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It continued in London
- Thread starter Barbaria1
- Start date
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Chapter 12
Outside the Villa of Joachim Mohr, Hohenfelde, Hamburg, 2:15 am, Sunday, 28th September, 1939.
“Your father’s study light went out half an hour ago and the house is dark. Time to make our move?” whispered Underwood.
“Yes, I think it’s safe,” replied Barbara, climbing out of the back seat of her father’s car where she had been resting and reaching for the house key kept on a hook next to the door of the car shed in which they’d been hiding. “Father should be fast asleep by now, and old Erick, the butler, is hard of hearing and I dare say shouldn’t be able to detect us.”
It had been a long day. They’d been put ashore just before daylight on a lonely North Sea beach, delivered there by a small motor craft launched from nearly a mile offshore by a Royal Navy destroyer. From there they’d made their way on foot to the North Sea coastal town of Büsum, where they’d boarded a train that would take them to Hamburg … a five and one-half hour journey as the local train service involved numerous stops in addition to a transfer to another line at Heide.
Büsum, a fishing port and summer KDF resort town had been chosen as the mission’s point of entry as the summer holiday crowds would be gone and the place would be relatively quiet. And because Barbara knew the town and its environs well from her time there attending summer BDM camps in her youth. Although she’d been quick to point out ruefully that she harbored bitter memories from that time having to do with the public bare-back flogging she had endured at the hands of the BDM in punishment for making fun of the Führer.
Their papers when they boarded the train at Bahnhof Büsum … identifying them as Barbara Möser and Henrik Unterholz … had received only cursory scrutiny. Their only discomfort on the journey to Hamburg had been due to overcrowding on the train, which meant they’d had little time to be alone or to rest. And, rather depressingly, there had been the banner headlines on the front page of the newspapers sold at the station in Heide, boastfully proclaiming the fall of Warsaw in just 27 days. It certainly hadn’t taken the Germans very long to subdue the Poles.
On reaching Hamburg, they’d marked time by wandering about the northern reaches of the city, gradually making their way by dusk to the pleasant suburban district, known as Hohenfelde, where her father’s villa was located. There they had settled down to catch a rest and wait.
Their mission was straight forward enough, though quite risky. SIS was keenly interested in learning as much as possible about her father’s connections with the German armaments industry, and especially in the development of rocketry. It was well known that he had journeyed to America during the past summer to visit with Charles Lindbergh and Robert Goddard in order to learn more about recent technical advances taking place there.
At a Section D meeting at Century House, Barbara had informed Major Grand that her father had a habit of reviewing technical papers and plans in his home. Their mission goal was thus to gain access to such documents and photograph them. To prepare Underwood had spent the better part of a week taking a crash course that made him reasonably proficient at knowing what … among the things they might find in her father’s home … might be useful intelligence,
Leaving the shelter of the car shed, Barbara and Underwood approached the front door to the villa. She set the key in the lock, gave it a twist, and was able to open the door without scarcely making a sound. They entered, Barbara in the lead, moved through the foyer, and sitting room, and cautiously ascended the stairway and worked their way left down the hallway to her father’s study.
Slipping inside, they closed the door behind them, and breathlessly stood still for a minute or two to be certain no one had heard them. Satisfied, they made their way to her father’s desk.
Having grown up in his presence, often watching him at work late at night in his study, she instinctively knew exactly where to look …opening desk and cabinet drawers, and withdrawing sheafs of documents and rolled up blueprints and plans … all the while taking care to keep them in order so that they could be returned just as they were.
Underwood, meanwhile, busied himself placing them one at a time under a desk lamp and snapping photos … every now and then emitting a soft grunt of satisfaction.
They had finished and were replacing everything when disaster struck.
The handle on the study door suddenly moved and seconds later the door swung open to reveal her father, gun in hand.
“Stop right there. Don’t move!” he commanded. And as he did, old Erick … also armed … stepped in and off to one side.
“Barbara?” Joachim Moore exclaimed, confused recognition clouding his face.
“Yes, father. It’s me. I’m back.”
“And who is he, and what in blazes do you think you’re doing?”
“Put the gun down and I’ll tell you.”
“No, I’ll not put the gun down, and you’ll tell me anyway.”
“It’s pointless, father. You’re certainly not about to shoot your own daughter.”
“Maybe not, but I’m not above shooting your friend … who is he?”
“His name is Unterholz. We’re spies, father. British spies. I’m working for the British now, working to defeat Hitler, and save Europe from this madness. Hitler has no business in Poland! Look what he’s started. It’s 1914 all over again, only worse, and even you can see where this is headed. Imagine what terrible use will be made by the Nazis of the documents and plans we’ve found here in your study. You can help us. Put down the gun. We’ll be gone in minutes. No one needs to know we were here.”
