RacingRodent
Consul
If only Klaus had known...
I think the Me 262 might be considered a bit less than cutting edge in the 90s, especially compared with the Luftwaffe's then mix of Phantoms, Tornados and MiG-29s
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Last Liaison in Lyon
- Thread starter windar
- Start date
I think the Me 262 might be considered a bit less than cutting edge in the 90s, especially compared with the Luftwaffe's then mix of Phantoms, Tornados and MiG-29s
I think the Me 262 might be considered a bit less than cutting edge in the 90s, especially compared with the Luftwaffe's then mix of Phantoms, Tornados and MiG-29s
Looks impressive....
Let’s give it a spin ....
Ooooops. I wasn’t driving. Honest, I wasn’t!
Migoz2
Senator
Ooooops. I wasn’t driving. Honest, I wasn’t!
View attachment 750984
The pilot was distracted: he caught sight of your tight little as he was landing.
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
"And pick up and strip-search every nun near the Spanish border! We know that trick!"Please do, since Klaus is not on any of those trains anyway.
Or the boggies of the carriages had variable gauges which were switched at the border.
But slow and vulnarable on landing approach.Looks impressive....
connoisseurs
Senator
You want to tell us, you didn´t like it?
Whatever you need to justify it.
One more agent giving her all.
Harsh Martinet
Consul
"And pick up and strip-search every nun near the Spanish border! We know that trick!"
Or the boggies of the carriages had variable gauges which were switched at the border.
But slow and vulnarable on landing approach.
"So sister, can you explain this bushy tail concealed beneath your habit?"
Migoz2
Senator
Sharkman
Governor
Oh yes, Barb learnt a lot at the city’s best- known bordello of Madame Olga in Stuttgart.
windar
Teller of Tales
28.
March 1943, Near the French-Spanish border
Klaus was sore. Of course, he couldn’t compare his pain to that which Barta would have suffered, assuming she had fallen into Barbie’s hands, but still he ached from head to toe.
With the soldiers he had seen and the possibility that they had dragged the truth out of her, he had decided that sleeping in a barn or abandoned house was too risky, so he had found a place in the forest near the Col du Puits trailhead and made a bed out of pine boughs. He had put on pretty much all of the clothes in his knapsack to try to stay warm, though he was still shivering when he woke up and looked at the glowing hands of his watch-almost 2300.
Although he had only slept perhaps a couple of hours, between the cold, the worry over Barta’s fate and the fear of being captured, Klaus didn’t think he could sleep any more. The night was clear, which had added to the cold and the moon was not yet full, but gave enough light that one could see a short distance ahead of oneself.
‘So why not move forward under cover of darkness?’ he thought. At least the exertion would warm him up. Sitting in one place shivering all night long didn’t seem like a good idea. Klaus dipped into his knapsack and extracted a chocolate bar, which he ate quickly. He had hoped to buy some food in Céret for the hike over the mountains, but that hadn’t been possible. He had one more bar and some nuts left-those would have to last.
He made his way through the forest back to the road, working from his memory of the route he had followed earlier in the evening. A short distance ahead, he came upon a rough wooden sign-in the moonlight, he could just make out the letters that said “vers le Col du Puits”.
The trail was a dirt track, used, Klaus surmised, by shepherds and cowherds to take their flocks up to higher pastures in the summer. It climbed steadily. Klaus was breathing hard from the effort, but his long cycling trip had prepared him well, and the exertion was warming his blood. There was a small stream running beside the path. Klaus could hear the water, fed by the snow from above that was gradually being melted by the increasing angle of the spring sun during the previous day.
It got colder as he climbed and he had to make his way over patches of snow, taking great care not to slip. A twisted ankle would be the end of the road in these circumstances. Progress was slower than he would have liked, but steady.
Klaus noticed that the walls of the mountains on both sides were closing in as he approached the col. That was probably a good sign-it meant that the top of the pass, which was the border, couldn’t be that far away.
Klaus checked his watch-almost 0200. He was making good time. Then he heard it, coming from straight ahead-the sound of voices! He couldn’t make out what they were saying from this distance, so he carefully crept a bit closer.
