Barriers

Chapter One

Half-dead from the effects of the march and the festering bullet wound in his right thigh, Major Liam McKinley leaned his full weight on the shoulder of his fellow British officer, dredging up every ounce of strength he had left in reserve.

“Won’t be much further now,” said his companion with a forced air of cheeriness.

“I hope to God you’re right, Prof,” replied Liam. “Can’t wait for a nice hot bath and a cup of tea. They’d better have both ready for us on arrival or there’s going to be trouble.”

“If not we’ll insist on more suitable accommodation elsewhere.” Captain Pryce laughed at his own joke and tightened his arm around Liam, supporting him enough to make hobbling up the road a little easer.

This time Liam’s smile was more genuine. He and Pryce had made it through the latter part of the war with a combination of grim determination and warped sense of humour. The other prisoners found their jollity rather confusing, especially under present circumstances which were less than enjoyable to say the least, but they were a morale boosting pair.

The convoy of prisoners had been marching for ten days solid, sleeping in barns, eating anything they could lay their hands on including dead horses and dogs found at the side of the road. If he made it out of here alive Liam knew there were things he’d been forced to do for the sake of survival that he’d never bring himself to repeat to anyone. He’d never been the kind of man to take killing lightly, but right now he could happily murder the majority of these German guards who munched away on decent food in front of them, thinking nothing of aiming a steel-capped boot or the butt of a rifle at any prisoner they felt like.

Things had gone from bad to worse four days ago when they had been strafed by a flight of passing spitfires. One Polish officer had been killed outright and, privately, Liam thought that Jankowski had been the luckier of the two of them. The wound in his thigh was throbbing painfully all the time now and occasional cursory inspections revealed that serious infection was beginning to set in. The idea of continuing this forced march with a gangrenous leg was too much to cope with.

Closing his eyes in order to take a brief respite from the horrors of P.O.W. life, Liam willed his legs to keep up with the gruelling pace and relied on his friend to guide him. It wasn’t fair to be such a burden to Pryce. The man was just as exhausted and just as hungry and he had a bad case of ulceration of the feet. If Liam could only bring himself to fall by the wayside then he would be shot by the guards and that would be an end to the misery he was forcing on everyone. Some of the prisoners at the previous camp had given up. Liam had seen it in their eyes and wasn’t surprised in the least to find out that they had died one way or another. Easiest method was to take a run at the fence and get machined gunned down by the goons. He’d seen that happen many times and had thought about it more than a few, but Liam was a stubborn man who hated to concede defeat. It wasn’t in his make up. He’d fought life head on for as long as he could remember and he was damned if he was going to be brought down by a bunch of inhumane creatures like this lot. He and Pryce would get through this even if it killed them.

Allowing himself a wry smile at the irony, Liam fell to his knees the instant he heard a command to stop. Taking the canteen of water from Pryce he swallowed a few drops, grimacing at the brackish taste.

“Not fresh I’m afraid,” said the English captain with an apologetic look as he squatted beside Liam. “I had to refill it from the ditch, but we need water and if it comes laced with dysentery then the sooner we’ll be out of this hell hole.”

This time Liam didn’t hear any of the normal dry humour that he associated with Pryce; it seemed he wasn’t the only one close to breaking point. Hearing the hint of despair in his friend’s voice revived Liam a little. He was a good officer and took the responsibility of command very seriously. He had earned the respect of the men in his company by offering them unequivocal support and, as far as he was concerned, he would champion his fellow prisoners of war in exactly the same way.

“Come on, Professor, help me get comfortable. Then if you wouldn’t mind popping off to the shops and fetching me a walking cane I’d be most grateful,” said Liam in a truly terrible impression of Wesley’s cultured voice that brought a smile to both their faces.

“Now there’s something I can do,” said Wesley, shifting Liam until he was propped up against a tree stump. Muttering away to himself about ‘thoughtlessness’ and ‘stupidity,’ he vanished into the hedge, reappearing moments later triumphantly wielding a stick that was good and sturdy, if a trifle short. “There, that should help us both out a little. I need to conserve my energy for when you need a piggyback.”

“I’ll never suffer that indignity,” smiled Liam, “A fireman’s lift maybe, but never a piggy back.”

The break was too short-lived to allow any recuperation to take place, but time passed a little quicker now that Liam was able to hobble along in sprightly fashion with the use of the makeshift cane. With Pryce’s arm looped around his waist they indulged in their favourite pastime of singing out of tune wartime songs; a pleasant hobby which always had the added bonus of annoying the goons. This may have revived floundering spirits but it did little to ease the exhaustion and it was more than a relief when Liam spotted a twenty foot high barbed wire enclosure ahead of them. Home sweet home! He barely made it in through the gates before everything went black.

***

The pain was agonising. Liam fought hard against an unseen enemy, hitting out at whoever was causing it.

“Schmidt, komm und hilf mir.”

Liam couldn’t move. There was a heavy weight pushing him down and he was far too weak to escape it. Forcing himself to focus, he looked up into a pair of bright blue eyes and knew he must be in heaven since he’d decided several months ago that wartime came in only three colours -- mud-grey and khaki with an occasional splash of blood red.

“You must be still,” said a gentle voice, “I’m sorry I have no anaesthetic, but I need to remove the bullet from your leg so we can try to clear the infection.”

Liam didn’t remember anything else until he woke up in a bed, a real bed with a pillow and a blanket. He shivered as the coarse woollen bedclothes were pulled away from his body and then blinked several times in succession until his eyes became accustomed to the dim light that diffused its way through the grimy, taped-up window panes.

“Well, Major McKinley, it seems our young medic did a good job of removing that bullet,” said an upper class English voice. “The leg is healing well. You’re a lucky fellow; a couple more days and I don’t doubt that we’d have been forced to amputate.”