“That’s what they are, dear Barbara … documents and plans for things that are yet in their infancy … things that may never be produced and used … not in time for this war. Tell me, what about Reinhardt, Barbara? What about the deal we … you and I … made with Himmler? He and Reinhardt saved your life. Have you forgotten that? Without their intervention the Gestapo would have hanged you along with that lowlife scum, Rudy Weiss! You’re supposed to be sending information you’ve gathered in London through Reinhardt to Prinz-Albrecht-Strasse in Berlin!”
“I am, father. You might say I’m a double agent … in that I spy for both sides. I regularly feed information to Reinhardt that he dispatches to Berlin.”
“You were perhaps perfectly safe playing that game in England! But you shouldn’t have come back here! You’ve put me in a terribly awkward position. How can I possibly let you go?”
“Simple, father. Just do it. Go back to bed … you and Erick … go back to bed … and Unterholz and I will be gone in a flash.”
“No. It’s too late, my dear! Erick has phoned the police before we knew it was you, and they’re here already! You’re going to have to convince Berlin.”
As he spoke, the headlamps from a bevy of arriving cars outside cast shifting beams of light through openings in the old-fashioned chintz curtains hanging over the study windows. Voices and heavy footsteps could be heard from the floor below.
“Alright father,” said Barbara with an air of resignation. “You win. I’ll stay, but let Unterholz go. Remember, what you’ve always said about doing business: work both sides of the fence and keep the gate open. Isn’t that exactly what you and I are both doing? I know you were feeding Churchill information before the war.”
He smiled knowingly, stepped to the desk and activated a button that swung a bookcase out from the wall to reveal a narrow secret passageway. Turning to Underwood, he nodded curtly as though to say, ‘be gone with you’.
Office of Reichsführer-SS Heinrich Himmler, Hotel Prinz Albrecht, Prinz-Albrecht-Straße, Sunday, 28th September, 1939.
“Deputy Reichsführer-SS Reinhard Heydrich wishes to speak with you, Herr Reichsführer-SS. May I show him in?” asked the pretty blonde SS-Helferin.
“Yes, Greta, please show him in.”
“Good morning Herr Reichsführer-SS.”
“Morning, Heydrich. What is it you need to see me about? Have you heard, by the way, that Warsaw has fallen?”
“Yes, very good news that. But I’m here this morning to fill you in on the latest dispatch from Reinhardt in London.”
“Ah yes.”
“Two seminal points to relate, if I may. First, he reports that Fraulein Mohr has penetrated the shadowy British SIS Section D. She’s succeeded in setting herself up as a double agent. The English think she’s gone over to their side, but she has assured Reinhardt that she continues to work for us.”
“I see … and the second point?”
“Reinhardt tells us that she’s here, as we speak, in Germany.”
“And how does he know that? Did she tell him that?”
“Not exactly. He learned of it by following her down to Southampton, where ahe was accompanied by a man that Reinhardt believes to be her SIS handler, a certain Henry Underwood, she disappeared into the Royal Navy base there. Reinhardt, of course was unable to follow her inside. But he spent time in a nearby pub, where he overheard sailors talking rather loosely about having to go out on a mission that very night for the purpose of inserting a very pretty dark-haired female undercover agent into the Reich. Reinhardt said they described her perfectly, if rather crudely. He’s certain they were referring to Fräulein Mohr.”
“But, assuming it’s her, we have no idea where she is in Germany, or what her mission might be?”
“Well, Herr Reichsführer-SS, that’s where this gets interesting. You see, I received a phone call minutes ago from Gestapo Kriminaloberassistent Heinz Fromme in Hamburg. It seems our Barbara Mohr was apprehended today in the early morning hours after being caught engaged in stealing important military secrets from her father’s villa.”
“And Joachim Mohr, was he there at the time?”
“Yes, he personally discovered that she had broken into the villa and caught her in his study in the act of going through his papers. He quite rightly called in the Gestapo.”
“I see. So what are we to make of this?”
“Well, both Reinhardt and Joachim Moore believe that her first loyalty is to us, and if that is the case, then her double agent role could be very much to our advantage.”
“But how can we be sure?”
“I’ve ordered that she be brought to Berlin. I suspect we have ways to find out.”
“Excellent.”
TBC
Outside the Villa of Joachim Mohr, Hohenfelde, Hamburg, 2:15 am, Sunday, 28th September, 1939.
“Your father’s study light went out half an hour ago and the house is dark. Time to make our move?” whispered Underwood.
“Yes, I think it’s safe,” replied Barbara, climbing out of the back seat of her father’s car where she had been resting and reaching for the house key kept on a hook next to the door of the car shed in which they’d been hiding. “Father should be fast asleep by now, and old Erick, the butler, is hard of hearing and I dare say shouldn’t be able to detect us.”
It had been a long day. They’d been put ashore just before daylight on a lonely North Sea beach, delivered there by a small motor craft launched from nearly a mile offshore by a Royal Navy destroyer. From there they’d made their way on foot to the North Sea coastal town of Büsum, where they’d boarded a train that would take them to Hamburg … a five and one-half hour journey as the local train service involved numerous stops in addition to a transfer to another line at Heide.