The pass was narrow here and Klaus didn’t think there was a way to get by the people guarding the route without being detected, especially since the forest had thinned out to just scattered small trees as the trail had ascended.
He ducked behind a large boulder at the side of the trail trying to decide what to do. Should he turn around and try the other route? It would be almost light by the time he got to the same point on the other trail and he would be exhausted. Plus, they were doubtless watching that one and probably with more troops if Barta had told them he was going that way.
So he waited, hoping he could come up with a plan.
From here, with the narrow walls funneling the sound, Klaus could hear the voices fairly clearly. It seemed there were two of them and they were speaking German!
“Pass that schnapps over here, Fritz! It’s so cold, we might as well have been sent to Russia,” Klaus made out.
“Too bad we couldn’t bring those two whores from Bordeaux out here, Werner. They would keep us nice and warm, or our cocks anyway,”
“They were something, Fritz. The way the brown-haired one rode me, while the blonde licked her tits.”
“Yeah and I was plowing into the blonde from behind and she was squealing, begging me to go harder!”
“These French girls are hot blooded, that’s for sure. They know they have to please us because their men are useless. Maybe when we finish smashing the Russians and the British and the Americans beg for a truce, we should settle down here with a couple of nice French girls.”
“So you don’t think Stalingrad was a problem, Werner?”
“Nah, Fritz, it was just a temporary retreat. Our Fuhrer would never let us be beaten by a bunch of Bolshies. Once Spring comes we will smash them and on to Moscow! Let’s drink a toast to victory!”
Klaus couldn’t help chuckling at the gullibility of these two devoted followers of that little Austrian Corporal. ‘A temporary retreat, my ass!’ Klaus thought, shaking his head.
It was quiet for a bit, then he heard, “I’m very tired, Werner. I’m going to catch a bit of sleep.”
“The Sergeant said we both have to stay awake. This engineer that’s trying to escape is valuable. If he gets away, we’re in big trouble.”
“Look around you. It’s the middle of nowhere and the middle of the night. Besides, he’s going via that other trail. They know that. The Gestapo has that information and you don’t want to know how they got it. Why we’re even here, I don’t know.”
“But, the Sergeant said…”
“Is the Sergeant here, Werner?”
Klaus didn’t hear a reply. The one called Fritz continued. “Just a little nap, an hour or so. Then you can wake me and I’ll stand watch while you take a nap.”
“Ok, OK,” Werner replied. “Take a nap. But in one hour, it’s my turn.” And then there was silence. Klaus counted fifteen minutes on his watch. That had to be enough time for Fritz to have passed out, given the boring, useless detail they were on and the amount of schnapps he had doubtless consumed.
It was now or never. Once it got light and he hadn’t yet been apprehended, they would likely conduct a rigorous search with the full contingent of troops and he would be a dead man and not pleasantly either.
Klaus reached into his knapsack and felt around until his fingers closed on hard, cold metal. He carefully extracted the Mauser, sticking it into the waistband of his pants. He left his hiding place and, moving carefully so as to make no noise, he advanced slowly, crouching almost on all fours towards where he believed from the sounds that he heard that Fritz and Werner were camped.
He rounded a slight bend and there they were! About twenty meters ahead, just off the trail to the right was a human shape standing, stamping his feet and clapping his hands to try to stay warm on this cold night. That had to be Werner.
Klaus couldn’t make out the sleeping Fritz among the rocks that lay strewn on the ground, but he had to be stretched out nearby.
Klaus didn’t dare come any closer. He couldn’t tell if Werner was holding his rifle or had laid it on the ground, but either way, he couldn’t count on the possibility that he would get more than one shot.
Klaus had never fired a gun before but practice wasn’t an option. He pulled the Mauser out of his pants and aimed it at Werner’s head. It looked like a damn small target, one that would be very easy to miss. He lowered the barrel and pointed it at the soldier’s chest instead. He closed his eyes and pulled the trigger.
The noise ricocheted off the rock walls of the pass between the two mountains. Klaus opened his eyes. Werner had fallen over. He charged forward until he reached the prone figure. Werner’s rifle lay on the ground next to him. Klaus grabbed it.
