James Bond's Boyhood Adventures 12

By Pueros

(With thanks to Erik for some of the original ideas behind this saga.)

Chapter 12 – Führerbefehl

(U.S.S.R., August 1941)

Yuri had been Obersturmbannfuehrer Stromberg’s menial servant for over a month. The boy felt that he was living a nightmare, because of not only his degrading duties but also his sense of being a traitor to his people. However, the 12 years old could not work out an acceptable way in which to end his terrible torment.

Yuri’s mind went back to his first day with Stromberg, after the Obersturmbannfuehrer had taken him from the S.S. mobile headquarters in his huge Mercedes limousine, flanked by motorcycle outriders, back to the man’s own centre of operations, many kilometres away. The overnight journey had felt surreal to the boy, freshly bathed and redressed in looted Russian clothing, which not only fitted him well but also was of excellent quality, presumably having originally belonged to the son of someone of influence, such as a Communist Party official.

Yuri, sitting on the luxurious and spacious back seat alongside Stromberg, remembered the large headlights of the Mercedes illuminating the road ahead through the forest terrain. The boy recalled the multitude of thoughts that raced through his young but highly intelligent mind, as the limousine carried him towards his new destiny.

Yuri’s first notion had been of wonder that Stromberg was taking the chance of travelling in this noticeable, lightly guarded fashion through territory the Obersturmbannfuehrer must have known might be infested with partisans. However, the boy was quickly to learn that the S.S. officer might be a ruthless despicable person in many ways, but the young man lacked neither guts nor perspective, not having acquired his array of medals and rapid promotions for nothing.

Stromberg had assumed correctly that enemy partisans would be sleeping, resting for their onerous and dangerous daytime activities and not suspecting that any Germans would be crazy enough to move at night in such an ostentatious manner. The Obersturmbannfuehrer also did not like wasting time, which, in his opinion, staying overnight at the S.S. unit he had just inspected would have entailed.

Yuri’s second wonder was amazement at still being alive, an emotion almost overwhelmed by disgust and shame at the manner in which he had survived. The brave boy would truly have preferred to have been the one to have been shot by the barbarous Obersturmbannfuehrer, as opposed to the poor adult peasant who had been killed to coerce the 12 years old to talk.

Yuri’s subsequent confession of all he knew had tortured his mind far worse than the excruciating electrical device to which various parts of the boy’s beautiful naked form had been so agonisingly attached previously. However, the 12 years old realised that he could not continue his resistance if the lives of the other peasants were to be spared, and the modicum of mental comfort he had gained from this fact was reinforced by recognition that what he had revealed was of little importance.

Yuri knew full well that both the departure point and destination, relating to the message he had been conveying, would be long evacuated by his ever-mobile partisan comrades before the Germans could act on the information the boy had provided. However, the 12 years old’s sense of betraying the cause of his people persisted, for he had not now become a martyr for his homeland but rather a servant of the enemy.

Yuri’s mental distress at this dreadful turn of events was helped little by appreciation that again there was little he could do to prevent this appalling fate if he wanted to save the lives of his fellow countrymen. The boy was sure, having seen the brutal evidence, that Stromberg would carry out his threat to shoot ten Russians for any act of disobedience on the part of the 12 years old.

Yuri’s initial alternative answers to his awful dilemma had been thwarted when Stromberg had announced, in his excellent Russian, “Don’t think of trying to escape or doing anything suicidal. If you somehow disappear or die before I wish it, I’ll shoot twenty of your compatriots!” The boy therefore made no attempt to jump from the Mercedes to flee into the dark cover of the nearby trees, even when the limousine slowed whilst the Obersturmbannfuehrer dozed.

Yuri’s next solution was also later ruined when the Stromberg’s own headquarters were reached, just as the summer sun was rising. The Obersturmbannfuehrer had led his beautiful young new servant into his spacious tent, where the S.S. officer began to disrobe whilst declaring “I need a few hours more rest. Wake me at 0900 hours!”

As well as discarding his uniform, Stromberg had shed the leather holster in which he carried his Walther PPK, a gift from Blofeld Senior. Yuri immediately saw his opportunity and managed to pick up the casing, an action observed by the Obersturmbannfuehrer. However, the boy was taken aback by the S.S. officer’s reaction.

“Take the gun out if you want,” Stromberg advised, “as it’s fully loaded, apart from the bullet that I’ve left behind in the brain of one of your compatriots. However, before you do so, please take note that I’ve already given orders that, if I should die at your hands, one hundred Russians, men, women and children, will be ordered to dig a trench and then go stand in it, as it will be their grave. Alternatively, you could just return my holster to where you found it and help me to take my boots off!”

Shortly afterwards, Yuri found himself sitting on the floor of Stromberg’s tent. Whilst the Obersturmbannfuehrer slept soundly nearby, the boy proceeded to polish the S.S. officer’s discarded boots.

Over a month later, Yuri was performing the same chore just after dawn, before starting to prepare Stromberg’s breakfast. However, the boy’s continued intense shame at his predicament had now been considerably compounded by being forced to share the Obersturmbannfuehrer’s camp-bed every night, before cleaning his 12 years old oral and anal orifices of extraneous German sperm every sunrise.

(Jersey, Channel Islands, later that day)

Moneypenny was showing Helmut, who was enjoying a morning off duty, some more of the sights of Jersey. Despite an association that had now lasted nine months, the red-haired boy did not like the Wehmacht guard, except for what the man’s substantial cock could do and what his loud mouth could reveal. For his part, the soldier basically disliked all foreigners, even ones as pretty as the 14 years old.

