TEA WITH HITLER:
A NOVEL
By
Kenyon Marcus
Published by Kenyon Marcus
Smashwords Edition
Copyright December 2011 by Kenyon Marcus
Second Edition
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TABLE OF CONTENTS:
INTRODUCTION
CHAPTER 1 – THE EAGLE’S NEST
CHAPTER 2 - PURIFYING THE MASTER RACE
CHAPTER 3 - A NEW DARK AGE?
CHAPTER 4 - THE LOST HOMELAND
CHAPTER 5 - INTO THE VALLEY
CHAPTER 6 - UNIVERSITY
CHAPTER 7 - THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM
CHAPTER 8 - GROFAZ
CHAPTER 9 - THE CHASE BEGINS
CHAPTER 10 - DEBRIEFING
CHAPTER 11 - THE DEVIL’S CLAW
CHAPTER 12 - CUSTOMS AT THE RIEHEN CROSSING
CHAPTER 13 - THE MOUNTAIN OF THE STAR
CHAPTER 14 - THE DANCE
CHAPTER 15 - A DRINK OF WATER
CHAPTER 16 - AMBUSH
CHAPTER 17 - GOOD DEEDS
CHAPTER 18 - COMPANIONS OF THE OATH
CHAPTER 19 - DYING OF THIRST
CHAPTER 20 - “VALOR IS SUPERIOR TO NUMBERS”
CHAPTER 21 - ISTEINER KLOTZ
CHAPTER 22 - WELL DONE!
CHAPTER 23 - KRISTALLNACHT
CHAPTER 24 - PETS
CHAPTER 25 - THE BITE
CHAPTER 26 - A DEBT OF HONOR
CHAPTER 27 - GEMUTLICHKEIT
CHAPTER 28 - QUIET FLOWS THE RHINE
CHAPTER 29 - THE BUNKER
CHAPTER 30 - THE WEEPING SWAN
CHAPTER 31 - THE MAD MINUTE
CHAPTER 32 - PIECES OF THE PUZZLE
CHAPTER 33 - THE MISFORTUNES OF WAR
CHAPTER 34 - WORDS OF LOVE
CHAPTER 35 - THE RIVER WALK
SUGGESTIONS FOR FURTHER READING
DEDICATION
This book is dedicated to my wife who inspired it and who tolerated my journeys through time to the darker places of human history. Her love is the light which always guided me back from the abyss.
INTRODUCTION
Tea with Hitler is a story of a David and Goliath. It takes place during 1940 at a time when Switzerland was surrounded by Hitler’s Third Reich and its Axis partners and the world faced the very real possibility of a new Dark Age.
The reader will meet Adolf Hitler in these pages. He’s just as evil as history describes him, but the man who invited Marie von Sternberg to tea isn’t the Fuhrer most people expect.
Instead, he’s short, swarthy, pudgy, flatulent, bug-eyed, sweaty, homosexual and boring. The legend of his “glorious service” in World War I is an early example of what might be called “stolen valor” these days and Hitler wasn’t even a German citizen. He was born in Austria and he entered Germany illegally to avoid the Austrian draft. In other words, he could be described as an “illegal alien” insofar as Germany was concerned.
Hitler is such an improbable leader of the tall, blonde, blue-eyed “Master Race” that Marie is compelled to agree with one of her professors at the University of Basel, Carl Gustav Jung that the Germany she once knew must be in the grip of some sort of demonic mass possession. Jung’s speculations on this were published in 1936 under the title Wotan.
Jung wasn’t alone in such speculation. Two German authors published biographies in that same year which included speculation that Hitler was the Anti-Christ. They were Rudolf Olden and Konrad Heiden. Both books were entitled Hitler and both were published after their authors left the Third Reich.
Hermann Rauschning presented similar speculation in 1939 when his book, Hitler Speaks, was published. So did Louis P. Lochner in 1942 with What About Germany? Like Heiden and Olden, both Rauschning and Lochner got out of Hitler’s Reich before their books were published. Olden didn’t survive the war, however. He and his wife were killed when a Nazi U-boat sunk the British passenger ship, City of Benares, on September 18, 1940.
Such speculation isn’t new. A century before the “Machtergreifung”, or “[Nazi] Seizure of Power” as it’s called by Germans today when referring to Hitler’s ascendance to the Chancellorship in 1933, the famous German poet Heinrich Heine concluded his book, Religion and Philosophy in Germany, with the following warning:
“Christianity – and this its greatest merit - has somewhat mitigated that brutal German love of war, but it could not destroy it. Should that subduing talisman, the Cross, be shattered, the frenzied madness of ancient warriors, that insane Berserker rage of which Nordic bards have spoken and sung so often, will once more burst into flame. This talisman is fragile, and the day will come when it will collapse miserably. Then the ancient stone gods will rise from the forgotten debris and rub the dust of a thousand years from their eyes, and finally Thor with his giant hammer will jump and smash the Gothic cathedrals…. When you hear a crashing such as never before has been heard in the world’s history, and then you know that the German thunderbolt has fallen at last. At that uproar the eagles of the air will drop dead, and the lions in the remotest deserts of Africa will hide in their royal dens. A play will be performed in Germany which will make the French Revolution look like an innocent idyll.”
Like a significant number of Germans, Heine was Jewish.
She was young and pretty with perfect Aryan features, blond hair, fair skin and she moved with the grace of a ballerina. Her pale, luminescent eyes were what people noticed first. She had the eyes of a wolf, a legacy of medieval ancestors who’d waged the Northern Crusade seven centuries ago and established the Teutonic Kingdom later known as East Prussia, an agricultural hinterland of Adolf Hitler’s growing Third Reich.
Her trip to Bavaria had been pleasant and the beauty of the mountains around Berchtesgaden delighted her. It was the spring of 1940 and she was looking forward to seeing her favorite uncle honored for his bravery in Poland. Other SS officers and men would be honored too and Reichsfuhrer Heinrich Himmler was scheduled to make the awards personally.