From a short distance ahead he heard Fritz call “Werner? What’s happening?” his voice dazed with sleep and schnapps. Klaus moved quickly towards Fritz, who was reaching for his rifle. He was almost on top of him now. He aimed Werner’s rifle at Fritz’s chest and fired.
“Scheisse!” he heard. He turned the rifle around and hit Fritz in the head with the butt. He hit him again, then again. ‘This is for Barta, you bastard,’ he thought. He picked up Fritz’s rifle and heaved it away off the trail, just in case either of them were still alive. Then he went on, as fast as he dared to go in the semi-darkness.
The trail climbed more. Klaus’ heart was pounding, both from the exertion and from the excitement of his confrontation with his two countrymen, or perhaps he should say former countrymen. He had never imagined himself killing any one, but now he had killed two most likely. It was war and he was doing so to save his own life and perhaps those of countless others with the plans for the fighter jet, but still he was shocked at himself.
The moon was setting now and it had become very dark. He thought about stopping, but the sound of the shots might have been heard by the troops down in the town. Also, Fritz and Werner probably had a field radio and when they failed to respond, their comrades would come looking for them.
So, Klaus felt his way slowly over the rocks. The course the trail followed was fairly obvious since the pass was now very narrow and there was really only one way to go.
Soon, Klaus noticed that the terrain was levelling off. He checked his watch; it was nearly 0400. Now he noticed that the trail was descending, gradually, but definitely trending downhill. This must mean that he had passed the border, which ran along the height of land. He was in Spain!
Still he couldn’t be sure that the Germans wouldn’t violate the border in pursuit of him, so, tired though he was, Klaus kept going, picking his way carefully as the trail descended. Soon, he saw the eastern sky was brightening.
By true daybreak he was passing sheep grazing on the hillsides and soon he saw the houses of the village ahead, perched on a hillside. That had to be Massanet. As he approached the village, Klaus saw a roughly dressed man around fifty years of age accompanied by a large sheepdog coming up the path towards him.
Klaus didn’t speak a word of Spanish and certainly none of Catalan, which was the local language. “Sprechen Sie Deutsch? The man just stared at him blankly. “Do you speak English?” Nothing. “Parlez-vous français?” The shepherd just shook his head.
Klaus thought for a moment, then reached into the money belt around his waist and pulled out a few large Pound notes. He made a driving motion with his hands and said “Figueres?”
The shepherd thought for a moment, then beckoned for Klaus to follow him. He led the way into the village, which was just rousing itself and knocked on the door of one of the stone cottages common in this mountainous region.
It took a few minutes, but an elderly man opened the door. The shepherd said something Klaus didn’t understand. The man nodded and turned to Klaus. “You come from France?” he asked in good, but heavily accented English, pointing towards the Pyrenees which Klaus had just traversed.
“Yes,” Klaus replied nodding.
“You are British? American?
“I’m German,” he replied. The man frowned. Catalonia had been strongly against Franco and there would naturally be resentment against Germany, which had backed him in the very bloody Civil War that had ended only a few years ago.
“But I’m with them,” Klaus explained. “I hate the Nazis. They’re after me. I need to get to Barcelona. If you can drive me to Figueres, I can catch the train. I can pay you.” He showed the man the British money.
“During our war I helped many people go in the other direction, to France. Now they are coming into Spain,” the old man said, shaking his head, trying to understand the ways of the world. “Give me fifteen minutes,” he said. Klaus handed one of the bank notes to the shepherd, who smiled and left to tend to his sheep.
Soon, Klaus was riding with the old man in a truck that seemed even older than the driver down a dirt road that was little better than the trail he had hiked over the mountains on. They descended the mountains at a speed barely faster than a walking pace, until they reached the coastal plain and the main highway. They turned south, away from France, and soon the man deposited Klaus at the Figueres train station, accepting Klaus’ money after some persuasion.
“Travel safely,” the man said. Klaus had a coffee and a pastry at the station café while waiting for the train. It was the best breakfast he had ever eaten. By midday he was knocking on the door of the British consulate in Barcelona, telling the middle aged woman at the front desk that he needed to speak with Richard Allenby on an urgent matter. “Tell him, it’s Klaus Schumann. Barta Moser sent me.”
