Fortune's Soldier
by Tanya Allan
It is September 1944, Jamie Cameron is a young British army officer trapped behind enemy lines at Arnhem in the Netherlands. Forced to hide in a cupboard as the Waffen SS wipe out his unit, he then has to make some hard decisions as to how best to evade the enemy and return to Allied lines. The problem is that only female attire is in the house in which he is hiding.

However, Jamie himself unwittingly holds a secret of which even he is unaware, which may help, or hinder his plans. Jamie ventures into a harsh world controlled by the SS who are being forced to retreat as the Allies press inexorably towards the Fatherland. Initially his disguise holds, but one young disillusioned German officer begins to take a particular interest in the young French ‘girl’. Posing as a French girl, Janine Chavanay, Jamie struggles to work as an interpreter for the SS, and even has to document British soldiers from his old unit. Fearful of exposure, his already complex life is further complicated when the German Officer falls in love with Janine.

As Janine’s body changes to come into line with her adopted gender, Janine ceases to see herself as Jamie, as a male, or really as British. All the edges become blurred, as she struggles to deal with her personal difficulties and the small matter of the Second World War. Pitched to fend for herself by the Germans, she faces an even greater task, to return to the Allied lines and meet her father. Will he come to terms with the loss of a son and the gain of a daughter?

It doesn’t help that he is Major General William Cameron.

 
 
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Author's Note:
 
This novel is set in the Second World War, and deals with certain issues on a personal level. The war and historical fact is simply a backdrop, and should be seen in that light.

It was never my intention to make excuses for, or in any way condone barbaric and brutal treatment of any people group by the Nazi regime. This story is of a small group of individuals who struggle with their own personal demons, while the world still turns. War turns people into victims or survivors. This story deals with a survivor.

Historically, I have attempted to set events as accurately as possible, and mention is made of a few actual key figures for the purposes of realism.

This is a work of fiction, so please treat it as such, and any similarities to persons, alive or dead, are purely coincidental.
I am aware that certain events were unlikely due to factual, procedural or cultural standards of the era, but, hey, it’s just a story.

It is not my intention to pretend that this story is REAL, just REALISTIC.

For ease of reading, when a mix of other languages are spoken by the characters, italics will be used for short comments. Longer conversations will be in normal print The few times that German or French are actually written, there will be a translation available, or it will be so obvious as not need it.

Originally written in 2004, revised in 2008.
 
 
The Legal Stuff: Fortune's Soldier  ©2004, 2008 Tanya Allan

This work is the property of the author, and the author retains full copyright in relation to printed material, whether on paper or electronically. Any adaptation of the whole or part of the material for broadcast by radio, TV, or for stage plays or film, is the right of the author unless negotiated through legal contract. Any commercial use by anyone other than the author is strictly prohibited.
 
This work is fictitious, and any similarities to any persons, alive or dead, are purely coincidental. Mention is made of persons in public life only for the purposes of realism, and for that reason alone. Certain licence is taken in respect of medical procedures, terms and conditions, and the author does not claim to be the fount of all knowledge.
 
The author accepts the right of the individual to hold his/her (or whatever) own political, religious and social views, and there is no intention to deliberately offend anyone. If you wish to take offence, that is your problem.
 
This is only a story, and it contains adult material, which includes sex and intimate descriptive details pertaining to genitalia. If this is likely to offend, then don’t read it.
 
 
Chapter 1
 
 
Jamie was afraid, very afraid.

He was hot, tired, cramped and afraid.

It was very dark, stuffy and unpleasant where he half-lay, half sat on the floor of a Dutch cupboard, dressed in his British uniform, with seven German soldiers billeted a few feet away on the other side of the cupboard door. It was hardly an ideal situation, but then it could have been much worse.

He knew that he was lucky, in a way, as he was still alive and free, if one could call it that. Most of his company were now prisoners of war, or dead. Arnhem had been definitely one bridge too far! However, he didn’t feel particularly lucky. He felt alone and afraid.

Jamie gently eased the cramped muscles in his legs. He bit his lip to stop himself from crying out from the pain, gently massaging his calves with his fingers. Gradually, the excruciating pain eased, so he was able to relax. He had been in the cupboard for two days so far, and it was doing his head in. He could hear the guttural German voices just a few feet away. Every now and again, he could smell their food or tobacco smoke. For most of last night, the one sleeping only centimetres away on the other side of the cupboard door had snored dreadfully, so Jamie was also feeling weary through stress and lack of sleep.

His Sten-gun was on the floor of the cupboard, along with his steel helmet, Webley pistol, water bottle and small pack, so limiting the actual floor space upon which he could get even slightly comfortable. He had spread out his jump smock and battledress jacket on the floor to give him a little padding, having piled several pair of women’s shoes up one end. The temperature inside the cupboard was, by now, very uncomfortable, even though Jamie had stripped down to the waist.

It was quite a big cupboard, but not quite big enough for a man to fully lie down on the floor. He couldn’t stand, but he could sit, almost getting his legs straight. It still had the previous female owner’s clothing hanging on the rail. A small set of shelves at the far end held her underwear and accessories. He had moved the hanging clothes up to the far end, so he was almost able to sit in comfort.

It was also pitch dark.

His mind was starting to play tricks on him, as time was deceptive in this small dark place. He noticed that there were vents in the ceiling, without which he may well have asphyxiated some time ago.

He spent the time going over events in his past, just to take his mind off his present circumstances. However, the complete darkness caused him the most distress.

At first, it wasn’t too bad, as he could see the luminous hands on his Swiss watch. After several hours, even they lost their shine. As a result, he lost all track of time, unable to tell whether it was day or night. Only the movement of the Germans gave him a clue, but they were not reliable, as they were prone to turn out at a moment’s notice, so he never knew what time of day it was. His hopes that the Allies would arrive and liberate the town became less by each hour that passed, particularly when he heard more an more German tanks rumble past the house towards the sound of gunfire.

He was nineteen and a newly commissioned Second Lieutenant in the Cameron Highlanders. He had left school at eighteen, when his father, Brigadier Sir William Cameron had arranged for his son to be called up to his regiment, so it was no surprise to anyone that within a few weeks he found himself selected for the Officer Cadet Training Unit (OCTU), after facing the War Office Selection Board (WOSB), which passed him ready for training

He was five foot six, wiry, lean and slim. He had his mother’s ice blue eyes and ash-blond hair, which he knew was rather too long, but he just had not had time to get a haircut with this operation coming as spontaneously as it had.

Curling over his ears and collar with a long fringe, he had always tried to wet it before parades, tucking the surplus up into his Tam O’Shanter (Highland Soldier’s beret), to avoid the wrath of the RSM or Adjutant. The RSM was rumoured to eat young subalterns for breakfast, even if their fathers were the next best thing to God!

As he grew up, his father had been somewhat disappointed as his only son had taken after his elegant and somewhat slender wife, but the lad showed remarkable tenacity to compensate for his lack of physical bulk. He had developed fast reactions and a ready wit, well able to talk his way out of most situations before his antagonists realised what was happening.

Commissioned just after his nineteenth birthday in the preceding February, yet still not shaving more than once a week, if that, he was now a subaltern in the family regiment. There had been a Cameron in the regiment since it was originally founded. He felt it was hardly the time to tell his father that he actually would rather have joined the RAF.

A quiet lad, slightly built, but with a lively smile and who genuinely cared about people, he found he was quite popular with his Jocks (other ranks), even if his nickname was ‘the wee laddie’. At least he hoped it was ‘laddie’, and not ‘lassie’.

It wasn’t that he had a gung-ho attitude, for he was far too reserved for that. It was his good-humoured humility, absence of arrogance and genuine concern for his troops’ welfare, which won him the respect and admiration of his men. Quite simply, he was a nice young man who commanded respect through grace and not through arrogance.

Having been in the Officer Training Corps at his public school, which, in turn, had been part of the Home Guard, he was more than able to take on the role for real. He was at once relieved to be actually taking part in the war, instead of playing at it in the Home Guard, and fearful that he was about to die for his country before he’d really had a chance to live.

He had volunteered for airborne training, so on the 17^th September 1944, within a few weeks of completing his parachute training, he found himself part of the British First Airborne division, floating above the Dutch town of Arnhem, a few feet below his parachute.

The airborne drop at Arnhem (the attack was code-named Operation Market Garden) was a plan to end the war early. The idea for an airborne drop on Arnhem came from Field Marshall Bernard Montgomery.

Montgomery’s plan was relatively simple. He believed that the most obvious crisis the Allies would face attacking into Germany was crossing the Rhine. Intelligence reports had already come in stating that the nearer the Allies got to the River Rhine, the more fierce the Germans defence was becoming.

Montgomery reckoned on dropping a large airborne force into Holland which could then serve a number of purposes. It could mop up German resistance in Holland but more important, it could attack and outflank the defences put up by the Germans along the Siegfried Line and then attack German defences behind the River Rhine, thereby facilitating an Allied crossing of that river. While the American General Patton continued to advance in the south towards Germany, the airborne attack would assist in an attack in the north of Europe. Both armies would then squeeze what was left of German resistance in the middle.

'Monty' planned for an airborne assault to capture five bridges in Holland to secure the roads that the Allies needed to convey their armoured divisions and supply vehicles. Two of these bridges were over canals (the Wilhelma and Zuid Willems Vaart canals) while the other three bridges were over rivers. These rivers were the Maas where the bridge crossed at Grave; the Waal where the bridge crossed at Nijmegen and the Neder Rijn at Arnhem. Here, at Arnhem, the capture of the bridge was vital, as the Neder Rijn was over 100 metres wide at this point.

The plan had its critics, most notably in the American camp, who believed that the supplies needed for the attack would be taken away from their drive towards the Rhine. Initially, Eisenhower, supreme commander of Allied forces in the west, called the plan a "pencil-like thrust". General Bradley, commander of the US 12^th Army Group called it a venture "up a side-alley". However, an event quickly gave Montgomery's plan more momentum.

V2 rockets had fallen in London. Quite clearly, these posed a far greater problem to the British government than theV1’s, which frequently went off target or were shot down. The V2's were in a different category. The Allies knew they were being fired from the coast of northern Europe so any successful attack into Holland and beyond would greatly ease this problem until all the launch sites were destroyed. The War Office gave 'Monty' its backing. Even so, Montgomery found that he could not get the promise of supplies that he needed for Market Garden. On September 11^th, 1944, Montgomery told Eisenhower that, despite the support of the War Office, the attack would have to be postponed due to lack of vital supplies. 'Monty's' tactic worked and Eisenhower immediately flew his chief-of-staff to Montgomery's headquarters to see what supplies he needed.

The Allied Airborne Army comprised of four divisions; two British and two American. Linked to it was the Polish Independent Parachute Brigade lead by Major-General Sosabowski. The two most senior American commanders were Major-General Gavin of the 101^st Division and Major-General Maxwell Taylor of the 82^nd Division. Both men were knowledgeable in airborne warfare. The British First Airborne Division was lead by Major-General Urquhart. He was an unusual choice to lead the Airborne Division as he had never parachuted before, never participated in aglider landing and got airsick. He, himself, expressed his surprise when he was appointed commander of the division.