Marie Theresa von Sternberg, Countess of Kurland, was impressed by the dashing figure her uncle cut in his black SS uniform, but was flabbergasted to see that the Fuhrer himself was present and made the awards while Himmler stood quietly at his side. Her uncle thus received the Iron Cross for gallantry in Poland from the hand of Adolf Hitler.
Not only was she astonished by Hitler’s presence at the awards ceremony, but she was surprised at how short he looked. He wore riding pants and boots like a cavalry officer even though it was said that he was afraid of horses and never rode.
The short ceremony nevertheless went well and Marie was proud to finally take her uncle’s arm and congratulate him with a hug and a kiss. SS Untersturmfuhrer Wolfram von Sternberg beamed with pride both in his new Iron Cross and the approval of his adoring niece. The parade ground where the ceremony had taken place was in front the SS barracks a short walk from the comfortable Platterhof Hotel where she’d stayed.
It was a warm spring day in the scenic mountain village of Obersalzberg in the Berchtesgaden district of Bavaria and the gleaming snow-capped peaks of the area added to its beauty. The white-clad mountains of the Watzmann and Hochkalter caught the sunlight like fine crystal. The air was clear and Salzberg, Austria, was visible in the east. Mozart had lived there and “Silent Night” had been composed there. Now Salzberg was part of Hitler’s growing Reich like Austria itself and singing “Silent Night” was officially discouraged by the Nazi Party because it celebrated a “Jewish Savior.” It had been replaced by a song about an “Aryan Jesus” undefiled by any “Jewish blood.”
Marie couldn’t remember the name of the Nazi song and privately considered the whole matter to be an absurd denial of history. A devout Lutheran herself, she knew that Martin Luther taught that Jesus had been born into a Jewish family to save all mankind from sin, including her. She also knew that the Nazis had placed a leading Lutheran pastor, Martin Niemoller, in a concentration camp on Hitler’s personal order because he refused to follow Nazi instructions about such things. Niemoller had been a U-boat commander during the Great War. He’d won a number of awards for bravery and was a prominent war hero before answering God’s call to become a pastor. A lot of other pastors had been arrested and some killed for the same reason. Even Roman Catholic priests had experienced that kind of mistreatment by the Nazis. Some of them had also been killed and others were in concentration camps.
Marie had learned that it was best not to be too curious. Belonging to a prominent family wouldn’t protect her from the fury of the Nazis if their conduct toward prominent war heroes and religious leaders was any indication.
No wonder Professor Carl Gustav Jung compared Hitler to the ancient god of chaos, Wotan. Published in 1936, Marie recalled that Jung’s article noted that Wotan had been “changed by Christianity into the devil” and that he held the people of Germany in a state of “Ergriffenheit” or collective possession. Jung was a member of the faculty at the University of Basel and she’d heard some of his lectures. Hitler even physically resembled the Wotan depicted in Franz von Stuck’s painting entitled The Wild Chase. Marie had seen it at a memorial exhibition in Munich. Von Stuck had been a prominent Art Nouveau painter and sculptor in Bavaria at one time but some of his work had a dark edge that made her uncomfortable.
The Fuhrer lingered with some of his inner circle and Marie saw Princess Stephanie von Hohenlohe on the arm of Reichsfuhrer Heinrich Himmler, head of the SS. This offended her. Himmler was married and should never have associated with a notorious slut like Stephanie especially at a ceremony like this. The sun caught Stephanie’s red hair giving her a crown of spun fire. Marie wished to herself that the fire would burn off her aunt’s head. She knew that it was un-Christian to pray for such things, but “Princess Stephanie” was too much for her to bear.
Although titles of nobility had been officially abolished in Hitler’s new Reich, they still seemed to matter, especially to Himmler. His father had been employed by the Wittelsbach family. They had been the royal family of Bavaria and one of them was Himmler’s godfather. Marie wondered if that was why Himmler had encouraged her uncle to join the SS Cavalry Brigade. Even Hitler seemed to enjoy having a few blue-bloods around and Stephanie was one of the few people who could get past Martin Bormann, Hitler’s secretary, and spend time alone with the Fuhrer.
Marie suspected her aunt of seducing the “Man of Destiny.” She’d seduced everybody else, including Bormann, why not the Fuhrer? Marie peeked around her uncle’s shoulder and saw Stephanie chatting with Hitler. Then Stephanie saw them and motioned for them to join her.
Her uncle nodded and approached the Fuhrer’s group with Marie in tow. Stephanie smiled, and hugged them both and then introduced Marie as her “niece.” Mortified, Marie tried to smile and maintain her poise.
Himmler took her hand, squinted through his thick, round glasses and smiled at her. His hand was cold and clammy and his grip seemed limp. His skin was pallid. He seemed like a fish out of water but she felt his dark eyes undressing her. Marie was pretty and had experienced this kind of masculine scrutiny before. She sometimes felt flattered by such attention but Himmler’s look struck her as vaguely sinister.
Marie was surprised to see that the Fuhrer’s eyes seemed to protrude out of his head a bit. Hitler smiled paternally and took her hand in the Austrian fashion, kissing it and gently assuring her that he was “charmed” to meet her. “You must join us for tea at the Eagle’s Nest,” he said.
Thunderstruck, Marie managed to nod yes and muster a faint smile of appreciation. And so it was done. Shaking and weak in the knees, she leaned on her uncle as they took their leave.
Her uncle sensed her weakness and assured her that the Fuhrer had that effect on a lot of people. “Don’t worry,” he said to Marie. “I’ll ask Stephanie to drop in and tell you what to expect. I’ve been ordered back to Poland or I’d go with you. The Eagle’s Nest is on the Kehlstein Mountain about four miles from here and over 6,000 feet up. Bormann had it built a couple of years ago as a birthday present for the Fuhrer. It’s marvelous. Just follow Stephanie’s lead and you’ll be fine.”
Marie mumbled something appropriate while trying to imagine just what it might be like to “follow Stephanie’s lead.” That could involve dancing naked on the banquet table and having sex with Hitler and everybody else including his dogs. Although she was a good dancer, Marie realized that she was still a schoolgirl who hadn’t had sex with anybody let alone the entire leadership of the Thousand Year Reich. Aunt Stephanie might enjoy that sort of thing, but Marie wasn’t looking forward to it.
