Luftwaffe Wolf Ch 01

This is set in the same universe as my other story Forgotten but does not crossover as most of it is set seventy years earlier. I have done as much research as I could to try make it as authentic as possible (terminology and the like). I guess this the result of watching too many war documentaries with my dad when I was growing up. I am open to help with this one as WW2 England is not something I have experienced first hand so feel free to correct me if I have made an historical error as I am usually fastidious about such things, what can I say I'm a perfectionist when it comes to things historical (like when it comes to bows and arrows, they are LOOSED not fired as fired denoted a detonation of black or gun powder and crossbows have bolts not arrows ... I so sound like a geek right now) :Þ Okay I have rambled too much so without further ado here is my second attempt at writing.

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Chapter 1: Blitzed

Captain Tresler stood beside his Dornier Do17, the payload already encased within the belly of the swift metal bird. There was to be another bombing of London this eve. Vulferam did not care what had sparked the conflict with the two nations who had once been allies not to long ago, he was a warrior and he would fight regardless. He had fought in every major conflict that the German states had been involved with since he was a boy of fifteen with his father's band of raiders. Vulferam was a werewolf and an old one at that. A run in with a wench one evening in the summer 568 A.D. he found himself with a curse that has haunted his every waking hour since. Nearly fifteen hundred years later he had swapped his sword for guns and now a great flying machine that could kill the enemy from afar and not always the warriors who he had targeted in the past, he now killed their families too.

"A good night for it, no?" Major Färber asked approaching slowly.

"Indeed, sir," Tresler replied studying the sky, "the moon is near full and will provide enough light to illuminate the Themes nicely."

"Yes," the Major chuckled, "You almost pity them, their beloved river betraying them to their enemy." The old wolf smiled a toothy grin, "they have their subterranean transport system and the siren to warn them, only the stupid and the lazy will die this night."

"Perhaps," Färber nodded in consideration to Vulferam's statement, "as long as we raze the targets I truly care not."

"We have targets?" the Captain joked, "Since when?" The two men laughed.

"Ah," the Major became solemn, "In all honesty I fear that the Führer has misjudged the British, I believe they are formidable foes and we will suffer for these raids on their capital."

"They are more than formidable my friend," Vulferam sighed, "they do not like to loose, ever."

"And the French do not like to win," they laughed again, "They would rather romance anything with a heartbeat than do anything heroic."

Vulferam checked his watch, "I must be going, these bombs will not fly themselves to their targets."

"I will buy you a drink upon your return," the Major grabbed Tresler's wrist in a warrior's handshake, "There is a beautiful Aryan wench with eyes like sapphires, hair like the very rays of the sun were harnessed to give her a golden mane and breast and thighs you could happily suffocate in."

"Then I must return to show her that I am the superior lover where you are only superior in rank," Vulferam laughed and boarded his aircraft aptly named Nidhogg, the 'destroyer of corpses'. His crew joined him, including his pilots Geiger and Jäger two men who had no relation but could almost pass as twins because of their similarities in appearance.

The Major waved and retreated to the safety of the barracks, he was officially off duty and had only wanted to wish his friend luck on the mission.

The crew were excited as they usually were before a mission, laughing and joking about the enemy's weaknesses and inferiorities in everything from tactics to appearance. "Although," one of the gunners added, "I have heard that the British women are neglected by their men, having to take foreign lovers for satisfaction."

"I would quite happily teach them a thing or two," Jäger laughed, "but I would probably break them with my gigantic cock."

"You're not suppose to look at it with a microscope," the other gunner teased, "I heard the Scottish women can take a hell of a lot before complaining ... but you have to beat them in arm-wrestling first and I wouldn't like my chances there."

"Enough," Vulferam silenced them, "We have our orders and though they are not honourable or ethical, this is war and there is no honour in loosing," he smiled as his crew cheered, "Marek, follow the river." Marek was the navigator he had a sharp eye and an almost mystical sense of direction, he would joke that his parents would try to leave him at the markets and he could always find his way home.

They all readied for take off as communication during the flight was considerably harder because of the engine noise they quickly finished their conversations and wait for the order to take off.

