- Author
- 03/11/2025
- 1,292 Words
- 245 Views
- 3 Comments
Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Operation Ganymede - 16. Chapter 16 - Under the Enemy’s Gaze
Arnfreid and Heissler’s mission takes shape when they meet the French Captain Lefeuvre, who speaks German and subjects them to a reception that’s anything but ordinary. Caught between suspicion and improvisation, Arnfried strives to win the trust of the prisoner officer.
The slap from the adult on his privates had plunged Arnfried into a palpable stew of embarrassment, made worse by Heissler’s presence—a Pimpfe under his command. Shame flushed his cheeks a vivid red, not just from the shock, but from the humiliation of being handled like that in front of his subordinate.
Meanwhile, the man in the brown shirt strode over to the librarian’s desk, flipping through books with a careless hand—opening them, snapping them shut—his movements punctuated by sharp jabs at the prisoners’ ingratitude.
- Look at this lot—they’ve got plenty to keep ‘em busy, and still they whimper like spoilt brats. The nobility of our regime hands ‘em conditions our lads on the front can only dream of, dying every day for the Fatherland!
Arnfried and Heissler listened部分, their eyes drifting between the overflowing shelves, the reading table, the desk, and the windows, searching for something to occupy their minds, unsure how to act in this unexpected bind.
The brown-shirt’s impatience flared as he dropped the book he’d been holding with a thud.
- Wait here, he snapped, his tone cutting. I’ll see where that blasted French officer’s got to!
His boots echoed through the library’s hush as he stormed out, the door slamming shut behind him—a stark reminder of their isolation.
Heissler, wary of asking but spurred by the adult’s absence, murmured to Klein, his eyes flicking to the door:
- What’d he mean by ‘With this’ when he clapped you there?
Arnfried, yanked back to yesterday’s ordeal, gave a slight nod, plainly reluctant to dwell on it.
Getting no answer, Heissler turned to the shelves, perhaps hoping the books might ease his mounting nerves, leaving Arnfried alone by the desk.
Arnfried’s mind raced, trying to piece it together. “With this!”… What “this”? My privates?? What was he on about? That since this chap’s done things with his pupils, if we’re alone with him, he’ll have a go too? The thought hurled him straight back to the Oberleutnant’s office—shorts round his knees, standing mute, enduring those groping hands. Horrified, the young HJ Scharführer swallowed hard just as the door flew open, revealing the brown-shirt trailed by a soldier in French uniform.
- Here they are.
- Kids?!
- What of it? Our youth ain’t like yours in France! Ours are responsible, capable as their elders! Besides, it’s Herr Hofman who sent ‘em. Poorly today, he offered his nephew—nodding at Arnfried—and his cousin, who’s pitched in to help.
The Frenchman said nothing, his gaze shifting between the boys, still and silent, two paces behind their escort. As if the meeting had dragged on too long already, the brown-shirt added:
- Right, I’ll leave you to it—plenty to do, I reckon. I’ll fetch ‘em at four. They’re yours, Lefeuvre.
With that, he marched off, leaving the lads facing the prisoner at the library’s threshold.
- Kids, the Frenchman muttered aloud, as if talking to himself. What’s this caper now?
By then, he’d reached his desk, and as he turned back to his visitors—still rooted, near frozen—an odd mix of interest and curiosity flickered in his eyes, or so young Arnfried Klein thought.
- How old are you?
- Y… you speak German?!
- Surprised, eh? Before the war, I taught German. So yes, I speak and understand your tongue perfectly. Why? Does it bother you?
- Er… no. Just didn’t expect it!
- Fair enough. Well, since it seems we’re stuck together for a good stretch today, what’s your name?
- Arnfried. And him—jerking his chin at his mate—Heissler, my cousin.
- Heissler? Ain’t that a surname?
- Oh, er, yes. Théophilus. Théophilus Heissler. And I’m Klein—Arnfried Klein.
- Righto. I’m Captain Lefeuvre, 33rd Mechanised Infantry Regiment—or what’s left of it!
A small nod, as if to sympathise, but Arnfried hadn’t forgotten his aim: build trust. W… what’s this place? I mean, I know it’s a camp, but a camp for what? What sort of prisoners?
- French and Poles. Some Belgians too, from what I’ve heard. Officers only. Why? First time here?
- Er… yes.
- Hmm… Where d’you live?
Quick—think fast!
- We… we’re refugees. I’m from Berlin, and he’s from a town nearby. Came here ‘cause of the bombs, to our aunt’s—she needed help with the fields, what with our uncle off in France with the army.
- I see. War’s a rotten business for everyone.
No sooner had he said it than the French captain glanced at his watch, as if keen to shift the subject. Another quick peek at the dial, and he fixed his eyes on the boys:
- Since fate’s thrown us together, before we go any further, I’ll need you to follow some basic safety rules.
- …?
- Nothing tricky, don’t fret. Just need to be sure you’re who you say—two cousins at their aunt’s, but more importantly, two lads carrying no listening gadgets or anything that might threaten our security!
The boys swapped a puzzled look, the man’s impatience growing plain.
- W… what d’you mean? Arnfried asked, uncertain.
- Face the wall.
- What?!
- FACE THE WALL! There… yes, splendid. Now, hands flat against it… GO ON! Yes, like that. Step back a bit. No—keep your hands stuck there! Yes, perfect. Back more. More! I want space between you and the wall. Splendid! Now, spread your legs! Wider. YES, PERFECT! And don’t budge till I say so.
Their bodies, posed like that, stood like statues under scrutiny—backsides jutting, hands pressed to the wall—a stance of submission and offering. For the Frenchman, it was a sight he hadn’t savoured in ages: a chance to relish youth up close, an unexpected intimacy in this forgotten corner of Germany. Far from home, from his life, from his buried urges, here were two raw beauties served on a platter. With just twenty minutes before the cleaning chap turned up (hence his clock-watching), he felt pressed to seize this unhoped-for gift, decent or not.
- Breathe deep—it’s just a quick pat-down.
Two hands landed on Arnfried’s chest with a speed that caught him off guard. The young team leader froze, torn by a jumble of feelings, as each finger mapped his skin like it was etching the shape—every touch an echo of Dettmann’s groping. His sides burned under the contact, his shirt hitched up to bare flesh to the air, and those fingers, bold as brass, slipped past his waistband, lingering on his fly with a nerve that made him flinch.
- HEEE!
- Tss… hold still, please. Just checking.
But this “check” was a far nosier business—near sensual.
- Hee! But that’s my privates you’re ‘checking’!
The fingers didn’t stop, dipping under the shorts to prod his privates, hunting secrets in that forced closeness. Arnfried twisted his head, feeling the officer’s warm breath on his neck—a nearness that seemed to swallow him whole.
- HEEEE! What’s the game?!
The officer eased off, a hint of satisfaction in his tone:
- Sorry, but it’s always the best spot to stash what you don’t want found!
Arnfried, panting, mixed scorn with unease:
“Pff… Oh, right, blooming hilarious!”
Heissler, who’d clocked every second with unsettling sharpness, hadn’t time to mull it over before the officer barked:
- Your turn now!
-
3
-
1
-
1
Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
You are not currently following this story. Be sure to follow to keep up to date with new chapters.
Recommended Comments
Chapter Comments
-
Newsletter
Sign UpSign Up and get an occasional Newsletter. Fill out your profile with favorite genres and say yes to genre news to get the monthly update for your favorite genres.