Büsum, a fishing port and summer KDF resort town had been chosen as the mission’s point of entry as the summer holiday crowds would be gone and the place would be relatively quiet. And because Barbara knew the town and its environs well from her time there attending summer BDM camps in her youth. Although she’d been quick to point out ruefully that she harbored bitter memories from that time having to do with the public bare-back flogging she had endured at the hands of the BDM in punishment for making fun of the Führer.
Their papers when they boarded the train at Bahnhof Büsum … identifying them as Barbara Möser and Henrik Unterholz … had received only cursory scrutiny. Their only discomfort on the journey to Hamburg had been due to overcrowding on the train, which meant they’d had little time to be alone or to rest. And, rather depressingly, there had been the banner headlines on the front page of the newspapers sold at the station in Heide, boastfully proclaiming the fall of Warsaw in just 27 days. It certainly hadn’t taken the Germans very long to subdue the Poles.
On reaching Hamburg, they’d marked time by wandering about the northern reaches of the city, gradually making their way by dusk to the pleasant suburban district, known as Hohenfelde, where her father’s villa was located. There they had settled down to catch a rest and wait.
Their mission was straight forward enough, though quite risky. SIS was keenly interested in learning as much as possible about her father’s connections with the German armaments industry, and especially in the development of rocketry. It was well known that he had journeyed to America during the past summer to visit with Charles Lindbergh and Robert Goddard in order to learn more about recent technical advances taking place there.
At a Section D meeting at Century House, Barbara had informed Major Grand that her father had a habit of reviewing technical papers and plans in his home. Their mission goal was thus to gain access to such documents and photograph them. To prepare Underwood had spent the better part of a week taking a crash course that made him reasonably proficient at knowing what … among the things they might find in her father’s home … might be useful intelligence,
Leaving the shelter of the car shed, Barbara and Underwood approached the front door to the villa. She set the key in the lock, gave it a twist, and was able to open the door without scarcely making a sound. They entered, Barbara in the lead, moved through the foyer, and sitting room, and cautiously ascended the stairway and worked their way left down the hallway to her father’s study.
Slipping inside, they closed the door behind them, and breathlessly stood still for a minute or two to be certain no one had heard them. Satisfied, they made their way to her father’s desk.
Having grown up in his presence, often watching him at work late at night in his study, she instinctively knew exactly where to look …opening desk and cabinet drawers, and withdrawing sheafs of documents and rolled up blueprints and plans … all the while taking care to keep them in order so that they could be returned just as they were.
Underwood, meanwhile, busied himself placing them one at a time under a desk lamp and snapping photos … every now and then emitting a soft grunt of satisfaction.
They had finished and were replacing everything when disaster struck.
The handle on the study door suddenly moved and seconds later the door swung open to reveal her father, gun in hand.
“Stop right there. Don’t move!” he commanded. And as he did, old Erick … also armed … stepped in and off to one side.
“Barbara?” Joachim Moore exclaimed, confused recognition clouding his face.
“Yes, father. It’s me. I’m back.”
“And who is he, and what in blazes do you think you’re doing?”
“Put the gun down and I’ll tell you.”
“No, I’ll not put the gun down, and you’ll tell me anyway.”
“It’s pointless, father. You’re certainly not about to shoot your own daughter.”
“Maybe not, but I’m not above shooting your friend … who is he?”
“His name is Unterholz. We’re spies, father. British spies. I’m working for the British now, working to defeat Hitler, and save Europe from this madness. Hitler has no business in Poland! Look what he’s started. It’s 1914 all over again, only worse, and even you can see where this is headed. Imagine what terrible use will be made by the Nazis of the documents and plans we’ve found here in your study. You can help us. Put down the gun. We’ll be gone in minutes. No one needs to know we were here.”
“That’s what they are, dear Barbara … documents and plans for things that are yet in their infancy … things that may never be produced and used … not in time for this war. Tell me, what about Reinhardt, Barbara? What about the deal we … you and I … made with Himmler? He and Reinhardt saved your life. Have you forgotten that? Without their intervention the Gestapo would have hanged you along with that lowlife scum, Rudy Weiss! You’re supposed to be sending information you’ve gathered in London through Reinhardt to Prinz-Albrecht-Strasse in Berlin!”
“I am, father. You might say I’m a double agent … in that I spy for both sides. I regularly feed information to Reinhardt that he dispatches to Berlin.”
“You were perhaps perfectly safe playing that game in England! But you shouldn’t have come back here! You’ve put me in a terribly awkward position. How can I possibly let you go?”
“Simple, father. Just do it. Go back to bed … you and Erick … go back to bed … and Unterholz and I will be gone in a flash.”
“No. It’s too late, my dear! Erick has phoned the police before we knew it was you, and they’re here already! You’re going to have to convince Berlin.”
