The Bluebells of 1918

August 12, 1917. The day I can't forget.

We fly in tight formation. Ten thousand feet holding steady and the front straight ahead.

Everything below looks so peaceful. The verdant hills and fields of Northern France.

Then

it

comes into view. I've heard plenty about it, but the first time seeing it for myself is something else.

It's obscene, a brownish-gray scar stretching out in both directions beyond the limits of vision. Death and desecration as far as the eye can see.

And I'm heading towards it at ninety miles an hour

.

Why did I sign up for this

? I'll join the Royal Air Service, I said. Fight for democracy, and all that. No matter if my own country wasn't even at war yet.

No turning back now, though. Better to die.

Any second now we'll see the Archies.

Archies

. What a stupid name for German anti-aircraft shells. It's from a line in a song. The British pilots raise their glasses and shout the refrain whenever it plays. "Archibald! Certainly not!"

I don't get the joke.

We reach the trenches and are over no-man's land.

Here we go. Here we go.

We hit the German lines. The Archies go off on either side of us.

Boom! Boom!

Puffs of black smoke detonate. Three hundred and sixty degrees of shrapnel.

Another on the right, close enough to rattle Lieutenant Douglas. He breaks formation before getting his plane under control again.

Boom!

Another Archie.

Boom! Boom!

Two more.

And we're past the German lines. Clear skies,

"Archibald! Certainly not!" I shout, laughing.

I scan the sky again. No Germans. Good.

At least Captain Fletcher has placed me on the right of the formation. The Sopwith Camel is a challenging plane. It's difficult to turn left thanks to the rightward pull of the rotary engine.

But if the Germans appear on the right I can whirl and face them before they know what hit them. But I hope I don't need to. One challenge per day, thank you.

Captain Fletcher leads us east and into a descent. I'm not worried. He knows the way to Maubeuge well.

We level off and fly steady for a few minutes. Then we descend again, flying over fields and woods and picturesque villages.

I spot the church spire ahead.

Maubeuge

.

We bank east and pass over the train station. A train's arriving puffing white smoke.

The air base nears, a pair of giant gray sheds coming into view. Then I see what's in front of them.

Holy shit! We've hit the Jackpot!

Our orders were simple. Aerial reconnaissance of the German Air Base at Meuberge. Search for signs of German airship construction. Inflict maximum damage to any construction detected.

Any construction detected? You could say that. We've caught a zeppelin on the ground.

Time to ruin the Kaiser's day.

The Germans must be panicking. Their precious airship on the ground all alone. Defenseless. We head towards it.

Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!

The air fills with Archies.

Fuck!

Two on my left.

Boom! Boom!

Three more on my right.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

God damn. They're everywhere.

One explodes close, ripping dozens of tiny holes in the Camel's wings.

Another series goes off, too many to count. One narrowly misses as I'm banking left. My leg stings. I must be hit.

Damn

.

My Camel seems okay, though. I keep banking.

Boom! Boom!

Two Archies close by.

The engine sputters. I adjust the fuel-air mix. No effect. The odor of diesel fuel fills my nostrils.

No, no, no. Not good.

Blue sparks come off the engine followed by black smoke.

I pull back on the controls but I'm losing altitude. Fast.

I scan for a spot to land. There's a field to the left.

Gonna be close

.

The Camel grazes the tips of trees. I come down rough but intact, bouncing along. The plane hits something, sending one wing upwards and smashing the other into the ground. It twists about and comes to a rest.

I freeze.

I'm alive. I crashed but I'm alive.

The rest of the squadron remains airborne as near as I can tell. "Give 'em hell, boys."

I un-click the lap belt and try climbing out. My thigh explodes with pain. "Damn!"

You gotta do this.

I take a deep breath and try again. No luck. It hurts too much.

That's no excuse. No matter the pain, I've got to get out of this plane. It could catch fire or explode.

Here we go.

I push hard and pull myself out of the cockpit screaming and slide onto the ground next to the plane.

Now I've got to get on my feet. This is still France, after all. I'll be hidden, taken care of.

A truck pulls up. A rifle is thrust in my face.

A German who looks fifteen glares down at me. "

Nicht bewegen, englischer Bastard

."

Don't move, English bastard.

I raise my hands. "

Ich bin Amerikaner

."

"

Egal,

" he says.

No matter.

***

Emeline and I cuddle on the couch in her bedroom. It is after breakfast.

