Willie's War Ch. 05


He weighed next to nothing, and Viktor acknowledged that as he lifted him into position and plumped up the round contours of his bare bottom. Willie's face was turned back to him and he could see the bright, aroused glitter of his eyes and hear the exhalation of his breath.

"Relax and open up for me." he commanded.

Willie leaned forward against the bedpost, the fleshy rounds of his bottom wholly exposed, his face pressed against the wall. "I can't believe this." he whispered after the first fit of passion.

In the dim light of the room there rose up a moan his uninhibited delight. Willie could feel his breasts swelling in Viktor's hands while his stomach tightened with expectation. The man's arms became wrapped around him, his fingers sliding through the softness of his hair.

Blindly Willie turned his head to accept a fevered kiss. Viktor's mouth tasted of man, and he wanted to feed until his senses were sated with the pleasure of it.

A broad tongue touched the back of his neck and a tiny pulse in his throat jumped and skittered. Willie gasped at a momentary discomfort, then clawed the bedding as a length of solid manly flesh entered him, stretching him as it buried itself in his tight, willing sheath. Viktor began rocking backwards and forwards, thrusting deep and hard, gasping and grunting, and suddenly all the sensations he had so long forsaken came back to Willie Froehlich refreshed.

Slow, powerful strokes pushed him against the wall in a passionate unrelenting rhythm. "Accept it, darling." Viktor said, upright on his knees behind him. He pushed into him, big and hard, and the hot-bodied girly-boy became anchored to him by the forceful ramming of his hips. He pushed Willie's head down and penetrated deeper, wanting to fondle the flesh of his buttocks while he progressed, but he was too close and too far into him.

The man gripped hips and pumped with a ferocity that caused him to grunt with exertion, and Willie felt his body shudder as his new lovers hunger for him ripped through his defences.

Now Viktor was beyond reason, groaning with rapture with each wicked plunge, going beyond sanity, beyond any wish but wanting him. And he was the one who had done this to him, who had made the man insane with need. The forceful plunge of anal invasion; the strong hands pulling on his hips; the friction that enhanced mutual joy, and then finally the exaltation of receiving a man's sperm.

Afterwards they slept, and twilight was making the curtains blush when Willie awoke. His eyes felt raw, the lids rubbing like sandpaper as he blinked. Viktor was sitting on the side of the bed, his hair dishevelled, hanging unevenly over his forehead, and he was looking red faced and furious.

In the short time since their lovemaking there had been an abrupt change in the man's mood. Something in his eyes had switched off and he looked formidable and unapproachable. There was now a brooding nastiness about him that was inconsistent with the charming young man he had known earlier.

"Where did this come from?" he asked sharply. He was purveying a copy of 'World Stage' he had found lying around somewhere in the room and he was openly disapproving of its contents. Willie felt a jolt in his chest, because Viktor wasn't merely disapproving, he was angry.

"This vile comic is an insult to the Fatherland. It makes a mockery of everything we are doing to make our country great in the world."

Warily Willie glanced in his direction. "I – I don't believe it mocks Germany, Viktor. It just expresses the opinions of those people who don't agree with war."

The man was adamant. "If it just encourages that, it is seditious. It mocks the Fuehrer since it is his policy to promote war to save our nation. How can you bear to live in the same house with such trash?" He clenched his fist in anger. "Did you know this Ossietzky fellow, the man who produced these vile magazines, was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 1936? Hitler was so enraged he banned Germans from accepting international awards ever again."

He threw the paper onto the floor and kicked it across the room. "The man was a traitor of the first-order and anyone who revels in reading his literature is a traitor also."

He glanced sharply at Willie. "It belongs to the man who took you in, doesn't it? What is his name? Haushofer, isn't it?"

There was a look in his eyes that confused Willie and made him deeply troubled. It was a mixture of biting contempt laced with pain, as though somehow the discovery had a personal meaning for him.

"I know you are a National Socialist, Viktor, but not everyone is made the same. Surely people should be allowed some freedom in the way they think."

