"The summer of 1940 would have been a glorious time had someone mentioned to Mister Hitler that it was cricket season."

A tale of War, of love, and of friendship. (And a few Nazis)

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Chapter Five
 
 

Harry had found it hard to interact normally with Andrew Matheson after their talk that morning. The man knew his deepest secret and most private feelings: Despite Harry’s poor ability to articulate those feelings, he had still revealed far more than he was comfortable with.

It was a Thursday morning by all accounts: Harry Dolton’s sense of time was effected by the repetitive nature of camp life and the days blurred together as they spent time detached from the world outside. He was working out in the camp garden with some of the other prisoners, tending to the vegetables that supplemented their meagre rations in the camp kitchen. The sun was weak, but pleasantly warming in the late October morning of 1940, still carrying with it memories of the summer. Harry worked quietly and efficiently, separating the weeds from the fresh growth in the damp earth. They hoped this crop would ripen in time for winter; no, they needed it to be. Despite being a recreational aid to keep the prisoners occupied, the garden acted as a much needed supply of fresh produce to their diet of army rations, maintaining their health and fitness and fighting off disease. The garden kept them alive.

Harry had slowly begun to open up more to the other men in the billet. He had discovered the grizzly and somewhat intimidating Irishman Hamley, was a friendly honest man, with an interest in American Jazz music, a wife, and two young children back in England.

For all his flash bravado, the Yank, Mike Down, was a simple Arkansas farm boy and quietly intelligent in his own way. He had a street savvy and practical adaptability that made up for what he lacked in formal education; the man was a survivor.

Matheson and Maddox were both typical Royal Navy Fliers: Public school, First XV; old boys. They were Naval officers through and through. Matheson was the most educated of the group, holding a bachelors degree in Art History. He had been planning to continue on with his education when war broke out and he joined the Royal Navy. His education was something the men seemed to enjoy mocking him about. The tall, dark haired Navy pilot was the closest friend Harry had made in the camp, and possibly one of the closest friends he had ever had. It surprised him to realise that he did indeed consider the man a friend; it was not a mantle he had needed to use often in the past. Matheson treated him like a human being. Not like the runt he knew he probably appeared to be in the eyes of most. It had taken him time, but with Matheson’s help, Harry had become more of a member of the hut than a guest, finally feeling capable of opening up to the others and joining in with their jokes and camaraderie. The men treated him as an equal, and even defended him when they could. The wire and the Jerries aside, Harry Dolton felt more at home than his own had.

“Come on Dolton,” jeered one of the other prisoners. “Hurry up, we need to get this done or we’re going to be here till the bloody war is over.”

Harry realised he’d been staring into space and shook his head clear before continuing to weed the patch of earth around him.

“What a fairy.” One of the other prisoners announced dismissively to the man that had spoken. “We should just leave her in the kitchen where women belong.” He laughed derisively.

Harry flinched at the words and the cruel laugher that followed, but said nothing. It wasn’t the first time someone had made a similar comment in his direction: He had learned the hard way that any response or reaction on his part just resulted in a confrontation that he never won. Straightening up, Harry dumped the weeds into a basket and dusted the soil off his hands. Without looking at the two men, he simply walked away in the direction of his hut.

Harry gritted his teeth as he left the vegetable garden. He didn’t need to reply, or show any sign of the words getting to him. He had been wrong when he had thought it was almost like school. It was school all over again: Bullies ruled the coop, and nothing could be done; not by him. The only possible option would be to see the Wing Commander, but that was just telling teacher… Harry had felt the ramifications of that before.

Slamming the door to the hut behind himself, Harry slumped down against the wall and wrapped his arms around his knees. Was the man right? Was that how people saw him? Nothing seemed to make sense anymore in his mind. Things flew around at breakneck speed, thoughts bouncing off one another at random: The comments made his own feelings the harder to understand…

“Ah there you are.” A voice chuckled darkly from the doorway. “Here I thought you were running off to your friends, but I see you made my job easier.”

Harry flinched at the voice and turned towards the door. “What the hell do you want?” He spat glaring up at the man from the vegetable garden.