It's still raining outside, like it was last night when we made love. Good. Let it rain all week if it keeps the Germans away.

"What are you thinking about?" she asks.

"The rain," I say. "And you. And other things."

"What other things?"

"Today is eight months since I was captured."

She lifts her head. "Do you think about it often?"

"Constantly. I replay it in my head, over and over."

"And what have you concluded from all this replaying?"

"That there wasn't anything I could've done. The Germans hid their anti-aircraft batteries well. We flew right over them and I got hit."

"Your legendary bad luck again, no?"

"What else?" I say. "My first mission and I wind up in the hands of the enemy."

She smiles. "But you are not in the hands of the enemy now, are you?"

"I'm in much nicer hands."

She kisses me, warm and tender. "Will you try and escape, like you did from Holzminden?"

I gather her in with my arms. "

Au contraire.

I never want to leave."

She gives me a kiss, her arms wrapping around my shoulders. "You wish to stay here, do you? Hidden away. My secret lover."

"That doesn't sound so bad."

Her hand cradles the side of my face and we kiss. Deep tongue kissing. My hand kneads her breast. I can feel its size and softness even through the layers of clothing.

How is it possible to want a woman this bad? I should be satisfied after last night, but I'm not. I want to experience her again. I want the passion and connection. The stripping off of clothes until it's skin against skin. Then probing her depths, deep inside of her.

She places a hand on my cheek. "You will have to forgive me

, mon chéri

."

"Why?"

"It was some time since I was last with a man," she says. "Especially one of your size. Wonderful as it was, I am somewhat sore this morning."

"Oh. I understand."

"There are other ways to take care of you."

"You don't have to."

She kisses my cheek, then my neck. "But I wish to."

"Are you sure?"

She nibbles my earlobe. "

Oui,

I am sure."

Ripples of pleasure radiate outward from my ear. I'm at her mercy.

"Strip down," she says.

We stand and face one another. Emeline unbuttons her sweater. She casts it aside and meets my gaze, her eyes locked on mine.

Her shirtwaist is bright white and buttoned all the way to the top adorned by a cameo brooch. The fabric is stretched by her bountiful bosom. She looks matronly, but in a primal way.

A naughty smile is on her lips as she unhooks the brooch and tosses it on the couch. She unbuttons her blouse, her eyes staring through me.

"You like my breasts?" she asks.

"So much." I slide off my suspenders and unbutton the front of my shirt.

"You like to feel them?" She unbuttons more of her shirtwaist. "You like to squeeze them?"

I slide off my shirt and let it fall to the floor. "And so much more."

"I know." She lets her blouse drop. "You like to suck on these big tits. You enjoy them because they are so large."

Damn right I do.

Emeline undoes her skirt and lets it fall to the floor. Her undergarments follow as I'm stepping out of my pants.

We stare into each other's eyes in silence. I strip off my nightshirt and socks and am naked as she removes the last stitch of her clothes. She undoes her hair and lets it cascade over her shoulders.

I'm speechless.

Her full, womanly breasts and large nipples. Her raven-colored locks. Her dark bush. Her curving hips and smooth legs. Her mature plumpness. I get to see it all for the first time in daylight.

My god, what a woman.

"Do you like what you see?" she says.

"You know the answer."

"I do? Then why do I ask?"

I step closer. "To hear me say it."

"Then go ahead and say it."

"Alright. I like what I see. I've never seen anything I like more. Every inch of you. You're perfect."

She takes my hand. "Perfect? No. If those ever existed, they have passed."

Like hell they are. "

I can't imagine you being more beautiful than you are now."

"But—"

"No arguing."

She squeezes my hand. "Come, then. Let me give you pleasure."

We crawl into bed, laying on our sides kissing. Her bountiful breasts mash against my chest as our tongues dance and my hard cock rubs against her bush.

"On your back," she whispers.

I do as she says. She lays beside me and I drape an arm over her shoulders. We kiss, wild and unrestrained. Tongues at war. Her hair spills out over me.

She takes her time, placing her hand palm-flat on my chest. Leaving it there as our tongues dance. Making me wait. At last, she eases down to my stomach.

Yes.

Soon her hand will be on my cock. Jerking it. Bringing relief.

Not yet. She stops at my stomach, fingertips working their way back to my chest. Remaining there as we kiss. Resuming its haphazard wandering towards my crotch, inching downward.

So slow it's agony.