Stephanie showed up a couple of hours early and helped her select a nice, pale blue dress. Marie had been living with cousins at Liestal, Switzerland, near Basel, while she attended school there. Her cousins were French-speaking Romands who followed Paris fashions and expected Marie to keep up appearances.
Stephanie also reassured her. “Tea” at the Eagle’s Nest consisted of a lavish dinner followed by tea and pastries. Hitler liked to relax by talking to his guests until two or three in the morning. Then, he would retire followed by one girl, a bit older than Marie. She was Eva Braun.
The guests were expected to listen politely and laugh when the Fuhrer told a joke. They were also expected to agree with whatever he said even if it contradicted something he’d said earlier. “Just think of him as a friend who’s always right,” Stephanie said. “And don’t react when he farts.”
“You’re joking!” Marie commented.
Stephanie explained that she was serious. The Fuhrer had a sweet tooth and indigestion. He tended to be quite flatulent and nobody dared to react or to comment. Stephanie had experienced that a number of times to the point where she’d expected the paint to start peeling off the walls. Other than a polite cough, she’d learned to endure it. It was a bit like sitting in a well-furnished sewer. After the first few minutes, you couldn’t smell anything so it no longer mattered.
“Will I be expected to have sex with him?” Marie asked fearfully.
Laughing, Stephanie said “No! He’s homosexual and I’ve heard that he only has one testicle and that his penis is freakishly small. I’ve spent enough time alone with him to seduce half the Nazi Party and all he did was drone on about politics. I can guarantee that he’s not interested in having sex with women no matter how attractive they are. Himmler’s a bit of a lecher, but its Bormann and Goebbels you really have to watch, especially Goebbels. If Goering was around, he’d make a pass at you, too. He’s getting fat, but he’s the most dashing of the lot. There will also be some secretaries and other clerical personnel there. Most of them are pretty and only a bit older than you. They’re all completely devoted to Hitler, however, so don’t shoot your mouth off no matter what the Fuhrer says or does. And don’t talk about what’s going on in occupied Poland or what’s happening in the concentration camps or ask where the Jews and other ‘enemies of the Reich’ are. You don’t want to know!”
Marie nodded in agreement, jolted somewhat by the sudden recollection that Stephanie was a Jew herself. Stephanie gave her a stimulant to keep her from dozing off during Hitler’s anticipated soliloquy. Driven by an SS man, a Mercedes touring car called for them at the hotel and took them up the winding road to the Eagle’s Nest. The ride was relaxing and they arrived on time. Marie was impressed by the elaborate stonework around the entrance to what looked like a subway tunnel.
SS men escorted them through a marble-lined passageway almost four hundred feet long carved out of the living rock of the mountain itself. Marie noticed sparks being kicked up by the highly polished jackboots worn by the SS men. Their marching boots had iron reinforcements around the heel and iron hobnails for added traction. The effect in low light struck Marie as surreal. She couldn’t tell if she was entering a new world or a very old one.
The Fuhrer’s elevator awaited them in a large lobby at the end of the tunnel. It was the biggest lift she’d ever seen and, according to the SS officer in charge, it could comfortably accommodate up to forty people. Power was supplied by a U-boat engine which could be heard nearby.
She studied her reflection in the highly polished brass walls of the elevator as it ascended another four hundred feet to the interior of the Eagle’s Nest itself. “The Fuhrer has a touch of claustrophobia and this makes it look bigger,” Stephanie whispered into her ear.
Marie studied the reflections in the highly polished brass surfaces. They did make the elevator seem even larger and less confining than it was. Then she looked away startled by the sudden expectation that she might glimpse a reflection of the Fuhrer looking back at her from somewhere deep inside the wall with those strange, protruding eyes of his.
Marie wasn’t surprised to hear that the Eagle’s Nest had cost over thirty million Reichsmarks to construct. It was an extravagant piece of German engineering. She and Stephanie took in the view from the “Scharitz Room.” It was spectacular overlooking a number of smaller mountains including the Scharitzkehl, the Hoher Goll and some others. She could even see the glistening blue waters of a mountain lake, the Konigsee.
The view was breathtaking and the room was paneled in perfectly fitted cembra pine. Marie noticed a pretty young woman taking in the view. In a whisper, Stephanie identified her as Eva Braun. She seemed to be quite at home and Stephanie explained that some insiders referred to this as “Eva’s room.”
About thirty guests were present. Drinks and appetizers were served in the reception hall in front of a massive, elegant marble fireplace. Hitler was late, as usual, and Marie overheard someone mention that he was a vegetarian as well as a teetotaler. Stephanie confirmed both statements but noted that his guests could expect the best wines and liquors as well as generous portions of the best cuts of meat. The Eagle’s Nest had been constructed to overawe visiting diplomats with its hospitality and scenic location. In fact Bormann and other Nazi bigwigs had originally referred to it as the “D-Haus” to identify it as “the House for Diplomats.”
One of those diplomats had been Andre Francois-Poncet, the French Ambassador. After visiting the elegant D-Haus perched on top of the towering 6,000 foot tall Kehlstein he’d compared it to an “eagle’s nest.” Hitler loved it and the name stuck. An immaculately uniformed SS officer appeared and invited the guests into the oak paneled dining room. Place cards on the long, lavishly set table indicated the seating arrangement. Marie found herself between Stephanie and Hitler. The other seat at the head of the table bore Eva Braun’s name.
Eva entered wearing a light cotton print dress with a yellow cornflower design. She smiled at Marie and Stephanie and introduced herself. She was very pretty and it did not surprise Marie to learn that Eva had been a model for Heinrich Hoffmann, the Fuhrer’s favorite photographer. Eva did not mention her relationship with Hitler and Marie knew better than to ask. Instead, she commented on how nice Marie’s light blue dress looked and asked if she’d gotten it in Munich. The dress had actually come from a salon in Paris, but Marie did not wish to appear snooty and answered that she’d gotten it in Basel.