The First Airborne Division had not taken part in D-Day. It was kept in reserve and had remained inactive after June 1944. A number of planned operations were cancelled at the last minute because they were not needed due to the success of the British armoured columns on the ground. By September 1944, the First Division was "restless, frustrated and ready for anything". Urquhart said that it was:
 
   "battle-hungry to a degree which only those who have commanded large forces of trained soldiers can fully comprehend."
 
The First Division was given the task of capturing the bridge at Arnhem and holding it. The 101^st Division was to capture the Zuid Willems Vaart Canal at Veghel and the Wilhelmina Canal at Son. The 82^nd Division was to capture the bridges at Grave and at Nijmegen.

The attack had to be planned in just six days. Urquhart's First Division faced two major problems; the shortage of aircraft and the belief that the bridge at Arnhem was surrounded by anti-aircraft guns that would make a landing by the bridge itself too difficult.

The Americans were given the priority with regards to aircraft. The capture of the bridge at Arnhem would be pointless if the Americans failed to capture their targets. Therefore, the Americans would be carried to their targets in one lift whereas the attack on Arnhem would be done in three separate lifts during the day. Any night time landings were considered too dangerous.

This posed a major problem for Urquhart. His first force would have the element of surprise and, if the German resistance was minimal, would hold the bridge and secure any landing zones for the gliders. However, any subsequent landings would be after the Germans would have had the time to get themselves organised.

Intelligence reports also showed that the flak around the bridge itself was heavy. This was confirmed by RAF bomber crews who encountered the flak on their regular flights into Germany. Urquhart decided to make his landings to the west away from the bridge even though he knew that this was a risk. If the German resistance was stronger than anticipated, there was the chance of the first landing not even getting to Arnhem Bridge and taking out the flak. British Intelligence reports indicated that the German presence in Arnhem was minimal. It was believed that the Germans only had six infantry divisions in the area with twenty-five artillery guns and only twenty tanks. German troops, in an Intelligence report of September 11^th, were said to be "disorderly and dispirited". A similar report was made on September 17^th.

However, reports from the Dutch Resistance indicated otherwise. On September 15^th, the Dutch had informed the British that several, full strength Waffen-SS units had been seen in the Arnhem area. With typical British inefficiency, the First Airborne Division was given this information on September 20^th - three days after the attack on the bridge at Arnhem had begun. By which time Jamie had been in the cupboard for two days.

Operation Market Garden began on Sunday morning, September 17^th, 1944. Luftwaffe fighters bases had been attacked as had German barracks based near the drop zones. A thousand American and British fighter planes gave cover as the gliders and their 'tugs' crossed the North Sea and headed over mainland Europe. The greatest fear was from flak and Intelligence estimated that the loss of gliders and transport craft could be up to forty percent. As it was, very few of the 1,545 aircraft and 478 gliders were lost.

The 82^nd Division landed without major problems around Grave and Nijmegen. The 101^st Division was equally successful and by nightfall, the Americans and British armoured corps had met up in Eindhoven.

However, by the 18^th September, fog had played its part. The glider and tug flights that were due to cross on the second day could not do so. This affected the 82^nd Division in that Gavin had fewer men to attack the bridges at Waal - especially the road bridge that had held out for three days during the German attack on Holland in 1940. This bridge only fell in the evening of Wednesday 20^th after a combined American/British attack. With this bridge captured, the 30^th Corps armour could race to Arnhem to relieve Urquhart's First Airborne Division there.

At Arnhem, the British met much stiffer opposition than they had been lead to believe. The IX and X SS Panzer Divisions had re-grouped at Arnhem - as Dutch resistance had warned. Both groups comprised of 8,500 men lead by General Willi Bittich. These were not the poorly equipped German troops low in morale that British Intelligence had claimed were stationed at Arnhem. Bittich - a highly regarded General in the Waffen SS - sent the IX SS Division to the British landing zones immediately. The X Division was ordered to Nijmegen to stop the 2^nd Army group advancing on Arnhem. Bittich was confident of success:
 
   "We shall soon be able to discount the threat of the British north of the Neder Rijn. We must remember that British soldiers do not act on their own initiative when they are fighting in a town and when it consequently becomes difficult for officers to exercise control they are amazing in defence, but we need not be afraid of their capabilities in attack." Bittich.
 
The men from the IX Division quickly created a formidable defensive line to stop the British advancing to Arnhem. The British faced a number of serious problems in the landing zone. Nearly all the vehicles used by the Airborne Reconnaissance Squadron were lost when the gliders carrying them failed to land. Therefore the advance into Arnhem itself was delayed but also had to be done almost entirely on foot. The job of the Reconnaissance Squadron was to move off in jeeps etc. in advance and secure bridges and roads. This they could not do after the loss of their vehicles. The maps issued to officers also proved to be less than accurate.

The British paratroopers came under German fire. Only the 2nd Battalion lead by Lt. Col. Frost moved forward with relative ease but even they were occasionally halted by German fire. Frost's men were the most southerly of the British units and the Germans had covered their route to Arnhem less well than the other routes the British were to use. When Frost got to the bridge at Arnhem, he only had about 500 men. He secured the northern end of the bridge and the buildings around it but he remained heavily exposed to a German attack across the bridge as the British had failed to secure the southern end of the bridge. Around Arnhem, British troops, engaged in combat with the SS, took heavy casualties. By now, the Germans were being reinforced with Tiger tanks.

Despite being short of ammunition and with no food or water, Frost's men continued fighting. A German who fought in the final battle for the bridge wrote:
 
   "(The fighting was) an indescribable fanaticism...and the fight raged through ceilings and staircases. hand grenades flew in every direction. Each house had to be taken this way. Some of the British offered resistance to their last breath."
 
The 2^nd Army failed to reach Arnhem. In the final drive - just 10 miles - from where the 2^nd Army was to Arnhem, the SS fought with great skill seriously delaying the forward momentum that the 2nd Army had previously developed. Those British troops who remained in the Arnhem area were caught in land that the SS called 'The Cauldron'. A decision was made to withdraw. Those soldiers that could be evacuated were but many wounded were left behind. In all, over 1,200 British soldiers had been killed and nearly 3,000 had been taken prisoner. 3,400 German troops had been killed or wounded in the battle.

Why did the plan fail?

The speed with which Bittich organised his men and his tactical awareness were major reasons for the Germans victory. However, British Intelligence had ignored Dutch Resistance reports that the SS were in the region. When the men landed they found that their maps were inaccurate regarding the layout of the roads in the Arnhem area. Another major problem was that the radios issued to the men only had a range of 3 miles and they proved to be useless when the various segments of the British army in the area were spread over 8 miles. Such a lack of communication proved a major handicap to the commanders on the ground who rarely knew what other commanders were doing or planning. The landing was also planned to be spread over three days so the Airborne Division was never up to full strength.

Montgomery's plan was a sound one. As Winston Churchill commented: "A great prize was so nearly within our grasp."
 
 
Chapter 2
 
 
The second thing to go wrong, and far more personally for Jamie, was the wind. He had been the last out of his aircraft, so that small gust of wind that caught his canopy pushed him eastwards across the river and landed him on the wrong side. At that time, he was oblivious about the first balls-up. Indeed, he and the rest of the small airborne force were still relying on the bulk of the allied forces to come and relieve them in a day or so.

Such was the general state of confusion, it took him many minutes to realise he was completely alone and trapped by the enemy. He wasn’t aware of it, but there were twenty-six German infantry divisions and two Waffen SS Panzer divisions all around him in the darkness. Fortunately, in the initial stages of the local action, the Germans were as confused as was he, so as they went into action against the bulk of the British paratroopers on the other side of the bridge, he was able to find a bolthole in which to hide.

His original intention was to make for the bridge as planned. Assuming it was in British hands, he still felt that was his best move. However, as he crept through the streets, he realised that the sheer amount of enemy armour and soldiers was far in excess of what Allied commanders had anticipated. He never got anywhere near to the bridge, but he could hear small arms, heavy machine guns and artillery rounds, interspersed with mortars and tank shells, he knew that his comrades were fighting for their lives. In that knowledge, he felt an amazing guilt and sadness because he felt he was letting everyone down, particularly his father.

German tanks and soldiers were everywhere, so Jamie wisely hid, in the hope that things would quieten down so he could meet up with his comrades. Once the advancing allies arrived, he could evade the retreating Germans; hopefully making contact with the division once more.

Initially, there had been sporadic small arms fire coming from the bridge, which was growing in ferocity and depth. As the clanking of German tanks added to the din, he decided that perhaps the bridge was not the best place to aim for after all. He hoped the glider troops would make it in time to assist the small detachment of paratroopers who were obviously severely outnumbered. He felt another pang of guilt, as he should be there with them!

He hid in a shed, eventually dozing as a new day dawned.

He watched from the small woodshed as scores of his comrades were marched to the rear under German guard. He was shocked at their appearance. All were tired and filthy, while many seemed wounded. Feeling guilty and afraid he was tempted simply to surrender, but then he imagined his father’s reaction to his giving up without a fight, so he stayed put.

He was intelligent enough to realise that the Germans were going to have to retreat eventually, so he simply had to wait.

He was right, but it wasn’t happening very quickly, indeed, it seemed the Germans were going to be here for quite a while yet.

Much of the local populace had evacuated as the fierce fighting was causing considerable collateral damage to the town. Homes had been rapidly abandoned by some of the civilian population, with many of the inhabitants leaving the bulk of their possessions behind.

Jamie knew he was too close to the bridge, so as the Germans moved up more armour and supporting infantry, he wisely decided to move further away from the centre of activity. Keeping to building lines and rolling through gardens, he eventually found a small house a fair distance away from the bridge, where he could easily gain access to the river. He knew that if he could just get into the river, he could float down stream and then he should reach the allied forces.

Down a side street, away from the main road, the house he selected was empty, but the water was still flowing from the tap in the kitchen so he drank deeply, filling his water bottle. He had a small pack of dry rations and one bar of chocolate. He had his Webley pistol and his 9 mm Sten sub-machine gun. He knew his respite was to be short lived, so he planned to locate a bolthole, just in case. He would need water and a container for body fluids. Not that he intended to be in the bolthole for that long, but it paid to be prepared.

He found what he was looking for in a back bedroom. It was a cupboard, used as a wardrobe by the previous lady of the house.

The cupboard was set into the wall, with the same floral wallpaper covering the door. It was only the fact it had been left open that caused Jamie to realise it was there, so neat was the wallpaper. A single latch was cunningly recessed into the door, so if one didn’t know it was there, one would never find it. He removed the latch so the door was completely hidden.

He found a large glass jar with a lid, just in case he needed to pass urine whilst incarcerated. He planned to retain any solids, unless it got too much, but then another similar jar was available. He hoped to avoid using it.

Once he'd given the house a quick check, to ensure there was no evidence of his presence, he lay on a bed fully dressed and dozed off, exhaustion and fear knocking him out.

