THE DOMINAFUHRER - MISS SPITEFUL'S WAR

Episode 31 - Alone

April 1945

We were the last to depart. Miss Spiteful and I showered together and I soaped and rubbed her magnificent body for the last time. She did the same for me, tenderly washing away the crusted blood on the wounds that Von Kreps had inflicted on me. Then, in silent acknowledgement of my shift in status from slave to mistress, she took my erect penis in her hand and slowly but expertly masturbated me as I massaged her clitoris with my fingers. She closed her eyes, smiling as she lifted her face into the stinging spray of hat water from the showerhead. “Das es gut,” she murmured and a low moan escaped her lips. We both started to shudder and she pulled us together for a kiss, trapping my penis between our bellies as it pumped out its sticky seed.

Afterwards, I put on my SS Female Auxiliary Uniform for the last time as Miss Spiteful sorted through the wardrobe, throwing those items that she did not want onto a pile on the floor.

I took my new mistress uniform and boots, some favourite items of leather, underwear, shoes, a maid’s outfit and a couple of whips. Like all the others, I had already taken out a secret stock of the precious American nylons.

When we were packed and ready, everyone helped in taking the luggage upstairs. Miss Spiteful paused at the dungeon door and took a last look round at the devastation behind us.

“I’ve done it before. I’ll do it again. After all, tomorrow is another day.” She muttered.

Having had our passes checked at the door, we reassembled outside on the wet pavements of Prinz Albrecht Strasse. Freidrich and Heinz clicked their heels and gave each of us a kiss on the cheek before mounting a motorcycle combination.

“Now,” Miss Spiteful addressed them. “You are carrying a personal order from the Fuhrer to General Lucht of the Eleventh Army in the Harz Mountains, instructing him not to surrender. It’s as good a forgery as my money can buy and will get you to the Elbe, at least. If you can’t get to your homes from there, turn yourselves into the Americans. But, don’t forget to throw the despatch bag into the river and bury your diamonds and cash where you can come back and dig them up.”

She gave them a hug each and just before they roared off in a cloud of dust and exhaust smoke, called out. “My love to both of your Mothers. I’ll send more funds when things have settled down.”

She gave me a sad smile. “Most of my male slaves are sons of retired Mistresses. We all trust each other and I can protect them. Willi though, bless him, wanted glory and I couldn’t stop him.”

We both fell silent as we remembered my first lover but were disturbed by the sound of a car horn.

A working party of French Prisoners of War were erecting barricades and gun positions out of rubble, timber and tram rails under the watchful eyes of their countrymen in Waffen SS uniforms and they had to scatter as a car weaved through them. Dark grey, with red crosses painted on the roof and side doors, it pulled up alongside us with a screech of brakes. Miss Sapphire, dressed in a German Red Cross uniform, got out of the driver’s door. Bibi, her horse faced, blonde lover, wearing the same uniform, gave us a bleary-eyed look from the front passenger seat. When she saw Miss Stiletto and Miss Solitaire waiting in shorts and walking boots, with back packs and chattering to each other in Spanish, the language of their adopted identities, she immediately fortified herself with a swig from a small metal flask. I had already gathered that the four would travel west together, through the American lines, to Frankfurt, from where the Girls would carry on through France to Spain while the other two went south to Switzerland.

There were emotional farewells involving kisses and hugs all round and then they were off. The Girls arms waved goodbye through the open back windows as the car disappeared around the corner.

“I feel sorry for the Americans,” Miss Spiteful sighed. “They have no idea what is heading towards them.” She buried her face in the white fur collar of her long brown suede leather fur coat, which matched her boots. Then she looked up at me and grinned, despite the wetness at the corner of her eyes, and fingered the fur collar. “Do you think that this is what the well dressed refugee is wearing on the road these days?” She reached out and touched my face again. “Oh Ingrid! I’m sorry that I can’t take you with me but my arrangements are strictly for one. Don’t stay in Berlin too long. Get out as quick as you can. The Nazi’s might come after us but I can’t believe that any one is going to miss Von Kreps. They’ll just think that he was killed in the battle or run away him self. But SMERSH know all about us and they will seek revenge at some time or another.”