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The Channel seemed to glow under the moonlight, the squadron of bombers and fighters made their way swiftly through the air. Vulferam sat in his designated seat next to Marek looking over the maps. Something felt wrong this night there was still a few more nights before he was forced to change into his lupine form, a secret now harder to contain now that he had friends who cared for him and wanted to drink themselves into oblivion in his company. No, something had his hackles up like electricity in the air, this night would not end well.

"There it is," Geiger smirked, "the Dover cliffs," he informed the others over the loud bussing of the airscrew engines. "Why do you suppose they are so white?"

"They are limestone," Marek answered the pilot, "that means billions of tiny crustacea that died millions of years ago all fell to the bottom of the ocean and became stone."

"Don't forget the coral and the like," Vulferam added grinning wolfishly, "Though I do prefer the violent creation of volcanic rocks."

"You read too much, Captain," Jäger laughed pulling the yoke pitching left to keep in formation, "do you not have a woman to occupy your time?"

"Women are trouble," Tresler grumbled, "great for entertainment but that's about it."

They followed the silvery Themes towards their target, the multitude of aircraft fanning out ready to deliver their payload to the unsuspecting people below.

"Shit!" Geiger cried witnessing one of their sister aircraft fall to an unseen foe, "they have anti-aircraft gunners!" Within seconds the body of the Nidhogg was ripped apart by the hail of bullets, taking each of Vulferam's crew with them. He, himself suffered over a dozen bullets, a line of punctures from his right thigh to left shoulder. However those were the least of his problems, as he watched the ground rapidly approaching at an alarming rate. Vulferam never felt the impact he had lost too much blood and blacked out.

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"Oh wow!" the young Edward Benson cried gleefully, he was one of the young members of the home guard and was too young to enlist to fight in the actual war. "One of Gerry's planes have crashed in our field!"

Sergeant George Blackwood shook his head, the kid all of about sixteen years and today was his first experience with war. George was proud of the boy being the grandson of his best friend, he had promised Edward's parents and grandparents to protect him and mentor him to the best of the old man's abilities. "Ready to investigate the wreckage?" Sergeant Blackwood asked the enthusiastic young man.

"I am Uncle George," Eddie replied clutching his father's shotgun tightly.

"Good," George lead the way, "I hope you are not squeamish at the sight of blood or dead bodies," the elder man chuckled.

"You know I grew up on a farm," Eddie responded dryly, "blood and death is not a mystery to me."

"I mean of a man," Blackwood sighed, "it is likely to be quite messy and nauseating look at."

The boy nodded swallowing hard, it was true that he had never seen a dead body before. They cautiously approached the downed aircraft and already the stench of fuel copious amounts of blood and excrement filled the air.

George was the first to explore the wreckage checking for movement among the six on board. "Come on, Boy!" he waved Edward over, "it looks clear."

Slowly Eddie entered via a tear in the fuselage near the cockpit, "Jesus Christ!" he cursed his brain not registering the carnage, it was too surreal to accept.

"Language boy," George sternly reprimanded, "we have a job to do and it would be more pleasant if you kept the cussing to a minimum."

"Yes sir," Eddie continued into the plane he saw two men who looked like brothers they had both received a chest full of lead and would have died instantly as would have the man in the navigator's chair, a shard of the air craft's skin had imbedded itself in his neck. His once pristine uniform now stained with his life's fluid. He assumed that the meaty masses in the nose of the plane had been the gunners their remains had lost all resemblance of humanity, for that Eddy was grateful.

"Looks like we have a couple of duds," Blackwood called from the belly of the craft, "that would explain why the plane didn't explode on impact."

Eddie only half listened to George as he had found the body of the commander, a large blond man with a painful amount of bullet holes across his torso and would have died slowly. Eddie moved closer to the body aiming the shotgun at the man's chest, the officer could have been the poster boy for the Third Reich with a military cut of blond hair and icy blue eyes made him look angelic.

