FROM PRUSSIA WITH LOVE

EXCERPT

 

Gruppenfuhrer Benedikt Ziegler stared out of the window of the staff car as his driver negotiated the damp streets of London. Everything looked cold and grey and there was a constant drizzle in the air. Their route so far had taken them from his office inside the walls of Buckingham Palace, past the corner of Hyde Park, into an area that they called Knightsbridge.

Craaaaaaaaack!!!!

A loud crash disturbed Benedikt's reverie. Several cracks appeared on the windscreen. Somebody had thrown a stone at the car. His driver swerved alarmingly, blinded by the shattered glass.

"Fuck off Krauts! Go home."

Benedikt saw a blur as three or four young thugs waved their fists and shouted, before running off down a side street. Moments later several soldiers in German uniforms appeared, chasing after the locals.

Rat-a-tat-tat-piaow-piaow!!

The sound of gunfire and ricochets filled the air.

His driver used his elbow to push out the splintered glass so that he could see the road. They continued on their journey. A chill wind blew into the car.

"Noooooooooo!!"

Benedikt heard a woman's shrill scream as they rounded a street corner. A huddle of uniformed German soldiers came into view.

His driver slowed so that Benedikt could see what was happening. Six German soldiers were surrounding an Englishwoman. They already had her pinned down on the pavement with her bare legs kicking in the air. One of the soldiers was hunkered between her knees. The other five were holding her limbs and laughing.

"Nooooooo ... please ... let me ... aaaahhh ..." she sobbed.

Benedikt gestured to his driver to continue.

But all this was not a good omen; stones thrown at his car. Gunfire. Soldiers having to assault a woman on a public street. None of this was part of the Master Plan.

The war was over. Now was the time for peace. The British had surrendered. Stones, bullets and force should not be necessary. He was confident that his highly trained soldiers would behave well as long as they were welcomed with open arms ...

and open legs of course.

The new laws were straightforward. It was well known that armies have pillaged throughout the history of mankind. The spoils of war and all that. But Britain's unconditional surrender had allowed German High Command to solve that problem. They had not only made sex with the locals legal. They had made it compulsory. The R-word was irrelevant now.

As loyal 'New Prussians', all local females between the ages of 18 to 58 were expected to adopt a minimum of two German males as their lovers. But the important word there was 'minimum'. On occasions a higher number might be necessary where the ratio of women to men required it.

Anyway, this would probably only be a temporary requirement after all. Convoys of German civilians would be arriving soon enough. Hundreds of thousands of immigrants and maybe millions of them, lured by financial grants and free property. Ambitious young men and pretty young women, as well as couples and families, all superior specimens. Soon his soldiers wouldn't have to rely on inferior local flesh.

Benedikt pulled his collar up against the cold. Thinking of German civilians made him think of home, of his plump wife and their two teenage children. He imagined his own spouse having to adopt two male lovers. Hah! Those would be unlucky men. Helga had been slim and attractive when Benedikt married her but childbirth and apple strudel had since taken a heavy toll on her figure.

The Englishwoman's screams faded into the distance. Benedikt sighed. By sobbing and resisting, the woman was committing a serious crime. She should have invited the soldiers into her home. After all, there were only six of them. Six men was nothing. During his months in occupied France, he'd seen women taken by thirty, forty men and survive, messy but unharmed. This Englishwoman would have been much better off welcoming those half a dozen German soldiers into her bed and they would have all left smiling, half an hour later, with no harm done to anybody.

Bolton Square turned out to be a large rectangle of substantial stucco-fronted houses arranged around a muddy garden square. A few of the houses had been destroyed by fire and bombs. Others were slightly damaged but most looked in good condition. The image reminded him of a mouth with just a few missing teeth.

His driver parked outside a white, untouched house.

The Brigadefuhrer had already arrived, waiting outside his own staff car, in front of house number 66, brandishing a folder of papers. He frowned and clicked his heels.

"Your windscreen, Herr Gruppenfuhrer?"

"Partisans threw stones at us."

"They will be caught and executed, Herr Gruppenfuhrer."

Benedikt sighed again. "But that is not the long term solution, comrade. We must conquer the locals' minds as well as their bodies. Whose house is this?"

"Number 66 has been allocated to Hauptmann Dieter Faust from 3^rd Police Division."

Benedikt nodded. He knew of young Dieter. An officer with a good reputation.

"And his Oberleutnant is named Hans Gerwig," the Brigadefuhrer continued, as they both surveyed the outside of the house.

"And the owners?"

"A man called Pettigrew. An English businessman aged 46. He lives here with his wife, their three children and two staff."

Benedikt nodded and strode up the front steps. He breathed in the damp, chilly November air and looked up, counting the storeys and windows. He idly wondered whether he should put in a request for one of these central London houses. After all, they might be worth a decent amount in a few decades time?

