17.
Stuttgart, March 1943
On a cold and dreary February morning, Klaus Schumann read the news over breakfast in the Messerschmitt employees’ cantine. Neither the breakfast nor the news was favorable to Hitler’s glorious Third Reich. The breakfasts had been getting skimpier as the war’s fortunes began, slowly, but inexorably to turn against Klaus’ native land.
The news from Stalingrad, as much as Herr Goebbels’ propaganda machine tried to spin it, was even worse. ‘Strategic withdrawal, my ass!’ Klaus thought. ‘Do they think we’re idiots?’ It was a crushing defeat. The German army was retreating from Mother Russia in the wintertime, broken and defeated, as Napoleon’s had. And the end result would be the same.
No oil from the Caucasus to fuel the planes that Klaus was working on. And, he knew that German industry, as efficient as it was, and even with Japan on its side, couldn’t match the massive, continent-wide might of the United States, which was now fully in the fight.
For Klaus knew the United States well. He had studied in Boston, at MIT, and had travelled throughout the country, to New York and Chicago and out to California and the Pacific Northwest. The space was immense, so much larger than Germany, larger than all of German-occupied Europe.
Klaus had liked the US a lot and thought very hard about staying there after he finished his studies. With a degree from MIT, he could have worked at any of the airplane companies there. He was certainly no fan of the Little Austrian Corporal-all that shouting and arm waving left him cold, to say the least.
Nor did Klaus hate Jews; in fact, he had had Jewish friends growing up in Stuttgart and admired their love of learning, which matched his. Of course, tragically, those who hadn’t left before the war were dead or soon to be so in concentration camps.
It was family, specifically his parents in Stuttgart, that had made him return to Germany instead after graduation. First his father had fallen ill with cancer, and, after suffering through a series of treatments that were as bad as the disease, had died shortly before the war had broken out. Now, it was his mother following the same path, and Klaus could see that she would be joining his father very soon.
Upon his return, he had quickly gotten a job at the Messerschmitt factory in Augsburg, in Bavaria, which was gearing up for war when he joined. Augsburg was close enough to Stuttgart that he could get back there to see his parents, and now just his mother, whenever he could get leave.
The work was interesting and he did his best as a professional, even though he didn’t support der Fuhrer’s insane and now hopeless war. One did one’s job; that was how he had been raised.
When the letter had come from Sweden a couple of months ago, from his old MIT classmate, Anders Eliasson, Klaus had been intrigued. His knowledge about the ME 262 was valuable to the British and the Americans. If they could get him out of Germany, he would demand that they take him to America and give plenty of money to establish himself there. No doubt, they would find a place where he could put his skills to work to, hopefully, bring this war to an end before Hitler ruined Germany with his refusal to accept reality.
He had sat on the letter for a while, thinking about it. If the Gestapo or any of the other myriad agencies that enforced loyalty to Hitler found out, he would be dead and not in a very pleasant way, that was certain. But the current situation was untenable. He knew that Germany had committed great crimes and would be punished, particularly by the Russians who has suffered mightily, when they lost, as they would,
So, he agreed to meet this agent they were sending from Britain, a woman, of all people, going by the name of Barta Moser. He would hear what she had to say and decide.
However, he didn’t dare to meet her in Augsburg-the aircraft workers were watched closely there. No, Stuttgart, would be better. He would spend the Sunday, February 28, with his mother and meet the SOE agent the next day, March 1, which he had, with some extremely expensive black market Marlboros for his boss, arranged to have off.
And where was Klaus going to meet Fraulein Moser? At a well-known brothel in Stuttgart, Madame Olga’s. For in a nation beset with informants and spies, where else could a man and a woman unknown to each other, be alone and have an intimate conversation without arousing suspicion.
On the train from Augsburg yesterday, he tried to imagine Barta Moser. What would a spy look like? What would they do in that room in the brothel? Would she have to do what women generally did in such places to maintain her cover? Or would they simply talk? What if they really fell in love? After all, she wasn’t a real prostitute. But who exactly was she?
***
It was with some trepidation that Klaus Schumann knocked at the door of the house in the Bohnenviertal. He had always been shy where women were concerned and even growing up in Stuttgart hadn’t frequented any of the many houses of ill repute in the district. He had had a girlfriend when he was in gymnasium, but she was from a very proper upper class family and they hadn’t progressed much beyond some clumsy kisses.
Then, he had left for Boston, and MIT was a male institution filled with very serious engineers and scientists, like Klaus. He knew there was a district in Boston with houses such as Madame Olga’s, but he hadn’t dared to go.