He awoke to the sound of people in the street outside, so he gathered up his kit and made for his bolthole. He was just in time, as he then heard the voices downstairs - German voices!

He opened the wardrobe and, as he had already placed his kit carefully on the floor, all he had to do is get in and pull the door closed behind him. The latch was now on the inside, so there was no way access could be gained from the room, unless by force.

He managed to get everything and himself into the cupboard seconds before the first inquisitive German entered the room.

He breathed a huge sigh of relief, hoping they would just seek loot and then move on. After an hour his heart sank, as they were making themselves at home. They had taken over the house as a temporary billet.

That had been two days ago, and now Jamie was so desperate to get out he was seriously considering surrender.

He eased his aching bones and grimaced, biting his lip again to stop himself crying out in pain. He was so pleased he had stocked up with water, but even that was running out, so he limited himself to a mouthful every hour. He had not eaten anything for fear of having to take a shit. The large glass jar lid now held about a pint of his urine.

Raucous German laughter and the sound of some music gave him a little opportunity to move. The cramps in his legs were bad, and he never recalled experiencing pain quite like it in his life.

He cast his mind back to his school-days. It was the only relief he could make for himself.
 

*          *          *
 
“Well played, Jamie. Good effort lad!” said the headmaster, as the boy ran from the rugby pitch with the rest of the first XV.

Jamie grinned, as he felt pleased with himself. Although not a large chap, his small and wiry stature enabled him to function as a very efficient scrumhalf. His speed and reactions were much quicker than most of the lumbering forwards, and his kicking was second to none.

They had just won the last match of the season, against Fettes College, their major competitor amongst all the Scottish schools. Jamie managed to score the winning try, which he converted.

His father had even managed to take time off from his busy schedule to come and watch. He had shouted himself hoarse as his son’s team succeeded in allowing Glenalmond to squeeze victory in the closing stages of the match.

Brigadier ‘Mad Bill’ William Cameron was so proud of his son. He had been somewhat disappointed when the boy had taken after his late wife. Ellen Simmonds had been a slender and delicate girl when they had met just after the First War. She was so graceful and elegant that he had been smitten totally by the delightful girl.

She in turn had been overwhelmed by the gallant and highly decorated soldier who claimed her hand with such an old-fashioned manner. Her father was delighted, as he was not keen on her other admirers, young men of dubious reputation who had avoided fighting for their country whilst others had gone off so bravely.

They had married in the small church in their village in Hereford. Never had the locals seen such a sight as a dozen Highland officers with swords raised to form an arch outside the church, with the regimental piper playing his pipes as they did so.

However, as a regular soldier, he soon found himself posted overseas and Ellen had not taken well to some of the hotter and more unpleasant climates in which they found themselves. After suffering three miscarriages, she finally returned to England without him when she found herself with child for a fourth time.

It was 1924, and Will was a newly promoted Major. Although India was considered a good posting, Ellen did not want to go through yet another pregnancy without her mother in attendance. She also hated India with a passion. She just could not cope with the arrogance and superior attitudes of the British army wives, as well as the poverty and awful conditions that most of the local people seemed to endure with amazing fortitude.

Jamie was born in February 1925, but his father was unfortunately unable to return for another year after the birth. When Will finally managed to get some home leave, he was surprised at his wife’s physical and mental deterioration.

Childbirth had virtually made her into an invalid - not so much physically, but psychologically. She was the unfortunate victim of post-natal depression before it was really a recognised disorder.

Jamie was destined to be an only child, so his grandparents looked after him more than his mother did. Her parents were quite sprightly, but had some old-fashioned ideas about children and what was acceptable and what was not. However, they lived in a large country house in Wiltshire with a huge garden and private grounds, in which he could lose himself. He became very good at amusing himself and keeping out of harms way.

His lonely childhood was cut short when his father sent him to Stancliffe Hall prep school in 1936. It was a small and pleasant school, which he adored. The headmaster, Hugh Welsh, was a progressive man, who believed that a happy child learns better than an unhappy one.

Ellen Cameron died after a bout of influenza compounded by pneumonia in 1936, when Jamie was eleven. A distant and rather unhappy woman, she had never really been close to her son. Jamie was not as deeply affected by her death as was his father, who experienced severe guilt over her demise.

It was during the funeral that Will observed how much his son resembled his late wife, both in physical appearance and in mannerism and attitude.

Not that Jamie was miserable, in fact, quite the contrary, as he was a cheerful boy with a super smile and wonderful sense of humour. Will recalled Ellen in the early years when she was a fun loving girl who was always cheerful even in the face of severe difficulties.

Jamie wasn’t the large built young man for which Will had hoped. In fact, he was rather too delicate for a boy. Many of the elderly female relatives would venture an opinion that he should have been a girl for he was such a pretty and graceful child.

In September 1938, Jamie progressed to Trinity College, Glenalmond; the very same school that both Will and his father had both attended.

An austere public school set in lovely, but rather isolated surroundings, amongst the heather-clad hills of Perthshire, its whole outlook was not the same as the bright and cheery Stancliffe Hall. It was a tough school, which firmly believed that characters were built through physical endurance and hard work.

However, at thirteen, Jamie was a gifted rugby player and a very bright student. He was well able to adapt to the new school, yet he found life very different to his prep school. He may have survived, but he did not exactly enjoy the experience.

As Jamie moved his position in the cupboard slightly, taking care not to make any noise, he recalled his public school with little enthusiasm. His education had been sound and he played rugby to the highest levels. However, he had not been particularly happy.
 

*          *          *
 
Never really sure why he had felt so out of place, he had just existed through his time there with a feeling that his life was going down the wrong road. A popular boy, but never one of the ‘in-crowd’, Jamie had few good close friends. His disquiet was complete, when within days of leaving school, he was informed of his imminent enlistment into his father’s regiment.

Despite not exactly being the most military minded, he had succeeded in obtaining his Sergeant’s stripes in the OTC cadets. His feeling of not belonging continued when he went through basic training and then during his officer training.

The war had arrived when he was only fourteen, so the school saw profound changes from 1940 onwards. The younger masters left to join the services and rationing started to bite. The food was pretty awful before, so with the rationing, it became almost inedible.

Petrol shortages cut the travelling to play matches to a minimum, and the blackout made the place particularly creepy in winter. With no ambient light from any centres of civilisation, it was a dark place anyway. With no lights at all, the accidents with cars and cycles multiplied enormously.
 

*          *          *
 
Sounds of a female laughing startled Jamie out of his daydream. He didn’t know whether it was night or day outside, and was not even sure how long he had been locked away.

The woman was Dutch, Jamie was able to understand the Germans, as he could speak German, but he had no clue about Dutch.

The sounds changed from laughter and talking to grunting and the rhythmic squeaking of bedsprings. Jamie realised that she was having sex with one of the soldiers. She made a lot of noise, gasping and shrieking with pleasure. Finally, he heard the satisfied grunts of the soldier as he concluded his business.

To Jamie’s horror, the woman then ‘entertained’ three other soldiers, one after the other.

In the end he was bored and slightly disgusted, as well as curious and perhaps a little envious.

His sexual experience was precisely nil!

He had been away at all boy boarding schools since he was eight. Even in the holidays, his life with his grandparents had been about as exciting as a Benedictine Monk.

With the exception of a few female cousins who more resembled horses than humans, he had hardly had any opportunity to mix with the opposite gender at all.

He was aware of the theories, as with all public schools, there were so many resident experts, all voicing their opinions as to methods, approaches and functions, but he felt thoroughly confused and inept at dealing with women.

However, there had been a couple of young men at the school who, rather than possessing the expected and acceptable attraction to girls, were obviously attracted to young boys. Jamie was often a target for both the boys and the occasional master with similar afflictions. He had been warned, in a brief and rather perplexing talk, by his father, so was able to firmly put these ‘queers’ in their place.

Jamie was satisfied that he was not one of them, although he found it intriguing that they existed, so he was uncertain as to where in the scheme of things he fitted. He did not feel he belonged anywhere in particular.

He was rather embarrassed, as although he appeared to be equipped as his contemporaries, albeit somewhat smaller, he was at a loss to comprehend why he did not seem to have the same physical responses as they seemed to. As they discussed such technical activities as ‘erections’ and ‘masturbating’, Jamie would invent similar experiences, whilst in reality he didn’t have the faintest idea as to what they referred.

He knew the theory, but his experience was that his equipment just didn’t work. However, he didn’t know how to inform anyone, and didn’t wish to speak to any doctor about it in case his father would be ashamed of him.

After he left school, he had spent some time with his grandparents before going to the regiment. Those times he mixed with girls, he found himself out of his depth and unable to make much headway with them. Besides, with the scores of American servicemen, with their money and fancy ways, few girls had time for a tongue-tied self-conscious young man, who was not even in uniform yet.

As a young teenager, he actually related to girls quite well, but as soon as sexual interests came into the arena, he seemed to just fade to the sidelines. It was as if the girls did not see him as a contender.

The woman finished servicing the Germans, he heard one soldier paying her, for he counted out some money as if for a child. He heard his slightly inebriated voice counting slowly and loudly. The woman was Dutch and did not speak German, so he treated her like a deaf imbecile.

Silence reigned for a short while, so Jamie fell asleep once more.
 

*          *          *
 
Jamie awoke with a start.

There was a lot of shouting and noise in the house, so he was terrified that he was about to be discovered. He grabbed his Sten-gun, holding it ready.

There was much movement and cursing in German. He was grateful he had chosen German as a subject for School Certificate. Although not quite fluent, he had a natural flair for languages and could understand perfectly what the Germans were saying, and he knew he could more than make himself understood if needs be.

They were moving out. An NCO was trying to gather up his platoon, which was billeted up and down the street. The man had found another section with a woman, probably the same one, Jamie thought ruefully, so was raising merry hell. The woman was screaming and he was threatening her with the military police.

Jamie had absolutely no idea what he was going to do. Even if he managed to get out of the cupboard, he had no idea where the enemy was, he had no idea where the allies were, and neither could he speak Dutch.

He didn’t know if he was in a curfew zone, or whether special papers were required. He didn’t want to be a POW, but then he definitely didn’t want to be shot.

He could speak good German, but as a foreigner, and French almost fluently. His best bet, therefore, would be to disguise himself as French worker, to try to bluff his way back towards the allied lines. His French was much better than his German, courtesy of his French Grandmother, so he started to formulate some plans. He needed to focus his mind on something, as he was in danger of going mad in the cupboard.

He remembered his training. They had told him that the Germans had recruited foreign workers to go all over the occupied zone. Men and women with skills were forcibly conscripted and transported to where they could be of some use to the German war-machine. Many Dutch and Norwegian soldiers ended up in the Germanic Legions fighting the Russians on the Eastern front. In the pre-operation briefing, he had been instructed that if he should become separated from his unit, then he had to evade the Germans and their allies to attempt to make contact with the resistance.

Sitting in a large hanger with many other men to receive the briefing, all eagerly anticipating action, hadn’t been a moment of deep concentration, besides, he did not know whom to trust. With the front line in a state of constant flux, he just hoped to find somewhere to wait and let the Allies come to him.