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Vulferam felt the pain in his chest but could not move, even his breathing had ceased. Not the first time that had happened however, it always made him feel vulnerable. Next his hearing returned he could hear voices of English men talking near by. This did not surprise him as they had crashed on English soil and he knew that his battle was now over resigned not to cause any trouble for now, he sat up.

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"Shit!" Eddie pulled the trigger as the corpse in front of him sat up right.

"What in blazes?" George made his way back to the young man who now had the tell tale spray of blood splatter on his face and uniform. He looked at the gaping hole in the blond man's chest, "they may be the enemy son but show some respect!"

"He sat up," the boy defended his eyes wide with fear.

"Corpses can do that it's just the nerves firing at random," he kicked the body, "well if he wasn't dead before he is now."

They readied to leave when they both heard a gurgling noise followed by a cough, "I surrender," the deep and distinctly German voice said.

George and Eddie turned to see the blond cadaver struggling to sit up, "Holy Mother of God!" George blasphemed crossing himself at the unholy sight.

"Please do not shoot me again," Vulferam begged, "I will bring you no harm."

"I thought you were dead!" Eddie cried, "You should be dead!" he waved the gun around frantically.

The lack of light in the wreckage managed to hide Vulferam's wounds, the accelerated healing would have made both the boy and the old man anxious. "I wish I were," he coughed again, "but, I am not." He straightened as best he could in the cramped space, "I am your prisoner," he put his hands up in surrender.

The Englishmen stood there for a moment longer before George finally spoke, "follow the boy, if you try anything I will shoot you in the head, are we clear?"

"Yes," Vulferam nodded, "Though I do not harm children."

"You will forgive me for not trusting you," George sarcastically responded, "you were on your way to bomb the city, there are children there."

Eddie moved for the hole he entered through, "I'm not a child, you know," he grumbled.

"Where I come from," Vulferam spoke to him, "you would be fighting along side your father as a man."

"Not ruddy likely, dad's working the farm to keep the troops fed," he looked back as the massive man bent the shell of the aircraft to make the hole bigger to exit from, "WOW! That is amazing!"

Vulferam limped after him, "adrenalin can give you the strength to do stuff like that."

George followed them out with his pistol in hand, "Eddie, run ahead and call the Lieutenant, tell him we are in need of a few solders to escort a prisoner."

"Yes sir, Uncle George," the boy ran off through the field in the near black of the moon lit night.

"What are you," George asked Vulferam watching him suspiciously; "you had no pulse when I checked you."

"Cursed."

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The solders had come, handcuffing Vulferam and placing him in a makeshift holding cell inside a storage barn on the property the home guard were patrolling. For all Vulferam knew he was in a closet of some kind as his cell had no window and barely enough room to lie comfortably. The CO had given him a pillow and a blanket, it was September and the first signs of winter's chill had begun to claim the night.

George had eyed him cautiously the entire walk to command, the old man was sharp for his age he did not trust the German wolf which only made Vulferam admire him. If he had been younger he might have offered him the gift of immortality as he would have made eternity more amusing.

Now in the total black of his 'cell', Captain Tresler relaxed for the first time in over three years. Every war the German states had entered into he had fought in. He had watched war change from a violent and nearly intimate setting to just violent. The advent of ballistic weapons like canons and guns made it harder to seek glory in battle. Swords and other hand-to-hand weapons now decorated the walls and halls of the aristocracy and would never taste a man's flesh again. There was a part of him that was glad at the efficiency war had taken on in the last few hundred years, men died quicker if mortally wounded, usually. The bullets were a cleaner way to die and the explosives made a battle more exciting than a dozen trebuchet lined up in siege of a fortress and the masonry flying as the walls are pelted with large boulders.

The previous conflict had him in the trenches in the Somme, fighting against solders from one of the British Colonies. Had he been mortal he would have died at the hands of a moderately sized man with more skill in combat than Vulferam had given him credit for. He remembered the strange twang to his accent and had pledged that day to find the place where that accent came from and explore that country once their governments stopped wanting to rip each other apart. He still did not know where that place was, maybe he would find that out whilst in the POW camp.

Before Vulferam knew it, the door opened blinding him with the dawn in the east. "Your car has arrived," the man had said, stepping aside for him to exit.