“Now don’t talk to me like that,” growled the man. “You need to learn your bloody place you queer.”

Harry scrambled to his feet and took a step towards the larger man. “I’m not a queer,” he spat angrily. “Just because…. I’m… just stop it ok?” he trailed off at a loss for the words to defend himself, his defiance leaving him as he understood just how little any comeback meant.

The larger man laughed. Harry wasn’t even sure if he knew the man, let alone any reason that could have possibly drawn his ire. Before he could react, the man shoved Harry squarely in the chest, sending him stumbling backwards till he lost his balance and landed on the floor with a bump.

“You’re not even a queer,” the man sneered at him. “At least a queer would be man enough to fight back… A man would have thrown a punch at me… You’re not a bloody man is what I think.”

Harry crawled backwards on his hands trying to widen the gap between himself and the intruder but ran up against the solid barrier of the wall.

“I think you’re a woman,” the man laughed, making effeminate hand gestures and pouting mockingly. “You’re not fit to be a man.”

Harry blinked back the beginning of tears; he almost believed the man’s words. It was as if part of him felt he deserved whatever was to come. Why couldn’t he hit him? The most terrifying part was that he almost agreed.

“I’m going to teach you to be a proper woman you queer shit,” growled the man as he approached Harry slowly, each footstep falling like thunder on the wooden floorboards. Harry’s heart began to hammer in time with his death knell; the man’s footfalls, until he stood squarely above him.

The man began to reach down towards Harry, but froze midway as the door to the hut flew open, ricocheting off the wall.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Andrew Matheson growled from the doorway, “Unless you hadn’t realised, we’re all on the same side here.”

The man above Harry turned, grinning at Matheson, “That’s true enough, but this queer keeps eying me up; I felt it was time I taught him her place.”

“You won’t touch he..him.” Andrew said plainly, but with a finality that demanded that it not be questioned.

“Oh you want your little queer all to yourself eh?” the man growled menacingly. “Well be my guest, but you’ll have to accept seconds friend.” The man added with a chuckle.

“You won’t touch him…” Matheson replied simply, squaring up in front of the man. “I won’t tell you again.”

As if daring the Navy pilot, the man reached down and grabbed a fist full of Harry’s collar. “You’re going to make me friend?” The man enquired slowly, the challenge plain in his voice.

Before the man could close his mouth to grin at Matheson, he was slammed backwards into the cabin wall as the force of the Pilot ploughing into him. Released from the man’s grip, Harry dropped to the floor. Rolling to one side, he flattened himself against the far wall, keeping his distance from the two grappling men.

Matheson swung the man around and threw him into one of the bunks in the cabin with a tremendous crash, rocking the structure backwards with the force of the impact. Recovering his wits, the man swung a fist at Matheson: It was a violent yet uncontrolled attack, allowing the airman to sweep it away before landing his own squarely in the man’s gut. As he doubled over with a grunt, Matheson grabbed a fist full of the man’s hair before driving his knee sharply into the man’s nose with a sickening crack, the man dropped lifelessly to the cabin floor.

His chest heaving, Matheson lent forwards against his knees before turning to look towards his friend. “You ok?” he asked with concern, “I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner… I overheard what that bastard was planning with his friends. I came as soon as I could.” He apologised, his face filled with concern.

Harry nodded weakly, forcing a slight smile of appreciation. “Thank you,” he offered quietly, feeling the full weight of shame descend over him. “This wasn’t your fight you know?” he added looking up at Matheson. “It was my fault.”

Andrew Matheson straightened up and walked over to Harry before squatting down before his friend. “No It wasn’t.” he said finally. “You didn’t ask for that, and he didn’t have the right to do that, or say those things. You’re my friend, and friends look out for each other right?” he smiled, patting Harry on the shoulder.

“Isn’t this lovely,” called a voice mockingly from the open doorway. Harry’s head snapped towards the sound and his eyes fell on the his would be attacker’s friends filling their only escape route. “The queers having a quiet moment eh? I should….” The man trailed off as his eyes fell upon the sight of his friend’s prostrate form. “What the hell did you do to Webb? He growled as he rushed over to check his friend.

