To Angelique, Stiles said, “Do you understand, m’petite? The captain has just sold to me certain personal possessions and has ordered that the monies be paid to Nicole, that she no more will lack of the means to care properly for her father. It will come to some sixty ounces of gold, or the equivalent in francs, pounds sterling or American dollars. Do you still think the captain to be a callous, unfeeling brute, Angelique?”
Despite Milo’s protests that he would be comfortable with just his carpet bed, Stiles opened a storage room, brought out one of several rolled-up mattresses and another blanket and a pillow, then helped to spread them in the place chosen by his friend.
“I always keep spares on hand, Milo. Sometimes my guests get so drunk they’d fall out of their jeeps on the way back to their own quarters, were I to let them leave here. And we simply can’t have our field- and general-grade officers lying drunk around the cantonment area, you know.” He chuckled.
„ Milo was almost asleep again when a slight noise from the direction of the door brought his eyes open. As he watched, Angelique eased the door shut and moved soundlessly over the carpet past the bunk to where he lay. Shedding the field shirt, she knelt, lifted his blankets and slid in beside him.
“What in … !” he began, only to have her clamp a hand over his mouth, whispering into his ear on a rush of warm, cognac-scented breath.
“Hush, mon capitaine, do not to waken Nicole. You are a good, a truly good, man, m’sieu. You are, in fact, too good to be a man—which species I know all too well. I think that the saints must have been like you in their goodness. You give everything and ask for nothing in return, and … and I cannot allow it, you must not go back across the Rhine with no reward for your generosity. Le general agrees with this.”
Even while she had been speaking, her cool hand had gone seeking along his body, had found that which it sought and had grasped it, gently but firmly. When she had said that which she felt that she must say, she slid about fully beneath the blankets so that her tongue and lips might caress that which her hand held.
Milo’s body instinctively responded. He felt as if he were being bathed in liquid fire, and after so long a period of celibacy, he discovered that his power of restraint had gone. His first ejaculation was long-drawn-out agony, and he groaned in ecstasy. But the talented fellatrice was not done; she lingered, first draining him utterly, then, with tongue and lips and kneading, maddening fingers, rearousing him once more to full tumescence. Much, much later, Angelique left him to return to the outer room and Jethro, but Milo did not hear her go or even know that she had gone.
When next he awakened, bright sunlight was creeping around the blackout curtains, the lanterns were extinguished, and the bunks were empty of occupants. When he entered the bathroom, it was to find a handwritten note tucked into a corner of the mirror above the wash-stand.
“Milo,
“All play and no work makes generals into colonels or majors. Whenever you wake up and get yourself together, our good Sergeant Webber will be waiting outside for your orders or whatever. There will be no ladies tonight; they will be on their way back to Paris by then. We will have dinner and a talk and a bottle or three. Tomorrow morning, I have to leave on a trip for division and you’ll have to go back to the front. Enjoy today, old buddy.
The dinner brought in by Sergeant Webber and two privates was a masterpiece by any standards. Milo could not imagine where or how in a war zone Jethro had managed to get such foods and have them prepared so exquisitely—green turtle soup with sherry and herbs, poached sole in aspic, squabs roasted whole and stuffed with butter-soaked breadcrumbs, tiny mushroom caps and truffles, a dish of carrots and parsnips in a sauce flavored with ginger and nutmeg, tiny new potatoes boiled then sauteed with pearl onions in herbed butter, fresh and crusty long loaves of white bread, a selection of nutmeats roasted with garlic, an assortment of cheeses and cherry pastries soaked in rum and brandy. Jethro apologized for the lack of variety in wines, having only champagne to accompany the meal and his fine cognac or Scotch whisky to accompany the coffee.
As the two old friends sat over their coffee, stuffed to repletion and beyond, Jethro said, “I had wanted a suckling pig for this occasion, Milo, but the Germans simply wanted more than I thought I should pay for one.”
“The Germans?” blurted Milo, taken aback. “Where the hell would the Germans get a pig of any description? They’re all starving hereabouts, lining up at every camp to get our mess garbage.”
“Oh, not from Germans around here, Milo. Most of this meal came from Marburg and points beyond, though the bread and the pastries were brought up from Paris by Angelique, along with the nuts and most of the cheeses. I have a contact for the purchase of various items I might want, and, Milo, you would be truly astounded at just how much can now be bought in Nazi Germany for American dollars, pounds sterling or gold—especially for gold. All of the Nazi rats know that the ship of state is sinking fast, you see, and they’re making urgent plans for their futures elsewhere, which futures will require hard monies are they to be.”
“Trading with the enemy, huh?” said Milo. “Jethro, if it ever gets out, they won’t just bust you, they’ll shoot you or hang you- Division might just slap your wrist a few times, but corps and army… .”
Stiles laughed aloud, saying, “Oh, Milo, you are a true naif. Old friend, I am not so stupid as to be in this alone. Some of the highest-ranking officers in this army are with me in these ventures … not in person, of course, but in spirit and in investment. There is over twenty-five troy pounds of gold coin concealed in this pied a terre of mine, along with some hundreds of thousands of dollars in various Allied currencies. Do you honestly think that I could receive or store that much without the willing connivance of my military superiors? Here, try the Antiquary now, it’s one of the best of the single-malts.” After a longish pause while Stiles fiddled with stuffing and lighting his pipe, he said, “Milo, what are your plans for after the war? The Army will be reduced drastically, you know. It’s that way in America after every war, and that means you won’t stay an officer. They’ll likely only keep you in—a Regular or not—if you return to the grade you held before this all started.
“Milo, I keep having presentiments and disturbing dreams. I don’t think I’m going to come through this war alive. No, now, just hold it, don’t say anything, let me finish. My father, my mother, my first wife and the child I had by her all are dead, and my only living relatives are certain distant cousins most of whom I’ve not seen in years and never cared much for, anyway. If I do die over here, there will be no one to care for Martine, for she now has no family left, either.
“Milo, old friend, I want your solemn promise that should something happen to me, you will take my place, will give Martine the care and the companionship she deserves and will try to bring our children up properly. Will you give me such a promise, buddy?”
As men and the sinews of war poured across the Rhine over the Ludendorff railway bridge and the pontoon bridge that replaced the damaged span when finally it collapsed into the swift, swirling waters, the invading U.S. Army surged forward. Marburg fell to elements of General Hodges’ First Army, then on April 1, 1945, his army and General Simpson’s Ninth Army met near Paderborn and the encirclement of General Model and his half-million-man army was complete.
No one expected the skillful, determined and well-supplied German army to surrender simply because they were surrounded, and they did not, but fought on, fought stubbornly and well, against overwhelming odds, to defend the vital Ruhr. But it was an effort foredoomed to failure, for there no longer was a Luftwaffe and the defenders suffered day and night bombing in addition to the fire of guns, howitzers, rockets and heavy mortars, and, by April 14, Model’s army had been split in half. On April 18, the valiant General Model, refusing to be responsible for the loss of the lives of more German soldiers, ordered his remaining units to surrender to the Americans, then put his pistol to his head and suicided.