Upon his return to Germany, he had met a few women, but nothing came of it. He had been a few times to the “comfort facility” established to “service” unmarried Messerschmitt staff, but those were virtually slaves, mostly Polish and Ukrainian, and he had felt bad for months after his visits for exploiting them.
But here at Madame Olga, these were women, mostly German, who had practiced their profession for a long time and had chosen it, if only as the least bad of the options that life had presented to them.
Besides his nervousness about the women, this place was known to be frequented by officers of the Gestapo and SS. He would be meeting a British agent right under their noses!
Nevertheless, Klaus had come this far, so he screwed up his courage, knocked at the door and asked the young woman who answered if he might speak with Madame Olga. She asked him to wait in the over-decorated parlor.
The plump, heavily made up middle aged woman who appeared welcomed him. “I-I-I have heard about your new girl and her many talents,” he said, blushing a deep red. “I must experience her.” Klaus had never imagined himself ever saying such a thing.
Olga winked. “You are in luck, sir, Barta happens to be free at the moment.”
He pulled out a wad of Reichsmarks, which represented a good portion of his savings. “How much?” he asked.
Madame Olga took the wad, peeled off several bills. “Would you like to enjoy some champagne with Barta? We have several bottles of a very good vintage brought direct from France a few days ago by a good friend.”
Klaus wasn’t sure how things were done in establishments such as this, but he nodded. Olga peeled a few more large bills off the wad and handed what was left to Klaus. “Please follow me,” she beckoned, leading him to a door, upon which she knocked.
A very pleasant sounding female voice, called out, “Yes?”
“I have a visitor for you, Barta,” Olga said. The door opened. Klaus was almost floored by the sight. She was beautiful, possibly the most beautiful woman he had ever met, with lovely shoulder length brown hair, a sweet face and brown eyes that looked at him as though he were the only man on earth. Perhaps that was a professional trick of the trade, but, if it was, it certainly worked on Klaus.
She wore a red satin dressing gown, with, apparently, nothing underneath it. The gown was open quite a way down the front and what Klaus could see promised a garden of earthly delights.
Barta threw her arms around Klaus and pulled his face towards her and kissed him deeply on the mouth. He felt a stirring in his loins. “I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone,” Madame Olga cackled. “Magda will be along shortly with champagne for you to toast your newfound acquaintance.” Bart pulled Klaus inside and quickly shut the door,
She pulled him to her again and kissed him, even longer and harder. “I came to discuss business,” Klaus told her. “We don’t have to do this.”
“If we don’t make love, people will be suspicious,” she said.
“We could just make pretend noises and mess the bed up,” Klaus offered.
“Perhaps,” Barta replied, “But where is the fun in that.” She undid the sash of her robe and pulled it open. “Do you not like what you see?”
Klaus stared, his mouth open. “I have never seen anything so beautiful,” he said. And that was the truth. Her breasts were lovely, full, but not over-large, the nipples standing up proudly, begging to be licked and sucked. Below that was a slim waist that he could imagine holding for a naked waltz and below that was, well…Klaus had no words…
Fortunately for Klaus, there was a knock at the door. Barta opened it. It was a waifish girl with short blond hair. She handed Barta a bottle and two glasses. “Thank you, Magda,” Barta said as she closed the door.
“Would you do the honors, Klaus?” He undid the metal cap, took hold of the cork and pulled. The popping sound was unmistakable. He poured them each a glass, which they clinked. “To our pleasure and our business,” Barta announced.
Klaus took a sip. “You should know that I am not very experienced with women,” he confessed.
“Then you must just leave it all to me,” Barta told him. She downed her glass and then began unbuttoning Klaus’ shirt running her fingers through his chest hair. Then she let her hands slide down his torso, below his waist and down to his fly. Her fingers fussed with the buttons. Klaus could feel himself hardening.
This time it was Klaus who kissed Barta, hard on the mouth, then up and down her neck, nibbling at the wonderfully soft skin. She stuck her hands inside his pants, feeling the hardness, “Mmm,” she said. “It looks like someone is having a good time.”
Soon, Barta had Klaus naked. She shucked her robe off and pulled him down onto the bed on top of her. Klaus continued kissing down Barta’s neck, along her shoulders and down until he reached her breasts. He took first one, then the other into his mouth, licking from her chest to the tip, swirling his tongue around the nipple.
“Ohhh,” Barta moaned. She reached down and stroked Klaus’ erection.
“Ohh,” he moaned.
