Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 OSTAFRIKA 03

   By KATZMAREK

   ------------------------------------------------------------- Author's
note.

   This is a work of fiction.  It cannot be used for gain without the
Author's express permission in writing.

   ---------------------------------------------------------------

   Ostafrika (Part 3) Gertrude

   Lottie, Frau Fleischer's maid, opens the door to Guy Martin, the French
ivory trader.  With a respectful smile, she tactfully withdraws through the
door below the polished mahogany main staircase.  The Frenchman proceeds up
the familiar stairs unescorted.  At the third door, he taps lightly and
enters.

   Frau Gertrude Fleischer sits fanning herself by the large bay window of
the master bedroom.  The window has a commanding view of the town.  The
Fleischer's house being one of only two double-storey buildings in Rungwa.

   At 42, Gertrude Fleischer is statuesque and proportionate to her nearly
6ft height.  Her face, though now showing signs of middle age and the
African sun, is softened by her twinkling amber eyes.  Eyes that betray a
gay and passionate personality.

   For Frau Fleischer is French, not German.  She'd met her husband Helmut
in Metz, Lothringen, the former French province of Lorraine.  At the time a
struggling Accountant, Helmut Fleischer had met the then Gertrude Sanson at
a flower stall in that town and somehow he'd recognised a kindred spirit.

   Gertrude had been an ill-educated daughter of a flower-seller when
they'd met.  Helmut, a German 'Jack the Lad' with big ambitions, had
intrigued her with dreams of wealth and opportunity.  He had, though, a
disturbing habit of helping himself to his employer's money.  With the law
closing in, they'd fled to East-Africa.

   Their life had been a topsy-turvy world of poverty and wealth.  They had
lost two fortunes before finally gaining some measure of security in
Africa. Gertrude, though, never lost faith in her husband's ability to set
things right.

   Helmut knows how to pick partners in business.  He is a shrewd judge of
character, and in Guy he found someone with an amoral lust for money that
matched his own.  They'd worked well together and between them had amassed
a sizable fortune.

   One thing Helmut cannot do, however, is to please his wife in the
bedroom.  It had confused her at first; blaming herself for not being
attractive enough for him, but then the awful truth had come out.  Helmut
Fleischer prefers the company of men.

   "How is your daughter progressing with the good Capitain?" Guy asks her.

   Gertrude gets up from her chair and draws the curtains.

   "Very well monsieur, she is playing a very clever hand," Gertrude tells
him as she moves towards the big canopied bed.

   "No doubt, ma cherie, she has been thoroughly schooled?"

   Guy stands behind her as she pins aside the mosquito netting.  His eyes
are fixed on the familiar sight of Gertrude's big rounded bottom as it
stretches the silk of her flowing long dress.  The woman pulls one of the
pillows down from the head of the bed and arranges it on the covers before
her.  She stands back up as Guy moves a little nearer.

   "She's doing fine without my help.  It must be in the blood," Gertrude
explains.



   Guy takes her hand and places it on the front of his trousers.  As she
starts to rub him, he places his own hands on the woman's large derriere
and caresses her.

   "And when will you have a taste of the confection yourself?" Guy asks.
"He has distracted you, I can tell."

   Guy bunches up the fabric of Gertrude's dress, gradually raising the hem
to her knees.

   "As usual you presume too much, Guy.  What makes you think I could take
liberties with the husband of my own daughter?"

   She sucks in her lip as the hem slides over her thighs.  Deftly, she
picks at the fly-buttons of Guy's trousers.  With one hand holding her
dress, Guy unbuttons himself and presents his growing erection to the
Madam's hand.

   "Because, ma cherie, I know you so well!"

   Gertrude sucks in her breath and curls her hand around Guy's cock.  With
just the right amount of pressure she slowly works it up and down.

   "Besides, he hasn't officially asked her...  uh...  yet.  He may get
cold...  uh...  feet?"

   Guy pulls the hem up over her bottom.  As usual, she's naked underneath
and his tongue dries out at the sight of those great white swells of flesh.
Eagerly he squeezes her cheeks and pushes his fingers into her cleft.  His
cock jumps and becomes ramrod hard.  With his middle finger he teases the
hot slippery entrance to her sex.

   Madame bends over a little, allowing Guy more access with his finger. 
She sucks in more air and shivers.

   "Has she sampled the...  uh...  goods yet?" Guy asks.

   Bending forward, Frau Fleischer sets her elbows on the pillow in front
of her.  Guy rolls her dress up and tucks it up her back, before resuming
his stroking of her.  He slides his cock into the cleft of her bottom and
moves it back and forth.  His finger is still inserted in her vagina.

   "My daughter...  uh...  is keeping him...  uh...  interested.  A... 
oh...  a little...  uh...  playing, I think."

   "Has he shown...  uh...  her all that...  uh...  he has to offer?" Guy
moves the head of his cock lower.

   "I...  oh...  uh...  believe so," she gasps.

   As Guy pushes himself into her, she braces herself against the onrush of
sensation.  Holding her by the hips for leverage, Guy's thrusts are slow
and deep.