Where in heaven’s name was he? Liam was confused. He remembered walking, walking, walking.

“Who? Where?” he croaked in stilted fashion, his throat as dry and cracked as if he’d swallowed ground glass.

“My apologies. My name is Colonel Giles of the R.A.M.C. and you, my friend, are a new guest of Oflag XVIC.”

“Oh, thank Christ, no more marching,” groaned Liam in relief.

Colonel Giles studied the wound carefully for any signs of re-infection. “Don’t build your hopes up,” he said with a wry smile. “It might well be a case of out of the frying pan into the fire. “The kommandant here is not the friendliest man I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting.” He covered Liam over loosely with the blanket. “Everything looks satisfactory so I’ll be off now to see if I can rustle up some food for you. After that I shall notify the Red Cross that you’re a newly signed-up member of this exclusive gentlemen’s club. I don’t know quite where we’d be without their parcels.”

The doctor stood up and looked around the makeshift hospital ward. “Where is that damned boy when you need him?” he muttered under his breath, finally spotting movement at the far end of the hut. “Brenner, the major’s leg needs bandaging. Can you see to it while I fetch him a mess tin of what you chaps laughingly call food?”

Liam closed his eyes and listened to two sets of footsteps, the heavier tread of Colonel Giles departing and other, lighter ones approaching his bed. He didn’t like the idea of a Kraut tending to his wound but it seemed he had no choice. Determined not to acknowledge the German medic, Liam initially kept his eyes tightly closed, but the way the practiced fingers deftly cleaned and redressed his wound made him curious and he squinted sideways.

Good grief! This Brenner was just a kid. A pretty kid at that with a shock of white blond hair and piercing blue eyes that Liam remembered from some half-delirious previous life. However, rather than being appealing, the good looks were disconcerting, for the boy was so completely Aryan it made Liam feel slightly sick. Brenner was the template for the Nazi master race, probably hand picked for the Hitler Youth and indoctrinated with policies of hatred from childhood.

“Would you like a drink of water, Major?”

The voice took Liam aback. The young man spoke perfect English in a soft blend of accents with only a hint of guttural German. Liam must have looked as confused as he felt because an explanation was immediately forthcoming.

“I was born in England and our family lived abroad much of the time when I was young. In fact my mother also spent most of her childhood outside Germany. She always insisted on speaking to me in English to my father’s annoyance. She even called me William although I was named Wilhelm. She said it had a gentler sound to it. My parents finally agreed upon calling me Wil.”

Liam, however, wasn’t interested in discussing anything personal with a Nazi. “Where’s Pryce?” he demanded petulantly. “He was one of the men I came in with. He had trench foot.” Liam shifted himself upward so he could take a few sips of water from the proffered mug, desperate thirst overriding his desire to ignore Brenner.

“His ulcers weren’t so bad,” said the medic coldly. “He’s back in the hut with the rest of the British officers. You’ll see him in a few days.”

Liam discovered that he much preferred the earlier friendly version of the man. “Would it be possible for him to visit me?” he asked hopefully. Wesley was the only thing that had kept him going these last few months. He was more of a backbone than a friend.

“This is not a hospital and you are not back in your hometown, Major. This is a prisoner of war camp and you are an enemy soldier. Do not beg favours from me.” The young man picked up the bowl of bloodied bandages and walked away abruptly, leaving Liam struggling to lie back down.

Bloody Germans. All the same arrogant evil bastards. Soft lips and a pretty face didn’t make the boy any less of a pig than the other more typical goons with their war wounds and missing body parts from serving on the Russian front.

His meal, when it arrived, was enough to put the final dampeners on everything and make him even more sullen faced and disagreeable. The sight of the rotten potatoes and grey cabbage water sent every part of him shrivelling in disgust.

“Be sure to eat the weevils,” said Colonel Giles with a twisted grin as he was on the way out of the sickbay. “You need as much protein as you can get."

***

Unable to face the daily task of eating that revolting prison food, Liam could feel himself becoming weaker and weaker. His head ached and his body was hot and shivery. It was absolute agony when anyone tried to move him.

“Your leg has become infected again, Major. It needs to be cleaned to drain the pus out of the wound. It will hurt and I am sorry, but we have no pain relief.”

Even through the haze of delirium Liam could tell who was speaking to him. Brenner had a specific kindly tone of voice he must reserve for the dying.

“I have no choice but to amputate. Another day of this and he’ll be dead,” said Colonel Giles.

“Give me two hours,” replied the young German, soothing Liam with a hand as he washed out the site of the bullet hole with saline solution.

“Two hours, Wil, and then I need you back here to assist with the operation.”

“No. No. Not my leg. Please.” Liam was too far gone with fever to practise his usual stoicism.

“I have no choice, Major,” said Giles in a grave voice.

Liam opened his eyes and tried to focus on the doctor’s craggy but kindly face. “Let me die,” he pleaded.

Chapter Two

Everything hurt and Liam was so tired of being in pain. It was freezing and the sun was shining in at the windows of the hut, blinding him with that brilliant white light that could only mean a deep covering of snow. Either that or he was dying and a mystical tunnel was opening up.

“Finally back with us in the land of the living I see, Major McKinley,” said Colonel Giles, instantly dispelling Liam's theory that he had moved on to a better place.

“Call me Mac, everyone does,” croaked Liam, his throat painfully scratchy and dry.

The last thing he remembered was his leg. Oh, please, God, no. Not his leg. It felt as if it was still there, but then they always said that, didn’t they? Phantom sensations were very common in amputees. Tentatively he ran his fingers down over the bandages and almost cried out in relief to feel solid flesh.

“Well then, Mac, you need to thank young Brenner for that limb still being attached to the rest of you,” explained the doctor with an air of proud parent about him. “He came marching back from town, full of beans, with a supply of penicillin he’d sequestered from God only knows where. The lad was in his third year of medical school before he was conscripted so he knows what he’s doing.”