Eva chattered on about swimming and boating in the Konigsee and invited Marie to join her if she could stay long enough. Marie liked Eva and felt a sense of guilty pleasure when she realized that Eva was ignoring Stephanie. Eva seemed like a nice girl as she chatted about fashion, swimming, boating, riding and interesting places to shop and she was a lot closer to Marie in age and experience than she was to Stephanie. Indeed, she seemed as girlish and innocent as Marie herself was.
Eva changed when Hitler entered the room. She continued to smile, but she no longer chatted spontaneously. She reminded Marie of an animal going dormant with the approach of winter. Everyone stood, gave the Nazi salute and said “Heil Hitler!” Such a greeting was the law in the Third Reich now, and she was seated next to its Fuhrer.
The war was going well with the British bottled up at Dunkirk and the French in retreat. Hitler was in a good mood and welcomed his guests in a jovial tone of voice as the meal was served. The main course was an excellent Chateaubriand with all the trimmings and some of the best soufflé dumplings Marie had ever tasted. The Fuhrer was served a special salad, but Marie noticed that he seemed to like the dumplings, called “Salzberger Nockerln,” almost as much as she did.
She studied him and was surprised at his gelatinous appearance. He did not appear to have a skeleton and his eyes seemed to bug out even more than when she’d first seen him on the parade ground. Then he turned to face her.
“Do you know why I invited you here, Gräfin von Kurland?” he asked.
Marie was surprised to be addressed by her title, “Countess of Kurland,” and even more surprised that Hitler was familiar with it. Struggling to maintain her poise, she answered “No, Mein Fuhrer.” and smiled, hoping for the best.
Hitler paused and smiled benevolently taking her hand in the Austrian fashion as he said, “You have my mother’s eyes.”
CHAPTER 2 - PURIFYING THE MASTER RACE
Lorelei Tannhauser began to wake up. She couldn’t seem to move her arms and legs and somebody seemed to be watching her.
“It’s best not to struggle,” a feminine voice said. As her eyes focused, Lorelei saw a woman in the white uniform of a nurse standing by her bedside.
“We didn’t want you to hurt yourself when you woke up from your sedative,” the woman explained.
“Where am I?” Lorelei asked.
The nurse made some notes on a medical chart and answered “You’re in the clinic at the Lebensborn center in Steinhoering near Munich and you’re in excellent health. You’ll be up and around before you know it as soon as you demonstrate that we can trust you to remain calm and follow our instructions.”
Then Lorelei began to remember. She’d been selected for the “honor” of giving a child to the Fuhrer himself and the order had come personally from SS Reichsfuhrer Heinrich Himmler. The Nazis had even picked out the man who was going to be the father of her child. She could even qualify for a medal, the “Mother’s Cross,” if she had four children “of good blood” for the Fuhrer. If she had eight Aryan babies she would earn the Mother’s Cross in gold and be entitled to the Nazi salute on the street. She’d also get a pension and help with the children from “Lebensborn,” which meant, “Font of Life.” It all sounded comforting enough. If she did not wish to raise the children herself, Lebensborn would take them. She didn’t have to be married.
The Nazi Party placed little importance on such bourgeois notions as marriage. Germany’s birth rate had fallen in the wake of the First World War because of all the men lost. After the war, only one woman in four could hope to find a husband. For the Aryan master race to survive, the Nazis realized that the birth rate had to be increased by any means possible. Motherhood had become the goal of every loyal Nazi female and those who did not march in step were subjected to criticism and even violence.
Although she was just a farm girl from Freiburg im Breisgau, Himmler had determined she was descended from one of the knights who’d fought the pagans in the Northern Crusade and helped establish the Teutonic Kingdom and that she was the last of that bloodline. At sixteen, Lorelei wasn’t sure what all that meant, but she was sure that she didn’t want to be forced into having a baby by somebody she didn’t know. She’d wept, and then she’d broken a drinking glass and tried to kill herself by slashing her wrists with a shard of broken glass. She could see the bandage on her left wrist as she lay spread-eagle on the bed unable to move.
The SS medical personnel had gotten hold of her almost immediately and then she felt the sting of a needle and the sensation of floating in a warm pool. Now, she found herself strapped to a bed in a room. Although the light was subdued, it didn’t look like a hospital room and the bed didn’t feel like a hospital bed. The nurse had finished writing her notes and left closing the door behind her. Lorelei twisted around trying to wiggle out of the restraints and then she heard the doorknob turning. Someone was entering the room.
As the door opened, she saw the silhouette of a man in an SS uniform which included tall boots and flared riding pants. Lorelei trembled in fear. Whoever this man was, he didn’t look like a member of the medical staff.
“Who are you and what are you doing in my room?” she shouted at him hoping that the audible note of terror in her voice would bring help.
Calmly, the man shut the door and took off his hat. “I’m SS Sturmfuhrer Wolfram von Sternberg and you’re in my room,” he answered.
Lorelei gasped and began to weep. Through her tears, she asked, “Are you the one they sent to rape me?”
“I suppose that’s one way of looking at it,” he said with a gentle laugh. “I didn’t realize that I was so ugly that they’d have to tie you down, though.”
He had a nice smile and Lorelei looked at him. He had blond hair, light blue eyes and good teeth. He didn’t look like the kind of fellow who’d enjoy raping school-girls. In fact, he looked like the kind of man she would consider handsome under other circumstances.
“You’re not ugly,” she said. “They tied me down because I tried to slash my wrist.”
He smiled at her response and said, “It is sweet of you to say that I’m not ugly, but opinions vary.” Gently, he took her bandaged wrist in his hands and examined it closely.
“Why would a pretty girl like you want to hurt herself?” he asked.
“Do you really think I’m pretty?” she asked.
He caressed her cheek with his hand. Then, he bent down and kissed her lightly on the lips. “You’re way past pretty. You’re beautiful, but you’re not a very good kisser.”
“What do you mean by that?” she asked. “I think I am good at kissing.”
“Close your eyes and pucker your lips like this.” he said demonstrating an exaggerated pucker and kissing the back of his hand with an audible “smack.”