   "You would prefer it...  if he were...  uh...  standing...  right here?"

   "You tease!  Oh...  no...  uh...  oh...  yes...."



   Guy pushes into her with more urgency.  Gertrude's legs strain with the
effort of keeping her body supported.  She bites into the pillow as Guy's
hard pounding threatens to shove her headlong over the bed.  Growling, Guy
withdraws from her and she feels the warm splashing of his liquid over her
bottom and thighs.  Breathing heavily, Guy watches as she lies face down on
the bed.  Urgently, she puts her hand to her pussy and frantically rubs,
squirming her bottom as she does so.

   "That's it, my lady, feel the Kommandant's cock."

   "Yes...  oh yes...," she gasps.

   "He wants you...badly," Guy continues.

   "OooHHH...  OOOHHH...." She moans louder and louder, her hand becoming a
blur.

   Screaming, she jerks her pelvis against the bed cover in two, three long
spasms.

   Afterwards, Guy watches as she lies still.  Her head is buried in the
pillow and Guy thinks he can hear her sobbing.

   "Gertrude?" he asks, concerned.

   "Go, now," she tells him in a small voice.

   Tactfully, he fixes his trousers and backs out the door.  Lottie,
Gertrude's servant is standing out in the hall.  She smiles at the
Frenchman.

   "Herr Martin gave it to her good!" she tells him.

   "You are too nosey, Lottie."

   Putting an arm around the maid, he plants a big sloppy kiss on the
girl's mouth.

   "You got some left for me?" she asks, grinning.

   "Not today," he replies.  "Perhaps in a day or two."

   "The mistress too much for you?"

   Rubbing the girl's stomach, he replies,

   "Put it this way, I'll be grateful when the Hauptmann can lend a hand,"
he laughs, "how's our son?"

   "Daughter." She smiles.  "Shemba says it's a girl."

   ----------------------------------------------------------------

   The river Pangali is one of the great tributaries of the Rufiji.  50
kilometres from the town of Uwimbi it divides into the greater and lesser
Pangali.  Some way along the latter river in the early evening, a group of
horse soldiers canter towards a rise.  They are responding to a column of
dust seen earlier.  Wachtmeister Julius Mashona pulls his horse up halfway
to the ridge and dismounts.  Creeping up the rest of the way, he looks out,
putting a pair of binoculars to his eyes.

   "Motorcar and a lorry," he announces to his companions, "heading
southeast."

   "British?" a white officer asks.

   "Can't tell, Herr Leutnant."

   Leutnant Spangenburg follows the Wachtmeister to the ridge and stares
for some time at the dots under the dust cloud.  Taking his binoculars from
his face he looks for a moment at the Askari, thinking.

   "Let's take a closer look," he suggests, eventually.

   The Wachtmeister signals to the rest of the squad and retrieves the
reins of his waiting horse.  Together they trot at an angle to the progress
of the distant vehicles.  Spangenburg turns to the man nearest him.  He's
holding the black/white pennant of the squadron.

   "Lower that, Llongwe, I think the Union Jack,"

   Grinning, the man gathers in the flag on his staff.  From his saddlebag
he pulls out a British flag and replaces the German colours.  As they near
the little convoy, it begins to slow.  While the rest of the troop range
themselves alongside, Spangenburg and the Wachtmeister pull their mounts up
in front.  From the backseat of the car, a head pokes out.

   "WHAT'S THE TROUBLE?" the man asks in English.

   Replying, Spangenburg, a fluent English speaker, tells the man to alight
from the car, 'if you please.' Already, the Askaris have pulled the lorry
driver, complaining, from the cab of his vehicle.

   "THEY'RE BLASTED BOCHES," the Englishman splutters and orders his driver
to continue.

   The driver, however, has other thoughts as he stares into the muzzle of
a Mauser rifle.  Still staring, he climbs down from the car.

   "I'm sorry, General," the Indian apologises to his passenger.

   "Scoundrel!" the General mutters as he resigns to the inevitable.  Upon
alighting from the car, he pulls himself erect and looks Spangenburg in the
eye,

   "Brigadier-General Maitland-Evans, Indian Army.  Whom do I have the
honour of addressing?"



   "Leutnant Spangenburg, East-African Light Cavalry Detachment, East
African Defence Force.  Your servant sir!" The German replies, formally.

   Spangenburg knew he'd netted a large fish, a very large fish.

   "I shall complain to your General about the use of a British flag,
Lieutenant.  Damned underhand and illegal, sir."

   "I apologise, Herr General," Spangenburg replies, "but your lorry might
have been full of soldiers.  Until we knew, I thought it prudent to adopt a
disguise."

   "Well..." the General blusters.  "I suppose you are going to supply me
with a horse, or do you expect me to walk to your encampment?"

   "You may ride in your car if you prefer Herr General.  I must, however,
provide you with a guide to show you the way.  Your weapons, please?"

   ----------------------------------------------------------------

   Meanwhile, in the public office of the 'Kaiserlichen Dampferendienst',
or 'Imperial Steamboat Service,' Hildegard von Masurien-Linksdorff and I
are going over the river traffic movements.  We're trying to organise an
evacuation procedure should Rungwa need to be abandoned.  Standing together
behind the tall counter, we are the only ones present.