She knows what she's doing, doesn't she? Yeah. She knows.

She kisses me, her mouth driving me out of my mind. Her lips. Her tongue. Her sweet breath, warm on my face.

"You're a dream," I moan.

She kisses my neck. "No,

mon chéri

. I am real."

Her hand reaches my crotch. She bypasses my cock and caresses my balls with her fingertips.

"Oh, fuck," I sigh.

She grasps my cock, jerking it. Long, steady strokes as she kisses my neck.

"You don't have to do anything," she whispers. "Just relax and let Emeline take care of you."

Emeline slides down, laying between my legs on her stomach and stroking my cock.

She stares at it, smiling. "

Magnifique."

Emeline starts with a kiss, a gentle peck on the tip of my cock followed by a naughty wink. She extends her tongue, twirling it around the head.

I inhale sharply. "Omigod."

Emeline stares into my eyes the entire time. Knowing I'm watching. Loving being watched.

She admits the head into her mouth—

at last!

—and sucks on it. Hard suction.

"Fuck," I moan.

She lifts her head, a satisfied smirk on her lips. She kisses the tip again, taking the head into her mouth. Followed by the shaft.

"Oh, fuck, that feels good."

She sucks me slow, her head moving up and down in a steady rhythm. Her warm wet mouth on my dick.

She speeds up, but only a little.

Long happy minutes pass, her pace quickening. Her head bobs up and down, her hand pumping the base as her mouth does the rest.

On it goes. Up and down, over and over along my shaft. A vigorous speed now. Shivers of pleasure course through me. Joy, pure joy. It won't be long. Not at all.

Emeline lifts her face off my cock. She jerks my wet, glistening dick and sits up, both hands pumping my cock. She strokes it fast up and down, working its entirety. Not letting up.

"Fuck, yes," I say.

She smiles, locking onto my gaze. "That's it. Enjoy it. Enjoy."

"I do."

Her breasts sway and bounce as her hands pump my cock. She leans forward and I squeeze them as she jerks me off. Kneading them as her hands slide up and down on my cock.

"I love your tits," I say.

"And I love your cock."

Emeline lowers her mouth onto my cock again. She sucks it with hungry enthusiasm. Up and down. Faster than before.

I can't hold back much longer. It'll be any moment now.

Emeline lifts her head, jerking my cock a few times. I come down from the brink.

She slides up next to me, my arm wrapping around her shoulder. She kisses my neck, her right hand jerking me off furiously.

Her mouth finds mine, our tongues dancing and twirling while she jerks me off. Faster than before. A furious pace. How does her arm not tire?

There's no holding back. She senses it. Maybe she feels my penis swelling in her hand. It doesn't matter. She knows I'm close and kisses me hard.

A host of sensations wash over me.

The taste of her lips and the feel of her tongue. Her full breasts against my chest. Her orange blossom scent. Her leg draped atop mine.

Most of all, her hand on my cock.

My dick tingles. I'm almost there.

"I'm so close," I sigh. "So close."

More jerking. Any second.

Any second.

I gasp. Emeline is fast, sliding down and taking the head of my cock into her mouth.

My cock throbs, each pulse bringing a burst of pleasure. Throb after throb, each bringing spasms of joy.

The pulses grow less intense until a few lingering twitches are all which remain. Sweet relief follows.

Emeline smiles and lays next to me, resting her head on my shoulder. I wrap my arms around her as I catch my breath.

***

We lay still. I close my eyes and half-doze.

"I wish it did not take a war for us to meet," she says. "I would have liked any other way."

"Such as?"

She props herself up on one elbow. "Perhaps in a cafe in London. You in your aviator's uniform catching my eye."

"I like that."

"Or you are in the audience while I perform in Paris, in the front row. Afterwards I visit a cafe and our eyes meet. Yes, and there is a spark between us from the start."

"Of course there is."

"And we walk around Paris for hours until dawn. We go back to my apartment and make wild love until we collapse into each other's arms and sleep until noon."

"Maybe someday we can do that," I say. "This war won't last forever."

"I wonder."

I stroke her shoulder. "What does that mean?"

"Forget I said anything."

"No. Go ahead."

She sighs. "What if this is only the start of worse things to come?"

"What do you mean? A better future is why we fight. Belgium free, the world made safe for democracy."

"Listen to you,

mon idéaliste.

Is that what you see happening?"

"I do. A League of Nations. Countries deciding disputes peacefully."