March 1943, Near the French-Spanish border
Klaus was sore. Of course, he couldn’t compare his pain to that which Barta would have suffered, assuming she had fallen into Barbie’s hands, but still he ached from head to toe.
With the soldiers he had seen and the possibility that they had dragged the truth out of her, he had decided that sleeping in a barn or abandoned house was too risky, so he had found a place in the forest near the Col du Puits trailhead and made a bed out of pine boughs. He had put on pretty much all of the clothes in his knapsack to try to stay warm, though he was still shivering when he woke up and looked at the glowing hands of his watch-almost 2300.
Although he had only slept perhaps a couple of hours, between the cold, the worry over Barta’s fate and the fear of being captured, Klaus didn’t think he could sleep any more. The night was clear, which had added to the cold and the moon was not yet full, but gave enough light that one could see a short distance ahead of oneself.
‘So why not move forward under cover of darkness?’ he thought. At least the exertion would warm him up. Sitting in one place shivering all night long didn’t seem like a good idea. Klaus dipped into his knapsack and extracted a chocolate bar, which he ate quickly. He had hoped to buy some food in Céret for the hike over the mountains, but that hadn’t been possible. He had one more bar and some nuts left-those would have to last.
He made his way through the forest back to the road, working from his memory of the route he had followed earlier in the evening. A short distance ahead, he came upon a rough wooden sign-in the moonlight, he could just make out the letters that said “vers le Col du Puits”.
The trail was a dirt track, used, Klaus surmised, by shepherds and cowherds to take their flocks up to higher pastures in the summer. It climbed steadily. Klaus was breathing hard from the effort, but his long cycling trip had prepared him well, and the exertion was warming his blood. There was a small stream running beside the path. Klaus could hear the water, fed by the snow from above that was gradually being melted by the increasing angle of the spring sun during the previous day.
It got colder as he climbed and he had to make his way over patches of snow, taking great care not to slip. A twisted ankle would be the end of the road in these circumstances. Progress was slower than he would have liked, but steady.
Klaus noticed that the walls of the mountains on both sides were closing in as he approached the col. That was probably a good sign-it meant that the top of the pass, which was the border, couldn’t be that far away.
Klaus checked his watch-almost 0200. He was making good time. Then he heard it, coming from straight ahead-the sound of voices! He couldn’t make out what they were saying from this distance, so he carefully crept a bit closer.
The pass was narrow here and Klaus didn’t think there was a way to get by the people guarding the route without being detected, especially since the forest had thinned out to just scattered small trees as the trail had ascended.
He ducked behind a large boulder at the side of the trail trying to decide what to do. Should he turn around and try the other route? It would be almost light by the time he got to the same point on the other trail and he would be exhausted. Plus, they were doubtless watching that one and probably with more troops if Barta had told them he was going that way.
So he waited, hoping he could come up with a plan.
From here, with the narrow walls funneling the sound, Klaus could hear the voices fairly clearly. It seemed there were two of them and they were speaking German!
“Pass that schnapps over here, Fritz! It’s so cold, we might as well have been sent to Russia,” Klaus made out.
“Too bad we couldn’t bring those two whores from Bordeaux out here, Werner. They would keep us nice and warm, or our cocks anyway,”
“They were something, Fritz. The way the brown-haired one rode me, while the blonde licked her tits.”
“Yeah and I was plowing into the blonde from behind and she was squealing, begging me to go harder!”
“These French girls are hot blooded, that’s for sure. They know they have to please us because their men are useless. Maybe when we finish smashing the Russians and the British and the Americans beg for a truce, we should settle down here with a couple of nice French girls.”
“So you don’t think Stalingrad was a problem, Werner?”
“Nah, Fritz, it was just a temporary retreat. Our Fuhrer would never let us be beaten by a bunch of Bolshies. Once Spring comes we will smash them and on to Moscow! Let’s drink a toast to victory!”
Klaus couldn’t help chuckling at the gullibility of these two devoted followers of that little Austrian Corporal. ‘A temporary retreat, my ass!’ Klaus thought, shaking his head.
It was quiet for a bit, then he heard, “I’m very tired, Werner. I’m going to catch a bit of sleep.”