   "So where would you take us, upriver or down?" she asks.

   "No point in going into the interior.  It'll have to be downriver to the
lake, then down the Pangali as far as the coast."

   "But the British have it blocked."

   "Have you any British flags?" I ask her, grinning.

   "'Un ruse de guerre'?  We'll need coal and supplies?"

   "We'll steal it!" I tell her.

   "You're crazy!" she exclaims.  "Not to mention an overland trek to the
headwaters of the Pangali....  then by canoe to Uwimbi...  hmm...  wait a
minute!"

   Hildegard searches through a stack of Marconi forms on the desk. 
Excitedly she pulls a telegram from the stack and presents it to me.

   "There," she says, "SS Goethe, 980 tonnes...  it's laid up at Uwimbi
awaiting a cargo.  We could hike overland from here, direct to the
Pangali."

   I consider for a moment."That's tough country - to take civilians..."

   "We can walk!  The British will be on the lake.  It'd be much safer
overland."

   "I'll need to think about this," I tell her.

   Together we make our plans.  Dividing people by the number of available
horses and other details.

   "Your big guns?" she asks.

   "We'll tip them in the river, that'll release more horses for
transport."

   Sometime through the conversation, my mind starts to drift to matters
carnal.  The Fraulein and I have shared too many of our nights together
since I first entered Rungwa.  It's impossible for me to be alone around
her without some memory of our steamy encounters.  Her body has become as
familiar to me as my pay book with its sporadic entries.  I move a little
closer so our hips touch.  The Fraulein gives me a little sidelong grin
before continuing with the discussion.  It's as if our bodies have become
wireless transmitters, for verbal communication is unnecessary.

   Casually, her hand touches my bottom, two fingers tracing my
well-muscled contours.  In response, my hand finds itself caressing hers.
She leans in, brushing her shoulder against me.

   I look around the office, assessing our security for the operation I
have in mind.  The cane blinds are pulled down against the sun and no one
can see in.

   My hand travels up from her bottom to around her waist.  Hildegard
touches me lightly on the front of my short trousers and examines my state
of readiness.  Taking a deep breath, she begins to undo my buttons.

   "Are you always on alert, Herr Hauptmann?"

   "One must never let one's guard down," I reply.

   "Oh but you must!" She laughs.  "I'm sure it could become quite
discomforting."

   Releasing the main battery from its embrasure, her hand continues to
manipulate me under the privacy of the counter.  Falling to her knees, she
engulfs my rigid member with her mouth.  After a little while of her
ministrations I'm becoming desperate.  Withdrawing, she suggests we retire
out back to a less exposed position.

   In pre-war times the office was the private retreat of Fraulein
Masurien. In these leaner times, however it is used mostly for storage. 
Against one wall are stacks of files in boxes.  Spare life buoys are stored
in one corner and left luggage and parcels are piled haphazardly by the
door.  Hildegard's unused desk dominates the centre of the room.  It's now
stacked high with paper.  The Fraulein heaves the pile onto the floor and
sits on the oak table, kicking her legs and grinning mischievously.

   "Come here," she says in a low voice.



   Closing the distance, we fiercely kiss as her hand grabs my cock.  My
hands squeeze the contents of her shirt; those big, beautiful, soft mounds.
Urgently I tear at her buttons; frantically she scrabbles down her shorts.
Finally she lies exposed, the flaps of her shirt pulled wide, her shorts
lying at her feet.  Thus I fall onto her.

   Fitting me inside her, she says,

   "You need to show Trudi a little of this...  I think."

   Slowly stroking into her, I reply.

   "Unlike you...  my dear...  she's fertile."

   "So?  Then you'd have to...  marry her...  Faster my dear...  uh... 
that's better."

   "You want...  uh...  to be a nanny?"

   She looks at me for a moment, her eyes a moist.

   "You...  me...  Trudi...  oh...  uh...  harder!  And...  Baby...  oh...
perfect...  yes...  oh...  oh...  do it...  oh..."

   Growling I slam hard into her in rapid thrusts.  Hildegard babbles, her
legs scissor me around the back, she grabs at me and tries to pull me down.
She lifts herself up to meet me, trying to push as much of my cock inside
her as possible.  Presently, she screams through clenched teeth as I pump
another load of scorching liquid deep inside.

   Later, we lie together holding each other tight.  Hildegard murmurs in
my ear.  Compliments and other less intelligible things.

   "You must put a child in her, I think," she says.

   "What?" I ask, astonished.

   "Yes, then we might become a big happy family, no?"

   "What are you saying, Hildegard?"

   "Trudi, you, me and Wolfgang junior.  We would be perfect!"

   "That would be scandalous!"

   "But first, you must take care of the poor Frau Fleischer," she
continues.  "She really is quite desperate, poor thing!"

   I look down at her smiling, impish face.  Her breasts flop, quivering to
her sides, the nipples face outward as if embarrassed by the discussion.  I
roll the great mounds back into their rightful position and touch each
stiff nipple with my lips.  Hildegard twitches.