"What about the Germans and all they've done?" she says. "Robbing and raping my country. Stealing, shooting us. Deporting thousands to work in their war factories."

"They'll be punished."

"One may hope."

"You don't think that's going to happen?"

Emeline kisses me. "What I think is the Allies will win and the Germans will be humiliated."

"Isn't that what you want?"

"Let me explain the

Boche

to you,

mon chéri

. They are convinced they have the greatest civilization in the world. That they are born to rule."

"They're wrong."

"Yes, but such people will not take humiliation well. There will be another war, and the little nations like Belgium will be in the middle of it all once again."

"I hope not."

"

Mon idéaliste

, my dear, sweet idealist. The world needs your kind, even if you are almost always wrong."

"If we're nearly always wrong, why does the world need us?"

She kisses me and sits up. "For those times when you are right. To remind the rest of us it is still worthwhile to bet on hope."

"Bet on hope," I say. "I like that."

"Of course you do,

mon idéaliste."

She slides out of bed. "Madame Laurent will be here any minute. What would she say if she walked in?"

"She'd probably wonder what took us so long."

***

I go downstairs to the kitchen ten minutes later.

Madame Laurent is there. Her galoshes and raincoat are by the door and she has a pot of tea going. Her back is to me.

"

Bonjour, Madame,

" I say.

"

Bondjoû.

" She turns and freezes, staring at me.

Emeline walks in. Madame Laurent switches her gaze towards her.

Madame Laurent nods, followed by a string of words in Walloon I can't begin to follow. She gestures towards me.

"What's she saying?" I ask Emeline.

Emeline's eyebrows shoot up. "A lot. She says she knows you and I have made love. This is good, she explains, since I have not been with a man for too long. A woman

needs

sex, after all, which is why her husband gives it to her three times a week."

"Three times?"

"

Oui.

She also says it is good that a man fighting the

Boche

is provided comfort. Especially one so young and handsome now that you have lost your Viking beard."

Madame Laurent goes on, Emeline raising an eyebrow. "She says I should not overdo it, because you are still recovering. It would not be good if I caused you to be reinjured. It might be difficult to explain to Doctor Quénu, no?"

"That's sound advice, I suppose."

"Now she wants you to sit. She has the latest English papers while you drink tea. She also says she has new information."

I sit at the table. "I'm all ears."

Madame Laurent fusses with the stove as she speaks. Emeline translates. "The

Boche

is as determined as ever to find you. They've offered a large reward. This is bad."

"Why?"

"Our plan was to bribe a guard to let you through. But with the larger reward, it will cost a lot more. I have jewels hidden."

"I can't let you do that."

Emeline waves off my objection. "It is nothing. We already risk everything."

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing."

I lean forward. "What do you mean you already risk everything?"

"The

Boche

have declared it a capital offense to aid Allied prisoners trying to reach Holland."

"What? They can't just execute civilians."

"Yet they do."

"I can't let you risk your life for me."

"That line has already been crossed. Now I will ask Madame Laurent to continue."

I start to object. Emeline casts me a stern look.

Madame Laurent resumes. "The Germans have been searching everywhere. They've increased patrols along the roads and at the wire. Also, there has been constant traffic on the road north. You need to remain hidden."

"What else has she learned about the wire?"

Madame Laurent places cups of tea in front of us. "Her youngest son, Michel, has seen it up close and spoken with the guards. He sells the

Boche

beer and observes everything. There are two barbed wire fences with the electric fence between them. It is two thousand volts."

"Two thousand."

Damn.

Emeline pauses as Madame Laurent pours out a third cup of tea for herself and sits down. "Is that a lot?"

"It's plenty. What does she know about how the electricity is generated?"

Emeline turns to Madame Laurent and asks her then translates the response. "The electricity is made using diesel generators in confiscated farm houses along the route of the wire. They have alarms which set off sirens if they are tampered with."

That's too bad.

I'd hoped knocking out the power was the solution. So much for that idea.

Madame Laurent's voice grows angry. "Anyone found in the area of the wire is summarily executed if they can not explain why they are there. Such barbarity! Do we still live in the Middle Ages?"

Emeline shakes her head. "It is horrible."

I nod. "Getting across will be no small challenge, will it?"

Madame Laurent reaches across the table and puts her hand over mind. She speaks slow in the best proper French she can muster. "No worries. You will get across. In meantime, Emeline take care of you."