As he spoke, the headlamps from a bevy of arriving cars outside cast shifting beams of light through openings in the old-fashioned chintz curtains hanging over the study windows. Voices and heavy footsteps could be heard from the floor below.
“Alright father,” said Barbara with an air of resignation. “You win. I’ll stay, but let Unterholz go. Remember, what you’ve always said about doing business: work both sides of the fence and keep the gate open. Isn’t that exactly what you and I are both doing? I know you were feeding Churchill information before the war.”
He smiled knowingly, stepped to the desk and activated a button that swung a bookcase out from the wall to reveal a narrow secret passageway. Turning to Underwood, he nodded curtly as though to say, ‘be gone with you’.
Office of Reichsführer-SS Heinrich Himmler, Hotel Prinz Albrecht, Prinz-Albrecht-Straße, Sunday, 28th September, 1939.
“Deputy Reichsführer-SS Reinhard Heydrich wishes to speak with you, Herr Reichsführer-SS. May I show him in?” asked the pretty blonde SS-Helferin.
“Yes, Greta, please show him in.”
“Good morning Herr Reichsführer-SS.”
“Morning, Heydrich. What is it you need to see me about? Have you heard, by the way, that Warsaw has fallen?”
“Yes, very good news that. But I’m here this morning to fill you in on the latest dispatch from Reinhardt in London.”
“Ah yes.”
“Two seminal points to relate, if I may. First, he reports that Fraulein Mohr has penetrated the shadowy British SIS Section D. She’s succeeded in setting herself up as a double agent. The English think she’s gone over to their side, but she has assured Reinhardt that she continues to work for us.”
“I see … and the second point?”
“Reinhardt tells us that she’s here, as we speak, in Germany.”
“And how does he know that? Did she tell him that?”
“Not exactly. He learned of it by following her down to Southampton, where ahe was accompanied by a man that Reinhardt believes to be her SIS handler, a certain Henry Underwood, she disappeared into the Royal Navy base there. Reinhardt, of course was unable to follow her inside. But he spent time in a nearby pub, where he overheard sailors talking rather loosely about having to go out on a mission that very night for the purpose of inserting a very pretty dark-haired female undercover agent into the Reich. Reinhardt said they described her perfectly, if rather crudely. He’s certain they were referring to Fräulein Mohr.”
“But, assuming it’s her, we have no idea where she is in Germany, or what her mission might be?”
“Well, Herr Reichsführer-SS, that’s where this gets interesting. You see, I received a phone call minutes ago from Gestapo Kriminaloberassistent Heinz Fromme in Hamburg. It seems our Barbara Mohr was apprehended today in the early morning hours after being caught engaged in stealing important military secrets from her father’s villa.”
“And Joachim Mohr, was he there at the time?”
“Yes, he personally discovered that she had broken into the villa and caught her in his study in the act of going through his papers. He quite rightly called in the Gestapo.”
“I see. So what are we to make of this?”
“Well, both Reinhardt and Joachim Moore believe that her first loyalty is to us, and if that is the case, then her double agent role could be very much to our advantage.”
“But how can we be sure?”
“I’ve ordered that she be brought to Berlin. I suspect we have ways to find out.”
“Excellent.”
TBC
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Great cover!
An even better move! Blowing their own cover!
At least, had told him it was an SD operation!
That the SD suspects Joachim Mohr of a consipracy against Hitler, or so!?
Idiots! Do they never learn?
Typical Barbaria Catastrophe!
Saw this, and thought, "That Fossy, he has a cracking imagination! What a wonderful name for a place for Barb to be in! 10/10, old lad!"
Then I checked, and, believe it or not
there really is a place called Büsum!
Of course there is. Everything in a Barb and Fossy story is thoroughly researched.
How could I ever have doubted it?Of course there is. Everything in a Barb and Fossy story is thoroughly researched.
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Barb and I employ a research team of many hands Wragster, what did you expect
twonines
LIMERICUS
We mustn`t be greedy, in the "London" section she has already been flogged three times. That tight little must still be pretty tender.“Mohr” BDM flogging flashbacks please.
ahhh yes … the BDM flogging from “it happened in Hamburg” probably could be developed into a short story someday. Perhaps another flashback may be possible in the sequel story to this one.“Mohr” BDM flogging flashbacks please.
twonines
LIMERICUS
Prequels are all the rage these days--------
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
For singing "Hitler! Has only got one ball!"
twonines
LIMERICUS
And off key?For singing "Hitler! Has only got one ball!"
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Rather likely indeed,, after drinking two bottles of Riesling!
Naraku
Draconarius
They forgot about those training films:Great cover!
An even better move! Blowing their own cover!
At least, had told him it was an SD operation!
That the SD suspects Joachim Mohr of a consipracy against Hitler, or so!?
Idiots! Do they never learn?