“He’s bloody dead.” The man cried with surprise realising that his friend was beyond help.

“His own fault,” Matheson replied straightening up. “That will teach him to try to… attack, others.”

“You bastard!” the man yelled launching himself at Andrew.

Blocking the man’s fist Matheson kicked him in the stomach before deflecting the blows dealt by the man’s accomplices. He swung around to hit one of the others when he was distracted by the sudden darkness created as a Guard filled the doorway, his submachine gun raised.

“Halt! HÓ“nde Hoch!” The guard yelled, pointing the barrel menacingly at the group of men, frozen mid brawl. “HÓ“nde Hoch!” he yelled jerking the barrel between the men.

Overflowing on adrenaline one of the men turned and launched himself foolishly at the nervous German. As if signifying the final punctuation mark on his death warrant, the gun roared in the confined space of the hut and the man crumpled to the floor, his hands grasping weakly at his bloodied chest.

“You bloody Jerry bastard!” screamed the ringleader turning on the guard, and catching him across the cheek with a lucky punch. The gun went off again, bullets pinning the third attacker to the hut wall, his blood spraying Matheson in the process. The ringleader fought the guard and the two struggled before he finally turned the gun on him, firing the rest of the magazine into his stomach. The man coughed blood before dropping to his knees and collapsing to the hut floor.

Matheson struck while the surviving attacker was turned and drove his knee into the man’s back before snapping his neck with a sickening crack and allowing him to drop to the floor to join the other corpses.

Rifling quickly through the German’s webbing Matheson removed four more magazines for the captured MP40 and reloaded the weapon before slipping the remaining magazines into his jacket.

“Well this is a turn up for the books.” Matheson muttered quietly as he glanced out of the hut doorway quickly before snapping his head back inside.

“Harry, can you grab that sidearm and give me some cover? I’ve got a bit of a plan forming here.”

Nodding quickly, Harry moved away from the wall and over to the prostrate German and unfastened the man’s holster and removed his
Luger pistol, pocketing the spare clip. “What the hell are you planning to do? Shoot your way out?” He asked cautiously, half joking, his voice still wavering slightly.

“Not quite.” Matheson replied smoothly without taking his eyes off the alleyway between the huts, “Come on now.” He hissed beckoning Harry to follow him as he darted out of the door and across the alley and inside one of the opposite huts.

“No, the plan isn’t to shoot our way out,” Matheson smiled as Harry reached the hiding place. “It’s to let Jerry do that for us.”

“Did you forget about the bloody company of Luftwaffe guards outside the wire and inside?” Harry Hissed quietly at his friend, trying to work out what madness was running through his friend’s head.

Two German guards rounded the corner with weapons raised and made their way cautiously towards the scene of the carnage. Neither paid the huts to their rear any notice as they approached the door. “Rudolf?” one called as he poked his head through the doorway, stopping dead as he was confronted by the bloodbath within. “Mein Gott….” The man muttered quietly, “Alarm Heinrich, gib Alarm!” he yelled, turning to his compatriot. Matheson swung the hut door open at that moment and sprayed the pair with his submachine gun before either could react..
“Come on, help me get their weapons.” He ordered, making his way quickly out into the alley and removing the first German’s weapon and ammunition. “The more we kill and more of us we arm, the better the chance we have. This place is so isolated we’ll be long gone before they have a chance to get any reinforcements.” Matheson explained. “If we can cause enough of a ruckus, we might make it out of here.”

“That’s all well and good,” Harry replied sharply, “But what’s your plan to tiptoe past Hitler and the rest of his pals outside the camp?”

Matheson chuckled as they ducked between the huts. “I’ll work it out when we get there… or rather, out of here.”

As the pair rounded the next hut, they barely managed to avoid a collision with Hamley, Down and Maddox moving quickly in the opposite direction.

“We heard shooting? What’s going on?” Maddox panted, his eyes widening at the sight of the pair laden with weapons. “Are you two after getting yourselves killed?”

“Fight went wrong, Jerry bought it, not my hand, but it presented an opportunity. Here,” Matheson offered, gesturing at the other weapons over his shoulder as he explained quickly to the group. “Help yourselves chaps. I think our tenancy here is up.”