“I can do that,” she said closing her eyes and puckering up. The second kiss was better and she was no longer sobbing.
“That was wonderful,” he said. “You are good at kissing.”
Then she remembered where she was and began to sob again.
“If you promise not to beat me up, I’ll unfasten the restraints,” he said.
She continued to sob and said, “And then you’ll rape me.”
The smile on his face was gone. He looked serious and said, “I’m not going to do anything to hurt you. We can just talk and I’ll tell them we had sex. I don’t like watching you cry and if I really wanted to rape you, I’d leave you tied to the bed.”
He unfastened her restraints and she stretched out and examined her wrist carefully. “I wonder if it will leave a scar.”
“It might leave a little one, but it will fade if you leave it alone,” he said.
She wrapped the sheet around herself and held it tight. He retrieved an undershirt from a drawer next to the bed and told her that it was long enough to cover her. “I didn’t realize that you weren’t wearing anything,” he lied.
“What will happen to me when I don’t have a baby?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” he answered. The fact was that Himmler would get a baby from her even if he had to keep her tied down in some cellar until the child could be taken by caesarian section and both of them knew it.
She began to cry again and he put his arm around her to comfort her. She hugged him desperately and continued to sob until she felt him drying her tears with a tissue. She no longer cared about anything. She was out of choices and she knew it.
Then he kissed her again. She began to melt into him and kissed him back. No longer was this the light, sweet kiss he’d taught her. She felt his tongue searching inside her mouth and she kissed him the same way feeling a fire deep within. She’d never felt anything like that before.
She tensed when she felt him lifting the borrowed shirt off of her. She heard him say, “We can stop anytime you like. I’ll just tell them we had sex.”
She began sobbing again. “This is wrong! I wanted to be in love and to be loved.”
He held her and stroked her hair gently. “Do you believe in love at first sight?” He asked.
“Don’t tease me!” she moaned.
“You don’t realize how beautiful you really are.” he said. “I do and that’s why I want to marry you.”
“Now you’re being cruel!” she cried.
“You’re the one being cruel.” he answered. “You’re beautiful and I love you. I want to marry you and you won’t even give me an answer. Don’t you like me even a little bit?”
She studied him. “I like you and you’re very handsome. You’ve been nice to me, but they won’t let us get married here even if you were serious.”
“I am serious.” he said. “I’m an SS officer and I’m personally acquainted with Reichsfuhrer Himmler and Adolf Hitler himself. You and I could go into the village of Steinhoering tomorrow morning. There is a nice gasthaus there where we can have breakfast and the owner is the local magistrate. He’s a friend of mine and he’s authorized to marry people. All we have to do is to fill out the form and pay the fee.”
“You would do that for me?” she asked with the beginnings of a smile.
“If you’ll have me!” he answered with a grin.
She kissed him long and deep and unbuttoned his tunic and his shirt. Soon, they were both naked and she could see that he had a strong, manly physique. He was taller than average and very handsome.
She felt him kiss the back of her neck and gently fondle her breasts. Her hands roamed over him to his throbbing manhood and she felt herself well up inside. She felt his hands explore between her legs and up inside her.
She was on fire now and she wanted him more than anything else in the world. Gently, he positioned himself under her and guided her onto him as if she was mounting a stallion. “It will be better this way,” he said breathing heavily as she felt him enter her.
“When it feels right, lower yourself down all the way and your maidenhead will break. It will sting and there will be some bleeding, but you will be all right, I promise.”
He caressed her breasts as she enjoyed the feeling of his penis inside her. Slowly, she moved her hips up and down enjoying the hot, damp tingling and then she wanted more. She lowered herself down on him hard and squealed as she felt the sting of the membrane being torn. Then, he was deep inside her and she felt herself shudder with excitement.
She felt his hands on her hips, guiding her up and down - faster and then she felt him explode deep inside her as he groaned loudly. Spent, she kissed him long and deep and lay beside him. She’d never experienced an orgasm before and never felt a man’s orgasm inside her. She smiled and dozed off in his arms. Later, she would explore him some more.
CHAPTER 3 - A NEW DARK AGE?
There was a knock at the door. Professor Paul Nef was surprised. Students seldom sought him out this early in the morning. He’d finished grading papers for his world history class and was preparing to look over the applications from new students who’d been tentatively accepted into the history department at the University of Basel. It was the custom in the history department to meet with the new students and their families a semester before they were actually scheduled to begin their studies. This was an opportunity to get acquainted with them and a last chance to weed out any misfits.
It was Irwin Dreyfus, another faculty member. He taught psychology and was a colleague of the famous Carl Gustav Jung. Like Nef, Dreyfus was also in the Swiss Militia. Most men were. It was said that “Switzerland doesn’t have an army: Switzerland is an army,” and there was a lot of truth to that. Its “army” was made up of armed citizens with only a small cadre of full-time soldiers.
Dreyfus held the rank of major and served as the division’s “Amt Ein,” or First Department. As such, he was in charge of intelligence operations which had kept him busy since the revelation a couple of years ago that the Nazis had a plan, code-named “Tannenbaum,” or “Christmas Tree,” to occupy Switzerland the way they had Austria and Czechoslovakia.
Amt Ein itself extended beyond Nef’s division. General Henri Guisan, Commander in Chief of the Swiss Army, actually commanded Amt Ein. Officially, Amt Ein didn’t exist and Major Dreyfus was a signals officer in charge of communications under Nef who commanded the local division.
“The news is bad,” Dreyfus said glumly. “The French seem to be in retreat and the British appear to be concentrating around Dunkirk.”
Nef was alarmed, but remembered that the French had also retreated in 1914 and then turned things around just when the war appeared to be lost. Unrolling a map on his cluttered desk, he pointed out the arrows indicating troop movements.
“Look at the Nazi right wing, Irwin. It appears to be very strong and it has moved along the coast and through the Low Countries like an avalanche of tanks and aircraft forcing the British Expeditionary Force and the French to fall back to Dunkirk. You chaps in Amt Ein have identified this wing as being under the command of Field Marshal Ewald von Kleist with General Heinz Guderian on his left.”
