Right at that moment however, Eddie realised quite suddenly that the only thing he really needed was the bathroom. Pulling back the blankets, he slipped out of bed as carefully as he could manage and stood for a moment in his army-issue boxer shorts, searching around for the pair of her husband’s slippers Maude had given him. They were at least a size too big and flopped about every time he tried to walk, threatening to trip him up at any moment, but he persevered, having no intention whatsoever of attempting a trip to the toilet in the back yard without something on his feet on such a cold night.
Taking a box of matches from the side table by the bed, he lit a candle in a small holder beside them and lifted it carefully, making his way toward the door at a slow enough pace as to prevent the tiny flame from blowing out. He moved down the hallway, stopping in the kitchen just long enough to place the candle on the bench before opening the back door and stepping out. The coldness of the night instantly struck him, making him shiver, but there was a moon above all the same and enough light for him to see what he was doing without the aid of the candle.
Noting a line of rectangular planter pots by the back door filled with small shrubs that were completely unidentifiable in the darkness, Eddie decided there was no real need to make the trip across the entire yard to the toilet after all. He merely needed to urinate after all and for most men that was a relatively simple task requiring little more than an appropriate level of privacy and something to aim at.
The planters became his eventual target, faint wisps of steam rising into the air accompanied by a faintly rancid odour and the soft sound of trickling water as he emptied his plaintive bladder. He released a long, low sigh of relief, taking his time and making sure he was completely finished before tucking himself in and making his way back inside the house. Taking up the candle once more, he again moved quickly up the hall toward the bedrooms, his movements remarkably silent for a man of his size.
Back inside the room, he was about to close the door completely with his free hand when the sound of another opening in the hallway caught his attention. Thinking quickly, he extinguished the candle with a single quick breath and held the door slightly ajar, the remaining space barely enough for him to place an eye up to the opening and see what was going on.
Across the hall, the door to Eliza and Briony’s room was opening slowly, the faint’ yellowy illumination of a small kerosene lantern showing from within. Briony’s head appeared a moment later, carefully glancing this way and that as if checking the coast were clear before she moved completely out into the hall and closed the door behind her, lantern in hand. Struck with the same urge to use the bathroom as Eddie had been earlier, she was still half asleep as she struggled to hold onto the lamp in one hand while attempting to throw a thick, woollen gown over her sheer, cotton nightdress.
Eddie was instantly riveted to the spot, his entire lascivious attention completely taken by the sight. With the lantern held on the far side of her body, its illuminated light was perfectly positioned to completely silhouette her young, naked body through the thin material of her night clothes. Even at just fourteen, Briony’s figure was already filling out and the shape of her growing breasts and slim body were clearly visible as she stood in the hallway, finally managing to cover herself with the gown.
Regardless of exhaustion and prior sexual satisfaction, Eddie nevertheless found himself becoming completely aroused by the illicit, private nature of what he’d just witnessed. That those sensations of arousal was over the sight of a fourteen year old girl didn’t faze him in the slightest nor did the inherent immorality of his reaction, although he had more sense than to make any attempt to act upon those sudden, lustful thoughts with the girl’s aunt snoring softly nearby and her mother in the room across the hall.
Graced with a certain animal cunning that had set him in good stead in life and kept him safe from the law on occasion – particularly in the last year or so – Eddie waited patiently as Briony disappeared down the hallway, the light of the lantern diminishing as it followed along with her. Only once he’d heard the back door open and close did he carefully shut the bedroom door he still held ajar, making sure it clicked securely before carefully making his way back to the bed and placing the extinguished candle on the side table once more.
He slid back into bed, drawing the blankets over him and turning his back to Maude as he pushed in against her, seeking some warmth. The movement caused her to mutter in her sleep and shift her own position. As she rolled over, sleep-disturbed and semi-conscious, her right arm snaked over his waist with the simple intention of instinctively drawing him in for some innocent ‘spooning’. Completely by coincidence, her outstretched hand somehow found his continuing erection and proceeded to grasp it firmly out of pure reflex. Already charged with sexual tension, Eddie needed no more of an ‘invitation’ than that and he instantly turned himself toward her, pushing Maude onto her back and waking her suddenly with the bare formality of a rough kiss as he forced his way between her thighs.
Although it took a few seconds for her to finally wake completely from her partial sleep state, Maude Morris very quickly became a willing participant in the proceedings, although she was a little surprised by Eddie’s unusually savage intensity as he thrust powerfully inside her, causing her to release a series of low gasps that were equal parts pleasure and pain. There was a moment during the whole thing, as his hands slid about her neck and squeezed just a little tighter that he normally did, that she almost felt a pang of real fear about the situation.
Maude had found that small doses of fear acted as a huge aphrodisiac to her system however, something she’s never been in a position to discover prior to meeting Eddie, and that moment of concern dissipated quickly as it gave way to excitement and she felt the beginnings of an orgasm slowly building. There would’ve been no climax or any sensations of pleasure for her whatsoever had she known whom Eddie was thinking about the entire time he was pushing himself deep inside her, or what he was thinking of doing to that person as he slipped his thick, powerful hands about her chubby neck. It took every ounce of Eddie’s remaining concentration and willpower not to squeeze harder and crush Maude’s throat as he reached his own sudden, shuddering spasms of release a moment later.