The men checked over the weapons and ammunition. “What’s the plan then boss?” Down asked slapping the bolt on his weapon. “We gun our way out of here and off to Paris and cocktails?”

“Stick within the lines of the huts,” Matheson commanded, “We’re out of sight of the towers and their heavy guns. Drop as many Jerries as possible, and arm as many of our lot as possible, cause a general riot… The more confusion the better. I’ll see about sorting out those towers Myself if you can buy me time.”

“You’re a mad one,” chuckled Hamley, “but this sounds like good craic, so lets have out of this place eh?”

“Go in pairs,” Matheson added sharply, his happy go lucky side slipping under the focused military exterior. “Hamley and Maddox, Down and Dolton, I’ll go alone for now, I’ve got something I need to sort out… And for god’s sake.” He added looking over his shoulder. “Try not to get bloody killed will you?”

The men split up and made their way in opposite directions amongst the maze of huts. Harry could hear the camp sirens wailing as gunfire rattled around the camp. It was clear now that other prisoners had taken the initiative and risen up against the guards. The sharp bark of the tower machine guns was a worrying bass line that accompanied the angry sounds of armed revolt.

Rounding a corner, Harry spotted a group of German guards, armed heavily, making their way between the huts hunting the rioting prisoners. The definitions of guard and detainee were now almost totally forgotten; the former lines of battle had been redrawn within the wire perimeter of the camp.

Before the Germans could get any closer, or see the pair, a group or prisoners had jumped the Guards, beating them and mercilessly dispatching them with whatever means at hand before gathering their weapons for themselves. It was clear the camp was in full scale revolt.

“Jesus this is a bit busy,” Mike Down muttered under his breath. “That silly limey’s gonna get us all killed.”

“He saved me.” Harry said quietly, but enough for down to hear, and turn towards him. “He started this to save me.” He added looking the American airman in the eye.

Down shook his head slowly. “I hope to heck he knows what he’s doing all the same.” He added quietly, his eyes scanning the alleyway. Harry could see the worry in Down’s eyes without the need for his friend to verbalise it: They all felt it.

Harry turned suddenly, hearing the crunch of running boots behind them and raised the Luger pistol in his hands. He squeezed the trigger sharply as the shape of a German helmet rounded the corner, hitting the man squarely in the throat before he had a chance to raise his weapon. With a gargle and a look of surprise the soldier dropped, his hands gripping his throat.

“Damn Harry, that was damn good shootin’,” Down grinned with admiration. “I barely heard that fella.”

Harry didn’t answer, he was still looking between the German’s body and the smoking barrel of his pistol, shocked at what he had just done. He had trained with his issued revolver, but he had only ever shot targets. Hell, he had shot down enemy aircraft… men had died. The angry impersonal outline of an enemy aircraft however was far less personal than killing a man face to face. The act seemed far more gruesome; it was hard not to see the man lying before him was a fellow human being… rather than an enemy.
Down spotted the look on his friend’s face, “Harry for gods sake! we can’t stay here.” He persisted, recognising the state the British pilot was in. “Come on.” He yelled grabbing Harry by the arm and pulling him down another alley with him. “You can worry about that Kraut later; we still need to get the hell out of here.”

A loud explosion, shortly followed by a second reverberated around the camp, deadening all other sounds for a brief second. The sound of machinegun fire had grown quieter in their aftermath. Down whooped as they ran, “Fuckin A’ man! I think he’s actually done it!” he cheered punching the air, “Come on, let’s beat it.” He insisted, making sure the English pilot was still in tow.

They reached the edge of the huts nearest the explosions and looked out on a scene of mayhem across the camp. The dead ground between the huts and the gun towers was littered with the bodies of prisoners and guards alike, there were people running to and fro, mostly allied prisoners, and mostly armed. Both of the towers had been nearly shredded by explosions that left them twisted and burning; only the crackle of burning ammunition was left where the machine guns had formerly been housed.

