Shaen by the Hand of God

I didn't know Oggbashan but oddly, there is a slight chance we may have crossed paths as, many, many years ago I too worked for KCC, the same as Oggbashan as highlighted by the excellent write up on his life included in the forum entry regarding this

Memorial Event

.

It touched me to see how he remained so strong throughout his illness until the end, it provides inspiration to keep going, no matter what.

I was driven to enter this not only out of respect to a fellow author but to pay homage to two members of my, and my wife's, family who perished during war.

My great uncle was one of the almost 270,000 soldiers that

died

in the Battle of the Somme in 1916. He was fifteen when the whistle sounded in the trenches sending over the top, never to return.

My wife's uncle died in a dyke in Holland after a fire-fight with some Germans during WW2. He had barely scraped past his eighteenth birthday.

They may not have pages written about their heroic actions, they remain, as every other soul that died in a conflict, a personal hero for someone.

Whilst we have covered illness and war, I have another hero, one that allowed me see this story published, and in the format I so desperately wanted to see it in. On the backfoot to get this work completed, I took to the forum just days ago looking for some help. At best, I was hoping to find someone to rewrite some English dialogue into German. I ended up with someone that has given me a mass of their time to not only do that for me, but to provide some excellent pieces to introduce into the story, plus nudge me where things may not have been quite right. It has allowed this story to be put together from scratch in an exceptionally small timeframe.

My personal dedication is to the three gents above and to

29wordsforsnow

.

Thank you, this wouldn't have happened without you.

This work is solely published on Literotica courtesy of Inkent & 29wordsforsnow. Please let me know if it surfaces elsewhere.

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This has been written in English, but any dialogue that is German, is in German. I wanted to do it this way to highlight how it must have felt to be caught in a scenario and not be able to simply speak to hold a discussion. It is also a mark of respect towards the German speaking characters in this tale. Hopefully there is a second version of this tale written in English released at the same time for those, that like me, aren't familiar with anything but English!

****************************************************

Shaken By The Hand of God

I peeled around to look at the train. Steam chuffed steadily in rapid bursts from the stack. There would be no doubt they were pushing the locomotive hard. They'd have caught sight of death flying above them, seeking them out like a hawk seeks prey as it soars overhead. Keeping some distance, I looked down, they were box cars, no signs it was conveying the poor wretches of the human race that were shifting to get away from the tide of war as it continued to wash over Europe.

God, I hated it. I hated this war. I just wanted it to be over, I wanted to go back to being a decent human being.

Tracer bullets flew by me as the single anti-aircraft gun tried to zone in on me, I was moving too quickly for them to really have anything other than a lucky strike. Banking back around in a circle, I was now convinced it was carrying materials to try and keep the Nazi war machine afloat. My plan was to attack midway down the train, come in fairly low before releasing the rockets. Picking the spot, I put the Hawker Typhoon into a shallow dive, making minor adjustments to my trajectory as I came in to make sure the train was exactly where I wanted it to be.

The anti-aircraft gun opened up, I didn't want to hang about. Sending the rockets on their way, I throttled up, bringing the stick back and over so I banked steeply towards the front of the train. All of a sudden, there was a monumental explosion below me, whatever was on the train went up in spectacular fashion, catching me unawares. Just as I came back almost horizontal, it happened. It felt like the hand of God reached out from the sky and grabbed the Typhoon, as if he momentarily held it still and shook it in anger.

The reality was something big had been blown upwards, striking the underside of the Typhoon causing the plane's engine to seize instantly. Oil and smoke streamed from the engine, the airframe juddering as I started to go down. I realised I now had an awful pain in my right leg too. It was too low to jump and I doubt I would be able to move myself out of the cockpit quickly enough. I'd seen fairly flat farmland on the other side of the railway line and a wooded area. I just prayed I could clear the woods before coming down.

I barely had control as I hit the ground, the plane bounced roughly over the field then the front lurched up at an angle. Shit! I just remembered, there was a waterway there too! The plane suddenly came to a violent halt at a crazy angle. The nose was in the water which was up to the canopy outer edge, water now streaming in filling the cockpit as the plane started to slide deeper into the water. The crash had knocked me out briefly, but the icy cold water shocked my system. I needed to act fast, I needed to get out of the cockpit, but found I was stuck. The sharp pain was still in my leg as I tried to move, it must have been broken either by whatever hit the plane or during the crash landing. I started to panic as the water reached my neck.

