
Path: not-for-mail
From: Mark P <armyfrieghter@hotmail.com>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.gay.moderated
Subject: ST: Brothers in Arms - Convergent Paths Part 5 (M/M, Hist)
Date: Thu, 01 Oct 2009 05:45:06 -0500
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===================


 
Peter gathered wood for a fire by the simple expedient of smashing the last of the ruined furniture. He laid the wood in the cold fire place, doused it with lighter fluid and lit it before dragging Walther closer and making him as comfortable as possible in the circumstances. While Walther remained unconscious Peter stripped off the dirty, stained uniform jacket Walther wore and cleaned the wound with swabs and water from his first aid kit. 


The bullet had entered the fleshy part of Walther's shoulder just above the armpit and luckily had exited slightly higher in the rear seemingly having missed all the bones within. Peter sprinkled a light dusting of sulfa powder onto the wound before covering them with a dress which he taped into place.






When he finished he was able to sit back and take in the sight of Walther's chest. There were scars present now which hadn't been there before the war and Walther had lost the unique muscular development of his athletic career. What Peter could see now was the more active muscular build of a soldier and, God willing, he'd have the chance to get to know this new body as much as he'd enjoyed knowing the previous one.


He couldn't resist reaching out to touch one of Walther's nipples just once before he woke up and probably blamed Peter for almost killing him.


"Don't you fucking dare!" Walther hissed as Peter's finger made contact .


"You're awake!"


"Christ, he's a fucking genius! Yes, I'm bloody awake, no... fucking... thanks... to... you!"


"I'm sorry. I saw a shadow in the corner of my eye, you lifted something and... wait a minute! What am I fucking apologising for? You almost brained me with a fucking lump of wood."


"Seemed like a good idea at the time." Walther smiled shyly. "I thought you were an intruder."


Walther tried to raise himself but the excruciating agony of the bullet wound in his shoulder took control and he slumped back exhausted.


"You fucking bastard!" Walther whispered, "You shot me!"


"Seemed like a good idea at the time!" Peter countered. "All I could see was a looming figure in the darkness creeping up behind me. What the fuck possessed you to leave your unit? I've been tracking you since France but I lost the unit when they entered the city!"


"I've given six years of my life to the bloody Nazis and their pointless, fucking war. I kept my head down as much as I could, just like you asked. I went to Munich get the identification papers you gave me and I managed to go through the whole fucking war without getting shot. I decided to desert just before the end so I could stay safe. I get back to my own bloody house where I should have been safe only to get fucking shot by the... man ... who... says... he... loves... me!"


"I do love you, for Christ's sake! You've always been the most important thing in my life. I deserted three months ago to track you down. My commanding officer will probably give me hell and then have me shot when I return but I can go to my grave happy knowing you survived."


"What now?" Walther asked.


"We need to wait and let that wound settle before we make our way to British Military Headquarters at Wilmensdorf. I know my boss IS on site there but I'm really not sure of what my reception will be like after having been incommunicado for so long."


"Take your jacket and shirt off and lay beside me." Walther asked.


"You sure?"


"I've missed having you at my side."


"Listen. I have to tell you something."


Peter removed his jacket, unbuttoned his shirt and he lay on the floor next to Walther.


"I haven't exactly stayed true to you, you know."


"There have been other's?"


"A few."


"I wouldn't have expected anything else! All men have needs and we take care of those needs when we need to. I scratched my itch with others, too, but now you're back I won't be needing to do that again."


With his infidelities confessed, Peter felt a cathartic release of tension and allowed himself to relax as Walther, despite his injury, leaned close to kiss him. They lay in each other arms listening to the noises of the night outside and both talked long into the night as they told each other about the paths their lives had taken since they went their separate ways six years before.


For three days they stayed in ruined house as Walther recovered, grew stronger and felt easier about walking. On the morning of the third day after, Peter checked the dressing on Walther's wound one last time before announcing he was satisfied it was secure, he rigged a makeshift sling to support his lover's arm and they began the long walk across the ravaged cityscape to the suburb of Wilmensdorf. 