View attachment 1401617View attachment 1401618
Chapter 13
Basement holding cell, 8 Prinz-Albrecht-Straße, Sunday evening, 28th September, 1939.
Standing in the centre of the room were Deputy Reichsführer-SS Reinhard Heydrich and Herr Reichsführer-SS, Heinrich Himmler. Himmler had not changed at all since Barbara had last seen him, several months earlier when Europe still hoped to avoid this awful situation. Short and bespectacled with very unremarkable features, it was difficult to tell from his expression whether he was pleased or sorry to see her here right now; but either way he must be the reason for her presence.
Fräulein Barbara Mohr stood in her dress and underwear having had the woollen coat, cardigan, thick stockings and shoes removed,. All alone she was facing the terrifying might of the Schutzstaffel.
“Well, Herr Himmler,” she said, finding bravado from somewhere, “Is this how you greet an old family friend?” Barbara thought she saw a smirk arrive on the mouth of the SS-Reichsführer.
“Has she been searched?” He said, ignoring her words, his voice, like the rest of him, was a featureless monotone.
“She is not armed,” said the young SS Oberschütze to her left.
“You are foolish to believe that,” Himmler remarked, “… you know nothing of this woman. Strip her!”
She opened her mouth to protest, and then closed it again; protests were not going to work here.
“Do not release her wrists,” Himmler snapped as one of the men produced a key for the handcuffs. “Tear off her dress.”
The two young Oberschütze grasped the girl’s arms, while Heydrich stepped in front of her and dug his fingers into the bodice of her dress. He would not meet her gaze, but she could see him salivating. He tugged, violently, and the material ripped down to her waist. The watching men caught their breaths. Heydrich continued tugging, and the last remnant of the material tore, leaving the dress hanging in two halves from the shoulders.
There were more sharp intakes of breath. “And you thought she wasn’t armed,” Himmler commented. “Get rid of that.” Heydrich stroked the girl’s flesh as he released the discreet holster containing the Enfield No. 2 Mk 1. He looked over his shoulder towards the Reichsführer-SS.
“And her underthings?”
“Remove them as well. They will only get in the way.”
After passing the revolver to the nearest Oberschütze, Heydrich threw the holster on to the floor, behind the hat, and then pulled Barbara’s silk underwear down to her ankles; she obligingly stepped out of it.
“And this …?”
Himmler nodded and she held her breath as an SS-Ehrendolch was produced to swiftly slice through the front and shoulders of her newly fashioned underwired bra, rendering the captive girl totally naked.
“I assume you have a reason for this ridiculous behaviour,” she said, stoically maintaining her tenuous position of innocence. “If you wished me to undress, why did you not say so? There was no need to destroy my dress.”
Himmler beamed a malicious smile. “I hope you will die as arrogantly as you live, Fräulein Mohr. But, before you do that, you are going to have to tell me what I need to know. Put her in that chair.”
On the banks of the Hohenfelder Bucht, Hamburg, Sunday evening, 28th September, 1939.
Was Henrik Unterholz now a wanted man?
Joachim Mohr, Barbara’s father had allowed him to escape, assisted it in fact, but Underwood had to believe that somehow, a man who was capable of reporting his own daughter to the Gestapo, knowing that she would be interrogated, must somehow have alerted The Geheime Staatspolizei to the fact that she had a man with her.
The tunnel out of the Mohr residence was surprisingly long, not the work of Barbara’s father he suspected, but more a relic from the early nineteenth century when Hamburg had been annexed by Napoleon. But Henry had no time to pull minor historical facts from his school days, and when he emerged into the gloom of an almost breaking dawn to stare down at the river before him, the Hohenfelder Bucht if he wasn’t mistaken, the serious nature of the situation became clear to him.
A couple of early morning barges meandered along this tributary to the Hamburg-America line, one of the world’s largest shipping routes. The thought of a potential American Alliance with Nazi Germany sent shivers along Henry’s spine.
But what now? He could no longer trust his papers; the planned exfiltration route had been blown apart and he had no means of communication. Barbara was being held by the Gestapo who had no doubt handed her over to the SS by now, and he hoped against hope that they would show ‘one of their own’ some mercy when they questioned her. Feeling inside the deep pocket of his long trench coat, Captain underwood took comfort from the camera that nestled inside.
Basement holding cell, 8 Prinz-Albrecht-Straße, Sunday evening, 28th September, 1939.
The two men holding Barbara’s arms pushed her to the straight chair indicated by the Reichsführer-SS, and made her sit.
“Keep holding her.”
The hands of the two junior Oberschütze moved to her shoulders, pressing down.
“Now secure her legs,” Himmler commanded.
Heydrich knelt before the captive girl, and was handed a length of cord. With this he tied her left ankle to the appropriate chair leg. She was very tempted to kick him, but that would accomplish nothing more than a probable beating. Her task was to remain as fit and alert as possible, until …
… She had no idea what might turn up, maybe Henry would figure out a way to rescue her and she had to be ready to take advantage of it.