As my head disappeared under the water I began thrashing around. Then, out of nowhere, there was a hand on my chest, they were trying to stop me flailing around. I'd held my breath but was going to run out of oxygen fast. In desperation I pushed my head up towards the surface, I needed to breathe, so I tried. As I swallowed water, I knew I was destined to drown in a German river during 1945.

Panic took over, thoughts became a fleeting stream of memories as if my subconscious mind tried to ease the pain of what was about to come:

The End.

All the sounds of thinning breath dearly held onto, hushed more with every second running through the hourglass of my life. How could I voice my very last prayer if opening my lips would only cause death to come quicker to lead me away.

Suddenly, I was free. Somebody was frantically pulling at me to get me out. Clambering from the cockpit into the water, the smell of oil and water filled my nostrils, the flicker of flames coming from the fuselage behind me. Whoever had pulled me out dragged me into the bitterly cold water.

Immediately, it felt as if the dead weight of my wet flying suit would take me to an early grave on the river bed. I struggled to free myself of it, as my rescuer tried to assist me from sinking into the depths of the water. They then pulled me with them, pushing off towards the opposite side of the river.

They clung to me, supporting me as we headed for the other side. As we swam, I found the adrenaline had numbed the pain in my leg, the cold water quickly chilling me down to the bone.

As we reached the other side, flames engulfed what was not under water. The oil and fuel pumping into the river, the slick sheen moving silently across the surface of the water like a deadly crocodile. It quickly caught fire, burning steadily as it spread out from the wreckage towards us.

Resting in the reeds as we momentarily stopped to catch our breath, I turned to look back as flames which now engulfed the Typhoon in its funeral pyre. I turned to look at my rescuer. I thought it was a teenage boy that had rescued me. Instead, I realised it was a young woman, her blonde hair must have been tied up and now stuck to her back and face.

"Beeil dich! Mach schon!"

I didn't understand her, but the urgency with which she was tugging on my arm told me we needed to hurry and get up and away. As quickly as we were able, we slithered and crawled up the bank. I started to try and drag myself up. Then she realised my leg was injured and pulled me as hard as she could, until we were onto the level ground of the adjoining field. The pain was indescribable as I tried to move on my leg. She hooked my arm over her shoulder, I limped with her support towards a pony and cart sat close-by. We were both shivering, still soaked with the cold water and now in the chilly April air.

Helping me in the back of the cart, she hastily pulled straw over me. I could see her looking around, her face etched with fear and worry. I heard her move and take the reins, in less than a minute the pony began to trudge away. I had no idea where we were going or what she was going to do with me.

As I lay there whilst the cart bumped along the track, I wondered what she was going to do. Did she see me as a '

terror flyer

'; a name dreamed up as part of Joseph Goebbels' propaganda, that encouraged the German people to take reprisals against downed Allied airmen. Stories were rife of downed airmen being beaten to death or suffering at the hands of a lynch mob.

A few minutes later, the cart stopped. She uncovered the hay and beckoned me down, again she scanned our surroundings. We were at a small farm, there was a farmhouse and several outbuildings.

She helped me into the kitchen and I did my best to sit on a chair. Helping to undress me, the pain was unbearable as she removed my boot and trousers from my broken leg. She gathered up my garments and put them into a basket, out of view as we sat resting.

Suddenly, the sound of a motorcycle engine filled the air, and it was coming our way. With eyes wide, she pushed me towards the stairs, helping me climb them, then took me into a bedroom. There was a large closet. She bundled me into it, pushing me back as far as possible then pulled as many of the clothes around me as she could. As she closed the door, she was already pulling her top and skirt off, kicking them out of view under the bed. I caught a brief glance at her as the closet door shut. She had a shapely body below the simple work garment she had been wearing.

The doors to the closet had slatted doors. With no clear view, I could only see directly outside of the doors at a low level. The motorcycle pulled up outside. A moment later, an authoritative voice called out.

"Frau Meyer, kommen Sie raus!"

I could hear her moving around, the sound of water being poured from a jug into a bowl.

"Frau Meyer, kommen Sie heraus! Sofort!"

