Flak Bait Part 5
Jean quietly wiped the blood off his hands and knife on the hem of the old woman's dress and rolled her lifeless body into the brush alongside the trail. He smiled coldly before continuing back to the small farm where his charges were hidden. The first victim of the reward on the young American's life had been claimed. Collaborators deserved no mercy and received none from him.
He sped up his pace, anxious to return to the two boys he'd left in what he'd thought was a safe haven. Before the old woman had died, she'd indicated her husband would be returning that day. Then she'd gloated that the boys were probably already dead and had spit in his face, defiant to the last.
If they were still alive, he'd have just enough time to retrieve them and disappear back into the forest. He hoped it would take time for her body to be discovered even though he hadn't had time to hide it properly. If the boys he was responsible for were dead, he vowed to leave nothing behind but bodies!
At least Michael and Paul were well armed. He'd had to leave the two submachine guns with them when he went into the town. He could only hope they'd not hesitate to use them if necessary. Besides, he also didn't want to have to face his own guns to eke out his revenge.
Michael nervously peered at the two men through the straw that covered him, when they entered the dingy barn. He hadn't seen these two before and was on edge. The family had seemed friendly enough but who could be sure of anything? No one had ever trained him about what to do if he was ever shot down.
His fingers on the barrel of the Sten provided little comfort to him. He thought he knew how it worked but had never fired it and had never had to kill close-up before. Sure, he'd managed to actually shoot down one fighter that had attacked him but had never seen the face of the enemy pilot.
He felt Paul slowly stir next to him when the older of the two men called out. He was dismayed when Paul suddenly sat up, uncovering his location, but Paul spoke the language, he didn't. He'd just have to trust and watch. He finally started to relax slightly when Paul slowly stood and smiled sheepishly at the two, who were smiling back with a mixture of pity and greed. He didn't think much of that, though. Jean was going to pay them for their troubles, after all.
"I am sorry to trouble you." Paul cautiously stepped out of the hay and stood with pleading hands outstretched. Hiding had been useless. It was obvious that these two knew they were there when they'd entered. "Thank you for letting us hide. We will tell no one."
"You are welcome here." The older of the two men cast an appraising stare at the doe-eyed youth standing nervously before him. It was a shame, what the Germans would do to him before they killed him and the other still hidden in the straw. Yes, it would be easier on these two boys if he and his son killed them quickly before they were turned over. Besides, the reward would see his family safely through the many hard months ahead. The only objection had come from his young daughter, but he figured that was because she found the two boys beautiful. "Help your friend out and we will provide you with what food we can spare. I imagine you have a long way to go."
"Yes, sir." Paul felt relief flow over him. He'd been concerned that, when it was discovered that they were still there, the owners of the farm would be upset with them. This offer of further assistance was beyond his wildest expectations. He turned back to where Michael lay under the straw, his feeling of hope rekindled, and unconsciously switched to English, "Michel? Please. You may come out. They will give us food."
Paul saw his friend struggle to sit up and bent to reach out a helping hand. He never saw the short board the old man had produced from under his long tattered coat before it slammed into his back. The blow cracked, skipping across his shoulder blades, barely missing his head! Pain shot through his stunned body as he continued his forward motion to sprawl over Michael's body.
His arms instinctively rose to cover his head as he felt another hard blow deflect off his forearm to scrape his side. His numbed arm dropped to the side, leaving him exposed for the next blow he knew was coming. He felt himself almost wishing for a quick end to the pain that threatened to overwhelm his mind, but managed to roll onto his back. The blow again aimed at his head slammed into Mike's covered legs instead. He was dimly aware of the younger man advancing on them, an old disused scythe gripped tightly, drawing back to deliver a fatal blow!
The sharp, sudden cracks that issued from Michael's side and the eruption of hay seemed to stop time itself. Paul could only lie still as the old man's next stroke ended before it began and he collapsed, writhing in agony.
Mike felt like his heart would leap out of his chest. He'd been frozen, but just for an instant. The unexpected attack first shocked, then enraged him, his legs screaming at him from the barely shielded blow they'd received. It was like he was back in the air, tracking the fleeting targets he could only glimpse. The Sten tried to jump out of his hand as it barked his reply. He couldn't remember thinking when he swung to his next target. The younger man seemed frozen by the noise and violence that had felled his father. Mike's finger didn't hesitate as his reflexes controlled his actions.