Viktor's eyelids drooped over his eyes so that Willie couldn't be sure whether he was watching him or not. "Herr Hitler's brand of fascism is exactly what people want." he said. "Their wants are very basic. They can be divided into animal and spiritual categories. People want food in their bellies and money in their pockets, and maybe a fuck once in a while. They are animal needs. But they alone don't give people a purpose in life, and so they look for spiritual needs also. To have a purpose, people need someone to fear and something greater than themselves to believe in. That is religion, isn't it?"

"I suppose it is to some." replied Willie, softly.

Viktor dismissed that with a wave of his hand. "The Fuehrer has invented his own religion. He gives people a belief that is both grand and terrifying. He is giving them exactly what they want. Those that defy the Fuehrer also betray him, and they deserve not to live among us."

The man's tone was threatening, and pearly fingernails flew to Willie's mouth "No – no!" he begged, "Please try to understand, Viktor. Don't do anything that will endanger Herr Haushofer. He is just an old man, and he is harmless."

"Are you insane?" Viktor was a little calmer now, but just as implacable. "We can't just pretend he has no wish to betray us." he paused, and for a moment it seemed he too had became prey to conflicting emotions. He had absolutely no doubt that his suspicions about the man who owned the bookshop were correct, he was a scurrilous advocate of disloyal propaganda and deserved to be shown the error of his ways. But his bitterness towards him was tempered by the feelings he had for Willie. They were not objective feelings in any way, shape or form. They were personal feelings. Even so, they were strong enough to weaken his resolve.

Willie's face was tilted down slightly, but he could see he was scowling. The red lips, the pale cheeks, the small and delicately pointed ears below his lick of blond hair – he had a vampish look that was disturbing in a young man. He still had the taste of him in his mouth and it made him recall the sex. The very memory of it made his thoughts soften.

"Yes, I think what you say is true. He is a harmless old man. But if I agree not to denounce him it will only be because of your kind pleading on his behalf. Tell the fool to get rid of that stuff and anything else like it."


That night the university auditorium was full to capacity. Three hundred chairs had been set out and all of them were occupied, the front rows taken by a variety of regional dignitaries and the faculty of the university. Behind them sat senior representatives of the local National Socialist Party and Youth Leaders of the Jungmadel, and behind them students and assorted individuals from the town.

In the centre of a stage a sombre podium had been set, flanked with huge red banners bearing swastika emblems together with flags of the SS – two white runic figures on a solid black background. As the seconds ticked towards the full hour the central lights dimmed until only the stage was bathed in white light, and the Rector of the University then stood up briefly to introduce the guest speaker.

A slightly built, unassuming figure appeared in the wings and walked slowly towards the podium. It was Paul Joseph Goebbels, Minister for Nazi Propaganda.

He gripped the lectern in front of him with both hands and offered a faint smile. "Damen und Herren - Students of the University - Burgers of this beautiful historic town. Thank you for inviting me here. Those of you who know something about me will know I passed through these hallowed halls twenty years ago as a young man, so I am not an anonymous stranger. I am a traveller coming home."

There was rapturous applause from the audience at this discloser, and he needed to quell it with hand signal. He then continued speaking in a courteous and unruffled manner.

The audience listened, hushed in awe. His enunciation was crisp and clear. They were mesmerised. This man was a trusted friend of Hitler. They knew that every word he said was a reflection of the thoughts of the great Leader and it was like listening to the Fuehrer speaking himself.

"My friends. Good Germans. I am here to tell you about the future. The bad times, the unemployment, the despair and poverty are behind us now and we are victorious everywhere. We must now think what we wish our descendents to inherit from us in a thousand years from now, and of course we wish them to inherit a virile nation, a healthy nation free of racial ambiguities and a nation that is the foremost power in the world. We will not tolerate carrying forward the petty rivalries and divisions and the failures to unite that have plagued us in the past, and we don't have to, because we are blessed with a wise and faultless leadership.

"There may be those among you who are puzzled as to why, having conquered most of Europe so easily, we have not stamped on the stubborn English in their island before taking on a new crusade with Stalin's Russia. Well, I can tell you they will not escape our attention, but first we must seek to impose our priorities. We can crush the British at our leisure, but we must not allow them to deflect us at this moment from our urgent desire for expansion in the east and the eradication of the vile disease of bolshevism."