Indeed they would. Captured intelligence reports were routinely forwarded to us and as soon as I started to translate anything that referred to us, Miss Spiteful would snatch it out of my hand. I developed the trick of reading ahead and realised that the efficient Soviet Spy network was supplying their Masters with full and up to date information on our unit, it’s activities and it’s members including me.

“Find yourself a nice American boy.” She continued. “They will be fascinated with your looks and your body and, if you get one to take you back to the United States, you will do well with the skills that I have taught you. In fact, that’s where I am heading. I have been there before and I have got a letter of safe conduct from J Edgar Hoover of the FBI. I just sent him a letter through Sweden enclosing a photograph of him dressed as my French Maid when I was in New York. Mein Gott, he looked grotesque, but he loved doing it. With his letter and what I have to trade in my files I will be set up all right. If you ever get to New York, look me up in the telephone book, we could work together again.” She leaned forward and whispered in my ear the name under which I would find her.

“Ah, here’s my transport!” She exclaimed as a black limousine with the blue and yellow flag of Sweden stretched over the roof pulled up. A fat, little man with oiled hair, parted in the middle, glasses and a big smile got out and waved. I recognised him as the man in the photographs that she had shown Von Kreps.

“Gustav!” Miss Spiteful greeted him. “You’re late! Can you get your man to put my luggage in the back? It’s just a few things that I can’t bear to be parted from.”

These few things were packed into two large suitcases and a big, bulging canvas bag that were so heavy that the chauffeur had to drag them across the pavement to the rear of the car. He then struggled to lift and cram them into the luggage compartment.

“You’ll need these, Ingrid.” Miss Spiteful gave me a thick brown envelope that she had been carrying. “There are two sets of identity papers and background material on both. They are all genuine, the owners just won’t need them any more and I’ve put your photograph on them. There is a letter and an address for you to go to in Bremen if you can. There’s also a little spending money.”

From the thickness of the envelope the money appeared to be quite a substantial amount and I was speechless. Miss Spiteful’s eyes were glistening again and her voice was rasping as she waved a hand in front of her face. “This smoke is very irritating.” She said and we both smiled at her lie.

“Here you are.” She took a little leather bag out of her handbag and put it in my hand. “This is from all of us.” I opened it and tipped eight diamonds into my palm. It was my turn for my eyes to water. “Hide them well and use them wisely, Ingrid. I’m sure that we will meet again. I shall miss your massages.”

She kissed me on the lips, turned away and went towards the open door of the car. Before entering, she blew me another kiss, waved and called out, “Don’t forget the word!”

Then she was gone. I put the envelope and bag of diamonds into my own bag and picked it up. The rain had started again and the intermittent Soviet barrage was still dropping shells on the city centre, although they were landing a bit further north at that moment. I felt so alone as I walked down Prinz Albrecht Strasse, lost in my own misery. I was sure that I would never see any of them again and I had no idea what I was going to do or what would happen to me.

I was so oblivious of my surroundings that it was not until I reached the corner with Freidrich Strasse that I saw the grisly little tableau there. Two Feldgendarmerie, with their grey painted helmets and metal gorgets, were lighting up cigarettes. Their short ladder was propped up against a lamp post and a body swung by the neck from the ornamental arm that extended out over the road. The cropped head, fat torso and misshapen legs in a baggy old uniform told me who it was. I stopped and looked up.

“He’s the first one that actually crawled towards us, ready labelled.” One of the executioners called out. “The Leutnant said he must have already been condemned by one of the other patrols and broke his legs escaping. So, we just strung him up again!”

I read the placard on Von Kreps’s chest.

Whoever Betrays the

Fatherland Must Die !

Miss Spiteful had kept her promise. None of us had killed him but she knew what his fate would be when she had him dumped on the street.

“He was trying to tell us something, but we couldn’t understand him.” The other man added.

I studied the blackened face, the swollen tongue hanging out over the shattered and bloodied jaw and the bulging, sightless eyes. I felt no sympathy for him at all. I knew what he had planned for the others and me.

The wind and rain stirred the body and an arm swung towards me as if in appeal. I spat at his legs and walked on. The two Feldgendarmerie clapped and one of them wolf-whistled after me but I ignored them. My only concern now was completing the long walk home safely before the battle for Berlin reached its final act.

To continue this story, click Last Exit From Berlin

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