Matheson ran over to the pair. “Got the bastards,” he grinned broadly, clutching his submachine gun in one hand and pumping the other wildly. “I think we might just make it.”

It wasn’t long before the remaining machine gun towers surrounding the camp fell silent, and infrequent bursts of gunfire and explosions died down as prisoners began to break through the wire and make their break for freedom into the dense forest surrounding the camp.

Harry, Mike Down, and Matheson were soon rejoined by the other men from their hut as others took advantage of the confusion and anarchy.

“What’s the plan then Andrew?” Hamley enquired calmly, as he rested his captured weapon against a hut wall and lit a borrowed German cigarette. “Don’t get me wrong, this little bout of payback was great craic, but how does ye magic plan go on from here?”

Matheson smiled calmly. “Well of course, we drive home.” He offered as if it was the most logical solution in the current situation. “We take German uniforms, identification papers, and one of the vehicles outside, and drive to Switzerland.”

“That simple?” Mike Down asked sceptically. “They aren’t going to stop us? Or wonder why we don’t speak German?”

“Probably,” Matheson shrugged, “But we can cross that bridge when we come to it, and we have to act fast.”

“So what next boss?” Maddox chipped in, racking the bolt on his weapon.

“I’m the boss now am I?” Matheson chuckled. “I don’t think I deserve that.”

“Well someone’s got to be I suppose.” Maddox shrugged. “You seem to have the answers, I’ve no issue defaulting to your command, friend.”

“Yeah well we can deal with that later.” Matheson muttered, “We’re all equals in this. If you guys want to come with me, I think I can get us out of Germany alive… we may have to do some bad things, but we will survive, and make it back to England in one piece. Anyone that wants to go it alone, or stay, now’s your chance.”

“You know my answer.” Hamley grunted, “My Missus would skin my hide if I didn’t get back to her as soon as possible.” He chuckled, stubbing out his cigarette butt.

“Just as long as you limey’s buy me a pint of that English beer you keep telling me about,” grinned Down.

The group looked at Harry, who stood still fingering the pistol in his hands. Harry looked up and smiled. “Didn’t like the food here anyway”

Matheson nodded and grinned. “Good, that’s settled,” he said quietly, but with the tone of relaxed authority in his voice that outlined the true character of the man. “We need to get to the admin building outside the wire, and take whatever uniforms and documents we can to aid our escape, if we do this half arsed like most of the chaps here, we’ll be back inside, or shot inside a week. If we take a little time to prepare, and cover our tracks, we can make this work for us.”

“So what do you need us to do?” Down asked purposefully.

Maddox kicked in the door to the Administration block and swept the room with his weapon. “Clear,” he called moving forward into the room. The group made their way into the Administration building and began to rifle through papers and documents. “Damn,” Maddox muttered as he moved past a row of desks. “They’re all dead… Some bugger’s shot them to hell, we can’t use these.” He said turning to Matheson, “The uniforms are ruined. And there’s only four men here.”

The group moved through the building to join Maddox by the group of bodies on the floor.

“Damn.” Hamley muttered, “They were executed.”

“Dead kraut is a dead kraut.” Down shrugged, “few less for us to deal with.”

Hamley turned on the American and slammed him against the wall with his hand around the American’s throat. “Now listen here you…” he spat with menace. “Yes, we might be fighting the Germans, but when people are prisoners… they are prisoners. Both sides look after them… these were not armed soldiers, or a threat, yet they were murdered in cold blood. This was not a fair fight… That’s not on where I come from. Mind your damn tongue.”

Matheson put his hand on the Irishman’s arm and shook his head. “Not here,” he said quietly. “We’re on the same side, and it won’t change anything. Hamley… he’s still on our side, and Down… watch your tongue like the man says. Try to be a little bit more respectful.” He ordered turning back to the group of corpses.

“Maddox,” he ordered “These German’s must have lived in here somewhere, find their billets. They will have had more than one uniform, unlike us.”

The Navy pilot nodded before disappearing through a side doorway.

“Sort these bodies out,” Matheson said turning to Harry, “Find any papers on them and any effects and Identification material, we need it all.”

Harry nodded his understanding and set about his gruesome task.