"Paul!" His breathing came in ragged gasps as he forced his finger off the trigger of the empty gun. What he'd lacked in aim had been made up by volume. His ears still rang loudly in the still aftermath. He quickly rolled back to Paul's stunned body, relieved to find growing recognition in his eyes. "Are you OK?"
"Oui," Paul whispered. His back and arm burned terribly, under his shirt. He refused to speak while Mike stood to survey the scene. He rolled onto his side to relieve the pressure as his breathing slowly eased with the pain. Why had these men attacked them? They didn't have anything valuable to give these people. It didn't make any sense to him. They had done nothing, asked for nothing! A new worry crept into his fogged brain; they had to have been heard! Someone would come! He pushed his good arm under the straw. Where was the other weapon and the extra clips?
Jean cautiously crept closer to the ancient structure. He felt cold inside; visions of Paul's and Michel's slim, familiar bodies being torn by the bullets he'd heard filled his mind. The only obvious sign of life he'd seen as he approached was the farmer's little brat disappearing into the woods, running as fast as her legs would move her. That, and the sound of someone puking.
Jean released a slow breath and furtively peeked around the door, ready to spring back, or forward, as the case would tell. He was relieved to see `his boys' alive. Michael was on his hands and knees, facing his puddle of vomit near a body of a man. Jean couldn't tell much about the body, it no longer had a face. Only a spreading red pulpy mass remained.
His attention was instantly diverted by a low groan coming from another body of an older man lying closer to the door. He made eye contact with Paul and entered quietly, stepping around the growing pool of blood running out the sleeve of the old man's coat. "Are you all right?"
"Yes," Paul mumbled. He still didn't want to rise, any activity was torture, but knew they had to leave before anyone reported the gunfire. "They tried to kill us. Why?"
"I will tell you later." Jean pulled the boy to his feet, noticing the pained grimace he received. They would have to wait before he could check Paul for the injuries he obviously had. "We have to go, now!" He gestured dramatically at Mike, hoping his pantomime would speak for him. "Michel? Michel!"
Mike turned at the urgent voice and stared at Jean gesticulating wildly. He quickly wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. He'd seen plenty of death and gore during his short time with his squadron, but had never been face to face with the gore he was responsible for. The only thing that helped ease his mind was that he'd been defending himself and Paul from the deadly attack. It still wasn't easy, though.
"Michael! We must go!" Paul wearily watched his friend shakily stand and cross to him.
"What about him?" Mike indicated the still living body in the barn as he began to gather their meager supplies.
"Jean says we must hide in the trees." Paul took his share of the load and, grabbing Mike, they cautiously trotted away from the structure. "Jean will join us in a minute."
Mike chanced a quick glance over his shoulder and looked back at the silent, hard figure standing in the doorway. He felt himself involuntarily shudder. He had long ago shed all his illusions about this kind of war he was now involved in. He'd been shown no mercy by the enemy and knew that Jean didn't take prisoners or leave witnesses either.
Jean looked down at the man coldly after he saw the boys enter the trees. He had to finish the swine off before he could say something to the invaders, but had no wish for the others to see him do it.
"Please," the old man gasped through his bubbling lips, "my wife? My daughter?"
"They are both dead," Jean lied as he reached for his busy knife. "Your family is dead. You killed them today." __________________________________________________________________________________________
Mike quietly ran his fingers down the visible ridge of Paul's spine, carefully avoiding the purple marks across his upper back. Jean had only grunted and declared Paul fit enough to continue, as if they'd had a choice, after they rested for a moment.
He reluctantly removed his hand and rolled onto his back to stare through the trees at the receding contrails and the barely audible droning of a thousand engines miles over their heads. He sighed and closed his eyes for a moment as he felt Paul settle next to him. His thoughts drifted back to the `clean' battles he'd fought. Up in the air, you never saw the people. Locked away in his turret, he'd never even been aware of their own damage unless told about it. The faces of his long dead crewmates swam before his eyes as he smiled wanly at their bittersweet memory.
He had been the `baby' they all had looked after. Even Captain Stuart, another Texas boy, had taken their underage gunner under his wing. But now Captain Stuart was gone. He'd never see his twin infant sons. Mike figured his parents had also received the dreaded telegram all families feared. It would be just like the enemy to be so sure of catching him that they'd probably already informed the Red Cross of his death. Or maybe they'd make sure he was listed as missing forever.
Mike felt the gentle kiss to his forehead and opened his eyes to stare at Paul's beautiful features. This was his new `crew'. Paul was now the one he shared everything with as they looked after each other.
