The Dominafuhrer - MISS SPITEFUL'S GOLD

Episode 48 - Vive La France

September 1952

The clattering of footsteps on the cobblestones drew nearer and shouts of triumph indicated that the Nazis had realised that we had gone to ground.

Suddenly there was the roar of an engine, the squeal of tyres and bright beams of light illuminated the narrow street.

Seconds later a military jeep shot past us from our right. I glimpsed four French soldiers, khaki clad with white kepis, one of them standing up in the back behind a light machine gun on a swivel.

I risked putting my head out past the door frame and saw five gunmen, standing transfixed in the jeep’s headlights, about thirty metres down the street. Trailing them, another fifty metres behind, was the hapless Helmut. Staggering crablike as his gun hand tried to hold his useless arm against his body.        

The gunmen fired at the French vehicle and then ducked for cover themselves. The jeep screeched to a halt and its machine gun replied with short bursts that battered our eardrums.

“Run for it!” Miss Spiteful shouted. “But keep low and close to the walls!”

I hooked Kelly’s good arm over my shoulder and, getting my other arm around her waist ducked out from cover. Two bullets whistled over our heads, but I started to run and, after the being dragged for the first few steps, Kelly got her own legs going as well. Sugar was ahead of me, the canvas bag slung over her shoulder, and Stiletto and Solitaire were propelling Sapphire along on the other side of the street, with Miss Spiteful bringing up the rear.

We were still running in a crouched position as we passed through the line of spectators on the Bornholmerstrasse, oblivious to the danger that they were in from stray bullets. The fire-fight behind us was growing in intensity and people were coming from all directions to see what was going on.

It was not until we stood upright under the glow of streetlights that our condition and our dress, or lack of it, were noticed. Jaws dropped, people pointed and gasped, and some whistled as we ran out into the road, between the stationery vehicles, where car horns tooted at us. We ignored them all. Two more French soldiers, running from the bridge and un-slinging their rifles from over their shoulders, passed us without a glance.

The faint wail of a klaxon came to my ears and, looking west down Bornholmer-strasse, I could see a green light flashing in the distance.

Dodging the traffic coming from the east, we ran into the station entrance where Natalya was waiting for us, clutching a handful of tickets.

We went down the wooden steps, two at a time, and collapsed onto two benches on the deserted platform.

Gunfire was still crackling above us, but the Police sirens had arrived and halted and the flashing green lights were reflecting on the bridge girders. Some curious faces were peering over the parapet and I hoped the train came before the Police started questioning witnesses.

“I told those nice French soldiers that I had seen gunmen coming to attack the checkpoint and they raced off in their car,” Natalya babbled, but we were too grateful and exhausted to tell her to shut up.

Sugar looked up and down the platform, noticing that we were the only ones waiting.

“After all that, I hope that the trains are still running. It’s almost one in the morning.”

“It’s Saturday,” Sapphire replied weakly. “They run until one thirty at the weekends.”

With that, she turned round and vomited onto the floor behind the bench, while Natalya patted her back.

To confirm what she said, a train could be seen crossing the junction further down the track and we all relaxed.

I was mopping the sweat off my brow when I realised that I was using my black silk knickers, which I had carried in my hand all the way from the Behmstrasse, and that I was naked under my short skirt. To everyone’s amusement, I stood up and pulled them on.

Kelly took the canvas bag from Sugar, opened it and passed everyone their handbags, before pulling out a small bundle of clothing. She stepped into a short, dark blue pleated skirt with an elasticised waistband and then pulled on a powder blue sweater over her head and arms, settling it around her torso. It had dark blue piping and lettering across the chest which read: ‘HIGHWOOD HIGH’. By the time that she sat down again, a dark stain had appeared on the shoulder over her bandage.                                 

“I hope that Marcius is all right,” Sugar chuckled. “What about the size of his penis? I could only just get two hands around it. Just sitting on it was an experience. If you could have got that inside you Spiteful, you might change your mind about Black men. It would certainly have made your eyes water.”  

Miss Spiteful raised her flushed and sweat streaked face and gave Sugar a sour look. “Well, you should have given him a blow job. You wouldn’t have had any trouble getting his cock in your big mouth!”