Dreyfus pointed to the exposed left flank of the German offensive. “Yes, I see that Kleist is vulnerable on his left flank and that the Maginot Line appears to have stalled Guderian and could shield a counter attack by the mobile reserves behind the Maginot Line. But that’s all based on speculation. At this point we’re blind. We don’t know much more than the newspapers seem to. We have no eyes inside Hitler’s Reich and we desperately need them.”
Nef said, “The French Army is the strongest force in Europe and they are reinforced by the British. They’ve been hit hard, but they are beginning to adjust to the speed and violence of the Nazi attack. Ad hoc strongpoints reportedly have been successful in slowing the Nazis down even with their air support.”
“That is true,” Dreyfus said. “The Nazis seem to have outrun their supply lines and the Allies have concentrated their anti-aircraft guns in these strongpoints. And the Allies have more tanks and more aircraft than the Nazis do, but they lack radio communications and don’t seem to be able to mount a coordinated counter-attack.”
“We’ll know one way or another,” Nef replied. “The Allies will have to launch a strategic counter-attack within the next few days or face defeat. I’m confident that’s why they’ve pulled back into Dunkirk. That’s their strongpoint and they can easily reinforce it by sea and support it with the Royal Air Force and the Royal Navy. That would place Kleist in a giant pincer movement while Guderian is stalled on the wrong side of the Maginot Line.”
“Or Guderian could move south across the High Rhine right through us here in Basel,” Dreyfus warned. “And General Guisan insists on moving our entire category one troops back to the mountain fortresses of Sargans, Gotthard and Saint-Maurice in the High Alps.”
“Yes,” Nef said. “I saw Major Pierre de Saxe off with the last of our category one men last night. They’re probably already in the National Redoubt, but that leaves us in a vulnerable position if the Nazis decide to flank the Maginot Line by crossing into Switzerland.”
“Guderian could also link up with the Italians if they crossed here, Paul,” Dreyfus said. Of course he could never dislodge de Saxe and the rest of the army from the Redoubt.”
“That’s the point General Guisan seems to be trying to make to the Nazis. No matter how hard they hit us, Switzerland will survive as long as its militia survives,” Nef said.
“Denmark’s army was as large as ours, Paul, and they only lasted four hours against the Nazis,” Dreyfus said.
“Finland’s army was as large as ours, too, and they stopped the Red Army,” Nef said.
“Now they’re German allies, though,” Dreyfus said glumly. “A lot of their officers were trained by the Germans.”
“If this goes badly,” Nef said, “we could be looking at the onset of a new dark age. If France falls, look at our situation. We’ll be reduced to a tiny island of light in a vast sea of darkness. We’ll be completely cut off by Hitler and his Axis partners!”
“Yes, there won’t be any escape,” Dreyfus said. Like a significant number of Swiss, he was Jewish.
The morning had gone well for SS Untersturmfuhrer Wolfram von Sternberg and his adolescent bride, Lorelei. It was a beautiful day with a clear, blue sky overhead. They’d enjoyed a wonderful breakfast at the gasthaus and the little dress shop next door had yielded a Nicollet ensemble in royal blue which fitted Lorelei perfectly and made her look several years older to Wolfram’s relief.
He’d even gotten her a ring. He’d panicked a bit when he saw her looking at the jewelry counter with its selection of expensive rings, but was relieved to learn that she liked an old fashioned ring with a small diamond surrounded by fire opals in a gold setting. The shopkeeper was relieved to see somebody interested in it and she’d given him a deep discount on an already modestly priced ring. Although his young bride was pretty enough to be a high fashion model from Munich, Paris or Milan, she had the soul of a thrifty farm girl and loved the little ring. Fortunately, it fit her perfectly.
Wolfram had even located a new Mercedes Benz 300 touring car in the SS motor pool at Steinhoering. It was sky blue, the color of the Bavarian flag, and had leather seats and all the comforts. It had plenty of power and was fun to drive. It had been specially ordered by a wealthy Jewish banker who’d left the Third Reich. The law required him to forfeit ninety percent of his property to the Reich in return for which, he and his family were allowed to leave and try to find a country which would grant them refuge. Switzerland, France, England, the Low Countries, the USA and others had admitted limited numbers of Jews, but many had been forced to return. They were a people without a state of their own and their German citizenship had been revoked by the Nazis soon after Hitler consolidated his power. Even those who’d converted to Christianity lost their citizenship. Hitler considered Jews to be a race, not a religion, and you cannot convert from one race to another.
Lorelei snuggled up as close as she could manage and told him that he should take the back road into the Lebensborn center because she wanted to be alone with her husband. Although he was beginning to feel like most of the skin had been worn off his male member, Wolfram was agreeable to consummating their marriage at Steinhoering. He’d thought about taking her to Munich and renting a room, but he could use the room they’d used last night and it would give him a chance to collect his shaving kit and a change of clothing.
He glanced at her in the sunlight. She was beautiful. Her long hair caught the bright sunlight and her new ensemble fit her perfectly, showing off her figure and her smashing legs to good advantage. He forgot about how sore he felt as blood rushed to his nether regions and he remembered how smooth and warm Lorelei’s body felt next to his.
As they pulled to a stop, he gestured for her to remain seated and ceremoniously opened her door taking her in his arms and carrying her into the clinic and his room. She clung to him joyfully and felt light as a warm summer breeze in his strong arms.
He kicked the door shut and gently placed her on the bed. No restraints would be needed now. She wiggled out of her blouse, skirt and lingerie as he climbed out of his uniform and lay down next to her.
He played his hands through her long hair and explored her body. He caressed the back of her neck softly and nibbled on her ear lobe. She giggled and massaged his erection until it throbbed to be inside of her.
He kissed her deeply and then worked his tongue around her nipples, kissing each breast softly and then sucking on it. He felt her shudder deep inside while positioning himself on top of her and began to enter her. He felt her tighten up as if in pain and then realized that she was even sorer than he was.
He bent down and kissed her long and hard. He lost himself in her and then gently withdrew his member from inside her. She tried to protest, but he kissed her into a dreamy silence and then kissed her breasts, suckling them as if he was a baby. He felt her relax.