Nevertheless, the duo had established a type of symbiotic relationship, knowing that they could now blackmail each other and that their particular sexual tastes meant that they needed each other. Helmut could damn Moneypenny as a saboteur, whilst the boy could denounce the German as a homosexual pederast. In Nazi eyes, both heinous crimes were punishable by despatch to a concentration camp or worse.

In fact, in faraway Russia, Yuri had become aware of this Nazi attitude to homosexuality and had contemplated complaining about Stromberg’s nighttime activities in order to try to extricate himself, even at the cost of his own life, from his appalling role. However, the boy had eventually demurred. Not only was the Obersturmbannfuehrer the only accessible German who understood Yuri’s Russian but also the young man was held in such obvious high regard and awe by his Schutzstaffel colleagues that the 12 years old realised that no-one would either believe the accusation or be bothered. There was also the S.S. officer’s undoubted retaliation on the local people to be considered.

Whilst Moneypenny was entertaining Helmut, James and David were alone together on top of a currently quiet promontory that overlooked St. Helier harbour. They had cycled there to watch the comings and goings of the shipping. The high vantage-point had not yet been declared off-limits by the German occupiers and two young boys lazing there in the summer sunshine caused no suspicions about their purpose.

Because of the hot day, James and David had stripped off their sleeveless shirts and shorts in order to pretend to be sunbathing to give their cover even greater credence. The elder Bond had just startled his friend, lying next to him attired only in black swimming trunks that provided a clear outline of the delightful contours of the boy’s loins, by announcing what his younger brother was currently doing.

“Never,” David responded, “he’s only 12!” “I swear it’s true,” declared James, “I saw them leave together on their bikes this morning.” “Blimey,” his fellow 14 years old retorted, “we’re two years older and haven’t done that.” “Do I detect a hint of jealousy?” Bond Senior now teased, causing his friend to blush.

“No,” David eventually quietly answered, recovering from his embarrassment and becoming bold, having spotted an opportunity for which he had been waiting a long time. “No,” the boy repeated before continuing, “because I have to confess I’m not yet attracted to girls. John’s therefore welcome to his first girlfriend!” The 14 years old knew full well what follow-up question he was inviting from James and, as hoped, the query was delivered.

“Well,” James, also dressed only in tight revealing swimming trunks, albeit ones dark red in colour, and becoming as excited and expectant as the beautiful David, asked, “what are you attracted to?”

David plucked up all his courage and replied “You!”

(Brittany, France, same time)

The steam train transporting the Panzer tanks, being withdrawn from France for use on the Russian front, was happily speeding along until the engineer heard the loud blast and saw the wreckage of the rails not far in front. However, the man’s application of the emergency brakes was too late and soon his engine, and all that the powerful locomotive was pulling, were being derailed into the adjacent ditch.

It would take a long time for the Germans to rescue and repair the salvageable parts of the train and its precious and deadly military cargo. However, no amount of Teutonic expertise could return the many dead bodies of Wehrmacht officers and men back to life.

Meanwhile, the young pair of saboteurs quickly escaped the scene to celebrate, in a remote farmhouse, another highly successful Franco-American operation.

“Cheers!” declared Jean in his ever-improving English, albeit a version heavily accented with American tones, as he sipped another glass of Champagne. “Bravos!” Felix Leiter responded in his impeccable French.

(Jersey, Channel Islands, same time)

James and David had relocated to a little copse present on the promontory. However, the boys had not done so for the shade from the sun provided by the trees but rather for the privacy from prying eyes the foliage afforded. Meanwhile, red and black swimming trunks had been shed and keen curious hands began to explore previously forbidden terrain, whilst 14 years old lips met in deeply passionate rapture.

“Who needs girlfriends?” David somehow eventually managed to exclaim amidst all this feverish and mutually long-desired activity.

“Helmut seems to like them,” a voice from close by suggested in unexpected response.

The shocked James and David immediately interrupted their pleasurable undertaking, only to find a smiling, normally clothed Moneypenny staring at them from nearby. Their fellow 14 years old then surprised his friends further by beginning to divest himself of his own attire.

“Can three play this game?” the young redhead asked eagerly.

(Reich Chancellery, Berlin, October 1941)

Events had moved quickly on the eastern front. The Russians had blown up the Dnepropetrovsk dam in August in order to try to delay the seemingly inexorable enemy advance. However, the Germans had since cut off the Crimea from the mainland and captured Kiev, before beginning their assault on Moscow, knowing that the Soviet capital was not just of symbolic significance. In such a centralised state as the U.S.S.R., the city was the fulcrum not only of the communist nation’s command structure but also of its vital communications.

On the 16th of October, just as the Germans overran Odessa to the south, Stalin and his government secretly left Moscow, fearing the worst.

Meanwhile, in Berlin, Adolf Hitler, still incongruously infatuated by the Channel Islands despite the momentous events taking place in the east, signed a Führerbefehl, a decree ordering the immediate fortification of the isles. The Führer was determined that his grip on this part of the British Empire was never going to slip.

Hitler wanted the Channel Islands to become impregnable to recapture by the British, regardless of the cost. The Führer was to achieve his ambition, at great expense in terms of human misery and lives, something the young members of ‘Jerm’ were to not only witness but also experience.

(To be continued in chapter 13 – ‘Fortifications’)