He stumbled in the darkness, picking his way through the stand of birch trees. Leaning against one of the pale trunks, he paused, hands on his knees, and tried to catch his breath. A black sedan crawled down the road, and he threw himself flat on the cold, hard ground as they combed the woods with a handheld searchlight.
As the beam sliced past him, he could see his breath suspended in the cold night air. But the SS troopers hadn't spotted him, and they drove away down the road to continue the hunt.
He lay on the frozen forest floor, too exhausted to stand. He was surprised the Nazis had found his abandoned motorcycle so soon, and wondered if they'd discovered the driver's corpse.
He wanted to close his eyes, wanted to rest his aching body, but even though he'd already come so far, he knew he had so much farther to go before he could sleep. He forced himself to his feet and brushed the dirt and the dried, yellow birch leaves from his dark suit. As he reached the edge of the woods, he saw the lights of the village he'd sought in the distance.
Watching to see if there were any sentries on the streets, he rubbed the stubble on his face and ran a hand through his thick, dark hair. "Cal," he thought, "first thing you're gonna do when you're safely back in England is get a hot shave and a haircut."
Cal adjusted his uniform jacket, which had been altered so he appeared to be a civilian, and slicked his dirty hair back, trying to make himself invisible as he entered the German-occupied village.
He moved like a shadow through the quiet, cobblestone streets until he reached the church, its steeple towering above the small town. "Why couldn't my contact have been a priest," he thought, "it would've made things so much easier." Using the church as a waypoint, he followed the street it was on until he found the building he'd been searching for.
When he saw the three troopers smoking in front, he wondered again why his contact had to be in a brothel, of all places. He waited and watched the soldiers, thankful that they were Wehrmacht and not the SS goons hunting him.
A dark-haired woman dressed in a three-quarter-length skirt with a thigh-high slit and a half-buttoned blouse strolled out of the building and asked one of the soldiers for a cigarette. She was offered three and took one. While waiting for a light, one of the soldiers tried to grab her breast and she slapped his hand away. As his companions laughed, she took him by the hand and led all three of them back inside.
Hoping it would seem less conspicuous than sneaking in the back door, Cal casually walked in the front like any other paying customer. As soon as he did he wondered if he'd made a fatal mistake. The bar was littered with German soldiers and prostitutes; he was the only civilian in the place.
But, to his surprise, none of the troopers took a second glance at him; they were preoccupied by plenty of beer, tits and ass.
He sat at a table by the back wall and waited as the bartender warily eyed him before heading his way. Cal wondered if this was his contact. But then the front door opened and three men strode in -- he knew immediately they were SS.
The leader wore a black leather greatcoat over his uniform and Cal could see the silver death's head on his peaked cap. They signaled to the bartender and he hurried over to them.
Cal knew it was all over; there would be no more escapes. When he'd crawled in the dark through the narrow tunnel, he'd promised himself that he'd never allow them to put him back behind that barbed-wire fence. And he intended to keep his promise. He scanned the bar looking for an untended weapon, wondering how many of the bastards he could take with him. Suddenly, a steely grip seized his shoulder.
A German sergeant, with his suspenders down and his gray tunic unbuttoned so that his undershirt showed, glared at him.
"You will come with me," the sergeant slurred in German, and pulled him to his feet.
Before Cal could protest, he was dragged upstairs toward the second floor. He stumbled along, knowing it was the sergeant or the SS. "Where are we going?" he asked in his best German.
"Your
Deutsch
is terrible," the drunken sergeant said, "but it's better than my Norwegian." He laughed and slapped Cal hard on the back.
Cal was thankful he remembered any German at all. He'd spoken it with his grandparents when he was a boy, as they'd refused to learn English even after they'd emigrated. But they'd died when he was young and his German had faded along with his memories of them. However, it was amazing what a stay in a stalag could do as a refresher course.
"What is your name?"
"Hammerschmied." Cal lied, giving the original German version of his last name. "But they call me Hammer."
The sergeant threw open a door, walked into the room, grabbed a bottle of aquavit from the side table, took a deep swig and handed it to Cal.
He took the bottle, but was far more interested in the dark-haired, doe-eyed girl lying naked on the bed and watching them.
"I need your help, Hammer," the sergeant said. "I hope you hold your liquor better than my friend." He pointed to a passed out corporal, wearing only his underwear, facedown on the floor on the far side of the bed.
The sergeant took off his tunic and unbuttoned his trousers. "I paid her for myself and my friend but, now that he has had too much to drink, she will not give me my money back. So you will take my friend's place and fuck her for him."
"How old is she?" Cal asked the sergeant, as he watched him remove his holster.
"I am eighteen," she said in French, before he could answer.
"Bah, enough talk!" The sergeant climbed naked on the bed and playfully slapped the girl's tiny ass.
As he hung his Luger from a chair on the far side of the bed, the sergeant tried to focus his blurry eyes on Cal. "What are you waiting for?"
Cal undressed and listened as the SS banged on a door down the hall; a woman screamed as they entered and searched the room. Once he was naked, he turned toward the bed as the young girl stared wide-eyed at his huge erection.
"Now I know why they call you Hammer!" the sergeant laughed. "Let me go first, before you ruin her!"
He grabbed her legs and dragged her across the mattress toward him. He rubbed the helmet-shaped head of his cock against the dark thatch of hair between her legs, and when he pressed forward the tender lips of her pussy parted easily for him. As he pumped his stiff shaft in and out of her wet hole, he reached a hand out and squeezed her small breast, feeling her erect nipple pressed against the palm of his hand.
The girl let out a soft moan on every one of the sergeant's thrusts. As he fucked her, she looked up at Cal and whispered something in French. When he didn't understand, she reached out, wrapped her small hand around his thick cock and pulled him closer.
Cal kneeled on the bed beside her and felt the warmth of her tongue as she licked the underside of his cock. She wrapped her lips around the knob and started sucking on it, and he laced his fingers through her hair and slowly pumped his swollen shaft between her lips. She had a tiny mouth and Cal's huge cock was stretching it by the time he had half his length inside her. When he pressed against the back of her throat she gagged and he pulled out, his cock wet from her willing mouth.