Then he kissed her smooth stomach and began licking her secret lips. She squealed and shuddered, but in pleasure instead of pain. He sucked on her clitoris and explored her with his tongue until he felt her convulse in a powerful orgasm.
She gasped, squealed and kissed him hungrily. “I love you, Herr von Sternberg.”
“I love you too, Frau von Sternberg,” he answered looking at her as she pulled him close and held him in a lover’s embrace.
“I’m getting hungry,” he said to her. “Let’s get dressed and find a good restaurant. It’s a wonderful day for touring and you deserve a better honeymoon than this.”
“I’m happy here, but I’ll follow you anywhere,” she replied.
“I’ll take a quick shower and pack while you collect your things,” he said. “We can be on the road again in just a few minutes.”
As he started lathering himself up in the shower he became aware that the curtain opened and a female form had entered the shower with him. She took his bar of soap and his wash cloth and gently lathered him up while pressing herself against him.
He reciprocated enjoying the feel of her wet skin as he explored her body with her washcloth. She wiggled in front of him and stood on her toes pressing herself against him and kissed him long and deep. Then she kissed his chest, his stomach and his increasingly erect penis.
“Turnabouts fair play,” she purred taking the tip of his penis in her mouth and sucking on it. He looked down at the water running off her blonde hair and felt himself welling up.
“I’m going to come,” he moaned. She continued sucking and he felt himself explode into her mouth.
“You taste pretty good,” she laughed as she swallowed and held him close.
“Not as sweet as you,” he answered.
They packed their things and were loading them into the Mercedes when a bright, red Alfa Romeo parked and Wolfram saw Princess Stephanie von Hohenlohe behind the steering wheel. Sitting next to her was Marie von Sternberg, his niece.
Stephanie’s jaw dropped in apparent surprise as she recognized Wolfram.
Marie waved and shouted, “What a pleasant surprise! You must be my ride to KB.” KB was Klein Basel, or Little Basel, and it was across the Rhine from Basel, Switzerland, Marie’s intended destination.
Wolfram felt a sudden surge of anger as he realized that Stephanie had lured Marie to Steinhoering to ingratiate herself with Himmler who doubtless wanted his niece to produce a child or two for the Fuhrer. Stephanie had heard him tell Marie that he was returning to his unit in Poland and obviously hadn’t expected to bump into him while delivering his niece to Steinhoering’s “special handling” wing.
Instead of wringing Stephanie’s slender neck, Wolfram decided to play the scene out and see where it would lead.
“Yes, we’re your ride,” he said to Marie hugging her as he grabbed her suitcase and threw it into his Mercedes. “This will be a great opportunity for you to meet my bride,” he added nodding toward Lorelei.”
He hurried them into the Mercedes and started the car. “Thanks for looking after Marie,” he shouted to Stephanie. “We’ll get together sometime and repay your kindness, but right now we’ve got to get on the road or we’ll be late for supper.”
Stephanie mustered a faint smile and waved to them as the blue Mercedes left the parking lot and roared off toward the new autobahn and KB. She considered reporting the incident to Himmler and stopping them before they got too close to the Swiss border, but she didn’t look forward to explaining how Marie had gotten away from her. Although he seemed to be mild-mannered, the Reichsfuhrer could be a vindictive monster. She decided to say nothing. Instead, she’d be extra passionate the next time she seduced Himmler. She knew his preferences and how to manipulate him when it was to her advantage.
After driving a few hours, they found a nice restaurant in KB. Basel was visible across the Rhine and Marie telephoned her cousins to pick her on the Swiss side of the border after supper.
Lorelei excused herself to the ladies room which gave Wolfram an opportunity to address the questioning looks he’d been getting from his young niece.
“I know this is a surprise, Marie,” he said. He explained that Lorelei had not been able to bring herself to comply with Himmler’s order that she produce a child for Hitler. She’d been reported to the Gestapo for her disobedience and they’d delivered her to the detention wing at the Lebensborn center at Steinhoering where she could be locked up and raped until she produced the child Himmler wanted.
“I’ve experienced some of that myself,” Marie answered. She’d been forced to enroll in the BDM, or League of German Maidens like Lorelei had. Unlike Lorelei, Marie had the connections and clout to avoid most of the meetings and worst of the pressure. A couple of local Nazis had demanded that she become “a bride of the Fuhrer” as unmarried teenage girls were called when they became pregnant, most by boys from the Hitler Youth. They’d been deterred by an elderly uncle of hers who’d joined the Gestapo when its mission was still to protect the royal family of Prussia, the Hohenzollerns.
The Nazis had battled with the Prussian police, including the Gestapo, which continued even during the time of the Weimar Republic. When they finally seized power, the Nazis placed Hermann Goering himself in command of the Prussian police. He’d purged the leadership of the police and then expanded the Gestapo transforming it into an NKVD type of organization. The NKVD was Stalin’s sinister secret police. Eventually the Gestapo was absorbed into Himmler’s SS which expanded to include all police and security formations within the Reich.
Although she was familiar with the public face Lebensborn put forward, it had never occurred to Marie that they would facilitate the systematic rape of young girls like Lorelei. She was further shocked by the realization that Stephanie had lied to her and attempted to have her detained at Steinhoering until a rapist “of good blood” could be furnished to impregnate her for Himmler’s amusement. Marie was starting to feel sick to her stomach when Lorelei returned.
“You’re not feeling well?” Lorelei asked.
“I think it was something I ate,” Marie answered. The girl seemed genuinely concerned about her and she was certainly beautiful. “I’m sure all I need is a good night’s sleep.”
As they walked to the crossing point at the bridge, Marie saw her cousins, Noelle and Joie de Saxe waving to her on the Swiss side of the Rhine. She took her leave from her uncle and his new bride glancing at the big Nazi flag moving with the warm breeze. It was blood red with a black “Hackenkreuz,” or “Twisted Cross” as the Swastika was sometimes called. The Hackenkreuz was centered inside a white disc.