"It is hard?" Paul whispered into his friend's ear, content to ignore the dull aches that permeated his body as long as they could remain close. "I mean...to kill?"
"Yes," Mike whispered back. He kissed Paul back, surprising himself, before he continued. Somehow the kiss had seemed so natural to him, he no longer thought in the terms of right and wrong he'd grown up with. "But what else could I do? They were hurting you. I couldn't face that."
"I think I love you." Paul laid his head on Michael's chest, hearing him breathe through the jacket he wore. "If it is wrong, I am sorry."
"Wrong?" Mike quietly reviewed his thought, then ran his fingers through Paul's brown hair. "No. It's not wrong. How can it be wrong...I think...I don't know...I think I'm in love as well."
"We go," Jean announced as he dragged himself upright and waited for his charges to follow before he once again set the pace through the forest.
Mike could only stare in wonder and dread at the back of the man who led them forward. He didn't think Jean had slept in days and could only hope they'd reach wherever they were going before the man collapsed in complete exhaustion. He was also amazed that the same man who'd shown them such compassion was the same man who was coldly and mercilessly deadly. He was glad they were on the same side!
Jean quietly walked behind Michael, giving him an intense stare. Suddenly his hands rose and clapped together loudly next to the slight youth's ear. Mike jumped and spun, only to be struck hard by the back of Jean's hand, sending him sprawling. "No! No! No! Paul, tell this idiot, again! He is supposed to be the son of a bombed out family from the coast! Going to work in a factory!"
"If we are questioned by the Germans..." Jean turned and stomped back to lean against a nearby tree, "...the bombs destroyed his hearing and speech! He must act as if he cannot hear, no matter what may happen!"
He shook his head and smiled to take the sting from his blow. He was tired and frustrated. They would have to be able to move through some of the towns along their way. They couldn't stay in the forest forever. Their supplies would end long before they reached the mountains of the border. They would have to travel through populated areas, perhaps even use the transportation systems still available.
Jean glanced down to the travel orders and identification that had been forged for the three of them and the money he had for train fare to the factory site near the Swiss border. Everything was ready! Everything except this damn fool American with his absurd accent! He snorted his displeasure and sighed. Even if the fool could learn their language, he probably wouldn't be understood anyway.
"All right for now." Jean crossed to Mike and brushed the wet dirt and duff off his backside, sorry to see the boy flinch at his touch. He would have Paul translate his apology for his temper later. "Just a little longer, Paul. Then we can rest." He smiled in the dark as they set off again. If the boy acted the ass sometimes, he had to admit it was certainly an attractive one. He could only hope that one day Paul would get to enjoy it along with the rest of Michael for a long time.
Mike silently trudged behind, picking his way as carefully as he could. His cheek still stung, reminding him of that most recent failure. He devoted all his attention toward his part in their deadly play. Any mistakes like the last one would not only spell his demise but also that of his friend and the boy he'd finally admitted he loved.
"I'm sorry." He slowly drew alongside Paul so his whisper could be heard. "I'll do better."
"No, I am sorry," Paul breathed back, his voice barely audible to his own ears. "Jean is tired. More than us, I think."
The three of them continued on in silence, broken only by the sounds issuing from under their feet. After what seemed like an interminable time, Jean waved the boys to a halt and advanced alone toward a house at the edge of what was a small, comfortable looking village. Jean knew the people who lived there very well. He'd been surprised to find they were part of another local underground cell, but really shouldn't have been. The couple had lost as much as he had to the occupiers. He stopped in the shadows by the back door and quickly rapped on it to alert the occupants.
"Who is it?" The middle aged woman peered out the door, trying to make out the intruder's features. "Jean?"
"Yes." Jean felt the emotion fill his quiet voice and eyes as he looked at the face of the mother who had, along with her husband, shared their love and their only son with him.
"Oh," her voice caught as she stepped to him and embraced him in her arms. "I feared so much for you as well. When they took Peter away...to that train...." her voice trailed off, unable to continue.
"I should have been there," Jean whispered into her ear as he returned the embrace like a man drowning. "He was taken on his way to the library. I'm sorry."
"Don't be." She pulled back to look at his face in the dim moonlight. "He loved you very much. Too much for you to die with him." She glanced around again. "Come in now, before we are seen."
"I am with two others. One is an American flyer." Jean paused to let that news sink in. "We must hide for a few days. I have not slept...."
"You never have to ask that of us." She placed her fingers to his mouth, stopping further unnecessary explanations. "Quickly, bring them in."
