Part one

Being at war was not as romantic or as exciting as the propaganda had led me to believe. The basic training, the route marches, the barked orders, the drills. Sharing a dorm with twenty other men was the only plus point. Just being close to other men, the musky shared dorms, and the camaraderie.
Nowadays I'd just be called just gay but back then, mentally ill, even a criminal. So I kept that side of me under careful cover, the odd furtive glance in the showers the only concession to how I was not as they were.

By the late summer of 44 I was in Artillery. I didn't get chance to engage the Germans face to face, I just assisted the Gunners, loading shells to launch haphazardly towards the enemy. I couldn't see them of course but you could hear the odd scream, shout, and I told myself it was my shells raining down on them. But of course the Germans were also lobbing shells back, so it's as likely to be the boys on our side I was hearing. I just don't know, but I kept telling myself it was them, not us. It was easier. I could cope this way.
I remember the noises, interlaced with chest thudding, ground shaking blasts as we sent things their way, and they sent things ours. There was the smells too, the cordite mixed with sweat, the latrines. A heady cocktail, combining to make an obscene soundtrack to war. There was no glory, maverick heroic acts, just the two sides pummelling each other until they were sufficiently softened up and the ground troops could attack.

And so it went on, day after day, watch after watch. We'd swap over, one exhausted crew replaced with an ill rested relief ream. Sleep was scarce and easily broken. The German's didn't break for tea. They didn't play fairly, no Queensbury rules, so we did the same. Beat the bastards at their own game, at least that's what the captain used to say.

I rarely could rest properly so went against every rule in the army and went off base. The 'off' shift wasn't regulated as much as the troops in action, and we were left to our own devices, to eat, wash where we could and rest up before it was our time to relieve our colleagues and pick up where they had left off. It felt like we were in a race to empty our stores of weaponry towards the enemy. The supply never dwindled though, more kept arriving and we kept launching it at the Germans in the hope they'd see sense and give in. Four years in no sign of that. Of course I'd not done all four years. I was only nineteen, but as soon as I could I enlisted. I didn't have to wait for the papers, the propaganda had done its task and I was ready to show them what for.

Failing to rest properly I'd sneak out. Off base and wander around the fields of France. Of course it was dangerous. I could stumble across the enemy and be shot, captured or an even worse fate, be found out that I had gone a wandering by my own side and face court martial. I used to ponder which would be the worse fate.

I'd found the pool by accident, walking through fields, the thudding guns far in the distance, taking note of the flowers, the greenery, the odd, scared wildlife, so seemingly far removed from the front. In reality it was probably less than two miles but those brief moments it felt light years away. I'd escaped the lunacy of it all, for just a moment. I had checked around for enemy before stripping off and diving head first into the water. I felt cleansed both physically and emotionally as I chopped my arms, driving through the water. I broke the surface, sunlight catching the droplets as they arced out around me. I tread water feeling the warm water massage my aching limbs. It was tough work loading the guns and carting shells around. I was sore, my shoulders screaming out through the repetition of loading, fetching, loading, fetching. It felt fantastic to use my body in a different motion.

I swam towards the bank, back to my clothes when I felt my feet sink into the mud. I half swam half waded through the water, the mud becoming thicker as I traced a path parallel to the bank, a little away from my clothes. My feet sank deeper and soon I was up to my knees. The water was shallower with a thick layer of mud just beneath the surface. I carried forward and the surface water receded into just a long level stretch of pristine mud stretching out before me, glistening as the speckles of water on the surface danced in the sunlight.

I turned around and allowed myself to topple backwards. My bare backside hit the mud first before the inertia of the fall buried my back, shoulders and back of head into the mud. It felt warm, velvety and luxurious in a way I'd not felt since leaving England and crossing the channel in that crammed boat, the smell of fear mixing with the smell of vomit as the broiling waves dislodged the pre journey rations over the side.
I moved both arms through the mud, reaching out and back, as the ripples of mud eased my aches. I found a Beethoven sonata running through my mind, my fingers mentally picking the notes out on the piano at home. Small waves of mud breached my thighs and washed over my legs, as I moved my limbs back and forth. My legs joined the movement and I opened and closed them in time with my arms. The feeling of the warm sticky mud moving between my legs, caressing all parts was bliss and I found my privates stiffening. It gradually stood proud. I flipped over in the mud, coating my front in the mud, before burying my face in, fully in. I felt submerged, detached, the monotonous war a distant galaxy away as I slipped and skidded around, tumbling over and over, the warm mud a comfort in these very uncomfortable times.

I rolled onto my back, my hand massaging the mud into my legs and privates, coating, slipping, warm, and smooth, the other hand doing the same comforting massage deep into my chest.

It was then I heard the gun loading. I immediately jumped up, adrenaline pumping, the training kicking in, automatic. In the seconds it took to wipe my eyes clear of the mud my mind raced through possible or probable outcomes. Was it a British soldier stumbling across me, or a German? Either way I was naked, drenched in mud, so my identify was camouflaged so couldn't be easily identified. I could get shot either way.