The breaking or twisting of the cross had always made Marie uncomfortable and now it filled her with dread. She felt a sense of relief as she passed under the red Swiss flag with its cross of white in the center. It was a symbol of innocence and blood as well as the flag of the “Everlasting Confederation of the Swiss.”
She’d never experienced such feelings of horror under the black, red and gold flag of Germany or the black and white flag of her native Prussia. She looked back at Wolfram and Lorelei and waved to them. The dying rays of the sun had turned the world crimson. Hitler’s Reich took on the appearance of an ocean of blood under a darkening sky. For the first time, she hoped she would never have to return to her fatherland.
Matthew Grey studied the changing countryside as his cousin, Luc Lagardrere, drove the yellow and black Renault 5 CV. The flat fields were giving way to hills and evergreens.
“We’re getting close to the Jura Mountains, Luc” he said.
“The last sign said we’re in the Vallee de la Ombre, Shadow Valley, and that’s in Burgundy. We’re already in the foothills of the Juras. The next stop is L’ecurie and we need gas and something to eat.”
“It’s sure quiet,” Matthew said as they entered the village.
“It looks like it’s been abandoned,” Luc replied seeing the open doors and windows of the cottages. Luggage and civilian clothing littered the courtyard in the center of the village.
“They must have left in a big hurry, “Luc said looking at the evidence of a panic stricken exit. “Whatever didn’t fit in their carts got tossed out.”
“I don’t see any evidence of bombing or strafing,” Matt said. He and Luc got out of the two-door roadster and explored the little town on foot. There was still food at the café and the two young men salvaged some for the rest of their journey. They ate some and stowed the rest in the trunk of the Renault. They still had gas but would need more to get home to Switzerland.
“This makes me nervous,” Luc said. “We’ve managed to stay ahead of the war since we left Calais. I thought the French and the British would have stopped them at the French border and be halfway to Berlin by now. The last radio broadcast we heard talked about a big Anglo-French counter-attack and yet the Germans seem to have gotten past the Maginot Line.”
“Maybe it’s paratroopers like they used to take that big, Belgian fort at Eban Emael on the Albert Canal.” Matt mused, as much to himself as to his cousin.
“That could be,” Luc agreed, “or maybe the Germans broke through at Sedan. Digging in here would put them in a position to flank the eastern wing of the Maginot Line and bottle up the French reserves, three whole armies.”
“In other words, the French and the British wouldn’t have any forces left to mount a counterattack,” Matt replied. “Dunkirk would be changed from a stronghold into a trap for any Allied troops dug in there.”
“You’re worrying too much, Matt. You don’t honestly believe the French Army, the most powerful armed force in Europe, could collapse like a house of cards, do you?” Luc asked.
“Well, no,” Matt replied. “This so-called ‘Blitzkrieg’, or ‘Lightning Warfare’, might be an updated version of the German inclination to use cavalry like they did in 1914, disrupt lines of communication and supply and demoralize everybody. Their Uhlan Lancers did a lot of that in 1914 before trenches and machine guns stabilized the front lines.”
A distant rumble sounded underneath the clear, blue sky. “Is that thunder?” Luc asked, looking east.
“Let’s hope so,” Matt answered checking their road map. “Carrefour is the next village and it’s on our way.”
The clutter of a mad dash to escape some unseen danger decreased as they followed the road east. It appeared that the terrified residents of L’ecurie had taken the south road toward Lyon.
“I guess we didn’t outrun the war,” Luc said as they passed a French fighter plane nosed into a grassy pasture at about a forty-degree angle. It was missing the outer third of its right wing and its canopy. “It’s a Morane-Saulnier 406 like we use.” Despite the battle damage, the aircraft’s green and tan camouflage paint was still fresh and so were the red, white and blue roundels on the fuselage and the red, white and blue stripes on the vertical stabilizer. The missing canopy indicated that the pilot had managed to bail out.
Smoke rose ominously ahead of them in the direction of Carrefour which came into view as they cleared a slight rise. Luc pulled to the side of the road and they studied the valley ahead of them. Matt took out a pair of binoculars and scanned the village looking for the origins of the smoke.
“There’s some wreckage on the other side of the town which appears to be burning and those dark spots out to the left appear to be tanks or some other kind of military vehicles. I think there are a couple of aircraft down out there too,” Matt said, handing the binoculars to Luc. “I’ll bet that was the ‘thunder’ we heard earlier this morning.”
“I’ll bet you’re right,” Luc said. “Those don’t look like French tanks. They’ve got flat turrets like German or British tanks. The road follows a draw and comes back up as it enters Carrefour. I think we can make it, but we might be driving into the middle of a battle.”
“We know there’s a war going on behind us,” Matt said. “I don’t see anything going on ahead of us right now. Maybe it’s over and we can sneak through?”
They started the Renault and drove into Carrefour. The road was littered with damaged vehicles, dead horses, wagons and, off to the left, an overturned gray-green motorcycle with part of a side car. The lower half of what had once been a man lay toes up near a shallow ditch.
“There’s his helmet,” Luc said, stopping the car. Although the chinstrap was gone, the coal-scuttle design was German. Luc picked it up and showed it to Matt. The black shield on the left side showed a muted silver/gray eagle clutching a Swastika. “It’s German and the dead body back there was probably a dispatch rider.”
A close examination of the burned out truck chassis showed the remains of a black cross outlined in white, the “Iron Cross” insignia of the Wehrmacht, as the armed forces of Germany were called. Charred human remains were found in one of the trucks. “They were caught in some kind of barrage by heavy artillery or bombs, it looks like,” Matt said, setting the helmet down next to the remains of the dispatch rider.
“Some of this stuff is still burning,” Luc observed. “I say we get out of here before whatever killed these guys starts up again.”
“Good idea,” said Matt as they got back into the Renault and drove toward the town’s central plaza. A pall of smoke and the stench of death hung over the plaza littered with dead horses, shattered carts and pools of blood. Here, the dead and wounded had been removed, probably by fleeing townspeople. Sad, little reminders of what had happened lay scattered around like the bloodstained doll next to a shot-up pram.