   "Careful!  Even the great Herr Hauptmann hasn't that sort of stamina."

   Realisation strikes me like a lightning bolt from the heavens.  I shake
my head in disbelief.  My upbringing in the conservative Baltic port of
Stralsund surely didn't prepare me for such goings on.

   "Trudi!" I gasp, "that's who you're really after, Trudi!  You're..."

   "I'm what?" she says, smiling.  "Unnatural?  Abnormal?  Or capable of
love irrespective of someone's gender?"

   "But...  I mean...  what about me?  I mean...  are you using me to...."

   "For sex!" she finishes my question "Of course.  To snag my little
Trudi? Yes.  'A man for pleasure, but a woman for love'."

   "You calculating bitch!"

   Her face sets.  She looks at me, appraising.

   "Y'know, the trouble with you men is that you don't know when you're
well off.  As I said a long time ago, just stay in the saddle and enjoy the
gallop!"

   "And do what I'm told!" I tell her, grimly.

   "Do your duty, yes, like a good officer and leave the thinking to your
superiors.  Now get your clothes on, Herr Hauptmann, before the world
starts looking for us."

   ----------------------------------------------------------------

   News reaches Rungwa promptly of the capture of the English Brigadier. 
Spangenburg sends the information with one of his riders allowing some
preparation for the captive to be made.  It is late afternoon before the
convoy is sighted.  The Africans gather so I order the Askari guard to form
up before the police station.  A motorcar is something of a rarity in this
part of the world, as is a British General, and everyone wants to see.

   The General alights from the vehicle, a luxurious Vauxhall Prince Henry,
while a Thornycroft lorry manoeuvres to a shuddering halt in the town
square.  When the clattering of the engines dies down, I greet our captive.

   "Hauptmann Ritter, Kommandant of Rungwa, Herr General, welcome!"

   Spangenburg translates for me.  He explains that the General wants to
know where von Lettow is.

   "I have told him, Herr Hauptmann, that he is elsewhere campaigning. 
However he wishes to make a formal complaint about the use of a British
flag during our attack on his convoy."

   "A British flag?  Shameful of you Leutnant," I tell him, attempting to
keep a straight face.  "I will expect a full report of the incident.  Tell
the General I'll consider this issue."

   "Jawohl, Herr Hauptmann." Spangenburg passes on the conversation to the
satisfaction of the Britisher.

   Guy Martin presents himself to me as an alternative translator allowing
Spangenburg to attend to his weary troopers and horses.  His English
appears fluent, as far as I can tell, and translates almost
instantaneously, unlike even Spangenburg.

   "The General wishes to know," Guy says, "where he and his party will be
accommodated?"

   "Tell him we'll find space at the hotel.  I will move around some of the
NCO's.  I want to know where the General was heading so far away from his
army and in the middle of nowhere?"

   After a long conversation, during which I grow in impatience, Guy tells
me he was bound for M'papua from Kilamintinde when his 'fool of a driver,'
lost the way in a dust storm.

   "Apparently," Guy adds, "the railway has been sabotaged.  Such vandals!
I understand he was catching a train from there back to Daressalam."

   "Good grief!  He's more than 100 kilometres out of his way!"

   "Rather more now, I think," says Guy, grinning.

   The lorry contains the man's household; furniture, wardrobe and all the
comforts of a long campaign.  While the General is escorted to his
lodgings, our officers pore through the harvest, looking for any useful
scraps of information.  Despite our efforts to guard the cargo, the lorry
is pillaged mercilessly by unknown parties that night.

   Although the motor vehicles have been adapted for the most extreme
conditions, I judge that they'd be useless for any evacuation. 
Additionally, it'd be next to impossible finding enough petrol to keep the
thirsty beasts running.  Nevertheless, some artist is already painting the
crest of our unit and an Iron Cross on the doors.  The boys can't help
stamping their brand on our new acquisitions.

   ---------------------------------------------------------------

   I order mounted patrols to keep watch for any search parties the English
may send out.  No doubt, they wouldn't overlook the absence of so important
an officer.  Some days later, a rider arrives with the news that a small
column has been sighted, and it appears to be headed in our direction.

   I order action stations and send the men to the rifle pits.  Our two
Krupp guns are loaded and ready and the big 10.5cm is ordered prepared.  We
then sit and wait for the expected onslaught.

   Presently, a group of riders hove into view.  Not the enemy, however,
for they fire two shots into the air, the day signal for our own troops. 
They turn out to be some members of one of our patrols, plus a haggard
looking Hauptmann Wahl of the Viktoriasee Abteilung.

   "There's nothing more to be done there," he tells me.  "The Belgians
have occupied Ruanda province and the British are strung out between
M'uansa and Tabora.  We have less than 150 able-bodied troops left.  We've
left behind maybe 1000 men, Ritter, between here and the Viktoriasee. 
Malaria, mostly.  Most of the Konigsburg's crew are all down with it.  I
sent the bulk of the Askaris off.  I only have the most loyal with me. 
They have walked 1000 kilometres; please do what you can for them."