"Handie hoch!"

So at least I knew what was facing now. My arms shot up, as my mind raced through what to do. I was a distance from my clothes, my rifle was back at the camp. I was stood some twenty feet from the German who had his rifle trained on me. Even without the sapping mud, a dash to barrel roll into him was off the cards, I'd be dead by the time I'd made two steps. I stood there in surrender, droplets of mud dripping slowly off my raised arms and still raised, but rapidly deflating penis.

We stood in statuesque silence as we eyed each other. He was as young as I was, I figured, twenty at most, a shock of blond hair peeking out beneath his helmet. His uniform was clean, he obviously hadn't come straight from his watch.

His eyes scanned my body, encased in mud. "Du bist hart!", he barked but I could see a twitch of a smile at the corners of his mouth. He aimed his gun up and down my body setting on my now semi erection

"Meine waffe scheint grosser zu sein als deine!" He shouted. I thought I heard a catch of a laugh in his voice.

My German was poor, but I got the gist. Hands up! You are hard! The last sentence was rapid but I got the first few words, "My weapon, bigger" then words I didn't recognise.

I started to lower my hands, to cover my rapidly shrinking appendage.

"Hande hoch!" He shouted again, and then almost conversationally, "was einst ein Gewehr war, is jetzt eine Pistole"

My hands raised again , I tried to make sense of the final part. Again only a few words made sense "was once a rifle, now a small pistol".

Beneath the mud my face reddened. Not only being caught my a German, I'm caught naked by one, and he's also making fun of my softening cock

"Ich we're dich nicht erschiessen" he said.

I looked at him, uncomprehending, confused. He said it again louder, then laughed. I just stared hands still up, my privates now fully back to flaccid state. He said it again louder this time raising and lowering his hands in a down gesture. I stood still, unsure. He made the motion again before unlatching the gun carriage of his rifle and removed the bullets. He held them up to me, then pocketed them and leaving the gun broken, placed it on the ground. I lowered my arms, breathing big intakes of air. I hadn't realised I'd been holding my breath till then. I dropped both arms to cup my privates in my hands. I noticed they were trembling

"Ein bisschen spat, um schuchtern zu sein" he said laughing. Again I stood there, still, nervous to move lest it make him bear arms again. He un clipped the chin strap of his helmet and pulled it off. A shock of blond hair, muzzy and unkempt from the head dress removal sprang to life. It framed a smooth tanned face, devoid of facial hair. His eyes were almond shape and kind looking, a piercing blue that bore into mine.

Once the helmet was dropped to the floor he tugged at his tunic buttons and shrugged it from his shoulders. Dropping to one knee he unlaced and removed his boot and sock before repeating it with his other foot. The shirt followed before he pulled down his trousers. I marvelled at his skin, tanned, healthy, perfect, no imperfections, no freckles, no moles just a perfect torso. I watched his chest muscles twitch and his abdominals flex as he wrestled his regulation underwear down and off. With his privates as exposed as mine, the fearsome enemy soldier was transformed into a fellow man. His chest was the same as mine, more defined, the product of exercises in the Youth Movement no doubt, his shoulders more rounded and formed. I could see his lateral muscles even from the front, framing his sides, the V shape of his body drawing my eyes down. I gazed at his privates. I'd taken fleeting glances in the showers at camp, but this was the first time I could study another man's body. It hung long thick, bigger than mine with a coarse bush of blond hair above. His testicles swung freely as he stepped down from the bank and into the muddy water.

He splashed towards me sending muddy water over my legs and hands which still covered, to my eternal shame, a penis coming back to life, swelling in my hand.

"Ya?" He asked and dove into the mud, his perfect skin immediately hidden to my disappointment. He emerged seconds later, shaking his head to dislodge muddy water

"Wunderbar!" He said, and laughed.

A grin spread over my face, "Wundebar" I echoed.

He moved towards me, quickly, deftly, despite the sucking and slowing of the mud. Grabbing me around the neck he twisted me around. My heart lurched, I was under attack! My mind roiled, struggling to understand why he hadn't shot me instantly but instead had undressed and was in the pool with me, yet now was attacking me. He hooked his legs under mine and I fell back into the mud. Ripples lazily lapped their way to the bank. I stood back up quickly, my hands balled into fists, the southpaw stance, ready. But he was laughing, really guffawing at this muddy naked man, semi erect again jumping into fighting mode. His shoulders were actually shaking and he was bending over one hand on his knee. He stood up, mocking my fighting stance before dissolving into laughter again.

I dropped my hands, embarrassed and found a grin spreading across my face. I sauntered towards him, hand outstretched in peace. He took it and I yanked him forwards towards me before tripping him over my outstretched leg face first into the mud. He spun on the floor, his Germanic laugh identical to my English laugh. He lunged, wrapping both arms around my legs and pushed forward raised his body up, knocking me over into the mud. I held onto him bringing him up and over me, using his momentum, sending him tumbling over me to land in the deeper mud behind. A cry of disbelief rang out at my athleticism and he jumped to his feet, but I was ready and we wrestled, bringing each other down into the mud, trying to get on top, the mud acting as lubrication, making it hard for either of us to get the upper hand.