4. Red Sky at Morning
Chelsea & Fulham Railway Station (disused)
West London Line, Fulham SW6
Reich-Protektorat Grossbritannien
September 22, 1942
Tuesday
Harry Jenkins parked his cab in the railway station forecourt early that Tuesday morning and stepped slowly out onto the asphalt, taking a moment to stare pointedly up at an overcast sky that was still predominantly dark but hinted at the nearing glow of dawn beyond the city’s eastern skyline. The sun itself was still below the horizon, but the first of its rays were clearly visible, reaching out in bright streaks that bathed the thinning clouds in hues of deep, ominous red and orange.
Harry shuddered slightly, the action unexpected and completely involuntary. He didn’t particularly believe the old sailors’ tales of red skies at dawn being forewarning of bad weather to come but somehow the sight caused a chill to run through his body all the same.
Not like it takes red in the morning to bring on the bleedin’ rain in London anyway, he reasoned silently, trying to break himself out of his sudden moment of uncertainty as he finally roused himself, opening the back door of the Austin and lifting out a stack of three large cardboard boxes. Despite their size they were remarkably light, and it was only their physical dimensions that presented any real problem as he carried them a few paces across the asphalt between the car and the front door of the railway station’s main office.
Like the rest of the buildings there, the office had lain dormant and abandoned for two years and the original lock had been smashed in early on, either by vandals or by vagrants in search of temporary shelter. The padlocked latch that now secured the door had been added sometime after and was clearly not of the building’s o
riginal construction. Harry himself had added the fixture and he’d made sure it went on strong and solid, hammered down by long, thick nails in what seemed a rough job but was in fact quite sturdy.
The nails themselves, substantially longer than the thickness of the solid wooden door, had been chosen that way intentionally and their points, which had projected at least a centimetre or more through on the other side, had then been hammered down flat, making it all but impossible for any would-be burglar or ne’er-do-well to pull the latch from its mountings.
Pressing the boxes against the wall by the door and using his body to hold them, he awkwardly fished inside his trouser pocket for the keys to the heavy padlock that kept the door secured. It took some manoeuvring for him to open the lock without dropping the wedged boxes, but he managed it eventually, pushing the door wide and moving through to the dark office inside with his cargo in hand.
There was no light within, but enough streamed through from the open doorway for him to find a space to finally put the boxes down. Stretching his back, he groaned melodramatically and turned back around with every intention of closing the front door once more and turning on the lights. It was in that moment that Harry Jenkins first realised he wasn’t alone within the abandoned station office. As the lights came on suddenly, leaving him momentarily blinded, he was presented with the terrifying sight of a black-shirted SS trooper standing on either side of the open doorway, MP2 submachine guns grasped menacingly in their hands.
There was little space to move freely. Boxes and crates were piled everywhere inside what had once been the main foyer of the station office. A closed ticket sales counter lay against one wall while the remains of waiting room benches and seats took up the other side, and at the far end, another door leading out onto the rail platform that was also normally locked now hung wide open. Another doorway on a side wall opened into what had once been the stationmaster’s office. Save for one or two narrow walkways between, every piece of usable space inside that main room was taken up by goods of varying size and value, stacked almost head high.
“It’s about time you showed up, Mister Jenkins,” a heavily-accented German voice behind him observed in good English and he whirled once more, abject terror in his still-blurry eyes to find himself confronted by a tall, blond-haired SS officer. After two years of German occupation, most Britons could recognise Wehrmacht and Schutzstaffeln ranks well enough, and the man standing before him wore the collar tabs of an Obersturmbannführer, or lieutenant-colonel, above an immaculately pressed and presented black uniform of the Germanische-SS. He was seated precariously on the edge of a large, wooden packing crate, staring at Jenkins across two metres of chest-high boxes.
During three years of war and subsequent Nazi occupation throughout Western Europe, the Germanische-SS had become one of the most hated and feared paramilitary units in existence. Created as part of the larger Schutzstaffeln ‘umbrella’, it had never been intended for use as a combat force as the Waffen-SS had been. The group had instead been modelled on an organisation that had already operating in Germany for many years – the Allegemeine-SS. Both were similarly tasked with Anti-Semitic operations and the enforcement of Nazi racial doctrine. It was under the auspices of the Germanische-SS that the Einsatzgruppen carried out their work rounding up Jews throughout Occupied Europe along with other ‘undesirable’ races and political groups, all under the direct orders and authority of Reichsführer-SS Heinrich Himmler and Chancellor Adolf Hitler himself.