   "I shall send horses and whatever wagons I can lay my hands on."

   "Good, good," Wahl says weakly.  "I must see the General...."

   The Hauptmann tells me he plans to rest a while, then to head southwest
towards von Lettow.  A sterling fellow, after such deprivations he's still
anxious to get back into the fight.

   "Rhodesia...  yes...  then I shall cut into the Kongo and give those
Belgian swine a little taste, eh?" he mumbles, more to himself than to the
little audience.  "They're bastards, Ritter, bastards!  Ritter?" he pleads,
"don't let your people fall into their hands...  I'll tell you...  they're
worse than the Dutch!  Promise me?"

   I tell him I didn't intend to allow myself into anyone's' hands.

   "Brave words, Ritter.  You have, what, a few hundred here?"

   "1000, in round figures," I tell him.

   "Too few," Wahl insists, "your perimeter is too large to defend with
that many.  Come with me to von Lettow.  We must consolidate now."

   "How is the enemy disposed?" I ask him.

   "The Belgians have their main forces in Ruanda.  They are busy claiming
the territory as their own and are not moving.  The British are in Tabora
but are busy repairing the railway.  That should take them at least a
month. We burnt the three trestle bridges at Tura when we passed through."

   "Ah, so you are the vandals?" I grin.

   "Yes.  We had to hide from their patrols for days afterwards.  They were
not pleased!"

   I send the Hauptmann to the Hotel to rest while I order the transport to
set out for the remains of his detachment.

   Although the news from the north is grim, I'm not downcast.  If Wahl is
correct, we shouldn't see anything of the enemy for at least 6 weeks. 
Time, I think, for us to organise.

   --------------------------------------------------------------

   That evening, I feel strange after the revelations concerning Hildegard.
I smoke my after dinner cigar alone on the Fraulein's balcony, watching the
sight of the herdsmen bringing in their stock for the night.  I'm
struggling to make sense of it all.  Of course I've heard of women who
prefer women, as there are men that prefer their own gender.  But it's
beyond my understanding how Hildegard can bed me, and apparently enjoy
herself, when all this time she is in love with Trudi Fleischer.  Indeed,
it seems to me I've been used as some strange proxy, reporting everything
in minute detail back to Hildegard.  Everything, from the way she looked,
the way her body felt, things she said and the way she said it.

   "Are you in a sulk?" asks Hildegard as she comes out to join me.

   "I...  I don't understand you," I shrug.

   "That's because you think too much," she tells me, "and not with your
brain.  Men are incapable of love, only lust.  Put a baby into Trudi and
marry her, in no particular order.  Then bring her back here, that is all
you need to understand."

   "For you?  Are you sure Trudi wants to...  with you?"

   "She is young and curious, she will!" she says, confidently.  "You may
have your honeymoon, of course, and I'm sure she'll still want a man
afterwards, occasionally.  I'm sure you won't miss out."

   "That's not the point!" I explain, "how can it be a proper marriage...
with you...  and she...  and..."

   "A proper marriage?" she asks, "what may I ask is a 'proper' marriage.
How many 'proper' marriages do you see, eh?  Go on, name one, and I'll show
you great unhappiness.  Were your own parents content?"

   "I, uh, I suppose so.  My father was away at sea for so long that..."

   "Navy?" she asks.

   "A Kapitan.  Of the SMS Frauenlob.... My mother seemed happy enough when
he came home."

   "Seemed?  You don't 'seem' so sure?"

   "Well...  I suppose they fought sometimes - and Papa used to drink a lot
- but everyone argues, don't they?"

   "Of course," Hildegard replies, "and he would rather drink than make
love to his wife?"

   "That's not fair!  You can't know..."

   "My dear, I'm still waiting to hear of a 'proper' marriage?"

   I raise my hands in resignation.  I had to concede I knew of none,
especially in Rungwa.

   "There!" she says, triumphantly, "now we can make some progress!"

   ---------------------------------------------------------------

   This war is involving more countries and peoples than anytime in
recorded history.  A vast upheaval of hopes, dreams and morality is taking
place before our eyes.  Small wonder that Hildegard's description of her
strange desires should fall on fertile ground.  Indeed it seems that
anything is possible these days.  When vast armies are pounding themselves
into oblivion and unbelievable cruelties visited upon ordinary lives, her
plans seem almost mundane.

   My marriage to Trudi would provide the impression of respectability. 
Perhaps, to the outside world, we might be congratulated for giving a roof
over the head to a poor dispossessed spinster woman.  So much about family
life seems taken with the pomp and veneer of normalcy.  In reality, perhaps
it always was just a bold lie.

   The next morning Lottie, the Fleischer's maid, delivers a message asking
me if I'd call on the lady of the house that evening.  Madame Fleischer
wants to discuss my 'intentions' with her daughter.  Lottie, a sweet girl
of about 20, looks a little rounded in the middle since the last time I'd
seen her.  'Is there no end of it?'

   I try and avoid Hildegard's smug expression.  She tells me I must wear
my Navy whites complete with officer's sword.