This time the voice sounded more urgent. It sounded like she had opened a window.

"Hallo Fritz, geben Sie mir bitte einen Augenblick. Ich habe den Schweinestall ausgemistet und mich gerade gewaschen."

I recognised the name Fritz but didn't understand anything else. She spoke again, this time with some urgency in her voice.

"Warten Sie doch bitte vor der Tür, Fritz. Lassen Sie mich etwas anziehen, dann komme ich hinunter."

There was the sound of heavy boots on the stairs. I held my service revolver, I had doubts I wouldn't survive, but I'd sure as hell go down fighting.

She had walked back and stood directly in front of the closet doors. Through the slatted wood she appeared naked. I heard the door open into the room.

"Fritz, was erlauben Sie sich? Ich sagte doch, ich ziehe mich an. Ich hätte Sie nicht länger warten lassen."

"Ein feindliches Flugzeug ist abgestürzt. Wir wissen nicht, ob der Pilot überlebt hat. Das Flugzeug stand in Flammen. Aber seine Fliegerjacke wurde nahe der Absturzstelle gefunden. Er könnte also noch am Leben sein und diesen Weg genommen haben."

"Nun, wie Sie sehen, ist er nicht hier. Aber natürlich, könnte er sich mit einem ganzen Regiment englischer Soldaten im Schrank verstecken! Denken Sie ich würde mich nackt waschen, mit dem Feind in meinem Schlafzimmer? Jetzt verschwinden Sie und halten Sie ihre Lüstlingsaugen von mir fern. Wenn mein Ehemann zurü..."

Fritz laughed.

"Wenn er Glück hat, Frau Meyer. Apropos Glück, mein Angebot steht noch. Ich verspreche Ihnen, alles zu besorgen, was Sie brauchen."

"Verschwinden Sie! Ich habe Ihnen gesagt, dass ich verheiratet bin! Ich habe kein Interesse an dem, was sie anzubieten haben. Ich bin doch keine Hure! Jetzt verlassen Sie bitte mein Haus. Vergessen Sie nicht, ich habe Gewehre und kann schießen. Wenn ein Flieger dumm genug wäre, meinen Weg zu kreuzen, wird er sich wünschen, er wäre einer Messerschmitt begegnet, nicht mir."

Fritz laughed, despite her animated tone. I heard him leave, the door close, and boots on the stairs. I heard another voice outside, then the sound of a motorcycle leaving. She moved around in the bedroom, then the closet door opened. Gingerly trying to step out, she looked down at my service revolver. Walking warily towards me, she reached out and pushed my shaking hand gently down so the revolver pointed towards the floor. As I moved forward, everything went black.

When I came to, I was in a bed. I felt hot but was shivering and I pushed the sheet from my body. I was naked! Not only was I naked, there was a crude splint attached to my leg, it was heavily bruised with a few minor cuts.

The door opened. The woman who'd helped me walked in, fully clothed. She smiled weakly then held a tray with a bowl, spoon and a cup of water. Sitting on the bed, she placed a hand on my forehead, the weak smile became a frown. Leaning across slightly, she picked up a flannel from a bowl and mopped my forehead and face with cold water.

"Ich heiße Marie."

Her hand touched her chest as she had spoken then took a spoonful of the broth and fed it to me. As I swallowed, I spoke.

"Peter, Peter Bell."

I touched my dog tag and held it up from my chest. A soft hand took it, examining both sides. She held it, hesitating for a moment before I noted tears falling from her eyes. She looked at me, put the broth back on the tray, leaving it across my lap, and then fled. I could hear her run downstairs and the sound of crying filtered up from below me. I had no idea what I had done to upset her.

I tried to eat the broth. I felt weak and my body ached as I lay in the bed. Looking around, there were no signs of my clothing, or my revolver. There was, however, some men's clothes neatly folded on a chair.

Several minutes later she returned. She wasn't crying, however, her eyes were still wet. In her hand she held a small photograph which she gave to me.

"Peter."

She held her hand up, showing the gold ring on her finger.

"Peter und Marie, wir sind verheiratet. Das ist unser Zuhause."

As she spoke she pointed at the couple in the photograph then waved her hand around the room. This was their home!

"Peter ist an der russischen Front."