He knew his French was excellent, as he was able to speak it with a southern accent. For not only did his grandmother help him by speaking it much of the time, but her sister, his great-aunt, lived near Menton in the fashionable south of France. He spent many summers at the villa and so he had managed to improve his language skills whilst spending time there. It was the only time he came into contact with a girl with whom he had progressed beyond simply speaking. Janine was a pretty, dark haired beauty. She was the daughter of his great aunt’s housekeeper and was about a year older than he was.

He had met her whilst wandering the orchard to the south of the villa. He had been fourteen, it was August 1939, and, as always, he was in a bit of a daydream.

She had been up a tree, helping herself to some apples. He had walked past unaware of her presence. She had thrown an apple at him, so he had turned round, startled.

“Bonjour,” she had said.

He looked around but still failed to see her.

“Hoy. English. Opp ’ere,” she had said in broken English.

He saw her then and smiled.

“I’m not English,” he had said.

She jumped down, showing an indecent amount of leg and knickers in the process.

“Oui, you are. I ’ave, er, seen you. Votre grande-tante, she live in the big ’ouse, an’ you lives, avec, wiz her.”

He had smiled at her broken English and switched to French.

“I am staying with my great-aunt, but I am Scottish, not English,” he said.

She smiled, obviously relieved to speak her own language.

“It is the same thing, isn’t it?”

“No more than calling you Belgian or Algerian. Just because we speak the same language does not make us all the same country.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know. So the Welsh and the Irish are different too?”

“Absolutely.”

That had been the start, but unfortunately, the war had prevented the pair from getting to know each other any better. Had the war not come when it did, he might have gone beyond that one sneaky kiss they had shared when they had said goodbye.

However, an excellent teacher in his prep school also improved his French, as well as by the help of a close friend of his grandparents. Yvette was a charming Frenchwoman, who had married an English Officer after the First War. They had settled in rural Wiltshire, and had three children.

She had been a close friend of Jamie’s mother, so was invaluable in helping to bring up the boy. Her own children were considerably older, yet she adored the small English boy with the sad smile.

Jamie smiled as he recalled the many happy times he had spent with Yvette, who always insisted that only French be used in her house.
 

*          *          *
 
The Germans eventually went quiet, so he hoped and prayed that they had gone. He eased his legs, searching for the latch in the dark. He put his ear to the wood and strained to hear anything to give him a clue of whether someone was on the other side.

Hearing nothing, he gently eased the door open, just a crack. Dim light came in and even so, it made him screw his eyes shut.

The door opened a few inches and then stuck. He pushed a little harder and it gradually opened enough for him to get his head round.

The Germans had erected an additional bed in the room, which was now tight up against the door. With some difficulty, much sweating and some pain, he managed to extricate himself and his kit. With his Sten at the ready, he slowly checked the house. It was empty, but the enemy had left behind a real mess, having stolen nearly anything that hadn’t been nailed down.

He was very stiff, but it was such a relief to be out of his self-made dungeon.

He stretched his arms and legs, enjoying sensations, of which he had for so long been deprived.

It was night, so Jamie checked his watch. He saw that it was half past two in the morning. The Germans had left in a hurry, for he found half a loaf and some wine. He drank the lot and then wolfed the bread down. He felt so much better now he was able to move freely.

He went back upstairs and emptied his jar into the lavatory. A familiar rumble caused him some alarm. He looked out of the window and saw two Tiger Tanks roll along a main road, some distance from the house. He could see the German helmets in the nearby streets, so was astute enough to recognise an army digging in for a major assault.

He went back into his bedroom, where he decided to get rid of his uniform. Giving up any ambition to rejoin his unit, he now decided to put his plan into action.

Standing in his underwear, he thoroughly searched the house for male clothing, but found none. There was however, locked away in an attic chest, sufficient female attire to clothe several women for several months, yet nothing for a man. There was even plenty of makeup and a blonde wig.

He could find no identity cards for anyone, male or female, so he was seriously worried. Once again, he considered just giving himself up. At least the war couldn’t go on that much longer. They kept saying it should be over by Christmas. Mind you, they had been saying that since 1939.

Left with no other choices, Jamie made a decision. He pinned up the blackout curtain and lit a couple of candles he found under the sink in the kitchen. He stripped off all his clothes and dressed in a one-piece corset and bra, which had stocking supports attached to the bottom end. He rolled up some socks and placed them into the bra cups. He wedged his small member between his legs and put on a really tight pair of knickers to keep it hidden.

There were a few stockings left in a drawer, and he rolled a pair onto his legs. Then he noticed the amount of fine fair hair he had on his legs. The Germans may like hairy women, but he wouldn’t convince anyone he was a girl like this!

He then took them off again and shaved his legs, using his safety razor and cold water. This time, the stockings went on smoothly, looking much more convincing.

He had not yet really started beard growth, but he shaved in some cold water none-the-less. Using the makeup, he put some eyeliner round his eyes and a little powder on his nose and face. The lipstick was very red, yet he applied it with a steady hand and looked at the result in the dim light. He smiled as he was thankful now that they had chosen him to play a girl in plays more than once, due to his slight frame and ‘pretty’ looks.

He had been teased about his ‘girly-looks’, which hadn’t been helped by the most wonderful eyelashes. He had been so teased, that one day he took a pair of scissors and cut the offending lashes. Much to his disgust, his lashes had grown back quite rapidly, appearing longer and even more luxurious.

There was a little tub of blue, so he dabbed a little above each eye.

He tried to brush his own hair into some semblance of a feminine style. No matter what he did, it looked stupid, as he knew it was far too short. It may have been on the long side for a soldier, but it was still too short and masculine to be passable.

The wig was a good one, but quite tangled. He teased it with a brush, until it looked more presentable, and then put it on. The hair came down to his shoulders and was a surprisingly good match for his own colour. Using a couple of hair clips, he attached it to his own hair, hoping that the wind would not increase and unmask him at the wrong moment.

He noticed some nail varnish, so he shaped his nails with a file and painted them. He put a full-length slip/petticoat on, slipping on a floral dress he found in the wardrobe. He discovered a fawn jacket that went reasonably over it. Shoes proved to be a problem. There were no shoes without heels of some sort. Three pairs fitted him, yet all were high-heeled. He put the most comfortable pair on.

There was a small battered suitcase under the bed, so he filled it with spare underwear, stockings, shoes, dresses, skirts and blouses, two cardigans and a nightdress. He placed all the makeup into a handbag, together with some Dutch Guilders that he had been issued with prior to taking off in England, and a hairbrush. He found a towel in the airing cupboard and put that into his case.

He went and admired himself in the mirror. The disconcerting figure stared back at him.

He stood for many moments lost in wonder at the transformation that he had undergone. He knew that he felt strange and that it itself upset him. For the strangeness was not because he felt odd, rather that he felt almost at home in these unfamiliar clothes.

The girl was pretty and utterly convincing. At least she was to him, and at this moment, he needed her to be.

He felt nervous and afraid. Somehow, he liked what he saw and, not for the first time, this caused him extra confusion and consternation.

The first time had been the when he had to don girl’s clothes for a play at Glenalmond. He had been fourteen and a treble in the choir. His feminine appearance had meant that they often selected him to play girl’s parts. However, at the public school, when sexual awakenings were going on all around him. It seemed more complex and rather difficult. He had to play opposite a large eighteen year old in a musical comedy.

He had found wearing girl’s clothes alarmingly pleasant. Not in any sexual sense, but it was almost as if it were more natural for him to be a girl, rather than just look like one. Once he got over the embarrassment, he found he took to the role naturally, and even found that the feminine gestures and mannerisms were second nature. The reviews were all very complementary, but many boys teased him about it for some months. If he hadn’t been such a good rugby player, he would have found it all very difficult.

For some strange reason, if one was a good rugby player, then one could be forgiven all manner of ills, even portraying a female role in a play.

He hadn’t had time to dwell on the feeling, but they asked him to repeat the experience in two more plays before the end of his time there. The last time had only been a couple of years ago, and he had experienced a degree of sexual thrill from being a girl.

It wasn’t the clothes that gave him the thrill, it never was. It was simply that he liked being a girl. It felt so right! He could never talk about this to anyone, but he was so consumed with guilt and shame he hardly dared even think through what he actually did feel.

The guilt he carried after that was still burdening his soul, so he dared not even think about it for the feelings the memories evoked.

The ‘girl’ wrapped a headscarf around her head, in gypsy fashion, with the tie behind the head, rather than below the chin. This was partly to keep her hair in place and partly to give the impression of being a refugee rather than a prostitute.

He wrapped his uniform in a blanket and buried it under the shrubbery the small garden. He was tempted to keep his Sten gun and Webley, but knew if caught he would be shot immediately. He took his dog-tags from around his neck and looked at them in his hand.

To keep them and to be found with them, meant POW camp at best, or being shot as a spy at worst. Not to have them meant that he might have difficulties identifying himself later to the allies. He made his decision, and hurled them as far away as he could.

He didn’t even look to see where they landed.
 

*          *          *
 
It was just after dawn when the new Jamie ventured forth, creeping down the street towards the outskirts of the town. He just had to get out of the town and then try to head south and west.

He kept to the edges of the street, along the building line and was careful about crossing the road. He felt a strange thrill from the clothes. The unfamiliar stockings were amazingly pleasant, and even the restrictions on his private parts seemed to make him appear more ‘normal’. He found he seemed to naturally adopt feminine mannerisms and gestures. He smiled, as he found it easier if he imagined that he was his mother.

He had adored her, despite the fact that she had always been distant and somewhat strange. An angelic creature in some ways, yet even now he was unable to think of her without feeling melancholy.

There were a few Dutch civilians, scuttling hither and thither, all looking fearful and furtive. Few gave him a second glance and those who did, for any length of time, tended to be male, and they smiled slightly but moved on, dropping their gaze and without saying anything. However, there were a great many soldiers about, all German, and all eyed the girl with open and frankly admiring glances.

Several wolf whistles were directed his way and he caught more than one complimentary remark as well as some openly obscene suggestions.

Certainly, his confidence received a boost, as no one seemed to think he was anything other than that which he purported to be. His face was reddening as some of the suggestions left little to the imagination.

After walking for half an hour, he had managed to get free of the town, and for about a mile further on before a shout alerted him to the fact his presence was just called into question.

“Há¤lt, der ist Sie?”
 
 
Chapter 3
 
 
“Há¤lt, der ist Sie?” the voice repeated.

Jamie stopped dead and put the case down. His heart was racing, as he feared the soldier would discover his masquerade any moment. He waited for the man to come to him, making no sudden moves. He half expected the man to laugh at his pathetic attempt to disguise himself, rip off the wig and then shoot him for being a spy.

As the soldier approached, Jamie could smell the sweaty, unwashed body and stale cigarette smoke on his breath. The man repeated his question.

“Who are you?”

Jamie turned and looked him straight in the eye. The German wasn’t that much older than he was, but by his demeanour and general bearing, he had seen a lot of action. He was a big young man and used to authority. The metal half-moon brassard plate suspended round his neck identified him as a military policeman, which explained his general confident attitude.