Paul nervously eased himself into the small tub this new family had provided for their use, the warm water easing the aches in his arm and back. Michael crouched nearby, covering himself as best as possible, while he dried himself, from the eyes of the strange woman and her adult daughter. They had looked over the two boys like a farmer appraising mistreated livestock. It was obvious they did not like what they saw and had set food before them immediately.
Afterward, the three fugitives had been ordered to strip and their clothes were taken for cleaning. Paul tried to profess shyness when he heard the sharp intake of breath from the older lady and the far off look to her eyes after she'd seen and examined the old and new wounds on their bodies. He quickly shed his inhibitions and the last of his clothing, when the small tub had been produced for their use.
Jean already lay, asleep, on the old bed in the room they were in. Paul had been mystified, but said nothing, when he saw the tears that fell from Jean's eyes as he clutched the pillow under his head. It was the only time he could ever remember seeing Jean like that, but Jean had only volunteered that they were safe and to follow the directions they were given.
Paul closed his eyes when he felt Michael's hands gently massage around the sore edges of his bruises. He avoided touching them directly, as if afraid the skin would tear. The hands quietly moved from his back to his shoulders and chest. He suddenly blushed and sat up, glancing past Michael, looking for the women and finding them absent from the room. He breathed out his relief and looked back at Mike, letting his eyes trail down the American's body to focus on his hard penis bobbing in time to the heart he loved.
Paul smiled and stepped out of the tub, letting the water cascade off his body and over his own hard member that waved painfully from side to side with his motion. He'd never seemed to have much control of that thing anyway. It followed its own schedule in the recent past, even making its presence felt one Sunday in church.
Mike helped Paul dry himself, paying careful attention to the sensitive parts of his back before moving to the other sensitive parts of his friend's body. Grabbing each other, they led themselves over to the clear side of the bed and sat. Mike glanced at Jean to ensure himself that the exhausted fighter was out, dead to the world around them. Jean continued to snore quietly as the two boys embraced and stroked each other. Their timidity fell away with the stimulation they each received from the other.
Mike rubbed his free hand across Paul's chest, feeling the muscles moving over the pronounced ridges of his skeletal structure. He shuddered slightly when Paul's fingers found his nipples and he learned for the first time just how sensitive he was. Leaning forward, Mike kissed the underside of Paul's smooth chin where it joined his neck. He could feel the pulse of Paul's heart, as he trailed down the side of his neck, through his lips and through the member in his hand simultaneously.
Paul felt himself pushed back onto the bed as Mike found his chest with his tongue. He wanted to return the sensations but the pleasure coursing through him, after that day's pain, kept him rooted in place. He almost cried out when Michael finally took him into his mouth.
He frantically pulled at Mike's slim legs and managed to pull him into a position he could reach his love with his own mouth. He almost managed to smile around Mike as he worked. Neither had to worry about making too much noise or crying out now. They had discovered the most effective gags imaginable to him.
The two remained lost in their feelings as their muscles contracted and released, each involuntarily beginning to hump the other. Neither could have stopped if they'd wanted to. Paul's drawn-up testicles contracted further as his body finally released from a point buried deep within him. He had to force his jaw to relax, he was sure Michael would not wish to be bitten. Suddenly Mike also stiffened and began his own release, whimpering around Paul as he did so. The tension and stresses seemed to flow out of them with their releases as they finally began to relax, luxuriating in each other
Paul yawned sheepishly and grinned, forcing Mike to follow suit as they moved alongside each other in the dark room. Laying his head on Paul's shoulder, Mike lazily draped an arm protectively across his chest, content to remain intertwined forever.
Jean smiled as he listened to the two boys completing their explorations that night, completely unaware of his watching eyes. At first he'd been confused as to what had awakened him, but had remained still through it. He felt Peter with him that night, his joy and wonder as each new discovery and sensation filled the room the way he had in life. The last thing Jean did before sleep returned was to drape his own arm across the naked sleeping bodies next to him. He had no idea what the future would bring, but his purpose was clearer now than it had ever been. He would see these two safely to refuge together, even if it meant his own life would end.
Strangely, he felt himself grow even calmer. If the future did lead to his death? Peter would be with him, be there to welcome him with those open loving arms he missed so much.
End of Part 5
My thanks to ED for his assistance with this story. Great job, ED! Thank you for your responses to this story. They mean a lot to me. Let me know what you think of the story so far.
Thanks again. Willy B. (haztech@msn.com)