The wolf nodded as he passed where he was met with two of their largest men to escort him to the camp. He had heard that the reason why only one man ever successfully escaped from a British POW camp was that they were too comfortable to even contemplate leaving. He sincerely hoped so, he could do with a rest from war for a while. The two men grasped his elbows to guide him to the car, though these men were broad and heavy their heights were only to Vulferam's shoulder.

The car had a beige leather interior and firm seats. Tresler was loaded into the back seat with one of the men beside him and the other sat with the driver in the front. "Old George made a call to the Ministry of War," the man in the front whispered to the driver, "it sounded pretty serious."

"I wonder if that has anything to do with our destination?" the young female driver answered. "We are heading for Crewe Hall."

"Crewe Hall?" the man asked puzzled as to why the great distance to travel for one prisoner, "there are many camps near by. His lot have stifled our fuel supply and we're using a great deal of it to drive him to the midlands."

The slightly over weight young woman shrugged and started the car, "The Ministry have ordered that he be put in Crewe Hall," she smiled are the man next to her, "I like to think of it as a Ministry paid holiday."

Vulferam rolled his eyes, the young woman clearly liked the man next to her, "I'm just going to sleep if that is alright with you," he spoke to the man in the back with him, "Wake me if you need me."

The car ride was not a smooth one nor was it quiet and apart from the odd look from one of the men, he was mostly ignored.

At the end of the long day driving they arrived at a farm in Oxfordshire. The old Georgian buildings still had most of the windows bricked up from that ridiculous law of the period.

It was still daylight and the workers still tended the fields and livestock without the aid of modern technology. The sight delighted him, there were only a few men and many women hard at work harvesting a grain of some variety the use of scythes reaping through the tall grass humoured him.

The men roughly removed him from his seat in the car and pushed him towards the house where a meal was waiting for him. He was handcuffed to the table and given a spoon to eat the vegetable stew. The night progressed better than the last as he was given a soft bed and pillow. He was handcuffed to that too but it was only a minor nuisance as it was the first real comfort he had experienced for many years.

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Major Alec Coburn sat at his desk signing paperwork his clerk left on his desk earlier. One particular form was of special interest to him, the notification to the 'Pantheon' of an immortal being captured by a couple of humans. Major Coburn was a Shifter a type of immortal not too different to their Were cousins, only they do not retain any physical evidence of their humanity when in animal form or visa versa. Coburn was a swan in his animal form, his mate was at home in Derbyshire with their four Cygnets who were learning to fly.

The clerk one Corporal Gabriel O'Hara, a Cherub with an anal retentive view on organisation. His desk made other clerks in the military look messy. His boyish good looks prevented him from attaining a higher rank due to the need for secrecy they had to keep not that he really cared. The true power in the army was in the clerks hands. Every Commanding Officer trusted their clerk to be honest with them and a dishonest clerk could get away with murder not that Gabriel would ever do that.

It was the previous day when he received the phone call to inform them of an immortal's capture those involved would be visited by one of the Fae to modify their memories of the events that occurred. He had filled in the appropriate paperwork for his CO to sign and now he waited for Alec to seal the envelope and summon someone to deliver the urgent notification.

"And we have no idea what he is?" Alec asked again to solidify the lack of knowledge about this man. "None sir," the angel replied, "I am sure we will find out this evening when he is due to arrive."

The Major chuckled, "Lissia will have fun finding out." Alec poured himself a scotch and offered one to Gabriel, "do we have an exact time of his arrival? Or are we just going with tonight."

Gabriel sipped at the warming liquid, "That would depend on how cooperative he is."

"If he's smart he'll behave," Alec downed the beverage in one gulp, "though, he did put himself at risk of exposure, perhaps we should prepare for someone with a low intelligence quotient."

"Perhaps he is new to the immortal lifestyle," the Cherub suggested, "would you like me to contact the German council of Immortals? See if we can get anything?"

Alec nodded, "Do you have the prisoner's name?"

"Yes, his name is Vulferam Tresler," Gabriel answered, "He is German as far as we know, maybe Austrian."