Chapter 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..."