He was on top of me, pushing my head into the mud, clawing up dripping handfuls to smash into my chest. I wriggled from under him sending him lurching to one side. I took my chance sitting astride him, holding his chest down with one had while I reciprocated with handfuls of mud rubbed into his face, his hair. Our fight sent birds who had settled on the banks flapping into the air squawking and crying. Their shrieks mingled with our gasps and laughs. I felt something under my backside. Thinking it was his cock which must surely be as hard as mine I reached around. Before I could find out if he was as aroused as I was his knee raised up, the strength of his lower body lifting me clear of the mud. He hefted his legs and I tumbled to the side, panting

"Genug, genug!" He said, laughing through his mud caked lips. I rallied once more, twisting to launch another attack

"Genug!" He said, raising one hand in surrender, "Ich gebe nach"

The hand up, Ich - I. Nach - in. I understood in a flash. The hand up. I something in. I give in? I flopped back into the mud, panting.

"Gut, ya?" He said.

"Yes" I replied, it was good"

We lay in silence for a second as our breath returned to normal, and the birds, content the war was over came back to nestle on the bank.

I rolled onto my side. Studying him. Even with the mud covering him he was perfect. The mud actually accentuated his muscle definition, the contrast from one muscle group to the next more defined. I allowed by eyes to drift down. His penis lay on one side, stretching out over his thigh, the course pubic hair matted with mud. His balls were low, the fine hairs streaked with mud. I lingered, taking this in. Drawing up each second like a starved man at a feast. He was magnetic, the first man I'd ever seen properly without clothes. A feeling deep inside lurched. This was what people called lust I figured. I couldn't scold myself for such depravity, the urge to lap up his body was intoxicating.

I saw his head swivel towards me out the corner of his eye and I adverted by gaze from his privates. He was smiling, white teeth stark against the mud. I smiled back. I patted my chest with my hand. "Eric" I said

He smiled again, "Klaus"


We waded out into the water to wash off the mud. His perfect body revealed again as he washed. I studied him, no discernible tan lines on his legs or arms. It seemed he spent a lot of time without clothes which explained his lack of inhibitions. It wasn't like he was showing off, putting on a show for the Englishman, it was like he was unaware that he was nude. A big contrast to the communal showers back in training where the red faces weren't only from physical exertion. I felt a little embarrassed as my own member kept swelling and puffing up as I took in his form. He didn't seem to notice or care and flopped back on the bank to dry out and placed one arm under his head as a makeshift pillow. He crossed his legs at the ankles and let out a contented sigh. I joined him stretched out on the bank, the sun drying us in its rays.

With neither of speaking the others language we relaxed in companionable silence. The guns had died down, it was as if it were only he and I alive. The only ones still sane more likely

Pointing up at a fluffy white cloud I said, "Cloud"

Following my pointed arm, he replied, " Wolke"

A bird swooped down and landed a few feet from us, pecking at the grass land.

"Bird" I said, pointing

"Vogel" he replied enjoying this game

I said it back to him, he corrected my pronunciation, I was not rounding off the 'gel' at the end quickly enough. As I tried again, he smiled. He had such a warm smile, so friendly. So unlike the newsreels that depicted them as cold hearted killers. We played this game for a while, taking turns to point things out, reeds, mud, trees, twigs. Eventually he got up and went to the piles of his clothes and rifled through his pockets. He brought out a silver cigarette case and a box of matches and padded back to me, not bothering to dress. Pleased he felt comfortable, I watched as he opened the case and fished out two cigarettes. He offered me one, which I gratefully took. As he closed the case I saw a grainy, faded water damaged picture of a young woman. In traditional Bavarian dress with curly long blonde hair the beauty radiated out from her.

My heart sank slightly. He was the enemy and we would never see each other after today, but I felt myself deflate. Maybe one of the shells I loaded would seek him out, the random hit, killing him. Suddenly sad, I looked away into the distance.

Looking back after a few seconds I pointed at the case and made an opening gesture with both hands, like a book. Klaus obliged and the woman reappeared as beautiful as the last time. Even more so, mocking me

"Your sweetheart?" I asked forlornly

He narrowed his eyes shaking his head slightly in misunderstanding.

"Sveetharrt?" He mimicked back.

I nodded, "sweetheart, wife, lady friend?"

Klaus looked at me blankly, then realising what I was asking, placed his cigarette into his mouth, freeing up his hand, which he tapped against his chest, his immaculate chest, around about where his heart was, kissed the tips of his fingers and gently caressed the face of the woman"

I nodded and smiled at Klaus, looking away again into the distance so he wouldn't see the disappointment clinging to my face.