“Perhaps we should make him honorary camp scrounger,” said Liam, unable to repress the joy, his previous resentment at being looked after by a German soldier vanishing into thin air.

Giles smiled and polished his spectacles. “Wil's a good lad. The most annoying thing about him is he’s so damned English that at times I completely forget he’s a goon.” The doctor prepped Liam’s leg with a swab of alcohol and then brandished a large needle at him. “This is the final dose you should need. You’ll walk with a limp for a while, but I can see no reason why that leg of yours shouldn’t be as right as rain in a few months. Count yourself among the lucky ones.”

“I try to,” said Liam, thinking of the horrors he'd endured since being captured. “How much longer will I have to stay here in splendid isolation?”

“Another week or so should do it. Your friend Captain Pryce has been asking after you. I told him you were still with us, and also still of the biped variety.”

“Thanks.” Liam almost managed a laugh. If it wasn’t for the food this place would seem quite heavenly in comparison to rotting corpses and death marches.

“Seeing as you’re my only patient at the moment and you’re progressing nicely, I shall run off and enjoy the wintry conditions. Being from the south coast I never saw much snow as a lad.” The doctor removed his cap and scruffed back his salt and pepper hair, looking slightly embarrassed at his own enthusiasm. “We’re planning on recreating our own winter sports version of the war. The Americans have picked the short straw and are drawn to play the Germans. They’re already filling their arsenal with snowballs, so don’t expect much peace and quiet for the next couple of hours, will you.” Colonel Giles patted Liam on the shoulder and picked up the bottle from the side of the bed which was half-full of urine. “I’ll empty this for you on the way out,” he said as he left the hut with a spring in his step.

An hour later Liam lay staring at the rafters of the hut, trying to ignore the waves of agony emanating from his near-to-bursting bladder. He listened to the whoops and cheers from outside, interspersed with an occasional bark of German from the guards, and sighed. He’d do anything to be out there. It seemed a lifetime ago since he’d had fun. Playing in the park with his friends from school. Rough and tumbling with his brother and sister. How many of his family were still alive, he wondered. He hadn’t had a letter from home since his capture. Hopefully the Red Cross would soon sort that out.

Pressing a fist against his aching bladder, he groaned when it only succeeded in making things worse. He contemplated calling for help, but the thought of one of the German guards finding him in such an embarrassing situation made him feel physically sick; he had to move sometime so it may as well be now. Reaching up to grab a hold of the rough pine windowsill, Liam pulled himself up to a sitting position, tugging the newly acquired splinter out of his thumb with his teeth. Bugger! This was going to be a more difficult manoeuvre than he'd first thought. If only Pryce were around to give him a helping hand.

Finally managing to get to his feet, he took a slow journey around the hut, utilising all the furniture as support for him to lean on. All he needed was a receptacle. He had no intention of trying to make it as far as the latrines in this freezing weather, dressed only in his regulation underwear. The whole situation brought new meaning to the phrase ‘not having a pot to piss in’ and it was this that caused his literal downfall, making him laugh loudly at his predicament and lose balance. The fall was painful, his wounded leg giving way first and taking the brunt of the tumble. He screamed out in agony and couldn’t suppress a sob of humiliation.

“Gott im Himmel, what are you doing, Major McKinley?”

The last thing Liam wanted to see was Brenner’s mocking blue eyes and so he shut them out by closing his own in a defiant manner. “I need the latrine,” he said, trying to retain as much dignity as possible and still convey the urgency of the situation.

“Why didn’t you use the…?” Brenner looked at the empty table next to Liam’s bed. “Sheisse, I’m sorry,” he shook his head in disgust. “Colonel Giles asked me to do sluice duties and I forgot. I apologise most sincerely.”

“Well, could you stop being sorry and fetch me something to piss in,” growled Liam, close to desperation point.

“Ja. Yes. Right now.” Brenner hurried off and returned with a glass bottle, handing it to Liam then lifting the British officer into a sitting position to make everything flow a little easier.

It was such a relief to let go that Liam honestly didn’t care that he was lying on the floor, cradled in enemy arms with his prick on display as he peed into a jug.

“You’ve done yourself no favours, Major,” said Brenner, taking the bottle away then returning to examine the leg wound which was bleeding profusely. “Too stubborn for your own good, maybe? Come, let me get you back to bed and then I’ll do my best to fix you up again.”

It was only when Liam was limping his way across the ward with his arm resting on the medic’s shoulders that he realised how short Brenner actually was. He towered over the younger man by a good half a foot, and this, above all else, seemed to lessen the abyss between them. Relinquishing himself into his enemy’s care, he grimaced as Brenner settled him back into bed then breathed in a deep sigh of relief when the pain began to diminish.

“This will earn you at least an extra week in sickbay, Major,” said Brenner as he unwrapped the blood-soaked bandages and placed them into a metal bowl. “Are you so unwilling to leave me?”

Liam tried not to smile at the cheeky look on the young German’s face, but it was impossible not to give in to the laughing blue eyes and wicked grin. He shook his head wryly. “I’d think I’d safely swap you and your prison camp to be back at my mother’s house having roast beef and Yorkshire puddings.”

“Yes, well I wouldn’t say no to some home cooking myself. Our meals are not a lot better than yours, you know.” Brenner tutted as the final pad of dressing was removed. “You’ve ruined some of my lovely stitching and it was so pretty. I shall have to go and fetch my sewing kit now.”

The medic - Wil - patted him on the shoulder, and as he disappeared off into the dark recesses at the far end of the hut, Liam tried to push aside that moment of camaraderie. More than camaraderie, said a quiet voice inside him. It had been a long time since he’d allowed himself to feel the excitement that came from flirtation and he never dreamt that he’d experience it with an enemy soldier.