As they walked they chatted about the places they'd visited which were now heaped ruins they passed but for Peter there was no sadness now, only elation. Now was not the time for sadness, now he felt joy as he held the hand of the man he loved and they strolled together through the early morning sunshine.


"It was a beautiful city," Walther said sadly, "but I don't think I'll remember it as it was. The people I knew are gone and it'll be a long time before all this damage is repaired. Do you still want me to come and live with you in England? Do you still dream about that farm you father has set aside for you?"


"What about your sister?"


When Walther didn't reply Peter turned toward him and was about to make a pithy reply about Candace's proclivity's when he caught of the ineffable sadness in his partner's eyes and the tears rolled down his cheeks cutting tracks in the grime on Walther's face.


"Oh, no! The bombing?"


"No." Walther replied in a tired, listless voice. "Her husband was in the Army and he was implicated the Von Stauffenberg plot to kill Hitler. He was taken away and she couldn't get any information about what happened . The Gestapo told her to stop asking questions or she'd suffer the same fate. When she heard that she knew he was dead and so she shot herself."


Peter put his arm around Walther to comfort him and they walked on in silence as each communed with the memories they had of the vivacious Candace Daschler. Finally, they arrived in Wilmensdorf and walked up the street toward Lancaster House. Peter thought it was an insensitive choice of name considering how much damage the Avro Lancaster had inflicted on Berlin and other German cities.


He'd approached the building a few times over the past weeks to glean information but had never actually gone in. He'd made enquiries to confirm that General Shepherd maintained a headquarters here. He knew it was risky to approach the door directly now as there might be an arrest warrant out in his name. He chanced to approach the closest sentry on duty and identified himself.


"Colonel Gagarin, Special Operations Executive to see General Shepherd."


"Yes, sir!" The duty corporal saluted. "Step through the door, sir, there's an ATS girl inside who will contact the General for you and let him know you're here."


"This man is an ex-German soldier, he's been assisting SOE operations for the past few weeks and was wounded in the line of duty. He needs to come with me to see the General."


"Just take him inside with you Colonel, they'll see about accommodating the both of you."






In Shepherd's office Peter settled Walther on a seat close to the wall before he stepped up to the General's desk and saluted; knowing how much trouble he might be in he maintained the salute until the General looked up and nodded.


"This is him?"


"Yes, Sir."


"How did he get shot?"


"Him! The bastard shot me!" Walther hissed pointing at Peter.


"Oh, this I've got to hear," Shepherd said while sniggering.


Seeing that Walther was in some distress, Shepherd got to his feet and crossed the room to kneel beside the wounded man sitting in his office. Walther's face had faded to white while he'd been sitting.


"Are you all right, son?"


"No, Herr General." Walther hissed. "My shoulder, it is burning up and it is very painful when I move."


"Peter, help me remove the dressing."


Together, Peter and Shepherd managed to remove the dressing but as it pulled away from the wound Walther hissed with the pain as a foul smelling pus erupted from beneath.


"When did this happen?"


"Seventy two hours ago."


"Was he wearing his uniform jacket?"


"Yes." 


"Some fragments of fabric were probably dragged into the wound by the bullet. Walther?"


"Yes, Herr General." Walther croaked as he began to lose conciousness .


"What was on your jacket, son?"


"I don't know, Sir! I've been wearing it for months, Herr General. It hasn't been washed in a long time and I've been crawling through all kinds of shit."


"The wound is infected by something which was on his jacket, Peter, you support him and I'll escort you both to the medical station so the doctors can take a look."




By the time they reached the aid station Walther had vomited twice, soaking the shoulder and breast of Peter's jacket. Despite the odoriferous nature of the ejecta Peter's eyes never left Walther's still form as he lay on the bed while the nurses stripped him of his uniform and covered his naked form with a towel so they could clean his body. Peter sat and watched as the doctors worked to clean out the dirty foulness in the wound.