Heydrich produced another length of cord, and pulled Barbara’s legs apart to secure her right ankle. She decided that if ever a man deserved to die, he was the one. After Himmler. But no one was going to die unless she could get free, and that meant some kind of help was urgently required. She could not see the two young men holding her shoulders, but she could look around the other faces. Heydrich was again almost visibly salivating as he looked up her crotch, and the filthy old bastard Himmler was clearly no less excited.
“I assume,” she said, her stoicism still being forced to the fore, “… that you are going to tell me what this outrageous game is all about.”
“Game?” the Reichsführer-SS smirked.
“Yes, it must be a game because you arrested me for breaking into my own house with a front door key!”
Himmler laughed. “Oh, yes, Fräulein, it will be a game.”
He moved another straight chair into a position immediately in front and with its back to her, and then straddled it, so close that his knees actually touched hers.
“Why are you here, Barbara?”
“War has been declared, Reichsführer, and soon my route into Germany will be totally cut off. I wanted to bring you information before I get stuck over in England, and I headed for my father’s house first before hoping to contact you today.”
She played the agreed card and fed Himmler some information about a secret build-up of allied troops in Scotland so that they could cross the North Sea and take the German rear via Denmark.
Himmler laughed but signalled for one of the low-grade Oberschütze to have the information checked out.
But Barbara knew that, despite some supporting substance having taken place back over in Britain, the information she had shared would soon be proven false.
“Barbara, we both know that information is at best useless and at worst an outright lie, you really do not wish to try my patience too far.”
He stretched out his hand and grasped her left breast, not squeezing, but just holding it. Despite herself, she could not prevent a sudden quick breath, nor, to her disgust, could she prevent the nipple from hardening into his palm.
“Otherwise,” he said, “I might just cut this off. And apart from the pain and the humiliation, where would the daughter of the great Joachim Mohr be without her tits and her ass and her legs? Tell me why you were in Hamburg?”
It took Barbara great effort to finally get her breathing under control, but Himmler would not release his grip on her flesh.
“Who is the man you were with?”
How on earth could he know about Henry? Did my father tell all? If so, how did he explain Henry’s getaway. Or was it Erick, her father’s butler who gave them that bit of information?
All questions that she couldn’t ask given her predicament.
“I travelled alone.” Was her response. It was a convenient line to adopt.
She felt a hand on her bare thigh and it suddenly squeezed, very hard, the fingers seeming to eat into her flesh. Again, she could not restrain a gasp, this time of pain.
“So, there was no man, Fräulein Mohr?”
“No,” Barbara panted. The grip relaxed, and she sighed in relief. The flesh on her thigh was pale where the blood had been driven away.
The Oberschütze returned to the room, and with an obvious deferential nervousness, he whispered something into his Reichsführer-SS’ ear. Himmler smiled, nodded, and his hand moved forward again. She watched it like a hawk, but was helpless to stop the fingers moving around the back of her neck, under her hair, for the moment caressing her skull, but she braced herself for another agonizing squeeze, which, in that position, might well render her unconscious.
“I do not like being lied to Fräulein.” The fingers were stroking up and down the nape of her neck and her muscles remained tense.
“Who is the man?”
“There is no man. I was alone, and I spy for Germany. Reinhardt can back me on that. I’m sure he has sent you my intelligence dispatches and informed you that I’ve succeeded in penetrating British SIS.
The hand left her nape and came slowly round her neck, then the fingers slipped down. to her breast yet again. This time Himmler’s thumb and forefinger closed on her right nipple, squeezing as hard as he could.
“Arghhhhh!”
Now she could not contain a little cry of agony.
“I think,” Himmler said, “that everything you have told me has been a lie. I believe that you were sent here as a British Agent to spy on your father’s work. And that you only pretend to be in service to us! If you wish to live, you will tell me who sent you, and what he, or they, are planning.” He paused, expectantly.
“I have no idea what you are talking about, Herr Reichsführer-SS!”
She did not suppose there was any point in attempting to lie further, or indeed in telling him the truth; it was clear that he was going to kill her no matter what she said, in which case her best course was to let him get on with it and keep on worrying about what might be lying in wait for Henry should he be caught too.
And that would be the end of Fräulein Barbara Mohr.
“Defiant to the last, eh?” Himmler asked. “Do you really suppose your fate is going to be the simple matter of a bullet in the back of the neck and then oblivion? No, no. I am not going to kill you, Barbara.”
Her head jerked to stare at her tormentor, and he smiled a malicious smile.
“I am going to torture you and destroy you piece by piece.” His fingers released her nipple, which had gone numb and she whimpered as the blood flowed back into the erected teat. At least she could now get her breath back, but her nerves were stretched to breaking point.
Himmler stood and smiled down at the bound girl.
“We’ll be back.” He said simply. Then, as they all filed out leaving her alone, the lights were turned off.