There was a German military police check-point cleverly camouflaged at the side of the road, with a chicane of sand bags and barbed wire that would slow vehicular traffic down.

Corporal Heinz Rausmann had seen many civilians fleeing the fighting, so could see little difference with this girl. She was pretty and dressed quite smartly. Not your usual refugee, because she was clean and didn’t run away from him and quiver with fear.

He held his machine pistol casually in his hands, not pointing it at her at any time.

“My name is Janine Chavanay. I am a French worker, caught by the fighting. I was hoping to escape now it was quiet,” Jamie said, in basic and slightly accented German. He had tried to make his voice as feminine as he could. The first girl’s name that came to his mind was that of his friend from all those years ago. The surname was his grandmother’s maiden name.

The military policeman frowned.

“You aren’t Dutch?” he said.

“No. As I told you, I am French. I was working as an interpreter for a medical unit, but it was transferred from France to Belgium, and then again a couple of weeks ago to near this town, before being disbanded and regrouped. No one asked me whether I spoke Dutch when we got the orders to move. We didn’t even know where they were moving to,” Jamie said.

“Papers?”

“I have none. When the fighting started in France, my papers were held by the unit when it was pulled back. That way, I couldn’t leave the medical unit. I was not able to find where the papers were taken after the reorganisation. Then the British attacked, so I grabbed my suitcase and hid in a cellar for ages.”

The soldier looked at the girl closely. A pretty girl, who was not the usual sort he had to deal with. She looked tired and pale, yet her answers had displayed that she was unafraid, spirited and educated. No moronic scared local, a genuine victim and he felt sorry for her. He made a decision.

“Where is your uniform?”

“I never had one. I’m an interpreter, not a nursing auxiliary. My job was to help with the German and French, not the messy bits,” the girl looked embarrassed. “I’m not very good with blood and gore.”

To Jamie’s relief, the man gave a short laugh.

“Not many of us are, sweetheart. Come with me to the Police post. We’ll try to get you some emergency papers. Where do you hope to go?”

“Honestly?”

“Ja.”

“Home, to France. But the Allies are there now and I have heard that the Free French shave the heads of female collaborators, parade them through the town before raping and shooting them.”

Heinz nodded his head. He had seen many things in this war, so nothing surprised him any more. Tired of fighting, all he wanted to do was get back to his family in Bavaria, so he felt even sorrier for the girl.

He made her accompany him to the police unit, situated in the outskirts of the next town. He watched her carefully for signs of fear or nerves. She displayed neither, but simply shrugged and picked up her case.

At the police unit HQ, which was in fact the local police station, he sat her down on a bench in a secure holding area and gave her a watery cup of ersatz coffee made of acorns.

“Wait here. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Danke.”

He went and spoke with his Sergeant Major. He told Sgt. Major Webber about the girl. The man looked at the girl sitting sipping her coffee. She did not appear to be the usual scrubber who seemed to follow the army around. A pretty thing, a little taller than average, but very elegant, well dressed and looking rather tired.

He smiled, weren’t they all?

“Heinz, you can’t just go picking up any pretty girl just because she reminds you of your sister.”

“Sorry boss, but she just looked so fucking lost. Besides, the damn French would shave off all her hair and probably shoot her after raping her to buggery!”

“What the fuck do we do with her? This is a fucking combat zone. She shouldn’t even be here. So, I suppose you were right to bring her in. How do we know she isn’t a fucking spy?”

“Come on boss, she’s just a frightened girl.”

“Did you search her case?”

“No.”

“Then do it. If she is clean, then we might do something for her. If not, then we turn her over to the SS.”

“Shit, for real?”

“Heinz, you aren’t a stupid bloke, so stop acting like one. Go do your job.”

“Yes sir.”

Heinz walked over to the girl.

Jamie looked up as he approached.

He smiled sympathetically.

“Sorry, but my boss says I have to check your case.”

“Why, in case I have a transmitter or something?”

“Something like that,” he said apologetically.

She pushed the case towards him.

“Go on, I have only my clothes. I left my secret transmitter and decoding device in my old knickers.”

Heinz laughed, but still searched her case. Without a word, she passed him her bag, so he searched that too.

The relief on the soldier’s face was apparent.

“You’re clean,” he said, and she rewarded him with a smile that warmed his heart. She really was a very pretty girl.

“Actually, I’d kill for a hot bath,” she said and he laughed.

“You and me both, sweetheart, let me tell my boss. I won’t be long.”

The Sergeant Major was now talking with one of the SS officers. The Waffen SS were at this moment mopping up the last of the British airborne division in and beyond Arnhem, which was withdrawing, leaving behind so many wounded men. This man was not Waffen SS, but the officer in charge of the SS Police Unit. The Dutch resistance were a continual thorn in the side of the Germans, so his job was to try to combat their activities.

Heinz stood patiently to one side until he was finished. Webber saw him and nodded.

“Yes, Corporal?”

“Sir, the girl is clean.”

“So, give her a pass and get her the fuck out of here.”

“What girl?” asked the officer, an Obersturmbannfuehrer.¹

“Just a French girl. She had been with one of our medical units pulled in from France or Belgium, and now it has been disbanded, she was left to her own devices, sir.”

“How do you know she is not a terrorist?”

“Sir, she seems okay to me.”

“Have you searched her?”

“I’ve searched her case. Just clothes; no food, nothing!”

“I asked if you had searched her?”

“No sir.”

“I suggest you do so. We don’t want her whipping a grenade out of her knickers and killing us all, now do we?”

“No sir.”

Arsehole! Thought Heinz.

He went back to the girl and found her standing up, with her arms out to her side. She had heard the conversation, so was ready to cooperate. The last thing she wanted was a strip search by large German women.

“Just don’t tickle, please,” she said with a little smile.

Heinz smiled and pretended to search her thoroughly.

“Thanks. Sorry about this, but the man is a complete bastard!”

She smiled at him, and he felt she was the most gracious girl he’d ever met.

He went and reported to the SS officer.

“Nothing sir. No grenade in the knickers, Sir.”

The officer looked at him to see if he was being facetious. Heinz kept a straight face, staring at a spot above the man’s head.

“What use is some bloody nurse? Just get her away from the combat zone.”

“Sir, with respect, she isn’t a nurse. She was employed as an interpreter. She speaks German almost perfectly, and French of course.”

“A French interpreter? What good is she here in Holland, when we are fighting the English and Americans? Now, if she spoke English, then we could use her. Half the bloody English paratroopers are in hospital, so we could do with someone to assist our intelligence officers.”

“I could ask if she speaks English as well, if you want, sir?”

The officer made no comment, but Sergeant Major Webber simply nodded, so Heinz returned to where the girl was waiting. Her head had flopped back against the wall and she looked asleep.

He gently touched her arm and she jumped, looking very scared for a second.

“I’m sorry, I forgot where I was for a moment,” she said.

“That’s okay. This fucking war takes it out of all of us. Tell me, do you speak English as well as German?”

Jamie’s heart quickened. What should he say? Should he deny it and then be found out later?

“Yes,” Jamie said, deciding honesty was the most effective policy.

“How well?”

“Almost fluent,” he said.

“Right. I think we might have a job for you.” He said, turning away with Jamie staring after him.

“Sir?” Heinz said to the officer.

“Yes?”

“The girl speaks good English, sir.”

“Excellent! You said we were using her before. Which unit?”

“I don’t think even she knows that, sir. She said she was with one medical unit in France and then another in Belgium. What with all the retreating, she was just swept along with the flow.”

“This is a mess. Still the British got a bloody nose this time. But they’ll be back and the damned Americans are sure to add their weight, no matter how wasteful they are.”

Heinz didn’t risk a comment. The SS could be nasty bastards and he hadn’t survived this long by speaking out of turn.

“Well, I’m busy just now. Sergeant Major, interview the girl and ascertain which medical unit she was with. I want to establish she is not one of these damned terrorists.”

“Yes sir. Corporal, take her to room four.”

“Sir.”

Heinz felt even more sympathy for the girl now, but he did as ordered and took the girl to a small interview room. She sat on one of only two chairs. There was a small table between them. He allowed her to keep the case of clothes. He had checked them, after all.

Jamie sat and fretted, as an austere female in dark uniform entered the room and stood by the door. A few moments later Webber entered and sat on the other chair.

He looked at the girl, who looked tired and drawn. She didn’t look like a desperate resistance fighter.

He went through her story, and she repeated the answers she had already given. Jamie had no way of knowing that this area had been a transit area for a great many units in the past month. Six medical units had been and gone, so even Webber was unsure exactly from whence they had come and where they now were.

In the end, he was satisfied that she was just a young girl out of place and lost in the maelstrom of human flotsam that war creates. He went and reported to the SS Obersturmbannfuehrer.

“Sir, I am satisfied the girl is as she claims.”

“Excellent! Take her to the SS billet at the hotel just down the road. Get her a room, and then bring her to me at nine o’clock. I’ll be in my office.”

“Yes sir!”

Webber found Heinz grabbing a crafty cigarette out the back.

“Heinz, our lord and master wants to use her as an interpreter. Get her over to the hotel. He wants her in his office by nine, so get a move on.”

Heinz returned a few moments later to where the girl was. She was lying across the table now, her head on her bag and was sound asleep. He looked at her exquisitely shaped legs.

These were what girl’s legs should look like. He thought. Not those tree trunks the Party kept selling as the epitome of Aryan womanhood.

He gently nudged her awake, and once again he saw the fear and uncertainty in her eyes as she awoke. Once she saw where she was, she relaxed and smiled.

Heinz smiled.

“The Obersturmbannfuehrer has told us to get you a room in the hotel. All the SS personnel are billeted there, so it looks like he has plans for you.”

“Plans?” she asked, once more the fear sprang into her eyes, as well as being apparent in her voice.

“You’re an interpreter, so he happens to need one with all the British POWs. You may find yourself helping the Police Unit.”

“But he is SS,” she said, confused.

“The SS run the police. Apart from the two SS panzer Divisions under General Bittich, the SS are everywhere in this region. You have the civil police, some military police, Gestapo and SS all operating under the local SS Police commander. It seems that you will be working for us.”

Jamie was silent. This was getting more and more dangerous. It was also surreal, and he just managed to see the ridiculous side as well. He managed to smile. How stupid all this was!

Heinz took the girl in the Kubelwagen to the hotel and he explained her circumstances to the SS Scharfuehrer² on the desk. It had been a good quality hotel before hostilities, and as ever, the SS always managed to requisition the finer facilities for their own use.

The Scharfuehrer looked at the tall slender girl, and as with the Corporal, he liked what he saw. She smiled uncertainly at him and he could see the disquiet in those blue eyes.

“It’s all right, my love, we don’t bite. Unless you happen to be an enemy of the Reich,” he said and laughed to signify he was joking.

Jamie managed to smile, and it transformed his face.

“I’ll put you in room 108. It has its own bathroom, so you can have a bath if you want. There should be some hot water, but it will be all gone by nine,” he said and handed her a key.