Liam had known his whole life that he preferred men. He wasn’t camp and he didn’t feel any secret desire to go off and join the Entertainment Corps, but he didn’t find women attractive. He’d never kept it a secret from his family and as soon as he was tendered a commission into the army he’d informed the board of his sexual orientation and was most shocked when they’d not rescinded the offer. He had, however, been careful never to broadcast the information during the course of his military career. Being a homosexual in the forces wasn’t as bad as one might think, but Liam was quite happy to be best friends with his right hand for the duration. It was his own personal decision. There was one private in his company who was very open about his sexuality and, far from being victimised, Wells was kept busy at nights. It relieved tension within the company and Liam was quite happy to turn a blind eye as long as no one was getting hurt. He’d even counselled Wells at one point to make sure everything was fine. Occasional bouts of depression had made him sorely tempted to dip his cock into the young soldier’s mouth, but he would never compromise his position by doing that. How he envied the boys who had nothing to lose. It was very lonely being an officer in wartime, but never lonely enough to think about embarking on a game of Russian roulette with one of your own men, let alone an enemy soldier.

***

Wil leant on the door frame and watched as the Americans were completely overpowered by all the other nationalities, buried under a barrage of snowballs. He smiled at the sight of Colonel Giles behaving like a ten-year-old and struggled to understand the reason for all the hatred. But it was essential he kept his thoughts locked up tight, filed away safely inside his head until this war was finally over. He’d only been in the army for a year now, but it was twelve months too long.

Thinking he was going to be allowed to finish his medical studies in peace, Wil had been devastated when his call up papers arrived. There had been too many Germans lost to battle -- too many innocent people killed of every nationality -- and now he was needed to boost the ever-growing number of body bags.

Taking a couple of the rapidly diminishing supply of sutures from the drawer, Wil placed them in a bowl, along with a bottle of surgical alcohol and some cotton wool pads and bandages. They too were running out and if anyone else arrived here with a wound as serious as Major McKinley’s then they would be unlucky, unless another Red Cross medical parcel arrived soon.

The doctor in town had banned Wil from scrounging since the episode with the penicillin. He’d been willing to give Dr. Brandt his watch, a twenty first birthday present from his parents, in exchange for the new wonder drug, but the old man had refused it point blank and instead had asked Wil not to beg for any more supplies. The doctor was finding it next-to-impossible to stock his small surgery with the necessary drugs and equipment. It seemed that the winter of 1944 was bringing with it a bleak future for the German nation.

“Apparently we have lost the great snowball war, although I think it’s a little unfair seeing the Americans were definitely outnumbered,” Wil said, returning to his patient’s side and placing the small tray of equipment on the table. He couldn’t quite interpret McKinley’s expression. “You look sad.”

“I’d do anything to be running around again. The R.A.F. have got a bloody lot to answer for. I shall personally go and slap some heads when I get back home.”

“Lie down flat please,” said Wil and then he blushed scarlet. “I need to remove your underwear.”

McKinley nodded, turning his face, and Wil was sensitive enough to try and distract him. A diversion wouldn’t be a bad idea from his point of view either. He hadn’t failed to notice how attractive the British officer was. “Tell me about your home,” he said as he stripped the shorts away in a no nonsense manner then removed the temporary wadding that had been placed there to soak up the blood.

Liam knew the real reason for the conversation and was immensely grateful. He needed something to concentrate on to take his mind off the feel of those fingers running over his skin.

“I lived in Ireland for a few years and then moved over to England when I was eight. My mother and father live in Kent now, in a town called Gillingham.” He winced at the pain as the wound site was swabbed with alcohol. “How does it look? Not going rotten again I hope.”

“No, it’s good. All except for the new hole you’ve made that I need to patch up.”

“Your fault,” muttered Liam, pushing out his lower lip in an exaggerated pout.

“If only you hadn’t been so stubborn,” answered Brenner with a grin. “So what did you do before the war?”

“I was a mechanic. My dad put all his money into this little garage and business was going really well - well enough for my brother Joe to start working with us. Dad had just had the sign re-written to say McKinley and Sons, but then the war started and Joe and I joined up. Last I heard, my sister Kathy was doing really well fixing the cars. Dad said he was very proud of her for helping him keep the home fires burning.”

“It sounds as though you have a nice family. I always wanted brothers and sisters,” replied Brenner and Liam could see a hint of sadness as he watched the medic concentrate on sewing layers of muscle and skin back together.

The German stared at the suture and sighed. “I hate this,” he said with a frown.

“Hate what?” Liam asked curiously.

Brenner sighed deeply. “Everything,” he mumbled. “Not having the right medical equipment. Not being trained to a high enough level to do the jobs I am required to do. I hate this-”

“I hate the war too,” said Liam, finishing the sentence for Brenner.

The emotive silence that followed this honest exchange was far too long for Liam’s liking. It gave him time to think about being half-naked with a young man who he found particularly appealing in every way. But Brenner’s next question doused that spark of arousal with a bucket of ice water.

“Have you ever killed anybody?” he asked, pausing for a second from dressing the wound and looking up at his patient.

“I’m sorry to admit that I have,” answered Liam. What else could he say? There was no point in lying. “In a lot of ways I was lucky because I went in as a trained mechanic so I never had to deal with battle the way some of the infantry boys had to. But yes, I killed two soldiers before I was captured in France.”

“It must be a terrible thing to live with.”

Liam was certain he’d see hatred in the other man’s eyes, but there was none. The unexpected sympathy was too much and he winced, more from the emotional pain than the feeling of the needle passing through his skin.

“I’m sorry. My mother always says I have a bad case of foot-in-mouth disease,” said Wil apologetically. “When I was conscripted the thought of fighting made me sick. I’d spent all my life wanting to cure people and now I was being asked to take lives. But what could I do? In this country there are not the options like there are in yours.”