TBC
Basement holding cell, 8 Prinz-Albrecht-Straße, Sunday evening, 28th September, 1939.
Standing in the centre of the room were Deputy Reichsführer-SS Reinhard Heydrich and Herr Reichsführer-SS, Heinrich Himmler. Himmler had not changed at all since Barbara had last seen him, several months earlier when Europe still hoped to avoid this awful situation. Short and bespectacled with very unremarkable features, it was difficult to tell from his expression whether he was pleased or sorry to see her here right now; but either way he must be the reason for her presence.
Fräulein Barbara Mohr stood in her dress and underwear having had the woollen coat, cardigan, thick stockings and shoes removed,. All alone she was facing the terrifying might of the Schutzstaffel.
“Well, Herr Himmler,” she said, finding bravado from somewhere, “Is this how you greet an old family friend?” Barbara thought she saw a smirk arrive on the mouth of the SS-Reichsführer.
“Has she been searched?” He said, ignoring her words, his voice, like the rest of him, was a featureless monotone.
“She is not armed,” said the young SS Oberschütze to her left.
“You are foolish to believe that,” Himmler remarked, “… you know nothing of this woman. Strip her!”
She opened her mouth to protest, and then closed it again; protests were not going to work here.
“Do not release her wrists,” Himmler snapped as one of the men produced a key for the handcuffs. “Tear off her dress.”
The two young Oberschütze grasped the girl’s arms, while Heydrich stepped in front of her and dug his fingers into the bodice of her dress. He would not meet her gaze, but she could see him salivating. He tugged, violently, and the material ripped down to her waist. The watching men caught their breaths. Heydrich continued tugging, and the last remnant of the material tore, leaving the dress hanging in two halves from the shoulders.
There were more sharp intakes of breath. “And you thought she wasn’t armed,” Himmler commented. “Get rid of that.” Heydrich stroked the girl’s flesh as he released the discreet holster containing the Enfield No. 2 Mk 1. He looked over his shoulder towards the Reichsführer-SS.
“And her underthings?”
“Remove them as well. They will only get in the way.”
After passing the revolver to the nearest Oberschütze, Heydrich threw the holster on to the floor, behind the hat, and then pulled Barbara’s silk underwear down to her ankles; she obligingly stepped out of it.
“And this …?”
Himmler nodded and she held her breath as an SS-Ehrendolch was produced to swiftly slice through the front and shoulders of her newly fashioned underwired bra, rendering the captive girl totally naked.
“I assume you have a reason for this ridiculous behaviour,” she said, stoically maintaining her tenuous position of innocence. “If you wished me to undress, why did you not say so? There was no need to destroy my dress.”
Himmler beamed a malicious smile. “I hope you will die as arrogantly as you live, Fräulein Mohr. But, before you do that, you are going to have to tell me what I need to know. Put her in that chair.”
On the banks of the Hohenfelder Bucht, Hamburg, Sunday evening, 28th September, 1939.
Was Henrik Unterholz now a wanted man?
Joachim Mohr, Barbara’s father had allowed him to escape, assisted it in fact, but Underwood had to believe that somehow, a man who was capable of reporting his own daughter to the Gestapo, knowing that she would be interrogated, must somehow have alerted The Geheime Staatspolizei to the fact that she had a man with her.
The tunnel out of the Mohr residence was surprisingly long, not the work of Barbara’s father he suspected, but more a relic from the early nineteenth century when Hamburg had been annexed by Napoleon. But Henry had no time to pull minor historical facts from his school days, and when he emerged into the gloom of an almost breaking dawn to stare down at the river before him, the Hohenfelder Bucht if he wasn’t mistaken, the serious nature of the situation became clear to him.
A couple of early morning barges meandered along this tributary to the Hamburg-America line, one of the world’s largest shipping routes. The thought of a potential American Alliance with Nazi Germany sent shivers along Henry’s spine.
But what now? He could no longer trust his papers; the planned exfiltration route had been blown apart and he had no means of communication. Barbara was being held by the Gestapo who had no doubt handed her over to the SS by now, and he hoped against hope that they would show ‘one of their own’ some mercy when they questioned her. Feeling inside the deep pocket of his long trench coat, Captain underwood took comfort from the camera that nestled inside.
Basement holding cell, 8 Prinz-Albrecht-Straße, Sunday evening, 28th September, 1939.
The two men holding Barbara’s arms pushed her to the straight chair indicated by the Reichsführer-SS, and made her sit.
“Keep holding her.”
The hands of the two junior Oberschütze moved to her shoulders, pressing down.
“Now secure her legs,” Himmler commanded.
Heydrich knelt before the captive girl, and was handed a length of cord. With this he tied her left ankle to the appropriate chair leg. She was very tempted to kick him, but that would accomplish nothing more than a probable beating. Her task was to remain as fit and alert as possible, until …
… She had no idea what might turn up, maybe Henry would figure out a way to rescue her and she had to be ready to take advantage of it.