“She has to be in Obersturmbannfuehrer Willi Kranz’s office by nine.” Heinz told the Scharfuehrer.

The Scharfuehrer looked at his watch. It was an American watch, he had ‘liberated’ it from a dead American pilot a year ago.

“You have one hour, so make the most of it,” he said to the girl.

“Thanks,” she replied, smiling at each of the men.

Heinz watched her go up the stairs and the Scharfuehrer turned to him.

“Where did you find her?”

“Scurrying out of Anhem at dawn. Poor cow, she was bleeding terrified. She’d been hiding in a cellar as she was near the bridge when the Tommies landed.”

“This war is a fucking nightmare. I just hope to hell we have homes to go back to.”

“Yeah, me too,” said Heinz.”

“Are you coming to collect her at nine?”

“I hadn’t thought. Can you send someone with her? I’m supposed to be on a check point, my blokes will get the hump if I’m not there.”

“Yeah, I’ll fine someone.”

Heinz nodded and left the hotel. The girl’s smile kept haunting him for much of the day.

Jamie found the room and looked at the bed longingly. The cupboard had not been the best place for sleeping, but now he knew he’d sleep for over twelve hours if given a chance.

He caught his reflection in the mirror and caught his breath.

No longer in candle light, he could see that he was more than convincing. His problem, if anything, was that he had made the girl too attractive. He locked the door and ran a shallow bath. There was a small bar of soap in his case and he had a good wash.

He washed and shaved all parts he could reach and enjoyed lying in the warm water.

He looked down at his body and frowned.

He knew he was male, but his shape was certainly not the typical male shape, nor was it the body he had at one time aspired. His waist was too slender, yet his hips were a little too broad. His slender arms and narrow shoulders were more female than male, despite the lithe muscles, he did not look desperately masculine.

He had always been a little embarrassed by his appearance and in particular his small genitalia. As he looked at them, he was aware that even here he was not the well-endowed male that everyone else at school and in the army seemed to have been.

They told him that he would change with puberty. He never had, not properly at any rate. Even his voice retained the boyish quality and never really broke to his satisfaction.

In actual fact, Jamie Cameron was one in five thousand children who had been born inter-sexed. Most were surgically corrected within a short space of time after birth. However, such was his mother’s phobia of surgeons and hospitals that Jamie was whisked home at the first opportunity. He was simply christened with the male name as his apparent male genitalia were more prominent and obvious than the female.

However, that had been a mistake, for the male genitalia were simply slightly distended female items, and the little girl was destined to be brought up as a boy. There were other factors which complicated the child’s development, mainly relating to the fact that some of the internal problem prevented appropriate development of the female organs, which failed to manufacture the correct hormone balance.

His father was never told the truth, as Jamie’s grandparents kept his mother’s secret for all these years. As time progressed, the ‘boy’ seemed content enough, so his female side seemed to be hidden, both the physical and the psychological.

The fact he seemed to thrive and succeed so well at school, signified to his grandparents that they had made the right choice. However, they were not to know the inner turmoil the boy suffered, and the anguish of not actually feeling he belonged.

Jamie had never questioned his condition, as he was as unaware of it as the rest of the world. As a pubescent youth, he had wondered why his things weren’t changing as others were, as he had found a strange hollow between his legs that he did not fully understand.

The fact his testes were very small and his penis insignificant, he did not question, he merely became self-conscious and shy about being naked with others around. He also was not particularly upset that he did not seem to experience erections as did other boys.

As he probed with his fingers, as never before, this time feeling that he was on the verge of understanding, yet unsure of what.

He had, as everyone else had, completely taken his body for granted. Sex had never been an issue, and only now did he start to seriously question his masculinity.

Why did he feel so at home dressed as a girl?

Why did his body more resemble a female’s than a male?

Why did he have a depression beneath his scrotum, and what was the flap of skin towards the anus?

However his chest was as flat as ever.

Or, was it?

He noted his nipples were sensitive, and the flesh behind them was slightly puffy, swollen and tender.

Why?

He had neither the time nor the opportunity to find answers to these questions at this moment. He got out and dried himself, unaware that the deep shock he had recently undergone had triggered the release of oestrogen in his - or more correctly - her underdeveloped ovaries.

She dressed in the same clothes as before, experiencing the same warm feeling of belonging as she finished off by applying a little makeup. She decided to do something with the wig. Left at shoulder length, it was more prone to be held, caught and pulled off, whether by accident or design.

She spent several valuable minutes braiding it to each side and clipping it in a fashionable yet ordered manner. It looked faintly Teutonic when she at last firmly clipped it on her head. She smiled and the girl smiled back.

No matter how hard she tried, she could not see the man that had been Jamie Cameron. It neither worried nor upset her, and the girl’s smile was real.

Leaving the case in the room, the girl went back downstairs and found a Sturmann³ waiting by the desk.

“This man will take you to the Obersturmbannfuehrer,” the Scharfuehrer told her.

She smiled her thanks and followed the Sturmann to the waiting Kubelwagen. She sat in silence next to the Sturmann as he drove her back to meet the Obersturmbannfuehrer.

Willi Kranz liked the girl immediately. She was blonde, and that was always his starting point. She had a good Aryan face, fine features and a nice figure. She needed a bit more in the breast department, but seemed to have good childbearing hips and superbly firm, yet beautiful legs. She was probably underfed and so, with a good diet, would fill out nicely.

Her blue eyes met his stare unwaveringly. He smiled, as he liked them with spirit.

“I am Obersturmbannfuehrer Willi Kranz. What is your name?”

“Janine Chavanay.”

“You are French?”

“Yes.”

“You speak excellent German.”

“Thank you. But I know it is not quite fluent.”

“It’s good enough. I understand you have been assisting one of our medical units?”

“Yes, as an interpreter.”

“How did that come about?”

“There was a time in France when your medical officers wanted someone who could speak German and French. The men had all gone and I was sixteen and available. I was used in the main Hospital at Reims to help the doctors deal with German patients who had no French. I was later used in a field hospital when French casualties were brought in for German medical staff.

“How old are you now?”

“Nineteen.”

He looked at her. She looked older. The war had brought changes, and he knew he looked older than his thirty-eight years.

“How come you speak such good German?”

“My mother insisted I learn it, and English too.”

“Why?”

Jamie shrugged, and her brain worked overtime to make up a believable yet un-confirmable story.

“My mother was unsure who my father was. She was working as a nurse in a Medical Station in Africa. Germans and British came and went, and my mother had many lovers. I was the result of one of her affairs. She always hoped that it was either a German Officer, or a British officer, so he would come back and marry her.”

“And they never did?”

She smiled and shook her head.

“No, she died of cholera, and I was brought up by my grandparents in Reims. My grandfather spoke German, so he taught me to speak it too. He had been a prisoner of the Germans in the first war.”

“You are aware that your countrymen don’t exactly welcome back those seen as collaborators with the Reich?”

She shrugged, a gesture that was so Gallic that the German smiled.

“I’m a realist. I was forced to work for you back then, but I’m aware that they will see it as a choice. After all, my work did bring better rations and some luxuries for the family. I chose to come with the medical unit, as my life would be made very unpleasant once the Germans moved out. I have to live with that choice. All I can hope for is to find somewhere I can live when all this stupidity is over.”

“Fraulein, it seems that the Fatherland has further needs of your services. I understand that you speak good English as well as German and French?” He spoke to her in German and she replied in the same language. He could hear her slightly strange accent.

“Yes. Our neighbours had English cousins, and they would come over in the summer holidays, so I picked up more English with them.”

Willi stood up and walked over to the window and looked out.

“This war is far from over. The Fuhrer has some surprises up his sleeve for our enemies. They will never conquer the Fatherland. They may take away some of the occupied territory for a while, but Germany shall Prevail!”

He turned and smiled at her. He noticed she was wearing a man’s wristwatch. He walked over and took her by the left wrist, and raised it to see the watch more clearly.

“Swiss, a good make. Why do you wear a man’s watch?”

“Because in my work I need something I can see well and has luminous hands. It’s my night clock as well as my wristwatch. It was a present from a French pilot I knew. He is dead now.”

“Your lover?”

The girl flushed.

“In time perhaps. I have yet to experience that pleasure. The war keeps taking the men I like from me,” she said evenly.

Willi let her wrist go.

“War is not a good time for women,” he said.

“War is not a good time for anyone,” she countered.

“Quite. Then, we need your presence in the military hospital. There are many wounded enemy soldiers. You can help the medical personnel to give them the correct treatments. Also, we need to interview them so as to prevent further foolish loss of life.”

Willi paused, considering carefully how he should deal with this girl. She wasn’t German, yet clearly she had been drafted in to help and was still here. She couldn’t go home, for prejudice and persecution would make her life miserable at best and take her life at worst.

She was too young to let go and to leave to her own devices. He knew what a roving army patrol could do to such an attractive girl, regardless of nationality. Not bring Dutch would make her foreign in the eyes of the locals, so that was a consideration.

He decided to place her under his protection in the most effective manner he could. He called in an orderly.

“You are now directly under the command of the SS Police Unit responsible for combating terrorist activity and gathering intelligence from any source we can find.

“This may be somewhat different to your previous tasks, and so it will be necessary for you to become an SS auxiliary. This man will take you to the SS quartermaster, and you will be issued with a suitable uniform. Then he will escort you to the hospital, and you will report to SS Sturmbannfuehrerf⁴ Otto Schneider. He is in charge of all POW screening and interrogations.”

Jamie’s heart sank. This was getting out of control. How the hell was she supposed to get out of this?

The girl simply nodded, accompanying the Sturmann in the Kubelwagen to a large warehouse just down the road. Some of the SS seemed to be in the process of moving out. At least the support organisation was on the move, if not the actual troops.

They managed to get someone to sort out a uniform for her. A disinterested female SS auxiliary simply handed her one set of everything. The interpreter flashes were given to her loose, so she could sew them on at her leisure. They at least gave her a sewing kit with which to do so.

They took her back to the hotel so she could change. It was weird, for Jamie now actually thought of herself as a female, unless she thought too deeply about her past. The uniform was rather austere; a stark reminder of the danger in which she had now placed herself. She pulled on the long black boots and was pleased at how well they fitted. She looked at the death’s head skull on the forage cap, before placing the black cap on her head at a rakish angle.

She looked into a mirror and was staggered at her reflection.

Whatever she had been, had vanished, replaced by a veritable Valkyrie.
 
 
Chapter 4
 
 
Jamie stared into those blue eyes and it was as if she was staring at a complete stranger. Gone was the boy, gone also was the strange ambiguous boy/girl that she had created. For here was a girl who was determined to stay. Here was the person she had always been.

The girl smiled at her reflection and gave herself a salute. Not the palm-forward style of the British army, but with the palm down, in German style and clicked her heels together.

Jamie had finally found who she was. She wasn’t a boy. Deep down, she was unsure whether she was truly a girl yet, but she was going to have a go at least. The world has pushed her into being something she wasn’t sure she wanted to be for the first nineteen years, so now she decided to make up her own rules as she went along. If they discovered her, they would shoot her, but then at least she could say she tried.