   "Gertrude Fleischer will be most impressed," she explains, "I hear she
gets quite overcome at the sight of a full dress uniform."

   When I return for her inspection, she positively drools.  Clearly Madame
Fleischer isn't the only one to go weak at the sight of a clean crisp
uniform.  After asking me to parade in front of her, she decides there's
one little detail that requires fixing.  Kneeling, she tells me I need to
relax more, before kissing the front of my trousers.  Resigning to her
wishes, I allow her to pull my cock free and 'relax' me with her mouth.

   "Rest assured, Herr Hauptmann, I shall not spill a drop on your
uniform," she tells me.

   The lady is true to her word.

   ---------------------------------------------------------------

   Frau Fleischer waits for me in the drawing room.  She apologises for her
husband, telling me he is away on 'business'.  The 'business' of Herr
Fleischer doesn't bear too much speculation.  No doubt the Police chief,
Inspektor Palmier, has been well provided for and is thus not too curious.
'Such is the nature of Rungwa,' I sigh to myself.  Gertrude smiles at my
attire.

   "A most handsome display, Herr Hauptmann," she tells me.

   She glides around the room furiously fanning herself, even though I
don't think it's too hot.  Her graceful elegance appears to have fallen
away a little and she seems as fidgety as her husband.

   "I've asked you here," she says, a little uncertainly, "because I've
become aware that you've been seeing a lot of my daughter."

   She punctuates her little speech with a wry grin.  Betraying, perhaps, a
little double meaning in the phrase, 'seeing a lot.'

   "I wish to know," she goes on, "just what your future intentions are?"

   Momentarily lost for words, even though I have been rehearsing in my
mind, the Madame fills in the little pause for me.





   "My daughter is such a passionate creature," she continues, "surely it
would be most ill-mannered of you to allow her to believe you had any but
the most honourable intentions?"

   She emphasises the word, 'passionate.' With all that Hildegard has told
me about this lady, I can't help thinking that in reality she's describing
herself.

   "No, Frau Fleischer," I manage to break through my inertia, "please rest
assured I have only but the most honourable of 'intentions'."

   'Heavens,' I think to myself, 'this is such a farce!'

   "Good.  Do you wish to propose marriage to her?  In these times, it
would be prudent not to delay too long."

   "I would be happy to do so," I tell her.

   "Well said!" The lady pulls the bell rope for the maid.  "A little
celebratory champagne?" she suggests.

   Sometime later she orders another bottle as the first is laid to rest.
The atmosphere is changed in the room to one of light-heartedness.  I am
measured in my drinking, due to a low tolerance to its effects.  Gertrude,
however, is less restrained.  Being French, I suppose, she was raised on
the stuff.

   "I'm sure," she says, "that my daughter will be quite a handful, even
for you.  She has always been most wilful and determined."

   "Perhaps like her mother?"

   "I always get what I want," she tells me, suddenly serious, "is that so
bad?"

   "Surely that would depend on what the lady is after?"

   "Ah, Herr Hauptmann, and what do you suppose I'd want that I don't
already have?  Do you see this diamond?"

   She points to a large necklace at her throat.  She holds it up for my
inspection.  It would not disgrace a Tsarina.

   "Have you any idea what this is worth?"

   I confess I know nothing of jewellery.  I do suggest, however, that
perhaps money isn't everything.

   "No indeed," she replies, "but if you'd known the poverty that I
have...."

   She tails off the sentence.  Clapping her hands, she orders more
Champagne.

   "Hauptmann?" she asks, her face grim, "there's one more thing I wish to
discuss with you."



   She closes the distance a little towards me.  My heart leaps in
expectation.

   "I understand you have plans to evacuate Rungwa - and perhaps continue
the fight elsewhere?"

   "I have a plan," I tell her, "to move out those who choose to go.  I
intend to make for the coast -perhaps find a ship - or..."

   "Then where?" she asks.

   "I hope to make it back home, uh, eventually."

   "Ah, and then what?  Join a warship?"

   "Something like that," I explain, "I'll present myself to the Navy for
whatever...."

   "And my Trudi?  She becomes a Navy wife?"

   "I guess so," I reply.

   "A man such as you...  can't think of something, ah, more rewarding?"

   "Such as?"

   "Some business opportunities.  Perhaps with a little capital..."

   "Me...  a businessman!" I exclaim, "I know nothing...."

   "Well then, perhaps you need a little advice." She continues, "I hear
that there are many opportunities in America.  Have you considered that?"

   "No," I confess.

   "Perhaps then, you might consider it.  I'd...  be willing to offer... 
ah...  my advice to any enterprise.  I have been running the business side
of things here for years.  My husband...  ah...  is not too careful, you
see.  He trades, indeed, he can charm a merchant out of his stock, but he
lacks...  ah...  skill in handling things."

   I'm at a lost for words.  I shake my head in confusion.  The lady moves
closer and puts her hand in mine.  She is swaying a little from the effects
of the alcohol.

   She lowers her voice, "I recognise in you great talent, Herr Hauptmann.
You have a clear and wise head; you're handsome and charming.  Such
qualities will go far, I think."