“The Sergeant said we both have to stay awake. This engineer that’s trying to escape is valuable. If he gets away, we’re in big trouble.”
“Look around you. It’s the middle of nowhere and the middle of the night. Besides, he’s going via that other trail. They know that. The Gestapo has that information and you don’t want to know how they got it. Why we’re even here, I don’t know.”
“But, the Sergeant said…”
“Is the Sergeant here, Werner?”
Klaus didn’t hear a reply. The one called Fritz continued. “Just a little nap, an hour or so. Then you can wake me and I’ll stand watch while you take a nap.”
“Ok, OK,” Werner replied. “Take a nap. But in one hour, it’s my turn.” And then there was silence. Klaus counted fifteen minutes on his watch. That had to be enough time for Fritz to have passed out, given the boring, useless detail they were on and the amount of schnapps he had doubtless consumed.
It was now or never. Once it got light and he hadn’t yet been apprehended, they would likely conduct a rigorous search with the full contingent of troops and he would be a dead man and not pleasantly either.
Klaus reached into his knapsack and felt around until his fingers closed on hard, cold metal. He carefully extracted the Mauser, sticking it into the waistband of his pants. He left his hiding place and, moving carefully so as to make no noise, he advanced slowly, crouching almost on all fours towards where he believed from the sounds that he heard that Fritz and Werner were camped.
He rounded a slight bend and there they were! About twenty meters ahead, just off the trail to the right was a human shape standing, stamping his feet and clapping his hands to try to stay warm on this cold night. That had to be Werner.
Klaus couldn’t make out the sleeping Fritz among the rocks that lay strewn on the ground, but he had to be stretched out nearby.
Klaus didn’t dare come any closer. He couldn’t tell if Werner was holding his rifle or had laid it on the ground, but either way, he couldn’t count on the possibility that he would get more than one shot.
Klaus had never fired a gun before but practice wasn’t an option. He pulled the Mauser out of his pants and aimed it at Werner’s head. It looked like a damn small target, one that would be very easy to miss. He lowered the barrel and pointed it at the soldier’s chest instead. He closed his eyes and pulled the trigger.
The noise ricocheted off the rock walls of the pass between the two mountains. Klaus opened his eyes. Werner had fallen over. He charged forward until he reached the prone figure. Werner’s rifle lay on the ground next to him. Klaus grabbed it.
From a short distance ahead he heard Fritz call “Werner? What’s happening?” his voice dazed with sleep and schnapps. Klaus moved quickly towards Fritz, who was reaching for his rifle. He was almost on top of him now. He aimed Werner’s rifle at Fritz’s chest and fired.
“Scheisse!” he heard. He turned the rifle around and hit Fritz in the head with the butt. He hit him again, then again. ‘This is for Barta, you bastard,’ he thought. He picked up Fritz’s rifle and heaved it away off the trail, just in case either of them were still alive. Then he went on, as fast as he dared to go in the semi-darkness.
The trail climbed more. Klaus’ heart was pounding, both from the exertion and from the excitement of his confrontation with his two countrymen, or perhaps he should say former countrymen. He had never imagined himself killing any one, but now he had killed two most likely. It was war and he was doing so to save his own life and perhaps those of countless others with the plans for the fighter jet, but still he was shocked at himself.
The moon was setting now and it had become very dark. He thought about stopping, but the sound of the shots might have been heard by the troops down in the town. Also, Fritz and Werner probably had a field radio and when they failed to respond, their comrades would come looking for them.
So, Klaus felt his way slowly over the rocks. The course the trail followed was fairly obvious since the pass was now very narrow and there was really only one way to go.
Soon, Klaus noticed that the terrain was levelling off. He checked his watch; it was nearly 0400. Now he noticed that the trail was descending, gradually, but definitely trending downhill. This must mean that he had passed the border, which ran along the height of land. He was in Spain!
Still he couldn’t be sure that the Germans wouldn’t violate the border in pursuit of him, so, tired though he was, Klaus kept going, picking his way carefully as the trail descended. Soon, he saw the eastern sky was brightening.