Shepherd coughed lightly to draw Peter's attention and motioned back to his office upstairs, reluctantly Peter stepped away from the bed and before he left asked to be notified of any changes in Walther's condition.


"Come on in and shut the door, lad." Shepherd said when they were back in his office.


"Before you start!" Peter said before the General could start,"I know I'm in a shit load of trouble but now I know he's safe I'll face whatever comes my way!"


"What are you talking about?"


"I deserted to take care of personal business."


"As far as I remember, I cut you loose at the Manor in Guildford when I gave you your promotion and told you about the enormous leeway granted to senior officers in SOE. You left your assignment and went out on a solo mission following your nose to track down a lead."


"Why?"


"Come over here," Shepherd opened the draw of his desk, "and let me show you something."


Shepherd pulled a framed photo from the drawer and handed it to Peter. It showed a younger, slimmer Shepherd with his right arm around another man's shoulder and something in their faces and lack of dress tickled at Peter's mind.


"His name was Gerald Harvey, we became lover's in Palestine in nineteen oh-nine. He was killed by the Haganah nineteen twelve and I lost the heart to continue so I bought myself out. I met someone else years later and Ian and I have been together since but my heart has always belonged to Gerald's memory. It's not easy loving another man in a world which is disposed to be hostile toward men like us. When you disappeared off the scope I guessed you'd finally taken the hint I gave you back in England and you'd gone looking for him."


"Thank you." Peter whispered, his voice choked with the gratitude he felt.


"So are you going to tell me how you came to shoot him." Shepherd said smiling.


As he sat there Peter began to relate his journey through the streets of the city he'd learned to love in the nineteen thirties, when as a younger man he'd assigned to the embassy diplomatic attaché. He related how he and Walther had taught each other about love in a city which had been renowned for the decadence of its night life. As he related the events that led up to the shooting, the tears began to flow warm and salty and Shepherd handed him a handkerchief but made no attempt to tell Peter to pull himself together.


When he finished his story Peter dried his eyes and saw a glass sitting on the desk beside a bottle of aged Glenfiddich whiskey, the General was holding another glass so Peter took the other and took a stiff sip of the fiery liquid. As they drank in silence and savoured the warming effect of the whiskey the telephone on Shepherd's desk rang.


"Shepherd." He answered. "Yes, Doctor, he's with me now. I see. Yes, I'll tell him."


"What's happened?"


"He's lapsed into unconsciousness; the wound was more badly infected than it seemed. The Doctor thinks he might have septicaemia and it touch and go now as to whether he pulls through."


"If he dies, I'll kill myself. I can't go on with out him."


"That's what I thought when Gerry was killed but day after day, I kept thinking of another reason stick around and not to eat a bullet."


"I'm not sure I'm that strong!"


"Well, let me say this, then! In your worst moments of despair think of two people."


"Two people, Sir? Jesus and..."


"No, nothing so prosaic! Think of you mother and your father standing over your casket watching it being lowered into the earth! No parent should ever have to bury a child."


"You make a valid point but it'll be a very lonely life for me without him."


"You think so now but as you get older life has tendency to throw you a line and pull you in."


"Are you happy with the one whose waiting for you?"


"He's not Gerry but he is waiting for me. He is someone to write letters home to, someone who's life is made better when I walk through the door at the end of the day. So, yes, I am happy."


"Then I guess there's some hope for me if he doesn't survive this."


"Look, Peter! You go to the Officers Mess and get a room. Get yourself cleaned up. Have a bath and then go to bed. The Doctors will phone me if they can't get a hold of you."


"Thank You."






Peter left the main building and walked the short distance to the block which had been designated as the Officers Mess. After booking in, he walked to his room, locked the door and finally gave in to the feelings raging through his body. He collapsed to his knees and wept at the thought of loosing Walther after having wounded him. 


Outside the day faded toward night and in the last light of the day Peter made his way into the bathroom and turned on the shower. As he stripped off his battledress tunic, trousers and shirt there came a knock at the door which he answered, it was the valet.


"Anything I can do for you, sir? Food, laundry, supplies?" 