The bodies had been riddled with bullets by escaping prisoners. It was a scene that was terribly disgusting in a war like this. That people descended to such a level… They had all been treated fairly by the Germans. It was one thing to break out as they had, but as Hamley had said, this wasn’t fair… not one had been armed as far as he had seen.

Several of the bodies yielded identification disks and papers that Harry piled on a desk by his side. The final body was that of a young German woman, an Oberleutnant. Harry stared at the woman for a moment. Her face looked calm in death, despite the horrid wounds that blossomed from her chest. Harry carefully slipped the identity disk from her neck and read the inscription. “Maria Horler,” he said quietly to himself. Clutching the disk in his palm, he said a silent prayer for the young life cut so tragically short. Harry couldn’t help but believe that it would be one prayer too few in this terrible war.

Maddox reappeared at that moment with a grin of triumph on his face. “Boss, I found their quarters… Just as you said, spare uniforms and everything we need.”

Matheson nodded, “Did you find the papers Harry?” he continued, turning to the younger pilot. Harry nodded, still clutching the disk in his hand.

“Right then, what do we have?”

Harry sorted through the stack of identity papers before him, “One Major, a Hauptman, two Oberfeldwebel, and… and Oberleutnant.”

Matheson looked strangely at Harry for a moment, “I’m sure we had only four men a moment ago?”

Harry nodded quietly, “We have five sets of identities, five sets of uniforms, and five of us…”

Matheson knelt down in front of his friend. “You’re thinking about what I think you are, aren’t you?” he asked quietly, so as not to be overheard by the others.

Harry swallowed and nodded. “It’s the only option really, and…. Well, it would lend credence to our authenticity… if they are looking for escaped prisoners, it would be a group of all men no?”

Matheson was quiet for a moment before nodding slowly, “I suppose you have a point, but do you really want to do that? Tell me you haven’t taken those bastard’s words seriously… before…” he asked softly, trying to understand his friend’s feelings.

Harry nodded again. “Yes and no, I suppose,” he said quietly. “No, I’m not suggesting this because of… before, but it’s.” Harry grimaced, “I suppose this has been something weighing on my mind for a long time… with my problems… I’ve been confused, worried about myself, I just want to know if these stilly thoughts rattling around in my brain are real or not…You can understand that can’t you? But I’d prefer if it was just for the other reason… to the others, you know? For the sake of the mission.” he asked, his eyes pleading with his friend.

Matheson was still for a moment before nodding, and straightening up. “Not a problem,” he reassured his friend, “I won’t pretend I can understand, but I need your head in the game… if this clears things up… well why not.” Matheson shrugged. “Anyway, the ‘official’ reason is actually a damn good one. It might just keep us out of trouble.”

Matheson nodded at the doorway Maddox had indicated lead to the billets of the officers. “Go on,” he gestured. “Best get on with it.”

Harry nodded quietly before leaving his friend and making his way down the corridor towards the officer’s quarters. His heart was hammering at the thought of what he had suggested and was about to do… part of it seemed right… part, he wasn’t sure. The months after the accident, he had had nothing but time to think…. The physical ramifications coupled with feelings he never expected to be able to confront were difficult to interpret, but he was positive that he had to try.

The idea seemed so… convenient. He could only hope the others could accept the ruse. If Matheson was right, then this would help them; perhaps that was all the justification the others would need.

Finding the door to Oberleutnant Horler’s room, Harry turned the knob and slipped inside. While Spartan, the room had delicate feminine touches that marked it out as a woman’s. Sitting heavily on the bed, Harry looked around slowly, wondering where to begin. Lifting the identity disk by the chain, he looked at it for a moment before slipping the chain over his head and around his neck. “Maria Horler,” he said quietly again, as if repeating the name would change anything.

Harry wasn’t sure why this had felt like such a good idea at the time… or why the idea called to him so strongly. It was an opportunity, he realised, that he would have taken, whatever form or time it arrived in. At the present time, the truth was, Harry Dolton wasn’t sure who he was; or even if he had ever felt like a complete person in his entire life.