By true daybreak he was passing sheep grazing on the hillsides and soon he saw the houses of the village ahead, perched on a hillside. That had to be Massanet. As he approached the village, Klaus saw a roughly dressed man around fifty years of age accompanied by a large sheepdog coming up the path towards him.
Klaus didn’t speak a word of Spanish and certainly none of Catalan, which was the local language. “Sprechen Sie Deutsch? The man just stared at him blankly. “Do you speak English?” Nothing. “Parlez-vous français?” The shepherd just shook his head.
Klaus thought for a moment, then reached into the money belt around his waist and pulled out a few large Pound notes. He made a driving motion with his hands and said “Figueres?”
The shepherd thought for a moment, then beckoned for Klaus to follow him. He led the way into the village, which was just rousing itself and knocked on the door of one of the stone cottages common in this mountainous region.
It took a few minutes, but an elderly man opened the door. The shepherd said something Klaus didn’t understand. The man nodded and turned to Klaus. “You come from France?” he asked in good, but heavily accented English, pointing towards the Pyrenees which Klaus had just traversed.
“Yes,” Klaus replied nodding.
“You are British? American?
“I’m German,” he replied. The man frowned. Catalonia had been strongly against Franco and there would naturally be resentment against Germany, which had backed him in the very bloody Civil War that had ended only a few years ago.
“But I’m with them,” Klaus explained. “I hate the Nazis. They’re after me. I need to get to Barcelona. If you can drive me to Figueres, I can catch the train. I can pay you.” He showed the man the British money.
“During our war I helped many people go in the other direction, to France. Now they are coming into Spain,” the old man said, shaking his head, trying to understand the ways of the world. “Give me fifteen minutes,” he said. Klaus handed one of the bank notes to the shepherd, who smiled and left to tend to his sheep.
Soon, Klaus was riding with the old man in a truck that seemed even older than the driver down a dirt road that was little better than the trail he had hiked over the mountains on. They descended the mountains at a speed barely faster than a walking pace, until they reached the coastal plain and the main highway. They turned south, away from France, and soon the man deposited Klaus at the Figueres train station, accepting Klaus’ money after some persuasion.
“Travel safely,” the man said. Klaus had a coffee and a pastry at the station café while waiting for the train. It was the best breakfast he had ever eaten. By midday he was knocking on the door of the British consulate in Barcelona, telling the middle aged woman at the front desk that he needed to speak with Richard Allenby on an urgent matter. “Tell him, it’s Klaus Schumann. Barta Moser sent me.”
Harsh Martinet
Consul
You can absolutely believe every word that passes her lips...
Oh, and
That is AMAZING....oh wait...you meant her other lips.
Perhaps a new career in espionage? He can point to experience now, when he submits his application
windar
Teller of Tales
I dunno. The rank amateur is alive and free and on his way to his destination (at least so far). He's killed two enemy even without one of those fancy "License to Kill" thingies. Meanwhile the highly trained professional got snookered into capture and is suffering ghastly tortures from Barbie and Schwarz. You haven't done much of a sales job for spying as a career, Agent Moore...Perhaps a new career in espionage? He can point to experience now, when he submits his application
connoisseurs
Senator
Don´t give up, Barb! Eventually, you become used to it.
The girl below needed only two weeks.
connoisseurs
Senator
I know there is no evidence pointing in that direction, but I am sure it was allways Barbs plan to infiltrate the Gestapo headquarter and roll it up from the inside. She has to revenge Marie, you know! I have absolute confidence in her professional skills
Migoz2
Senator
Perhaps a new career in espionage? He can point to experience now, when he submits his application
Just how many men has Barbara killed? (Fucking someone to death does not count!)
I know there is no evidence pointing in that direction, but I am sure it was allways Barbs plan to infiltrate the Gestapo headquarter and roll it up from the inside. She has to revenge Marie, you know! I have absolute confidence in her professional skills
If you just send me your bank details, I have a most wonredful preposition for you regrading $10,000,000,000 in a Nigerian bank account that yuo could help me trasfer.
I know there is no evidence pointing in that direction, but I am sure it was allways Barbs plan to infiltrate the Gestapo headquarter and roll it up from the inside. She has to revenge Marie, you know! I have absolute confidence in her professional skills
Good to know someone does!!! Danke sehr!