The officer, who appeared to be in his early thirties, seemed taller than all of them as they were crammed together inside that office, surrounded by towers of crates and cardboard boxes of varying sizes and weights. Flanked by another pair of armed troopers he felt no need to draw the pistol at his belt, secure in the knowledge his guards were perfectly capable of handling any situation that might arise. It wasn’t the guns or the guards that frightened Jenkins most however as he stood there, speechless and rooted to the spot. Instead, the greatest source of terror was the crazed look of righteous superiority that blazed in the officer’s eyes and the long, livid scar that ran from beneath his right eye and finished almost at the corner of his lip.
“Wh-what d’you want from me…?” Jenkins stammered slowly, trying to play dumb and pretend he had no idea of the purpose behind their presence. As damning as the boxes of black-market goods piled around them were – more than enough to have him shot anyway, in all likelihood – he also knew that investigations into criminal activity of that kind were generally left to the Gestapo and what was left of the local London constabulary under their direction. Germanische-SS investigators were only interested in one thing – Jews – and that meant the officer’s presence could only be in relation to the trio of fugitives he’d handed over to Michaels and the American five days earlier.
If the SS even considered the possibility that he’d harboured any Jews or assisted in their escape, there was no doubt he’d be executed without any mercy whatsoever. Considering the stories and rumours that were already circulating about SS and Gestapo practices in Occupied Britain, there was more than a fifty-fifty chance he’d be tortured into the bargain, something that frightened Harry Jenkins a great deal more than a simple threat of quick death.
“Oh, I think you know exactly what we’re here to talk about, Mister Jenkins,” Lieutenant-Colonel Pieter Stahl of the Germanische-SS (London Office) replied with an evil smile. “We have it on good authority that you met up with some very interesting characters here last week: characters I’d very much like to know more about.”
“I dunno what yer talkin’ about,” Jenkins shot back, a little too quickly to be convincing.
“We’ve been waiting here half the night for you, Mister Jenkins,” Stahl continued, ignoring the man’s words completely. Such a long time, and it would’ve been such a waste if it hadn’t been for the fact that some of your friends were kind enough to visit….”
Harry’s stomach fell into an icy pit as he heard those words. He knew that could only mean Nobbs and Rowe, and as both of them had been part of the altercation with Michaels and the American the other night, that now made things all the more difficult.
“The local Gestapo’s been watching you for a while now, Harry – may I call you Harry?” Stahl asked as if engaged in a polite conversation over tea, and continued on without waiting for a reply. “They’ve been keeping an eye on your activities here with great interest. Apparently you’ve been a huge help in tracking shipments of illegal goods all over Grossbritannien. We’ve even been able to trace the origin of at least some of the goods back to thefts from Q-Stores at a number of our barracks around the country.” He paused for a moment, partly to take a breath but mostly for effect. “Of course, the Germanische-SS has no real interest in the black market… but you know that, don’t you, Harry?” Jenkins could only nod dumbly, fear taking control of him completely as he realised Stahl was coming to the point of the interrogation, and any feelings of hope within him began to slip away. “Everybody knows what we’re interested in,” he added cheerfully, but a dark quality had crept into his tone and eyes in that moment. “… And what’s that, Harry… ? Tell me what that is…”
“Jews,” Harry croaked softly after a moment’s pause, as if the word was almost impossible to get out. “You’re after Jews…”
“See…? That wasn’t all that difficult, was it? Well done!” Stahl congratulated mockingly, toying with the man purely for reasons of self-amusement. “Now, getting down to business…” he continued, standing for the first time and taking a few steps toward Harry through the maze of stolen goods. “We know you picked up a Jewish boy from the docks five nights ago, accompanied by a young Gentile female of similar age and an adult of as-yet undetermined racial background. The vague description we have of the adult male seems similar to that of a Jew they’ve been hunting for in France for two years or more… someone the High Command would very much like to get their hands on, apparently.” He shrugged, as if discussing something
as insignificant as choosing a pair of socks. “The descriptions aren’t identical, but they’re close enough for us to be interested… particularly with regard to how the elusive little creature – if it is who we suspect – has managed to get across The Channel and find himself here in London.”
“I – I don’t know anything about any o’ that codswallop,” Harry tried to protest again, but fear was sapping his strength and he knew the officer wasn’t going to believe him.
“Of course you don’t, Harry,” Stahl replied condescendingly with a faint smile. “Considering your lowly place in this world, I’d be extremely surprised if you did know anything about how this ‘fellow’ managed to arrive in Grossbritannien. At this point however, I’m more interested in where this little Jew and his entourage are going rather than where they’ve been…” His smile became toothy and positively evil, something that was exacerbated dramatically as the scar on his cheek warped into a bizarre shape in the process. “… And I’m certain you’ll be able to help us with that!”
Harry was about to protest his innocence again but was interrupted as the door to the stationmaster’s office at the rear of the room opened suddenly, revealing the unexpected presence of a second Germanische-SS officer, this one wearing the rank of Standartenführer – a full colonel. As tall as Stahl, he seemed perhaps just a few years older and also looked to have a far more powerful frame, with thick arms and broad shoulders. His hair was equally fair however and his eyes similarly blue, and he looked every inch a perfect example of the Aryan ‘superman’ espoused by Nazi racial doctrine.
Winds of Change (Empires Lost Book 2) Page 15
