
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.


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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