I shook my head, I didn't understand. She sat looking at me, then went downstairs quickly. She was soon back with a book, it was an atlas. Opening it she pointed to a country, Russia. I then reasoned her husband had gone to fight on the Russian front.

I looked at her, I couldn't hide my solemn face. The newsreels back home touched on the horrors of the war on the Eastern front. She picked up a piece of paper and pencil, then wrote a date. 'April 1942.' She knew what I wanted to ask, she touched her chest, a finger touched Peter in the photograph, then tapped her cheek below an eye. A tear fell from that eye, it was obviously the last time she had seen him.

I pointed to the atlas, she passed it to me and I turned to the page to the British Isle. I touched Bournemouth, my home town.

"Ah, die Küste. Ich war nur einige Male dort, aber ich mochte es sehr. Leben Sie immer noch dort?"

Again, I didn't understand, it seemed sign language was going to figure a lot in our communication. She pointed at me and the map, I nodded.

Going back to the Germany map, she pointed at a coastal region, her wedding ring, and the picture of Peter. She was smiling, I got the impression she was having happy thoughts. She took my left hand, and touched my ring finger then looked at me. I shook my head, no I wasn't married, the thought of leaving someone behind in this ghastly war was too much to comprehend.

I put my head back down, I felt so tired, so weak. I closed my eyes, just to rest them, the problem was once I opened them again, it was dark. I had no idea how long I'd slept. There was a candle burning, and I noted she was dozing in the chair close to the bed. I was still shivering and sweating profusely, but couldn't help but look at her. Like me, I'd guess mid-twenties, she had long blonde hair which was now platted. She had a simple cotton top which was thin enough to see the outline of the two fleshy globes that hid below the top.

A black cotton skirt fell below her knees, I'd already seen enough when in the closet to understand that a pair of shapely legs and a cute backside were hidden below the material. Her ankles were now visible and were attached to a pair of dainty feet.

As I moved, she stirred, looking around with a shocked expression. If I had to hazard a guess, I'd say she had been dreaming. That was one of the horrors of war, dreams that were filled with blackness. I often wondered if they would haunt me for the rest of my life.

She got up and touched my forehead, there was definitely a look of worry there. Taking the flannel from the bowl, she wrung it out, then ran it over my face and forehead a couple of times.

"Infektion."

I understood what she meant, I'd already figured that was likely the case. The question was would my body and mind be able to beat it. Time would tell.

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

I woke up to the sun warming my face through the window. My body ached and I had a dreadful thirst. On the plus side, I was no longer shaking. There was some water on the bedside drawer which I drank. Lifting the covers, it looked as if there were fresh bindings to the makeshift splint on my leg. There was also the smell of soap, I was clean, so Marie had washed me.

The thought of her hands on my body caused my cock to react, the blood causing the flesh to stiffen until it lay hard against my body. Just then Marie entered the room, I'd not heard her outside, and I felt a tinge of embarrassment as I let go of the sheet covering my body.

"Guten Morgen. Ich denke, die Infektion ist überstanden. Ich war die letzten drei Tage und Nächte sehr besorgt um Sie."

She could see I didn't understand. Putting her hands together and against the side of her face as if sleeping, then pointing at me whilst the other hand held up three fingers. Three days! I'd been out for three days!

Her hand touched my brow. She nodded and smiled. The smile remained but it hid something, fear. She cupped a hand and put it behind her ear for several seconds, I realised why she was fearful. There was the distant sound of artillery fire, it certainly wasn't there the other day.

"Es kommt näher."

Her hand reached out and clutched mine, the inevitable unknown was coming and we both knew it.

Throughout the day the sounds of war crept closer. Aircraft flew overhead, the Allies had complete air superiority and my airborne brothers continued to weaken the crumbling defences. I just wanted it to be over, let the world pick up the broken pieces and start to rebuild itself.

That night, the sky was lit up in places, the sound of war had, again, crept closer. I was awoken startled as the bed covers were pulled back. In the darkness, I could see Marie's face filled with uncertainty. I pulled the bedding fully back and she climbed into the bed with me. Despite the heavy nightdress I stirred at the presence of her, she rolled onto her side and draped a hand over my chest. She sighed and became still, I lay there as my brain processed that a beautiful woman was so intoxicatingly close to me. I inhaled the sweet feminine fragrance she had brought into the bed.