Harry carelessly stripped out of his camp clothes, allowing them to lie where they fell. Washing quickly in the room’s basin, he dried himself off, he began his search for clothing.

In the wardrobe, he found a full Luftwaffe officers uniform and carefully laid it on the bed before adding a blouse and shoes from the same wardrobe beside it. Aware of the timeframe they were working to, he began to search the drawers for the appropriate undergarments.

Harry was unsure where to begin: Most of the items seemed extremely alien to him. Thinking back to his childhood, he began to recognise items his mother had owned and worn. He held a pair of knickers in his hands uncertainly. He knew it was only underwear… simple fabric and stitching, but there was a distinct social line sewn into the soft satin fabric of the garment he held. With a sigh, Harry shook his head and began to dress. After all, he rationalised, it was only clothes.

The underwear seemed to fit relatively well, and once he had battled with the awkward stockings and suspender clips, After several failed attempts to fasten the brassiere, he managed to secure the garment around his chest. The brassiere’s cups, Harry had planned to pad out, to his surprise and shame, were not quite as empty as he had expected. Searching the drawers for something appropriate, Harry ended up using a spare pair of stockings to pad out his faux bust, before turning to face the clothing on the bed.

The blouse turned out to be relatively simple once he had realised the location of the buttons mirrored that of his own shirts. The crisp cotton was darted at his bust waist, and fitted better than he had expected. After slipping on the skirt, and buttoning it higher at his waist, he smoothed down the clothes and checked his reflection in the mirror.

The image that returned his gaze was a shocking one. The gangly young pilot had been replaced by a somewhat skinny girl with relatively short blonde hair, and a less than plain face. Harry stepped towards the mirror and raised a hand to his cheek involuntarily, his lips parted slightly in surprise. Somehow, the image that looked back at him through the glass felt reassuring to Harry Dolton. The young woman seemed so familiar to him, but he couldn’t place her in his memory. All that Harry knew, was that at that moment, they were the same person: She was him, and he was her: His feelings and confusions aside, he chose to bury the worries for the time being and accept things as they appeared…

Harry sat down carefully at the small desk in the room and began to sort through Maria’s makeup bag looking for items she could use. She didn’t know much of anything about makeup, but supposed she would be fine if she stuck to the basics.

Carefully, she applied mascara to her lashes while trying to keep the wand from stabbing her in the eye. Once satisfied, she took a pair of tweezers to her eyebrows, carefully tidied them just enough to give them the hint of a feminine arch. She proceeded to unscrew a tube of lipstick and attempted to paint her lips. The first few attempts were pitiful and childlike in result, forcing her to wipe off the remains and left her lips bare instead. Looking in the mirror, she fingered her short hair idly. She would have loved it to be longer, but for now, it fell haphazardly to the collar of her blouse, due to the neglect it had seen In the camp. Tutting quietly to herself, Harry picked up a pair of scissors and began neatening and shaping what she had to work with into some semblance of style she had vague images and memories of seeing before she had gotten into this mess.. After a short while, and with the help of some hair crá¨me, Harry sat back and looked at her reflection in the mirror on the wall. The young woman that looked back at her was almost pretty. Her fine features and delicate brows gave her a look of childlike innocence that was at odds with her pretty but short hair tucked nearly behind her ears, and parted over her left eye. Harry couldn’t believe it was her…

Quickly stuffing the rest of the belongings into a small suitcase she had found, Harry slipped her feet into the low heeled shoes and donned the uniform. Steeling herself, she opened the door to the room, and with a last glance, stepped out into the corridor. After a wobbly few steps, she became accustomed to the shifted centre of balance the shoes forced her into, and made it to the door to the main administration area sooner than she had hoped. As confused, and yet happy as she felt about herself, there was a niggling feeling that all would not be well when she walked through that final door… Harry placed her hand on the door and pushed softly,

To be Continued...

From the Author:
Hey guys and dolls :) Sorry this took so long, I've been out of action recently... (long story, those that want to know can PM me, or already know) So i've compensated everyone with a bumper chapter to make up for it now im coherant again.
Hope you enjoy it, and please comment :) (I really apreciate the input)
Alyssa P xx