“Surely you have the right to conscientiously object?”

“If you want to be executed, then yes, you have the right.”

Liam was appalled. The boy must have got it wrong.

“You find it hard to believe?" said Wil, looking up at him. "Well, me also. It’s not easy living in this country, but I keep this shut.” He pointed to his mouth and held his finger close to his lips in a gesture that to Liam seemed overtly erotic. “And I pray for this nightmare to be over so I can get back to learning how to make people better.”

Chapter Three

Surprisingly, despite the lack of gloves and antiseptic, the wound did not go bad again. Liam struggled hard to eat the foul food so that he would be well enough to gain release from sickbay and rejoin his British comrades, and he gratefully accepted any offerings that Giles had scrounged from various Red Cross packages around camp.

Most afternoons were spent playing cards with Brenner and it was becoming altogether too comfortable for Liam’s liking. There was something about the genuine way in which the young man opened up to him that touched his heart in a very dangerous fashion.

“You bastard, you’ve beaten me again.” Wil slammed his cards down in mock anger and got up. “I need to go check on my other patient.”

“He could have come in here with me, you know. I could do with some company.”

Liam watched Wil’s amiable expression sadden, then harden, and he was about to clarify what he had meant, but instead opted to bite back the words at the very last second. There was little point in trying to explain that there was nothing personal behind this off-the-cuff remark. The sooner he detached himself from Brenner, the better it would be for the pair of them.

“He has very bad stomach problems and I thought you’d be happier with him as far away as possible,” Brenner shrugged, “but I can move him if you wish.”

Liam declined the offer and watched the medic hurry away, feeling at his lowest point yet. War was cruel and painful and pointless.

Over the next two days he saw little of Brenner, but was cheered up, to a minor degree, by the arrival of Colonel Giles bringing him his very first Red Cross parcel.

“Cocoa! Chocolate! Condensed milk!” he exclaimed, pressing each new discovery to his heart as if it were a long lost friend. “I don’t suppose there’s any sign of a letter from my family, Doc?”

“No, nothing yet I’m sorry to say,” replied the colonel, “though the information usually takes a while to filter through. You know as well as I do what these long chains of wartime administration are like.”

Liam nodded, lighting a cigarette and sighing blissfully.

“Why didn’t you tell me you smoked, Mac?” Giles shook his head at the Irishman’s foolishness. “I’d have managed to rustle you up some cigarettes from somewhere. You could have asked Brenner, he’s always standing outside the door puffing away like a chimney.”

“No matter.” Liam sucked in another deep breath of the wondrous taste of the tobacco. “My mother was always on at us. She said we made the house smell like a bonfire. I thought I might be able to put this hospital time to good use and stop smoking but my plan has failed.”

The blast of a wailing siren interrupted their conversation and the loudspeaker crackled into life, calling all prisoners to the parade area.

“Damn,” muttered Giles as the distinctive sound of machine gun fire from the turrets was heard. “Riley and Graham were making an attempt today. It seems likely it’s gone awry. I hope there’ll be some pieces left to pick up at the end of this.”

“You sound resigned,” said Liam.

“I’ve seen too many deaths already. It may be an officer’s duty to escape, but it’s beyond foolish in a place like this.”

“Did you not hear the appel, Colonel Giles?” barked Brenner, racing into the hut. “Please attend now.”

Giles nodded and left immediately, obviously not wishing to endure any of the repercussions that could arise from something as minor as a late attendance.

“Poker school’s open if you have the time,” said Liam quickly, seeing that Brenner was also about to make an exit. He’d missed spending time with the medic. Bugger this war! Why shouldn’t he be allowed to be friends with whomever he liked? Wil had brightened the tedium of his days. Recently, however, the young man had taken to answering Liam with a modicum of words accompanied by a stern expression, and today was proving to be no exception.

“I’m busy. Another wonderful task allotted to me, being the only official medic in this camp, is disposal of the very bloody remains of all you lemmings who follow each other off the cliff with regularity.”

“Not fun,” replied Liam quietly, finding that he had no stock answer to the accusation of stupidity.

“No, very much not fun,” replied the German soldier bitterly, “And what you said was right. We are not company for each other. We are enemies and we should endeavour to remember that.”

***

Wil collected the blood-stained wheelbarrow from behind the barracks, pushing it slowly toward the north fence of the camp. Why did these prisoners seem hell bent on suicide? He didn’t understand. The image of cleaning Liam McKinley up off the barbed wire seeped into his mind and it made him retch. It was good that he’d severed that connection between them. He’d wasted far too much time thinking about the British prisoner and it had only succeeded in making him more miserable. He had thought that there was something between them--something that scared him to death but was exciting enough to draw him back time and time again--and yet he couldn’t have been more wrong. Finding out that he was not even good enough to be classed as company had hurt Wil very badly.

The two Americans were hanging off the fence, perforated into doilies by bullets from the over- zealous guards who were on watch duty at the time. Studying the remains of the tunnel that had collapsed on top of the men, Wil crouched down and picked up a handful of frozen soil. How hard it must have been to dig through that. Is that why their plan had failed? Did they not have enough wood to prop up the shaft? It was probably the additional weight of the snow that had caused the cave in.

As Wil pulled the bodies down and loaded them into the big wooden barrow, he couldn’t help wondering again what it was that drove them on. At times he was utterly ashamed of himself for being such a coward, happy to keep his head down and wait for everything to go away while these men fought tooth and nail for what they believed in, never giving up.

Wheeling the corpses over to the area of the camp that the Kommandant had set aside as a burial ground, Wil used his pickaxe on the frozen ground. Eventually after five hours of back-breaking work, Riley and Graham were interred and Wil’s hands were blistered and cut to ribbons.

It was the perfect excuse not to have to deal with Major McKinley again.

***

Four days later Giles hobbled into sickbay, limping away on a makeshift crutch.