She locked the door and went downstairs. She asked for directions to the Sturmbannfuehrer’s office.

The Sergeant grinned at her. The uniform improved her looks. Somehow, she seemed different. Her stature had changed; her whole bearing seemed stronger somehow, with her head held up, her shoulders back and as if she had been injected with 10ccs of confidence booster. Her cool blue eyes seemed to set a challenge to anyone and everyone, saying — ‘Here I am, if you don’t like it — tough.’

She looked more Aryan now, so all the young officers would start fighting to get into her knickers.

He picked up the telephone and spoke briefly into it.

“A driver will take you there. Two minutes,” he told her.

She smiled and he immediately felt the sexual chemistry she imparted. She had a wonderful smile and if he hadn’t been old enough to be her father, he was sorely tempted to proposition her himself.

Twenty minutes later, she was standing before the young Sturmbannfuehrer’s desk. He examined her brand new identity papers, sucking air in through his teeth. He was sitting at a desk, yet even sitting down she could tell he was a tall and sturdy man. Broad in the shoulder and carrying little spare weight. He had very short fair hair, a relic of his Russian front days, when hair attracted all manner of unwanted wildlife. His face was honest and open, but carried the pain of too much horror in such a short time.

Otto Schneider was only twenty-six. However, he had seen action in the Waffen SS in most theatres of war except Africa and the Far East. He had narrowly avoided death on several occasions in Eastern Europe, but his current task was as unpleasant to him as it was to most of those who came through his hands.

A serious shrapnel wound to his left knee took him out of active soldiering. He had joined the Waffen SS straight from the Hitler youth in 1938. Except it wasn’t called that then. In those early days, he had thought Hitler had had all the answers. Now, he didn’t.

After recuperating from his wounds, he had requested to return to his unit, but his leg injury had precluded that possibility. Given a desk job, they transferred him from Panzers to assist the police unit, yet he really had no stomach for the task he now found himself doing.

Increasingly these days, he was in pain, disillusioned and seriously concerned about the future. His parents were dead, his brother, Peter, was in the navy, but hadn’t been heard from for over a year. His sister, Gretchen, was in part of Germany that was likely to be over-run by the Russians very soon, yet now he was supposed to interrogate wounded enemy officers and men.

A fresh batch of captured officers were brought to the holding area just as the girl was sent to help him arrived. They weren’t all wounded, so it was less complicated. He looked up at the girl.

She was strikingly attractive.

Her hair was tidy and her uniform pristine. Her blue eyes were focussed on some point above his head and he noticed that she wore a little make up, which was discreet and well applied, simply emphasising her beautiful blue eyes. He could see that she had removed nail varnish quite recently.

“At ease, fraulein,” he said. His voice was quiet and sounded tired.

She relaxed a little.

He handed her the papers back and stood up. He eased the painful knee as he straightened, grimacing as the pain coursed through his leg. He grabbed at the silver-topped ebony cane that was by his desk. He used it to take the strain from his bad leg.

“Cigarette?” he asked, offering her a pack.

“Thank you, but no. I don’t, sir.”

“I like your accent. You are not German?”

“No sir. French.”

She looked as if she ought to be on a German recruiting poster. It was hard to believe she wasn’t even German.

“Then forgive me, how is it that you are here?”

“Long story. I was assisting a Vichy medical unit in France with language problems. It was taken over by a German unit, and moved. I found myself caught up in a massive withdrawal. I ended up here, and the medical unit was moved again without me. I hid when the fighting started, and tried to leave, applying to the police for papers. Your boss found I could speak English, German and French, and enlisted me into the SS auxiliaries.”

“So, you didn’t volunteer?”

“Not as such, sir.”

“That makes two of us,” he muttered.

“Sir?” she asked frowning, she met his eyes for the first time. They were grey and seemed full of pain.

“Nothing. Janine, it’s a lovely name.”

Jamie blushed. “Thank you, sir.”

“Relax. I’m a soldier, not a fanatical idealistic idiot like Willi.”

Her eyebrows raised and her mouth twitched. He liked her self-control.

“You may laugh. I’m not a bloody SS butcher. I’m a soldier, sorry, I was a soldier. I was an officer in a SS Panzer unit. I was wounded in Russia and shipped home in time. I keep applying to go back to my old unit, but the leg won’t allow it. Now I’m here playing at pretend policeman and it’s not a job I relish. Mark my words, there will be a reckoning, and many of us will have to pay for those who made us do what we’ve done.”

“Yes sir,” she said, but he could discern her distrust and reservations.

Otto laughed. She was so refreshing, a real flower in the barren wilderness.

“Janine. You’re not a soldier, so please relax. If we are to work together, we need to understand each other. Please use my first name. It’s Otto, and it would make me feel better if you called me that. I will release you from this task as soon as I feel that you can get to safety. But for the meantime we must pretend to be working hard for the glorious Reich!”

“Sir.”

Otto grinned at her stubbornness and lit a cigarette, drawing the harsh tobacco deep into his lungs.

“How can such a pretty girl get caught up with this shit?” he asked, his voice sift and caring.

Jamie relented and relaxed a little more.

“Luck, sir, sorry, Otto. Not a lot of it, as it happens.”

He laughed.

“So, no boyfriend?”

Her eyes met his and he saw fear deep within them. The fear was immediately hidden and replaced with cool reserve.

“No, still intact, and I hope to remain so.”

He laughed and coughed, as the smoke went the wrong way.

“Good girl. You must be a one of the very few these days. Well, let’s get to work. My English is passable, but not too hot. I need to complete a questionnaire in respect of each POW before they can be sent to a POW camp. Your first task is to help me clear the backlog. I have six junior officers and NCOs doing the work at the moment, but their English is crap, to be honest. It’s all a waste of time, as the British are stubborn to the end. We rarely get anything other than name, rank and serial number, but we have to go through the motions. So, your assistance comes none too soon.”

Otto strapped on his belt with holstered pistol thereon.

“Come on, let’s go to the coal face,” he said, putting his cap on.

He walked out, with his leg causing an obvious limp, Jamie noticed he depended on the cane quite a lot.

She followed, but was very nervous at seeing her former comrades from a different perspective.

The British were all in a temporary holding area. Barbed wire was everywhere, and lines of tents their only shelter. Officers were at one end, with other ranks at the other.

SS guards patrolled, and seemed jumpy.

“The bloody Brits know the war is won, so they keep trying to escape. To be honest, I don’t know why we bother. It takes more resources to look after them than we can afford,” Otto said.

“The rumours are that you shoot most of them,” she said.

Otto looked at her. She was serious.

“Ja, I know. The rumours are probably true. So many bad things happen in war,” he said with a sigh.

They went into an old school. The classrooms were now interrogation centres. Barbed wire now covered the surrounds to the playground and SS guards no stood where teachers had a few months before.

A line of British soldiers stretched out the door, as watchful SS guards fingered their weapons nervously.

Jamie kept her head averted from the watching British, aware that someone might recognise her.

A young Untersturmfuehrer⁵ leapt to attention as Otto entered, so he waved at the younger man to relax.

“Sit down Rudi. You’re not in training any more.”

The young man was even younger than Jamie. He looked like a schoolboy in uniform.

“Young Rudi Heinmann, he was educated in America. His English is perfect, as long as you appreciate a New York accent,” Otto explained. The young man grinned and returned to his task in hand.

They made their way to one of the classrooms, where a long table stretched out with three NCOs completing the paperwork with an officer at a separate desk.

He pushed open another door and they entered a room with just one table and a chair on either side of the desk. A pile of questionnaires was on the desk and a pen.

“This is your room. They will send in officers one at a time and all you do is complete the questionnaire. If they refuse to answer a question, just write that in the box. Don’t push it. As I said, most will give a name, rank and serial number, and nothing else. Just get what you can from them. Give them the usual bullshit about getting information back through the Red Cross to their families. Some believe it, but not many.”

It was warm in the room, so she took off her jacket. She watched Otto’s eyes flick to her breasts and she found she liked the attention. She wished she had more than socks filling out her crisp white blouse.

She then caught that thought and frowned.

“Why did I think that?” she mused.

She looked at the man who had shown that even a German had some human kindness. He smiled at her and she felt the warmth of her face as a flush came up on her.

She took her hat off and sat behind the desk. Otto went and briefed the NCO outside. Within a few moments, an SS man brought in the first officer. Otto stood in the corner, smoking a cigarette.

The man stood at attention in front of Jamie. She felt very awkward.

He was perhaps twenty-four, tired, unwashed and unshaven. His battledress was dishevelled and torn in places. His hands were filthy and he had dried blood on one sleeve.

He was a Lieutenant, and his collar badges were of the Green Howards. He had been one of the men who had arrived in a glider.

“Sit down please, Lieutenant,” she said in English. She tried to ensure that she spoke with a French accent.

The man looked at her and contempt was evident in his eyes.

“Carter, Michael. Lieutenant. 346372,” he said, staring straight ahead.

“Well, Carter, Michael. Lieutenant, 346372. You are now a prisoner of war. Your family may wish to be informed of the fact that you are alive and that you will be going to a POW camp very soon. I have to complete a form, which will be passed to the Red Cross for onward transmission. If you choose to stand there and repeat what I already know, that’s fine. Alternatively, you may sit and spend a few moments conversing with me in a civilised manner. It is your choice.”

He looked at her, still with little trust but with a little curiosity.

He sat.

“Thank you, Michael,” she said, smiling.

She indicated the blood on his sleeve.

“Are you injured?”

He glanced at his sleeve and frowned. She saw the pain and hurt in his eyes. There was a lot of it about.

“It’s not my blood. He was my friend.”

She met his eyes and he was surprised to see tears forming in her eyes.

She looked down, and he frowned. The Germans weren’t supposed to have human feelings, he thought.

“I am sorry, truly. This is an awful time,” she said, and then picked up the pen and started on the questionnaire.

Lieutenant Carter was very confused. He has expected a bully of an SS officer to be conducting the interrogation. Instead, he faced a very pretty girl who spoke very good English. He didn’t notice the SS Major lounging in the corner of the room. He only was aware of the girl. The questions were unimportant, and few related to military matters. She was pleasant and seemed genuinely concerned about his and his comrades’ welfare.

He intended to answer with nothing but his name, rank and serial number. He spent a very pleasant fifteen minutes conversing with the girl.

In the end, she smiled and thanked him for his time.

“I am sorry about your friend, Michael. We have all lost someone in this stupidity. We can but hope it will end soon,” she said.

He stood, smiled at her, but then he nodded and walked out.

Otto smiled.

“I am impressed,” he told her, and then dropped his voice to little more than a whisper. “But, you must be careful. If Willi sees that you care, he can be a nasty piece of work. That is about the first time a whole sheet has been filled out. Well done. Now, I have to see to the others.” He nodded and walked out.

Jamie managed to get through another ten British officers before Otto called a halt. Fortunately, none was familiar to her. She could see where the questions were leading, and whenever possible she left blanks and omitted important information so as to be of no value to German intelligence.