Heydrich produced another length of cord, and pulled Barbara’s legs apart to secure her right ankle. She decided that if ever a man deserved to die, he was the one. After Himmler. But no one was going to die unless she could get free, and that meant some kind of help was urgently required. She could not see the two young men holding her shoulders, but she could look around the other faces. Heydrich was again almost visibly salivating as he looked up her crotch, and the filthy old bastard Himmler was clearly no less excited.
“I assume,” she said, her stoicism still being forced to the fore, “… that you are going to tell me what this outrageous game is all about.”
“Game?” the Reichsführer-SS smirked.
“Yes, it must be a game because you arrested me for breaking into my own house with a front door key!”
Himmler laughed. “Oh, yes, Fräulein, it will be a game.”
He moved another straight chair into a position immediately in front and with its back to her, and then straddled it, so close that his knees actually touched hers.
“Why are you here, Barbara?”
“War has been declared, Reichsführer, and soon my route into Germany will be totally cut off. I wanted to bring you information before I get stuck over in England, and I headed for my father’s house first before hoping to contact you today.”
She played the agreed card and fed Himmler some information about a secret build-up of allied troops in Scotland so that they could cross the North Sea and take the German rear via Denmark.
Himmler laughed but signalled for one of the low-grade Oberschütze to have the information checked out.
But Barbara knew that, despite some supporting substance having taken place back over in Britain, the information she had shared would soon be proven false.
“Barbara, we both know that information is at best useless and at worst an outright lie, you really do not wish to try my patience too far.”
He stretched out his hand and grasped her left breast, not squeezing, but just holding it. Despite herself, she could not prevent a sudden quick breath, nor, to her disgust, could she prevent the nipple from hardening into his palm.
“Otherwise,” he said, “I might just cut this off. And apart from the pain and the humiliation, where would the daughter of the great Joachim Mohr be without her tits and her ass and her legs? Tell me why you were in Hamburg?”
It took Barbara great effort to finally get her breathing under control, but Himmler would not release his grip on her flesh.
“Who is the man you were with?”
How on earth could he know about Henry? Did my father tell all? If so, how did he explain Henry’s getaway. Or was it Erick, her father’s butler who gave them that bit of information?
All questions that she couldn’t ask given her predicament.
“I travelled alone.” Was her response. It was a convenient line to adopt.
She felt a hand on her bare thigh and it suddenly squeezed, very hard, the fingers seeming to eat into her flesh. Again, she could not restrain a gasp, this time of pain.
“So, there was no man, Fräulein Mohr?”
“No,” Barbara panted. The grip relaxed, and she sighed in relief. The flesh on her thigh was pale where the blood had been driven away.
The Oberschütze returned to the room, and with an obvious deferential nervousness, he whispered something into his Reichsführer-SS’ ear. Himmler smiled, nodded, and his hand moved forward again. She watched it like a hawk, but was helpless to stop the fingers moving around the back of her neck, under her hair, for the moment caressing her skull, but she braced herself for another agonizing squeeze, which, in that position, might well render her unconscious.
“I do not like being lied to Fräulein.” The fingers were stroking up and down the nape of her neck and her muscles remained tense.
“Who is the man?”
“There is no man. I was alone, and I spy for Germany. Reinhardt can back me on that. I’m sure he has sent you my intelligence dispatches and informed you that I’ve succeeded in penetrating British SIS.
The hand left her nape and came slowly round her neck, then the fingers slipped down. to her breast yet again. This time Himmler’s thumb and forefinger closed on her right nipple, squeezing as hard as he could.
“Arghhhhh!”
Now she could not contain a little cry of agony.
“I think,” Himmler said, “that everything you have told me has been a lie. I believe that you were sent here as a British Agent to spy on your father’s work. And that you only pretend to be in service to us! If you wish to live, you will tell me who sent you, and what he, or they, are planning.” He paused, expectantly.
“I have no idea what you are talking about, Herr Reichsführer-SS!”
She did not suppose there was any point in attempting to lie further, or indeed in telling him the truth; it was clear that he was going to kill her no matter what she said, in which case her best course was to let him get on with it and keep on worrying about what might be lying in wait for Henry should he be caught too.
And that would be the end of Fräulein Barbara Mohr.
“Defiant to the last, eh?” Himmler asked. “Do you really suppose your fate is going to be the simple matter of a bullet in the back of the neck and then oblivion? No, no. I am not going to kill you, Barbara.”
Her head jerked to stare at her tormentor, and he smiled a malicious smile.
“I am going to torture you and destroy you piece by piece.” His fingers released her nipple, which had gone numb and she whimpered as the blood flowed back into the erected teat. At least she could now get her breath back, but her nerves were stretched to breaking point.
Himmler stood and smiled down at the bound girl.
“We’ll be back.” He said simply. Then, as they all filed out leaving her alone, the lights were turned off.
TBC