“Look what Pryce and co. made for you. Consider it the key to your freedom.” The doctor gave a wry laugh, “Well, as much freedom as this place can offer you.”

Liam took the crutch and examined it with awe as if it were part of the Vatican treasure troves. Then he attempted a couple of slightly wobbly laps of the hut as his leg muscles became used to working once again. “Pass my thanks on to the chaps would you,” he panted as he passed the colonel for the second time. He was in fact rather close to kissing Giles, but didn’t think it would be appreciated. “I have to admit to going a trifle stir crazy in here of late.”

Giles laughed out loud at the look of gleeful anticipation on Liam’s face and then stopped him before he began a third lap. “Well then, I’ve even better news for you. Pack up whatever stuff you have into your kitbag and let’s march you into your new quarters.”

Liam let out a loud whoop of happiness and abandoned his attempt to set a new crutch-enabled marathon record. As he was stowing his few personal items into the green canvas bag, Liam asked the question that had been preying on his mind for the last few days. “How is Brenner?”

“To be honest I haven’t seen much of him," replied the doctor. "His hands were in a pretty poor state from grave digging duty, but if he keeps them clean and rests them then they’ll heal well.”

Liam winced. He hated the thought of anything spoiling those nimble fingers that had tended his wounds so competently. “Tell him thanks from me. For everything.”

“You’ll see plenty of him, Mac. This place is nothing more than an overflow camp; it’s very small,” said Giles.

“Still, I’d appreciate you telling him. I probably won’t get the opportunity for many heart to hearts, and thanking the lad in front of everyone doesn’t seem quite appropriate, even if he is the reason I still have two legs.”

“Will do then. Now hurry up and let’s get you away from this beastly hospital ward and over to the hut so I can introduce you to the rest of our chaps.” Picking up Liam’s kit bag, Colonel Giles led the way out of the building.

Hobbling down the ward, Liam came to a halt at the open doorway. It was his first proper look around Oflag XVIC and he was shocked at how basic everything was. From the looks of things they were housed in a run down workcamp with no more than twenty huts, a cook house and a near-as-damn-it open air wash house. He was beginning to appreciate all those blanket baths, however embarrassing they had been at the time.

With a little help from the doctor, he descended the icy wooden steps. The ground was covered in a thick layer of frozen snow that was so slippery he found it extremely difficult to negotiate a path towards his new home.

Giles grabbed his arm and just about managed to stop him falling on his arse. “Steady now, Mac. We don’t want you undoing all those nice neat stitches of Brenner’s.”

‘We don’t want to undo all this new found enmity either,’ thought Liam. The current chill atmosphere between them was for the best. He’d gone five years without being close to anyone and he could go another five if necessary.

There was almost nothing to distinguish the British hut from the others except for a small Union Jack painted over the doorway. It was a bleak looking place, but the contrasting cheerful chatter from the men inside almost made Liam turn tail and limp back to his sick bed. How pathetic it was to be overwhelmed by shyness at his age. He felt like a child arriving late to a birthday party.He was trying to take in everyone’s name as Giles introduced him around when they were interrupted mid way by a cultured voice from the far end of the hut.

“Mac!” Captain Pryce came hurtling towards him and Liam was worried he was going to get knocked over by the one man stampede.

“I was sure you were dead even though Doc kept insisting you were alive and as irritating as ever. It was the irritating part that finally convinced me.”

Liam laughed. “Thanks for the warm welcome and the crutch, Prof. How’s prison life suiting you?”

“Well the rotten potato soup is vile and most of the goons are more rotten than the potatoes, but it’s wonderful to get food parcels and letters from home,” replied Wesley in cheerful manner.

Liam breathed in the damp smoky air and tried to repress a sigh. “I haven’t heard from my family yet. To be honest I’m beginning to worry a little. I hope they didn’t get bombed out, or worse.”

“I’m sure everything is fine. We have been shunted from pillar to post remember and it’s hard for the Ministry to keep track of us all.” Wesley patted his friend on the shoulder in an awkward gesture of comfort that succeeded in comforting Liam a lot more than he imagined possible. “Oh and I’ve given you top bunk,” Wesley added with a smile, “I hope that’ll suit."

“It’s fine as far as I’m concerned,” replied Liam with a deadpan expression, “As long as you realise exactly where I’ll be going to the lav in the night.” The look on Wesley’s face made Liam splutter with laughter. Theirs was a friendship that Liam could accept with open arms. One that was happy and healthy and nurturing in the best way possible.

“How is the old leg, by the way? I heard Spike had to patch you up seeing as the doc was in with Herr Kommandant at the time.”

“Spike?” questioned Liam with an intrigued smile.

“The medic, Brenner. Harris named him that because of his hair and I even heard some of the other goons calling him it yesterday. Poor little blighter. He’s a nice enough young fellow and I think we’ve inadvertently made his life here just a little bit harder.”

Spike. Liam tested out the name silently. It suited Wil. He imagined the boy’s handsome face lighting up, tongue curling in that naughty grin that Liam had seen just the once. Spike...

“Fancy a cuppa?” asked Wesley, waking him out of his inappropriate reverie.

“Absolutely.”

Sometimes, however hard life was, there was nothing better than being huddled around a stove on a winter’s day with your hands clasped around a mug of tea. It reminded Liam so much of that grubby backstreet garage in Gillingham that it brought tears to his eyes. Oh Christ, he hoped his family was alright.

“So tell me about the other chaps,” he said, as a chair was shoved under him and his leg was given pride of place, propped up on a crate.

“Not a lot to say really,” replied Wesley, “Everyone gets on well. We spend most of our time with the Yanks and the Poles. There’s a bit of an ongoing battle between the Russians and the French which can flare up every now and then.” Wesley sipped his tea. “What else do I need to tell you? Oh yes, one of the Yanks, Harris, is a fantastic scrounger. He can get hold of just about anything; so much so I’m half of the opinion he uses black magic. We haven’t a decent forger in the camp so unfortunately I had to make up the papers for the last set of escapees.”