“Lunch. Will you join me, Janine?” he asked, popping his head around her door. His use of her adopted first name surprised and pleased her.

“Thank you,” she said, desperately hungry, as she hadn’t eaten properly since England. They returned to the original hotel, the dining room was now the officers’ mess. Jamie had been given the equivalent rank of an Obersturmfuehrer, which made her smile. Promotion the hard way.

He opened the door for her, so for the first time, she enjoyed him treating her like a real lady. She frowned and the shook her head. This was getting serious.

He even pulled out her chair and pushed it in as she sat. They placed their hats on the spare chair.

“So, how did you feel that this morning went?” he asked.

“Fine. They are very young, most of them.”

“Look around you. English, German, they are all young. I’m only twenty-six, yet I feel that I have been lucky to survive so long.”

“Was Russia very bad?” she asked.

His eyes took on a haunted look. He simply nodded and said nothing.

The mess orderly approached and placed their soup and bread in front of them. Otto asked for a bottle of wine.

Lunch was a watery soup and black bread, followed by a sort of sausage and cabbage stew with potatoes. For Jamie, it was a veritable feast, but she had to slow her eating down in order to prevent calling undue attention to herself.

A useless task, for as the other officers entered, all were astounded at seeing the very attractive girl sitting with the Sturmbannfuehrer.

Her presence sparked off immediate speculation as to her identity and reason for being there. The whisperings were hardly subtle, so Jamie went red when she realised how much attention was being paid to her.

“They haven’t seen a good looking girl for some time,” Otto said quietly.

“Rubbish. They’re just soldiers, so they can’t stop thinking about sex,” she replied, taking a sip of her wine.

He looked sombre. “You’re right, in part, but most of these men are not soldiers. They haven’t the faintest idea what it is like to fight properly. I was in Russia and that was hell on earth. These boys would curl up and die as soon as look at a Russian assault. Wave upon wave of the bastards - no matter how many we killed, more came - women, boys and even old men. Anyone who could carry a gun, and boy, could they fight! Sometimes, they came at us without even a rifle. They shared a rifle between ten men, so when the man carrying it fell, another picked up the gun and on they came.”

Jamie was silent. It made her life seem tame in comparison.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone on. Not the best conversation for a meal, such as it is,” Otto said. He looked at her clean plates.

“Hungry?” he asked.

“Starving. I can’t remember when I had my last hot meal.”

He smiled and lit a cigarette. His eyes seemed focussed somewhere else.

“Have you anyone?” she heard herself ask.

He looked at her. She couldn’t tell what was going on behind those steel grey eyes. Perhaps he was deciding whether to tell her, perhaps he was thinking of someone else.

“I had. She was a nurse and we met after I got this,” he hit his bad leg with his fist.

“She was working in the military hospital I was shipped to in Poland, so she helped put me back together again. It wasn’t the leg so much as the mind. I couldn’t stand the dark, and would end up screaming if the lights went out. She was very patient and we became very close. After a couple of months, I was almost back to normal, so I proposed to her and she accepted. Two weeks later, she was killed in an air raid. The Russians deliberately targeted the hospital.”

“I’m sorry,” Jamie said.

He smiled sadly.

“You weren’t to know. I’m sure you have pain in your past.”

She nodded as she thought about who she was and who she should be.

“Yes, but not quite like yours,” she said. “I don’t like the dark either.”

He smiled.

“Then perhaps we should share a room, just to keep each other company.”

Jamie blushed again and looked down. When she looked up, he was smiling at her.

“Don’t tease me. I really hate the dark,” she said, remembering that damn cupboard.

“So do I,” he said remembering his traumas after being wounded.

They looked at each other and she felt that some strange bond formed. For the first time she saw a fellow human being and it was as if the uniform was just irrelevant. She frowned.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“Nothing. I am being foolish.”

“Tell me, please,” he begged.

She looked at him. She didn’t know why she felt as she did, so she was confused.

“Please?” he said, leaning closer. His eyes were so gentle and his pain so evident. She thought he was going to take her hand and was a little disappointed that he didn’t.

“It is just I don’t see you as a soldier. I just see the man. See, I told you it was foolishness.”

To her surprise, she saw the beginnings of tears form in his eyes and he broke off his gaze.

The moment passed as an orderly brought them some cups of bitter coffee. They drank it without milk or sugar. There was none of the latter in any case.

“Is the leg very painful?” she asked, changing the subject.

He was surprised at the concern in her voice.

“Sometimes. It’s in bed it hurts the most. It goes into spasm.”

“Can’t they do anything?”

“Probably. I don’t know. They patched me up and sent me out to make room for someone worse. If I get a chance, when this stupidity is all over, I’ll see if I can get fixed up.”

“I hope you can,” she said and smiled.

Otto was confused. He tried to deal with everything on a very shallow level. If he didn’t care about anything, then nothing would upset him. The girl was different. She changed the rules and he was faintly cross, as he found himself caring what happened to her. He had seen the way the Reich used, abused and cast aside people once they had given of their best, so he found he didn’t want her to become such a casualty.

“Will you come with me to the hospital this afternoon?” he asked.

“If I must.”

He smiled. “You don’t have to, but I want to try to get this over and done with. Bring some of the questionnaires with you, so hopefully we can get this shocking business over with and get back to what is important.”

“Just what is important?” she asked.

He looked at her, pain and sorrow fleeted across his face.

“I don’t know, I really don’t know any more,” he said, lapsing into silence.

“I am sorry, I’ve said something I shouldn’t,” she said.

He smiled. “Not at all. I find myself saying things that I haven’t shared with anyone, and I find it disconcerting.”

“What, my questions, or your answers?” she asked.

“Neither. Dining with a beautiful woman who sees me as an ordinary man and not an SS monster.”

Janine went very red.

“Now I’ve said something I shouldn’t have,” he said.

She shook her head.

“I’m not used to being called beautiful,” she admitted, quite truthfully.

“Why not? Surely other men have said it to you?”

She shook her head. “No, you are the first.”

He stared at her in some disbelief. Here was the most attractive young woman he had seen for a very long time. She appeared bright, intelligent, courageous and quite worldly, and yet in some ways she seemed completely naíve and almost lost.

“I find that hard to believe.”

She smiled that wonderful smile. Completely open and delightful, it made her eyes shine and her white, even teeth gleamed in an otherwise very dull world.

“I was rather a late developer, physically, that is,” she said.

His eyes flicked to her fine figure and then to her legs, then back to her face.

“Rubbish! I don’t believe you. I’ll bet you were always the leading lady in your school plays.”

Janine blushed very red.

“Ahah. I knew it. You were, weren’t you?”

Janine nodded, she couldn’t lie, so she smiled at the thought of him finding out the truth.

The truth.

Just what was the truth?

Janine looked at this man and then around the room. Dark uniformed German officers taking lunch, with white tablecloths, eating watery soup and meagre stew. Just down the road, her countrymen and comrades were in a compound, lucky to get any food, and knowing the utter despair of being POWs.

Otto sensed some disquiet in this lovely girl.

“Now what have I said?”

She looked at him.

“Nothing. I was just thinking, and that is never a clever thing to do. I was thinking about those British boys, and all the other POWs, from both sides. What is the point of all this foolishness?”

“What indeed? Come on, we’ve work to finish,” he said, putting his hat on, and standing up. He helped pull her chair back and his hand touched hers. She stopped and looked into his eyes.

“Try to remain objective. I’m told it helps,” he said.

“Does it?”

“I don’t know, I find it hard, too.”
 

*          *          *
 
At the end of the day, Jamie collapsed onto her bed, totally exhausted, both mentally and physically. It was ten in the evening and she had grabbed a quick supper and excused herself from the mess. She had met three of her own unit in the hospital, yet none of them had recognised her. One of the NCOs had been in her company, so it helped her confidence when he failed to see who she was.

It probably helped that Jamie had only been with the airborne division a matter of weeks, so no one got to know him very well.

She kept catching herself referring to herself as female, yet no matter how hard she tried to relate to herself as the male she thought she was, she couldn’t do it. It was as if Jamie, the soldier was someone completely different, and that she was a separate individual completely.

She undressed and hung up the uniform. She eased herself out of the restrictive corset arrangement and was grateful to slip on the nightdress. She turned out the light and opened the blackout curtain. The little ambient light from outside gave some light into the room, so she wasn’t in total darkness.

She lay there, tired, yet unable to sleep. It had been a chaotic day and found her ending it wearing a different uniform and as a different gender to that which she started.

She casually felt her chest and found that her breasts had swollen a little. They were very tender indeed and the nipples had enlarged considerably. Her heart raced slightly and her other hand flew to her crotch.

Initially, she could feel no difference, but after gently probing, she could feel that what had been a penis was smaller and now surrounded by folds of skin. Her testes were now absent, the whole scrotum seemed to have parted down the centre into two flaps, and the depression between the legs was more pronounced.

She let her finger run back to near her anus, and the flap of skin she had felt in the morning, was still there. Except now, the flap seemed to cover a small hole or crevice.

She had never seen a vagina, so she was not to know whether she was developing normally or not. She was worried, and had she known that she was actually developing perfectly normally, if a little late, then her panic would have been offset.

In fact, unbeknown to Jamie, she had a complete set of female sexual organs. The male genitalia were in reality an enlarged female clitoris, and the testes were fatty deposits covered by a fused labia. Her ovaries were now beginning to function, albeit somewhat late, and the hormones triggered development that should have occurred many years before.

Jamie was a girl. She was born a girl, but the superficial deformities had caused her to be wrongly sexed. Although the medical profession drew her mother’s attention to the problem, she had refused to accept it, and so Jamie had been sentenced to a masculine childhood.

Understandably Jamie was now troubled. Her fingers probed the opening which had recently appeared, she was concerned that she had a serious deformity. In her heart, she hoped she was simply becoming the girl she wanted to be. It still was very worrying.

Worries aside, she fell asleep, such was her fatigue.
 
 
¹ Lieutenant Colonel - For all SS ranks, and their army equivalent, see Appendix A
 
² Sergeant.
 
³ Private.
 
⁴ Major.
 
⁵ 2^nd Lieutenant.
 

Appendix A

SS Ranks and Army Equivalents
Oberstgruppenfuehrer	General
Obergruppenfuehrer	Lieutenant General
Gruppenfuehrer	Major General
Brigadefuehrer	Brigadier General
Oberfuehrer	No Equivalent
Standartenfuehrer	Colonel
Obersturmbannfuehrer	Lieutenant Colonel
Sturmbannfuehrer	Major
Hauptsturmfuehrer	Captain
Obersturmfuehrer	First Lieutenant
Untersturmfuehrer	Second Lieutenant
Strumscharfuehrer	Master Sergeant
Hauptscharfuehrer	Technical Sergeant
Oberscharfuehrer	Staff Sergeant
Scharfuehrer	Sergeant
Unterscharfuehrer	Corporal
Rottenfuehrer	Private First Class
Sturmann	Private
SS-Mann	No Equivalent

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To Be Continued...