   She squeezes my hand.  Madame's height is at least the equal of my own,
therefore her eyes are level and shine into mine.

   "Take me with you, Herr Hauptmann.  I can help you - indeed you need
me."

   "I do?  I mean...  " I stumble out my words.  "Your husband?"

   "He can't go back," she says.  "The fool will be arrested.  He has fraud
charges everywhere and unsavoury types wanting to cut him into little
bits!"

   "He does?"

   "He's careless and greedy - unlike you, Herr Hauptmann.  You haven't
the, ah, flaws he has.  You're a real man, Herr Hauptmann, a real man."

   Breathing deeply her gaze wanders from my head to toe.  Sighing, her
diamond necklace twitches as her heavy chest heaves.

   "...  And very talented too, ah, so I hear." She says, "At least the
Fraulein Masurien thinks so.  I think," she continues, dragging a middle
finger down my chest, "that my daughter will be very lucky to have you...
as a husband.  Very lucky indeed!"

   My hands of themselves drift towards the Madame's waist.  Catching her
lip, she whispers,

   "No!  Not here, Herr Hauptmann...  not yet."

   I hastily withdraw my hands.  Frau Fleischer walks over to the bell rope
and tugs on it.  Turning back to me she says,

   "You must go now, I think.  Perhaps you can call on me tomorrow... 
around midday.  Lottie will show you the way...  good night, Herr
Hauptmann."

   The maid enters and show's me to the door.  Grinning I make my way back
to Hildegard's.

   ----------------------------------------------------------------

   The next morning I answer a request from Spangenburg to visit a cattle
ranch, some 10 kilometres out of town.  The ranch is owned by an aristocrat
who returned to the colours shortly before the war.  He'd left the property
in the hands of his farm manager.  Spangenburg intimated I'd find something
interesting in one of the out buildings.  As I ride up, Spangenburg has one
of the white NCO's with him, a Feldwebel in the technical services.

   "It's in that shed, Herr Hauptmann," Spangenburg proudly announces,
"pretty good condition too, considering."

   In the outbuilding is a canvas, wood and wire contraption that could
only be an aeroplane.  It's spindly appearance looks toy-like, or a chicken
coup gone horribly wrong.

   "It's a Taube," the Feldwebel tells me, "An Etrich.  That motor is a
French Gnome, if I'm not mistaken, or one of our copies."



   "So?" I ask, "it is nothing but a toy for the Junker.  I can't see what
use it could be here.  Even if you can get it flying, it can only carry one
person, and barely at that."

   A Taube (Dove) is a pre-war monoplane design that was quite common
before the superior qualities of the biplane became obvious.  To turn, you
have to warp the wings with the use of control wires.  These fan out from
the top of a post that stands in front of the pilot's cockpit.  It gives
the impression of being in a cage.  The wings are shaped like those of a
bird, hence the name, and curve back in a most graceful manner.  It is
nothing more than a sporting aeroplane, and I fail to see any useful role
for it.

   "Reconnaissance!" declares Spangenburg.  "We can see for kilometres from
it.  There is petrol aplenty for it in the shed over there."

   "Petrol, you say?" I'm suddenly interested.  "Now that is useful."

   The Feldwebel and Spangenburg look expectantly at me.  I can't see any
harm if they wish to waste their spare time in getting this machine flying.
I therefore allow them to do what they can with it, providing their duties
are not neglected.  I leave them to their toy and ride on back to town.

   I order 'our' lorry to go and retrieve the petrol, leaving sufficient
for Spangenburg's team to complete their venture.

   ----------------------------------------------------------------

   I take morning tea with the British General.  An awning has been erected
behind the hotel with excellent views of the river.  There, the Britisher's
'batman' servant and staff from the hotel ferry delicacies to the table. 
It's quite peaceful and weirdly unreal in the middle of a war.  Inspektor
Palmier, Guy Martin, George Carpentier, the teacher, and some of the other
leading citizens are also present.  Guy is required to perform translation
duties as usual.

   "The General wishes to know," Guy says, "how you can live so well in the
middle of a war, with your coast blockaded, and enemies all around you?"

   "Tell him the whole of the German Empire is living like this."

   Guy grins as he passes it on.  The General nearly chokes on the fresh
pate.

   "He thinks India is the same.  'A deuced fine life,' he says."

   After tea a box of cigars is passed around.  The General reads the band
of his Havana and exclaims,

   "I'll be damned if they're not from the Officer's Club in Mombassa!  How
the devil did you lot get your hands on them?"

   Guy looks sheepish as he translates.  I shrug a reply in his direction.
In Rungwa, surprises are everywhere.

   "Damned thieves!" the General mutters as he lights up.

   -----------------------------------------------------------------

   After lunch, I answer Frau Fleischer's request to visit her.  I dress in
my khakis, albeit with my white service cap.  Not as resplendent as last
night perhaps, but not undignified.  Wordlessly, Lottie shows me upstairs
to the third door on the landing.  Tapping, Lottie advises me to go right
on in.