He paused for a moment to observe the ranks of wide shining eyes gazing up at him, and then continued:

"You will know from the news bulletins that our armies in Russia are rapidly destroying the savage Slavic hordes opposed to them and ultimate victory is assured. This success is only made possible because we have a resolute leader who has correctly grasped the political and military situation and acted in accordance with his own understanding.

Not since the Roman Caesars' as the world known such greatness. Charlemagne and Napoleon almost achieved it, and great opportunities were missed by those men. Instead Europe was cursed with discord and waste as kings and princes continued to fight each other for supremacy. Now we have a chance to arrive at a final peace through war. We are blessed with a man with the intellect, the nerve and the will to bring all of Europe together under the leadership of a single beneficent master.

"Adolph Hitler will outshine all who have gone before him. He is an agency of history destined to resurrect Germany's national greatness. Believe in him and it will be attained. Our Fuehrer does not make mistakes.

"Some individuals with rotten minds will not admit that of course. They remain blind to the crisis of unemployment that was previously our despair, and they resent the money spent on armaments that are the key to our future prosperity. That is not good enough. The future can not be entrusted to foolish wishes, anger and lies; it can only be attained through hard work, honesty and obligation to the Fuehrer. Show yourself worthy of his trust and a new golden age of Germanic-Aryan culture can commence.

"This cannot be achieved without effort, of course. The scale of things are awesome, the battles now and in the future will be intensely fierce, and our courageous soldiers must have the support of every man, woman and child in the Reich in order to achieve their aims. We must have Wehrwille – the will – the desire – the courage to make war, and total war must be waged if we are to ensure success against the animal Slavs. We must ignore the restraints of morality, customs and international law. We must do what is best for ourselves, for we are fighting a righteous cause, and we are fighting for an ideology."

His voice rose in a final dramatic crescendo, showing his skill for charismatic oratory as his hands began to bang on the lectern.

"The Fuehrer promises certain victory. He only requires his followers share the faith he as in himself as he guides them along the path of national unity and racial purity. What counts is will, and if our will is strong and ruthless enough, we can do anything."

Rising in one spontaneous mass, the audience clapped until the room was awash with applause. An arm swung up in the midst of them, followed by a dozen others, followed by everyone's arm

"Seig Heil!" a voice bellowed. "Seig Heil!" responded Viktor Schacht.

"Seig Heil, Seig Heil!" chorused three hundred other voices.


There was a knock on the door. It was a demanding thump. It banged, and then banged again and again until the door shook.

It was still only early morning but the banging became so urgent that Felix Haushofer hurriedly pulled on his trousers and went down the stairs. Willie, still half asleep and rubbing his eyes and thinking there must be a fire, went with him with only the fabric of an ankle-long shift clinging to his body.

"What on earth can be so urgent on a Sunday morning?" rumbled the old man.

The noise continued. A relentless din. This time a voice accompanied it. "Open up! Open the door!"

"Who is it? What do you want?" Felix called hoarsely.

"Police! Open the door or we'll break it down."

"Okay, okay! There's no need for that. Just give me a moment." Felix unbolted the door and swung it wide to be confronted by a policeman in uniform. Behind him were several other men, some of them in civilian clothes. "Step outside." the uniformed man told him, "And the girl. Bring out the girl too."

"Can we put on some proper clothes first?" the old man asked.

"You heard what was said. Out!" one of the other men growled threateningly. He grabbed Felix by an arm and yanked him into the street. Dismayed, Willie followed him.

A number of anonymous looking black cars were lined up along the curb. A uniformed policeman was ushering pedestrians to the other side of the street, while others took up post as sentinels at their side. Some men went into the shop and there was the noise of callous searching; things falling over, books showering onto the floor. Another man went in with a crowbar.

A short distance away a small knot of men in plain civilian clothes hung together in a group. Viktor Schacht was standing with a dumpy man who wore a long coat and a Tyrolean hat who was being consulted by someone who had just come out from the shop with a pile of magazines.