“I hope that someone remembered to release Bruno and Greta,” Solitaire giggled.

Further conversation was halted when a red and yellow painted train rattled into the station and we gratefully boarded.        

There were several passengers in the compartment when we sat down and they all stared at us in amazement. Miss Spiteful pulled the zip on her outfit all the way up but there was nothing that those of us, whose suspenders and stocking were on view, or whose breasts bulged out of their bras, could do to cover ourselves up.

A couple of minutes later, the train pulled into Gesundbrunnen station and we were nervous that some of the gunmen might still be at large and searching for us. Instead, we were surprised to see that the platform was packed with people who had been in Rudi’s air raid shelter with us. We were soon recognised and surrounded by enthusiastic fans who wanted our autographs, to take photos, talk to us or just gaze in admiration. We felt a lot safer in this crowd.

Kelly had recovered some of her colour now and, after the next stop at Humboldthain, stood up to study the S-Bahn system map above our heads.

“I guess we’ll have to change at Friedrichstrasse and get on another train to our hotel,” she drawled, totally unaware of the effect that her words had on the rest of us, apart from Natalya. We had all forgotten that, from here on, the line crossed back over the border into the Soviet sector and that Friedrichstrasse Bahnhof was in East Berlin.

At that moment, the train dipped underground and entered the North – South tunnel under Berlin.

At the Nordbahnhof and Oranienburgerstrasse stations, we sat petrified when the doors opened, expecting East German Border Guards or Polizie to board and do spot checks on documents. The waiting passengers however, were those using the rail system, even at this late hour, to flee to the West. Single Men, Couples and Families, all with bags or suitcases and just as nervous as ourselves entered and a strained silence settled on the carriage.

The train emptied at Friedrichstrasse Bahnhof and we climbed the stairs to the surface platforms for our next train. The crowd dispersed in different directions across the vast station and, at one time, all that could be heard was the clicking of our heels on the concourse.

Two armed security guards were standing by the platform barrier as we approached but, despite the lecherous looks that they gave us, we were not stopped. I presumed that they had seen many others dressed like us pass through that night. They chose instead to halt and inspect the papers of those that they suspected of permanently leaving the regime that they served.

The last train of the night was already waiting on the platform and, having taken our seats, we heaved a sigh of relief when the doors closed and the station lights moved past the windows.

The train crossed back over the Spree, picking up speed as it passed over the waters of the Humboldthafen, and then slowing down to enter Lehrter Stadbanhof. We were not the only passengers to cheer; we were back in West Berlin.

Stiletto and Solitaire cuddled up together on their seat and dozed off, while Sapphire and Natalya gazed out the windows, talking softly to each other.

“Only three more stops,” Kelly yawned as she leaned her head on my shoulder.

“Where did you get those clothes and why did you have them with you?” I asked.

Kelly raised her head and winked at me.

“It’s not the first time that I’ve had to make a quick exit. I was saying goodbye to Sandra McGregor in her bedroom on the night before I left for Medical School when her parents came home early. There was no drainpipe to shin down so, I borrowed her high school cheerleaders outfit and brushed my hair forward. I went down the stairs, waved to her mom and pop and walked out the front door without saying a word. I told you that I looked good. Sandra threw my shirt and trousers to me out of the window but I walked all the way home dressed like this and have never been back to High River to return them to her. I take them every where now, in case of emergency”

We chuckled together and I gave her a hug.

“Would you like me to keep them on for you later tonight? I want to thank you for protecting me and helping me along,” she whispered and I leant down to kiss her on the lips. Sugar, with her boots up on the seat opposite her, gave me a wry grin and lit a cigarette for herself.

“I will kill Kurt if I ever meet him again,” Miss Spiteful was saying to Sugar. “I’m willing to bet that it was him who tipped the Nazis off where we were.”

“Maybe,” Sugar replied. “But Rudi did say that most of Berlin knew that we were going to be there tonight. Anyway, it’s Seraph that worries me. She’s not going to give up, you know.”

“I’ll deal with her if she tries anything,” Miss Spiteful said vehemently. “All I want at the moment though, is a good stiff drink and to get to my bed.”  

 To continue this story, click Showdown With Seraph



     

Back to the top