 
men, he knew from his experiences in German, trying to run with Walther, 
that his level of personal fitness wouldn't really stand up to scrutiny so 
he ran and trained alongside his men, he needed to toughen himself for the 
rigours ahead.

As he'd warned Walther, war again engulfed Europe as Hitler's resurgent 
German military invaded Poland from the West at the same time as Stalin's 
Red Army forces invaded from the East. Between them, the two armies overan 
Poland in matter of weeks and the they carved up the little country between 
them. A part in the west to satify Hitler and the Germans, a slice in the 
East for Stalin and the Russians and a small rump in the middle which 
remained Polish but under German protection.


Sitting in the Officer's Mess at thjeir camp near Salisbury Peter had 
listened with his fellow officers as the Prime Minister, Neville 
Chamberlain, had read a terse statement on the crisis which was broadcast by 
the BBC from the Cabinet Office at 10 Downing Street.


      "I am speaking to you from the Cabinet Room at 10 Downing Street. This 
morning, the British Ambassador in Berlin handed the German Government a 
final note stating that unless we heard from them by 11 o'clock that they 
were prepared at once to withdraw their troops from Poland then a state of 
war would exist between us.

      "I have to tell you now that no such undertaking has been received and 
that consequently, this country is now at war with Germany."



As Peter listened he could hear a tone in the Prime Minister's voice, a man 
who'd paid a hellish personal price and struggled for so long to prevent 
another war with Germany. Another war... Peter felt a cold shiver run down 
his spine as he imagined Walther and his sister, perhaps sitting together in 
the living room of the house they the home they shared in Berlin, maybe 
they'd been listening to that very broadcast by the BBC and as he thought of 
Walther having to enlist in the German Army he felt so lonely and a prickle 
of tears formed in his eyes.  He wondered would either of them survive the 
horrors to come. Images of war torn fields in the Somme and Ypres stalked 
his mind as he thought about the horrific photos he'd seen at school. He 
remembered his father's stories about fighting with the Tsar's Army on the 
Eastern Front and of the savage nature of those campaigns and, inwardly, his 
spirit cringed. Persoanally he could face the thought of fighting and 
killing but Walther had a gentle spirit, it was that quality that Peter 
found most appealling about the man he loved.





By May 1940, Peter found himslef dispatched to France with rest of the 
Second Battalion of The Wiltshire's as a part of the Fifth Infantry Division 
of the British Expeditionary Force.  They soon found themselves mired in the 
thick of it as they fought to along the Franco-Belgique border to prevent 
German forces from advancing but their efforts were too little and too late. 
The Germans had scented blood in the rapid, lightning advance westward and 
there was no stopping them. The BEF sustained such heavy losses in men and 
equipment that the Force was forced to retreat toward the coast eventually 
becoiming trapped around the little coastal town of Dunkerque.


After humiliating débâcle suffered by the BEF, Vhurchill announced to a 
packed Houses of Parliament 'that wars are not won by evacuations'.  With 
the loss of so much equipment the military was put through a vigorous 
reorganization by the new Prime Minister, Winston Churchill to prepare them 
for the struggle top come. Peter rejoined his Regiment but soon found 
himself pulled off a war games exercise in the Wiltshire countryside and 
ordered to report to an address in London, post haste.


He stood in the foyer of Number 64, Baker Street, London. He'd been on 
working hard with the Second when he'd reacived his orders by courier to 
report here. His only knowledge of the name Baker Street had come from 
reading the Sherlock Holmes stories as a lad so while making his walked 
along the street he'd looked among the higher numbered addresses but was 
disappointed to find that 221b Baker Street didn't actually exist.

      "Major Gagarin?"

He looked toward the stairs where a strikingly plain woman who looked as 
though she was chewing a wasp walked toward him, God Help any woman under 
her command. She was dressed in a uniform of the Auxiliary Territorial 
Service and her insignia marked her as a Section Leader, which would have 
been Sergeants chevrons had she been male, looking at nher as hse approached 
Peter decided she could have joined the Army and no one would have known the 
difference.


      "Yes?" He replied.


      "Follow me! Colonel Shepherd will see you now."


      "Isn't it the done thing in the ATS to address a superior rank as, Sir 
and to salute before addressing the officer in question?"

With a look that could have killed at a thousand paces she stepped back and 
saluted before addressing him again.


      "Could you tell me what it is you do here?" He asked as he followed 
her up the stairs. "I've been given no briefing about what's expected!"


      "Colonel Shepherd will explain everything to you, sir." She said in a 
curt tone which told Peter she hadn't forgiven him for upbraiding her about 
the salute.




They stopped at a highly polished wooden door as she opened it Peter got the 
impression it was as heavy, as it was impressive looking. A little brass 
plate was set into the door at eye hieght which Commanding Officer, Colonel 
P. Shepherd.  The ATS non-com motioned Peter inside before closing the door 
and he heard the snick of a key being turtned as she locked it behind him.


Within the passage was dark but ahead he could see brightness and followed 
it until he walked into the main office, here he found a rather rotund 
gentleman dressed in a smart, dark pin-striped suit sitting behind a regal 
oak desk and the rank of Colonel seemed to rest easily on his shoulders 
despite the lack of a suitable military uniform.


      "Major Gagarin?"


Peter stepped forward, came to attention and saluted before assuming parade 
rest with his feet spread and hand clasped behind his back.