Liam cringed at the thought of Pryce doing that job. He’d seen some of the Englishman’s attempts at drawing in the past and wondered if maybe he should offer his services. He’d been pretty good with a pencil once upon a time.

“Doc Giles is the senior officer so he attempts to co-ordinate all the escapes when he and Spike aren’t too busy patching us all up. I don’t think there’s a lot else to say really. Tomorrow we’ll introduce you around to the foreign chaps. Unfortunately I don’t think you’ll be quite ready for our planned game of ice football, but you can hop about on your stick and cheer us on.” Wesley slung an arm around his shoulders and offered him a digestive biscuit. “Damn, it’s good to have you back, Mac.”

The day passed by much more quickly now that he was no longer alone with his thoughts. Liam was surprised to discover that even the disgusting food tasted better if there was someone to have a laugh with while you were eating it. However he couldn’t help but miss the solitude of the nights. Once the lights had gone out in sick bay he was left with all the time in the world to indulge in some private fantasies. Now he had to listen to a room full of men snoring, or, worse still, trying to get themselves off under the thin covers. The creak of the rickety bunks usually gave away who was busy exercising their wrists, but they all had the decency to ignore it. Men masturbated and that was a fact of life, however men were not supposed to masturbate over images of enemy soldiers. Liam struggled to turn over in bed and tried valiantly to ignore his erection that was begging for attention, but that proved itself to be an impossible task. Surrendering to the inevitable, he fisted his weeping cock and brought himself off into his handkerchief as quickly and as silently as he could manage.

***

For days Wil had tried to pretend that he didn’t miss the strange 'almost relationship' that had been developing between himself and the British soldier. His injured hands had kept him away from medical duties, but they’d not stopped him from walking past sickbay several more times than was necessary whilst he was assigned to temporary patrol duty. It was his duty as a care giver to keep an eye on McKinley’s welfare, he told himself each time he peered through the grimy window panes of the hospital hut in order to catch a glimpse of his patient.

Trying his best not to think about the big Irishman, Wil sat on his bed in the barrack room and removed the bandages from his hands then opened his footlocker to take out a new roll. His supply was used up. The thought of venturing into sickbay was nerve wracking and yet his stomach rolled over with excitement. He’d not seen McKinley since yesterday morning and the need had been building inside him since, making him edgy and fretful. Maybe he did miss the man a little. After all it had been a long time since he’d had a friend.

During his slow walk over to the hospital he considered whether he should talk to McKinley. The rational side of him decided that it would be best not to, but even so it wouldn’t harm to plan out a conversation in case the need arose. By the time he opened the door to the hut he was awash with nerves. The more he thought things over, the less his feelings seemed like friendship.

The hospital was cold and far less welcoming than usual. It wasn’t like Colonel Giles to let the stove go out. It was then that it dawned on Wil how silent it was in there. Racing through the ward, the echo of his footsteps bouncing off bare walls, he looked down at the stripped palliasse which had once been McKinley’s bed. His initial thoughts were crazy ones that made his insides churn with fear, but the British officer obviously wasn’t dead, he had just returned to quarters.

Grabbing a roll of bandage from the supply cupboard, Wil looked back at the empty ward thinking about the few, happy days he had spent in the Irishman's company. Deliberately picking a route back to barracks that passed by the British hut, he heard the sounds of laughter and cheerful conversation and slowed down, lingering outside and wishing with all his heart he belonged in there with them.

“What are you doing, Spike?” snorted Farber as he patrolled the camp, rifle at the ready in hope of some action. “I always knew there was something not right with you all those fluent languages and pretty boy looks. Are you a spy?”

“No,” said Wil, refusing to look Farber in the eye. He was the one who was not right in the head and Wil hated him to the point of revulsion. “Not doing anything. Just putting my cigarette out.”

“Well, if you find out any of their escape plans then tell me and I’ll drag them out and shoot them one by one.” Farber licked his lips licentiously at the thought of the violence. “I’m sure there’ll be a reward in it for you.”

Chapter Four

Life was gloomier than ever now that the actuality of spending Christmas in this hell hole had settled over the heads of the soldiers like a pall. Air raids were becoming ever more frequent, and the howl of sirens which forewarned the thrumming approach of a squadron of Lancasters was almost appreciated by the prisoners. At least it served to ease the monotony a little. For Liam, the only release from this boredom was his newly acquired role as camp forger.

It was as bitter as Siberia outside and, even though he was well wrapped up, Liam shivered as he leant against the fence talking to a group of Americans. Under the guise of putting away his cigarettes he casually palmed a scrap of paper from his pocket and showed it to Harris.

“I can reproduce the Wehrpass easily enough, but I need this stamp for a Soldbuch. Think you can help?”

“Shouldn’t be a problem with the sources I have, ‘though I may need a ton of smokes and chocolate as persuasion,” said Captain Harris, grinning lopsidedly, his breath misting out in a cloud, “I’ll get back to you as soon as I have news, big guy.”

Liam ignored the over-familiarity from the American and finished up the conversation with some small talk. Sticking his hands back into his greatcoat pockets for warmth, he limped away through the snow. Was this cold ever going to let up? There had been snowfall after snowfall and now it was nigh on impossible for the men to take any exercise other than a brisk walk, and with Liam’s leg the way it was, his walking was none too brisk.

A tell-tale shock of blond hair disappeared back inside the hospital hut in a puff of cigarette smoke and Liam watched for a second, wondering if Brenner was going to reappear. It had been three weeks now since he’d moved out of the sickbay and, contrary to Doc’s opinion, he’d not seen the medic once to talk to. Wil was avoiding him like the plague, and the way things were going Liam would probably need to contract an equally nasty disease if he was ever going to get close enough to speak to the lad again.

