James Bond's Boyhood Adventures 4

By Pueros

(With thanks again to Erik, whose imaginative mind is behind some of the descriptions in this saga.)

Chapter 4 – Saboteurs

(Jersey, Channel Islands, August 1940)

James, younger brother John and best friend David, advanced slowly and reluctantly towards the German foot patrol. As they did so, they were surprised to see that one of the men wore a different more resplendent uniform than that of the others, one decorated with many medals, including the Iron Cross. It was this soldier, in his early twenties and displaying a friendly smile on his face, who spoke as the boys neared. The two 13 years olds and one 11 year old instantly recognised his voice as being the one that had previously shouted at them so sinisterly.

“Why were you running up this street,” the man asked suspiciously, in good but accented English and whilst maintaining his smile, “until you saw us and then reversed to go in the opposite direction?” John and David were speechless in fright and it was therefore James who answered. “I’m sorry, sir,” the boy said boldly but also politely and truthfully, “it’s just that we’re frightened of German soldiers!”

The man’s grin broadened for two reasons. First, he wanted to put the boys at ease. Second, his cock had grown at the sight of the delectable trio, all dressed in similar white cotton buttoned short-sleeved shirts, short grey shorts and socks and white plimsolls. The armed soldiers and the defenceless youngsters were now standing facing each other on the pavement in the narrow retail thoroughfare, suddenly quiet because of the presence of the Germans.

“There’s no need to be afraid of us,” the man replied in a cordial manner, “as we Germans wish to be friends not enemies of the Islanders and indeed the British. If the British Prime Minister sees sense and negotiates with our supreme Fuhrer, I’m sure that we can soon be at peace once more. Both our great nations can then turn our attentions to the true foe in the east!” At the same time that these words were spoken, an airfleet of about a thousand bombers, protected by many fighters, was obeying the orders of Reichsmarschall Herman Goering by attacking airfields on the British mainland.

James, John and David had regularly and now secretly listened, with their mothers and, in the case of the latter, father to British radio broadcasts. They had heard Churchill declare on the 4th of June, before the invasion of the Channel Islands, “We shall defend our island, whatever the cost may be. We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds. We shall fight in the fields and in the streets. We shall fight in the hills. We shall never surrender!”

On the 18th June, James, John and David had heard the Prime Minister announce “Let us therefore brace ourselves to our duties, and so bear ourselves that, if the British Empire and its Commonwealth last for a thousand years, men will still say: ‘This was their finest hour’!” Such stirring words had not only led the boys to believe unanimously and without doubt that the German’s wish would not be realised but also later encouraged them to do their bit by making the lives of the invaders on their soil as uncomfortable as possible.

The German therefore received no response at all to his last statement and so was forced to keep the conversation going himself. “Come,” he suggested, whilst reaching out for James’ shoulder, “let us start our friendship.” He continued, whilst now guiding the appalled boy towards the harbour, with John and David meekly following, “You can point out to me some of the sights of St. Helier.”

James hoped that no-one would spot him in the company of the Germans, as he did not want to be considered a collaborator. However, this fear was displaced by one of greater intensity when the sound of a motor vehicle having difficulty starting emanated from around the corner on the quayside.

“By the way,” the German advised, as the group of happy men and petrified boys turned the corner, “my name is Stromberg, Sturmbannfuhrer Stromberg of the Waffen S.S.!” Somehow this revelation did not ease the youngsters’ trepidation, as they were led towards the lorry they had just sabotaged, where the driver was climbing out of his cab to try to find out what the problem could be.

“These members of the Wehrmacht,” Stromberg informed, with his arm still across James’ shoulder as the small party proceeded towards the stricken vehicle, “were kindly showing me around St. Helier but did not know the full layout of the fine town. I’m sure that you boys can fill in the gaps.” As the group eventually found itself passing the wagon, the Sturmbannfuhrer noticed the driver looking under the bonnet and so asked, in German, what the problem was.