      "Sit. You're making me uncomfortable standing there like that." The 
seated amn said without saluting or looking at Peter.


      "Sir?"


      "For Christ's Sake, take the ram rod out of your spine, draw up a 
bloody chair and sit."


Peter looked around the office and found a stack of metal framed chairs, he 
took the top one and placed it near the Colonel's desk. He placed it at an 
angle so he could gaze out the window and watch the world pass by outside 
and wait out the Colonel while he finished shuffling his papers. Peter knew 
from the way his father had trained him in the nuance's of courtly behaviour 
that the Colonel was playing a little power game. However, after the rigours 
of the exercise he'd been on Peter was satisfied to sit and relax in the 
warmth of the morning sunlight.


      "I'm sorry to have kept you, Major, but this war is already drowning 
us in paperwork."


      "No problem, Colonel! I was dragged off war games to report here. I've 
spent the last two weeks with inadequate sleep, roughing it across 
Wiltshire, eating God alone knows what so having a chance to sit here and 
relax while you finished shuffling your papers was quite refreshing."


      "Humph!" Shephered snorted, "I rather think I've just been hoist on my 
own petard, haven't I!"


      "Sir?" Peter replied with a disingenuous air.


      "Never mind. I think I've maybe just learnt my first lesson when 
dealing with Major Peter Gagarin! Have you any idea of who we are and what 
we do here?"


      "None! Not one clue, sir. Due to circumstances I'm travelling on 
verbal orders and at my own expense."


      "We are called the Special Operations Executive but more often we are 
known, in offcial circles, as the 'Baker Street Irregulars', after a group 
in the Sherlock Holmes stories. Our brief, was initiated by the Prime 
Minister in nineteen forty and we are charged with prosecuting the war by 
means other than direct military engagement. We search for ways to encourage 
and facilitate espionage and sabotage behind enemy lines by whatever means 
possible. You might sometimes hear us referred to as 'Churchill's Secret 
Army' or the 'Ministry of Ungentlemanly Warfare'."


      "I'm still not sure what this has to do with me, sir?" Peter said 
shaking his head.


      "We started to look for people who speak German fluently; people who 
have travelled or resided in Germany before the war. We have been looking 
for people who can pass on those experiences to our agents during their 
training before they're inserted."


      "Inserted, sir?"


      "Parachuted or otherwise taken to their destinations by clandestine 
means!"


      "Ah! So this all means, what? You wish for me to join you and train 
secret agents?"


      "Essentially, yes. Although, you do have one other skill which would 
be invaluable to us at the moment."


     "Oh?"


     "In addition to speaking German and French fluently, you are Russian by 
descent and you speak that language naticely."


      "And how would that advantageous to you?"


      "Sometimes our communications intercepst are open to misinterpretation 
and information gathered in the East suffer greatly due to our having few 
people who can speak colloquial Russian. Those few people we have on staff 
who speak Russian are all text book perfect but I think they would have 
difficulty speaking to your father, for instance. The lack has created some 
difficulties for us."


      "If I were to agree to come and work for you would you be able to get 
some information for me?"


      "What kind of information?"


      "I have a friend in Berlin; we met when I was posted to our Embassy 
there. I've had no contact with him since early the declaration of war in 
'thirty-nine. I'd like to know if he's well, where he is and what he's up 
to."


      "Was he a bed partner, Major?"


Peter stood in shocked and mock protest and shouted at the Colonel, "What 
kind of a question is that?"

      "An open and honest one, I think! Look, Peter, you have to understand 
that by the nature of our work SOE is a very secretive organisation.  We 
check the backgrounds of our people to ensure there's no potential for 
blackmail. We've had agents tailing you for some weeks now and your night 
time activities are well known to us. We know the kinds of things you get up 
to with the men you meet in public toilets and parks and what you get up to 
in the seedy, back street hotels you prefer."


"I'm assuming because you haven't had the Police arrest me that you're 
holding that information over my head for blackmail?"


      "Major! Please! What do you take me for? I don't care what you do in 
your bed or whom you do it with, male, female or whatever. You can take a 
sheep to your bed if that's what gives you your jollies just as long as your 
discrete, but at least do me the honour of being honest with me from the 
outset. If you join us I'll have the request inserted in to one of our 
regular broadcasts to Europe and then we'll see if one of our people can 
obtain the information for you. You must understand though, it's not a 
priority mission so it may take some time to obtain it."


      "I understand. Thank you."


      "I take it that means you'll join us?"


      "I think I could make more of a contribution to the war effort with 
SOE than I could as just another faceless officer in the Battalion."


      "Very well. Section Leader Jones is the ATS girl who showed you up 
here. She'll see to your orders and she'll give you a travel warrant. Report 
to your home camp, collect your kit and and inform them you've been posted 
to Number 64, Baker Street. If you give Section Leader Jones your receipts 
for the cost of your travel up here she'll ensure you're reimbursed and by 
the time you return she'll have your new identity papers sorted, too. 
Dismissed!"


Peter stood stepped back from the desk and saluted.


"Oh! One more thing, Major, my rank as Colonel in this role is honourary. I 
was a military officer once but I'm a Retired Officer now, the rank is to 
give the regulars an idea of where I fit in to the organisation and rank 
structure, mostly so they can seat me when I eat at an Officers Mess. Day to 
day life around SOE branches is very relaxed, so you wont need to saluting 
your seniors and and get used to junior ranks not saluting you."


"Very well, Colonel."

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