“Take me, Klaus, please,” she told him. “We have to make this real, don’t we?”
Klaus raised himself up on his elbows and maneuvered the tip of his penis against her vagina. “Now, please,” she said.
Klaus didn’t have to be asked again. He moved his hips and his erection slid inside her, her wetness making the entry almost automatic. It was the most wonderful sensation Klaus had ever felt. He moved slowly, in and out, determined to feel every moment of pleasure.
“Oh, Klaus, that feels wonderful,” Barta panted.
“For me too,” he said. His excitement was rising to a fever pitch now and he began moving faster, his hips bucking, feeling the walls of her vagina gripping him, pulling him in. His whole body was tingling and he knew that soon he would lose control.
Barta yelled “Oh, God,” and he saw her eyes roll back in her head. Klaus felt himself leaping off the cliff, tumbling into a world of ecstasy that he hoped would never end.
He lay on top of her for a few moments, catching his breath and then rolled off. “That was amazing!” he told her.
“For me too,” she said, kissing him deeply. Then she reached for the nightstand, picked up the bottle of champagne and filled the two glasses, handing him one. She lifted hers. “To many more of that in America!” she said.
“You have a plan to get me out?” he asked, downing the delightfully stimulating liquid.
“Of course,” she said. “I didn’t come here at great risk just to fuck you, as good as that was.” She bent down and reached under the bed. Klaus couldn’t help admiring her tight little ass as she pulled a suitcase out and opened it. Inside the bottom was a compartment that even he, an engineer, would never have guessed was there.
“Very impressive!” Klaus said.
“My ass or the secret compartment?” she replied.
“Both,” Klaus allowed.
“Kriminalkommisar Schwarz, the head of the local Gestapo, was in this room last night and had no idea this was here.”
“Did you, um, you know, with him?”
“I had to. My cover is a whore. I can’t very well turn down business, especially from someone in that position. Believe me he is a pig and an ugly one, nothing like you, my love.” Klaus hoped that she was telling him the truth.
“Anyway,” Barta said, here you are. She handed him an i.d. card.
“Heinz Mueller?” he asked. “Who is that?”
“You, silly. Klaus Schumann is no more and they can look high and low for him.”
“But there is no picture?”
She handed him a piece of paper. “Olga knows a man who can do it. Memorize the address and swallow the paper.” He looked at it and repeated it then did as she ordered. “Give him your old i.d. with your photo and these,” she said, handing him five US $100 bills, a small fortune in a Germany sliding towards defeat.
“Return in one hour and it will be done,” she said. “It will be good enough to fool the patrols on the trains and on the roads. It won’t fool the experts of course, but that’s the best we can do in the circumstances.”
“And where do we go?” he asked.
“Heinz Mueller is a businessman with interests in Barcelona. We go through France and across the Pyrenees. Then, to Britain where the experts will debrief you about the plane, because I wouldn’t know a wing from a tail. After that, it’s off to America on the next ship sailing from Southampton.”
“I see,” Klaus said. “And there?”
“You get $ 50,000 from Uncle Sam and a green card, enough to establish yourself. You’re a very smart boy with an MIT degree, so you can find plenty to do.”
“And you?”
“I don’t know, I will go where they send me next. But, one day, this war will be over, and then who knows?”
“Yes,” Klaus replied. “I hope that will be soon. I like you very much Barta.” He had a quick vision of himself and Barta in a nice neighborhood in an American city, maybe Boston or New York, or somewhere along the Pacific, in a nice house with trees and a big lawn. Maybe a couple of kids playing on the lawn.
“I like you, too, Klaus. You’re a good man and a good screw. What more could a girl ask for in these crazy times? Let’s see what happens when we get out of here. We leave tonight.”
“Tonight?” he asked, incredulous.
“Yes, it’s now or never. We meet back here at 2200 hours. If you don’t show, I go myself.”
“I see.”
“Now you have the rest of the afternoon to go see your mother, visit the sights, enjoy one of the other girls here, whatever you like. Now get dressed and get out of here.”
Stunned and not knowing what else to do, Klaus began dressing, pulling his underwear and pants on. He saw that Barta had put her robe on and had tied the sash. Soon, he was fully dressed.
“You will come tonight,” she told him as he backed until he stood against the door. It wasn’t a question. Barta approached him, opening her robe.
“Doesn’t your fiancée get a kiss before you go?” she asked, teasingly. He kissed her hard. She put his hand on her breast and held it there for a moment. “2200; don’t be late,” she said, opening the door and ushering him out.