At that moment the front door opened and a handsome German officer appeared on the doorstep in full uniform. He clicked his heels and saluted.

"Welcome, Herr Gruppenfuhrer ... Brigadefuhrer."

Benedikt returned the salute and strode through the front door.

The officer stood to one side to allow them into the front hall. Benedikt saw a grand staircase ahead, a marble floor and eight English civilians standing in line; three men and five women. They were all dressed as domestic staff, in dark suits, brown dresses and white aprons.

"These are our hosts." Dieter said, gesturing toward them. "Herr Pettigrew ... his family ... and the older daughter's fiancé."

Benedikt nodded, appraising an older couple who stood at one end of the line. Mr Pettigrew looked dejected, a beaten man, avoiding his gaze. Mrs Pettigrew was an attractive woman in early middle age. She glanced up at him but otherwise kept her eyes downcast.

"I am pleased to meet you." Benedikt addressed Mr. Pettigrew in his own, adequate English. "I trust my officers are behaving themselves, ja?"

"Er ... hmm ..." the man cleared his throat and glanced at Dieter. "Y ... yes, Herr Grup ... pen ... fuhrer, they are p ... perfect gentlemen."

Pleased, Benedikt nodded and smiled his approval at Dieter.

"Good. So you are all getting along fine. The ladies too?"

Mrs Pettigrew's cheeks blushed even redder. He waited patiently for the woman to reply.

"Y ... yes ... er ... Sir. Your officers are ch ... charming."

Benedikt looked along the line at their three adult children and what he presumed were two members of domestic staff at the end. He gestured at his Brigadefuhrer who was holding their file.

"I'm told that you are all aged between 18 and 58. So you are expected to ... do your bit for our officers, ja? How do you feel about this ladies?"

All five Englishwomen stared at him in apparent amazement at his question. But Mrs Pettigrew stammered a reply.

"Er ... it s ... seems only reasonable to be ... friendly, Sir."

Benedikt smiled. This was going better than he expected.

"And the gentlemen?"

Again, the three men gawped. One even rolled his eyes rudely.

"We ... we don't have much choice, do we Sir?"

Benedikt frowned at the young man's impertinent tone.

Fortunately Dieter stepped forward quickly. He'd drawn his swagger-stick and he slashed it through the air several times, making them all cower. The young man who'd spoken covered his head with his hands.

"I am s ... sorry." Mr. Pettigrew interjected. "My daughter's fiancé is still r ... rather distressed, Herr Grup ... pen ... fuhrer. You see, he's a little jealous, theirs being a n ... new relationship."

Benedikt smiled at the trembling older man. Secretly, deep down, he couldn't blame these people for being a little upset by the new regulations. But he looked sternly at the young English boy who'd spoken up.

"You will have plenty of time to get over your jealousy before you marry. Your pretty fiancé will spend your long engagement learning how to satisfy big strong men like the Hauptmann and Oberleutnant here."

Dieter smiled. "In fact she's already started, Herr Gruppenfuhrer."

Benedikt raised his eyebrows. "Already?" He nodded in approval. First at Dieter and Hans, then at all the Pettigrews. "That was quick."

"Ja, Herr Gruppenfuhrer. And she was even a virgin too."

This time Benedikt couldn't help a small chuckle. He winked at the attractive brunette who was blushing furiously. She was a pretty little thing.

"Excellent. You were saving yourself for marriage, ja? That is a sign of good discipline. I like that. And don't worry. Your fiancé can still be the first English boy to make love to you, once you're both married. By then he will benefit from your extensive experience with many German lovers."

Dieter nodded in agreement and pointed his swagger-stick towards their hosts.

"Ja. And we have also been using the cane to enforce strict discipline."

Benedikt smiled thinly at the older Herr Pettigrew. This was all excellent news. Maybe the conquest of the British would prove easier than he'd feared? It was his job to guarantee the country was safe before the influx of German civilians arrived to colonise the island.

Dieter continued pleasantly. "Would you be able to linger here for a short while or two, Herr Gruppenfuhrer? Perhaps even enjoy the 'welcome' of one or two of these fine ladies? And of course, the Brigadefuhrer should stay a while too."

Benedikt felt his loins stirring under his uniform. It had been a long time since he'd been with a woman. And this Frau Pettigrew was much more attractive than his chubby Helga back home.

He took out his pocket watch and checked the time.

"And what does Herr Pettigrew say? Would he like us to stay as well?"

There was a tense silence. The Englishman wiped his moustache nervously and blushed bright scarlet.

"Er ... yes, Herr Gruppenfuhrer. It would ... be an ... honour."

 

END OF EXCERPT