The Wehrmacht driver banged his head against the metal of the uplifted bonnet as he raised his head, shocked not only by a sudden voice from apparently nowhere but also by the sight of who it belonged to, a senior officer of the dreaded S.S.. However, he quickly recovered from both the painful knock and almost as worrying surprise to give the Sturmbannfuhrer the appropriate salute.

“Heil Hitler!” Stromberg responded, raising his own right arm whilst maintaining a hold on James with his left and before listening to the Wehrmacht corporal’s reply. “Have you checked your petrol tank?” the Sturmbannfuhrer perceptively then enquired of the non-commissioned officer in German, “as you should know that fuel pollution is a common act of sabotage in our occupied territories?” “Not yet, sir,” was the embarrassed answer.

“Well,” Stromberg retorted authoritatively, “I’ll check it for you but, in future, if something like this ever happens again, always inspect your petrol tank first. Also, never stop in such a quiet location if you are not accompanied.” “Yes, sir, thank you, sir, for both your help and advice” was the meek response, spoken with disguised apprehension. The driver did not want to be put on a charge for dereliction of duty.

The tremulous James, John and David were, of course unaware of the detail of this discourse as none of the boys were acquainted with the German language, a failing that would, by necessity, have to be rectified in the years ahead. However, their worst fears were realised when Stromberg, still holding James, strolled towards the lorry’s petrol cap, which the S.S. officer quickly unscrewed. The Sturmbannfuhrer immediately spotted a trace of sugar at the entrance to the fuel tank.

Stromberg, smile now departed, looked sternly first at James and then at John and David and noticed that all three boys were now sporting very red faces with unmistakably guilty-looking sheepish expressions. “Do you know anything about this,” the Sturmbannfuhrer asked, “as you must have been on the quayside when this act of sabotage took place?”

“What do you mean, sir,” James answered without conviction and with obvious trepidation in an attempt to display innocence. “Someone has put sugar in the petrol tank,” Stromberg replied loudly so that all in the group, now including the driver, could learn about his discovery. “We know nothing about it,” the 13 years old lied unconvincingly, deeply scared as to what would now happen, especially as he had foolishly retained in his pocket the empty sugar bag, part of which was now visibly poking out.

James’ hand moved to check the security of the incriminating evidence but he was a little slow and Stromberg had noticed its presence before it was finally hidden from view. The Sturmbannfuhrer’s smile then returned to his face.

(Dinard, Brittany, France, same time)

Oberjunker Ernst Stavro Blofeld of the Hitler Youth was pleased. He had spent much of his holiday with his father in the basement of the new local headquarters of the Gestapo enjoying the pleasant pastime of torturing a number of suspected saboteurs into confessions, although most were actually innocent. This fact did not save the male and female victims of varying ages from being sent later to concentration camps. The 15 years old had also happily created two new adult eunuchs in the process. However, his delight had been compounded by successfully persuading his parent to inveigle the powers that be to let him stay in Dinard.

Blofeld’s education would be continued by use of a German-speaking private tutor, forcibly enrolled to service from the local school, whilst the Oberjunker assisted his father on a part-time basis. The 15 years old had thoroughly enjoyed his time in the pleasant French resort, but not because of its beach or other visitor attractions. He was looking forward to helping his countrymen keep the Nazi version of law and order in the town during the time ahead, of which he planned to spend much in a certain cellar.

Blofeld had also been cheered to receive an invitation from his father’s friend, Sturmbannfuhrer Stromberg of the Waffen S.S., to visit the island of Jersey, just across the Gulf of St. Malo. The 15 years old Oberjunker wondered whether his host would be able to make his stay more even pleasant by having someone available for him to practise his interrogation techniques on, preferably younger, male and pretty. His hope was intensified by the fact that he hated the British even more than the French.

The pleasant thought of questioning a young British boy into criminal confession caused Blofeld's penis to harden whilst he sharpened his castration knife.

(To be continued in chapter 5 – ‘Visitors’)