   As I suspected, it's the lady's boudoir.  Frau Fleischer sits on a chair
by the big window, gazing at something in the middle distance.  Next to her
is a pair of binoculars.

   "I can see your Trudi," she says without moving, "she wanders amid the
native quarters too much, I fear."

   "Oh?"

   "She has been doing that since she was a little girl.  Now I think it's
inappropriate, don't you agree?"

   "I dare say she won't come to harm," I reply.

   "Harm?  No.  I was thinking, she may learn a bit more than what is good
for her."

   I walk up beside her and follow her gaze.  Trudi is sitting chatting to
a mixed group of African teenagers watching a native game in progress.  It
resembles what the French call 'Petanque.'

   "Doctor Otto does his best," she continues, "but the Africans, they're
not like us.  Those young people...  they are used to far more freedom
than...  we whites consider proper.  Don't you think?"

   "Different cultures, I guess!" I reply.

   "Yes different, Herr Hauptmann," she answers quickly, "not wrong or
right...  but different, no?"

   "Precisely, Frau Fleischer."

   "You know, a man can have as many as four wives.  We tell them it's
wrong, but it makes perfect sense to me."

   "How so?" I ask.

   "You are never lonely, Herr Hauptmann, see?  They are like sisters
together.  They help each other, care for one another.  In their world, you
are never left alone to dream of how things might have been if, ah, if
only...  Oh, I'm sorry, Herr Hauptmann, I sometimes give myself over to...
well dreams, I think."

   "You are lonely, Frau Fleischer?" I ask.

   She lowers her head and nods briefly.

   "I'm sorry." I swallow.

   Collecting herself, she turns her eyes to me and asks if I'd thought
about her proposal.

   "A little," I confess, "I, I gather Fraulein Masurien wishes to
accompany us also."

   "Yes," she says, "she would!  She has her eyes on your bride to be."

   "You know?"

   "There's not much I don't know in this god-forsaken little hole, Herr
Hauptmann.  I've known about the Fraulein's...  tastes, since we first set
up here."

   "You don't mind?"

   "I doubt I'll get a say in the matter.  My daughter knows what is what.
She'll please herself, she always does.  How do you feel about sharing your
nuptials, Herr Hauptmann?  I presume you've been practicing hard for the
great day?"

   I blush red with embarrassment.

   "Oh, we can't have any secrets between us, especially not in Rungwa. 
You'll knock that cottage of von Masurien's off its foundations if you're
not careful.  And as for my daughter...  she's told me you are very
considerate...  and most adequately endowed."

   "She what?  She told..."

   "Of course, Hauptmann Ritter.  My daughter and I are most open about
things.  She's very keen to have your children, Kommandant, very keen.  And
you seem quite admirably equipped for that task - so I hear."

   "I...  I..."

   "Oh, you really must brush up on your diction." She laughs.

   "Does Trudi know I'm here?"

   "Of course."

   Almost absently, Frau Fleischer lifts herself from the chair and closes
the curtains.  Lazily, she strolls to the bed and pins back the mosquito
net.

   "At this time of day," she says, "I usually take a nap.  Perhaps you may
wish to...  lie with me awhile?"

   I follow her to the large canopied bed.  Gertrude moves across to give
me room and lies still, on her back.  A look of nervous expectation is on
her face.  As I join her, she lifts her head for me to put an arm around
her.  Sighing, she snuggles in beside me.

   "You mustn't think me a wanton woman, Herr Hauptmann," she whispers. 
"For me, life is a good deal more complex than you can imagine."

   "I think I understand,"

   "I doubt that you do," she replies, stroking my chest lightly.  "If you
move your hand...  so...  you may discover I have nothing on underneath!"

   She takes my hand and guides it under her dress.  My cock jumps as I
feel slippery, naked thighs ending in the moist, crinkly, forest of her
sex. Lifting her body, she allows me to pull her dress up and over her
head. Once more a woman lies quivering and naked before me.  She studies
carefully as I shed my own clothes, her eyes glow with excitement.

   Falling into her arms, I kiss her face, nibble and suck my way down to
her big breasts.  Gertrude gasps and moans with each touch.  Eventually she
whispers thickly to me,

   "You needn't take your time...  please...  put it in me."

   I oblige the lady and push myself inside her.  As if she's just received
an electric shock, she writhes and stabs back at me.  Her nails sting my
bottom as she tries to pull even more of me inside her.  She urges me to go
faster and harder still, while hollering and shouting filthy things.

   Later, sweat-soaked and thoroughly exhausted, we rub each other down
with towels.  Frau Fleischer had come perhaps two or three times, before I
at last succumbed.  Perhaps some weeks of practice at Fraulein Masurien's
had prepared me well for the workout.  Suffice to say, the lady is most
pleased.  As if pre-arranged, Lottie, her maid, taps on the door and looks
in.

   "Ah Lottie," says Frau Fleischer, "the gentleman will be staying awhile.
Please tell my daughter she needn't hurry home.  And Lottie?" she asks as
the maid makes to go, "you may have the afternoon off."
   (C)Katzmarek