The man spoke in heavily accented German and he stumbled over some of the English words.


"Uh, yes. Just wait here."


Peter gathered his battle stained and worn uniform and handed it to the man waiting by his door.


"Could you have this laundered and if it's not to badly damaged return it when finished and could you have a runner go down to the quartermasters store and obtain a set of fatigues for me, same size as the battledress."


Peter asked for this in flawless German which caused the valet to raise his eyebrow before he smiled broadly and nodded at Peter saying it would be done immediately. After the valet had departed Peter climbed into the shower and studiously applied himself to his ablution but his thoughts were for Walther laying in the Med Station fighting for his life.






The following morning Peter rose and found his battle dress had been returned during the night. He examined it and found that while the trousers were worn and thread-bare the tunic was still serviceable. He dressed in the fatigues which had also been delivered during the night, pulled on his tunic and made his way to the Med Station to check on Walther.


"Nurse. I'm Colonel Gagarin, I'd like to know how Colonel Daschler is."


"I'll just get the doctor for you, Sir."


Peter waited in the foyer until a white coated Doctor with the captain's pips on his epaulettes approached him.


"Colonel Gagarin? I'm afraid Colonel Daschler's condition worsened during the night, sir. We've been experiencing short falls in deliveries of penicillin, Sir. There's very little we can do now except wait and pray, Sir."


In his own mind Peter had thoughts on the efficacy of prayer to achieve anything in the real world but he with held his desire to speak the harsh word on religion aloud.


"If his condition changes in any way you can contact me at the officers mess or through General Shepherd's office."


Peter left the medical centre and headed for the General's office, they had much to discuss about Peter's activities after he'd detached himself from the US Army unit he'd been attached to since the invasion and after his debrief was complete, he and Shepherd sat in the office behind closed doors drinking the General's seeming limitless supplies of aged Glenfiddich and talking about Peter's situation.


"I can see you blame yourself for what happened," Shepherd said, "but the truth is it was a terrible accident."


"You think I haven't told myself that."


"You're response time to threats has been honed by eleven months of fighting from the beaches of northern France to here. It's only because of such quick reactions you were able to stay alive and safe to get here and find him."


"To get here and kill him, don't you mean?"


"He's strong, he's not dead yet!"


At that moment the phone rang and Shepherd turned away to answer it.


"Shepherd! ... Yes, he's with me now. ... He'll be right there! Peter, go! He's arresting!"


Even before Shepherd had finished speaking Peter had spun around and left the office; he took each of the stair flights in bounds of three or less before running through the corridors shouting "Make a hole!" as he ran full pelt for the Medical Centre. He bolted inside and ran to Walther's room to arrive just in time to hear the captain doctor he'd spoken to earlier pronouncing the time of Walther's death.


Peter collapsed to his knees as he heard those terrible words; the utterance of which tolled a terrible end to his dreams and the plans he'd made for the two of them. In his mind he saw himself as a younger version of Shepherd settling for second best after his greatest love had been ripped from him.


As the world spun and his vision dimmed Peter felt himself lose control of stomach, the hollow, sick feeling in the pit of stomach which he'd experienced since shooting Walther became all encompassing as he ejected a flood of vomit over the floor and collapsed into unconsciousness.


A few hours later he'd again found himself sitting in Shepherd's office, this time though he just sat there, his expression was emotionless as his dead eyes stared into the distance; his world had come come to an end with Walther's death and now he could see no reason to live. The only thing that stopped from taking out his service revolver and eating a bullet was what Shepherd had observed about a child's parents never having to bury their own children, the day his parents died Peter knew he would follow them.


"Peter! Given my own experiences I've a truer understanding of what the loss of Walther really means to you. With the war over SOE needs fewer operatives than previously and I've been asked to start cutting back where possible so I'm going to send you home. You'll receive your discharge papers before the end of the day and hopefully, back with your family you'll come to terms with your loss."


"Whatever you think best, sir?" Peter whispered, all interest gone, all hope in his future destroyed when Walther had died. 		 	   		  
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