Fearful and confused, and astonished at seeing Viktor there, Willie looked up at Felix. "What is this all about? Why are they treating us like this?"

The man tried to smile reassurance, but couldn't manage it. He had forgotten how dramatic Willie could look, her cheeks pale and delicate, emphasising the gentleness of her lips and brows, the sparkling blue of her eyes. He could only hope that such sweetness would warrant a little mercy.

"Willie, I fear I have dragged you into something very bad. Some of the people here are not regular police. Some of them are Geheime Staatspolizei – they are Gestapo."

"Stop talking!" a voice demanded. It was the man in the long coat. He had the face of a frog suffering from dyspepsia. With a curt swing of his hand he signalled to his henchmen. "Take them away and keep them separate. I don't want them cooking up stories between them as they go."

"Do you have a coat for the girl? She should have a coat." put in Viktor Schacht with an ionic touch of thoughtfulness.

A blanket was found and wrapped around Willie's shoulders, but through the rough wool his frame looked no less frail.

"I found it impossible to keep my promise, and I regret that you are involved in this." Viktor remarked stonily as Willie was led past him.

Willie, stunned by the man's apparent betrayal, merely gazed at the ground and didn't answer even whilst disappointment raked him with burning claws. His words hurt more than if he had turned and walked away – more than if he had physically attacked him. Every breath he took drew in the rank bitterness of his poison.

The man in the long coat and alpine hat rubbed his hands together as the mornings catch were loaded into two of the cars. Nobody important, just a couple of minnows, but they were a rescue from a day that had promised boredom.

"Do not allow your personal feelings to cloud your judgement in this matter, Herr Schacht. You did the right thing by reporting this mealy-mouthed scum."

Viktor bridled. "With due respect, sir, my personal feelings do not enter into the matter. I did only what any good German should do."

"Naturally." the frog-faced man said genially, "Good Germans know the difference between right and wrong, and they have faith in their decisions. The greatest weakness of power is self-doubt. We must expect people to obey."

"And if they do not obey?"

The man's tone became iron-hard. "If they do not, we must be absolutely merciless. The second weakness of power is pity; we can have none of that."


SS-Standartenfuhrer Albert Naujocks gazed out from his second storey office window along the Unter den Linden, allowing his gaze to follow the line of trees along the wide boulevard to the palace and university. To his left, beyond the Pariser Platz, the Brandenburg Gate, martially equipped with horses and chariots, stood on guard. He was thinking about what had recently happened to Rudolph Hess.

For many years Hess had been one of Hitler's most intimate and slavish devotees and had been given the status of Deputy Fuehrer, but some time ago he had begun to feel himself being sidelined by other people in the Fuehrer's inner circle. In order to make his star shine bright again he had recently flown to Scotland – his own idea - with the notion of instigating a treaty of peace with the British by way of a relative of King George.

Foolishly, naively, he believed that the differences between two warring nations could be sorted-out over a cup of tea with a well-heeled aristocrat. Of course he was unsuccessful and he would now be incarcerated by the enemy for the duration of hostilities. But Hess's silly escapade had aroused in Naujocks an idea that there were more ways to skin a cat other than with a blunt knife.

Earlier he had glanced at the latest pile of dispatches lying on his desk. Lists and more lists. Most were grainy and of poor quality, third copies 'for information only', and usually he didn't bother even reading them. But on that particular day, a name on the topmost sheet of paper caught his eye and had started him on a train of thought.

Mechanically he walked across the room. On the far wall was pinned a large map of Europe and western Asia depicting the current extent of Hitler's conquests. Almost the entire European land mass lay under his dominance, and the parts that clung to independence were either servile allies or nervous neutrals.

Since the surprise assault on Russia in June German arms had swept relentlessly eastwards and overrun the most populous areas of the USSR, and it seemed certain that before winter set in Moscow and the prize of the Caucus oilfields would be in the fuehrer's grasp. The Leader of Germany had engineered a masterly concept that outshone the best of his generals, and to Naujocks only one element of it rankled with untidiness.

To the side of the map hung a framed copy of the Hymn of Hate that his father had retained from the First Great War.

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