Distracted by the sound of raised voices from the corner of the parade ground, Liam looked over to see Fournier and Bertrand involved in a haranguing match with a group of Russian officers whose names were far too long and complicated for him to remember. He only knew the two Frenchmen because he’d been forging travel documents for them the previous week. Liam didn’t take much notice until the name calling turned into a physical fight, and even then he hardly gave it a second thought until he saw a glint of metal flashing in the sun.

Racing across the treacherous ground as quickly as he could manage, Liam tried his best to separate the men, but then everything became cold and he was falling and there was this icy-hot stinging sensation in his stomach. He looked across at the snow and wondered why it was red where it should have been white.

***

Wil knew the instant it happened. Ever since McKinley had arrived in the camp he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off him. Running towards the jumble of bodies, he prayed that the dark stain he could see spilling across the snow didn’t belong to the British officer, but, even through the shield of men, Wil knew that Liam was the one lying spread out on the ground. From the angle of his wounded leg. From the sickening fear that welled up.

Finding an inner strength that he didn’t know existed, Wil picked McKinley up in his arms and carried him through to the quarantine room at the far end of the hospital. In the distance he could hear shouting in Russian, German and French. The dull thuds and consequent screams of agony as army boots made contact with prisoners’ bodies should have shocked him into action, but all he could think about was saving this one man's life.

“Spike, how is he?” asked Wesley, immobilised in the doorway and looking on in horror at the amount of blood everywhere.

“Get the doctor, now,” ordered Wil as he rolled Liam over onto his back and unfastened his clothing to examine the wound. The entry point was only about an inch in length but it was gushing like a geyser. Wil panicked; he knew what must be wrong but couldn’t do anything about it while he was on his own. Keeping his fist pressed down hard into Liam’s lower abdomen he waited for Colonel Giles to arrive.

“What’s happened?” asked the doctor in dismay.

“Knife wound. Hurry please. It must be an artery. I can’t move my hand or the bleeding starts again.”

“Wil, I can’t do this. I haven’t operated in years and I was never a field surgeon.”

“If you don’t do it then I will. I won’t sit here and watch him die. Get the tray ready and prep him.” Wil hoped he sounded cool enough to convince the doctor. The truth was that inside he was as frightened as a child.

“I’ll do it,” said Giles grimly as he sterilised everything as best he could, “but don’t expect miracles, young man. Have you any idea how impossible it’s going to be to even find the artery that needs repairing without any way of stopping the bleeding?”

"Make the incision big enough for me to get my hand in. I’ll clamp it with my fingers and between us we’ll do our best, okay?”

The doctor nodded curtly and within seconds had cut Liam open with the scalpel. “We need to work as fast as possible,” he said, “He’ll bleed out in a very short time and we have no way of giving him a transfusion that quickly.”

Wil and Giles watched intently to see which artery was spouting blood and as soon as they discovered the source of the bleeding, Wil slipped his hand inside Liam’s body and squeezed the vessel tightly between finger and thumb, leaving Giles just enough room to work.

Wil had seen operations at close hand but he’d never had his bare fingers inside a body cavity that was slippery warm and pulsing with life. He could feel the beat of Liam’s heart slowing down and it made every painful second turn into an hour. Beads of cold sweat began to form on his skin as his head started to swim and he couldn’t hear anything now but the hammering of his own heart. 'Please don’t die,' he prayed, 'Please don't die.'

“It’s done,” said Giles, closing the wound and staggering back until he collided with the bench behind him. “If he survives the blood loss and infection doesn’t set in I’ll start to believe in miracles. I wonder if Harris can scrounge up a bottle of whisky. I could do with at least four fingers of scotch.”

“Once we have McKinley settled I’ll make you a cup of coffee. I can even throw in a drop of brandy,” said Wil, cleaning his patient up and dressing the wound.

“Thank you. I most certainly won’t say no to that kind offer,” said Giles, sinking down into the chair in exhaustion as he watched the medic check McKinley’s vitals. “You’ll make an excellent doctor one day, Wil. Will you be alright staying with the Major while I go tell our chaps he’s pulled through?”

“Yes, I’ll be fine,” answered Wil. And he would stay that way as long as he could keep clinging on to the vague hope that McKinley would recover.

“I’ll be back for that coffee in two shakes so make sure you don’t drink all the brandy,” smiled Giles, looking twenty years older as he got to his feet and left the hut.

“Are you doing this to me on purpose?” said Wil, still trembling from the after-effects of the adrenaline as he stripped his patient of all the bloodied clothes then slid him across onto the bed. “Thank God, you stayed asleep through that. I wouldn’t like to wake up with someone’s hand inside my stomach.” He tucked a clean sheet around Liam’s naked body and then covered him with three blankets. “But you’d better fucking wake up soon, or I’ll be angry at all the time I wasted on you. You hear me. I nearly lost my watch over you.”

***

For the second time in less than two months Liam woke up in agony.

“What happened?” he asked blearily to the shapeless lump in the bed next to him. “Joe, is that you? Joey?”

It was so cold. If only he could be brave enough to get out of bed, he could light the fire in the little hearth then climb back under the covers and hibernate until the room warmed up. Was it snowing outside? “Joe, I think it’s snowed. We can build a sledge.” Why didn’t his brother answer him?

The shapeless lump had moved and was now standing over him.

“Major. It’s me, Brenner. How are you feeling?”

The distinct smell of hospital mixed in with stewing vegetables from the cookhouse brought everything back to Liam in a flurry of bad memories and he turned his face away to hide the misery. Why did he have to wake up here? The barbed wire fence was looking more and more appealing. He tried to ignore the cool hand on his forehead.

“You have a fever, but it’s nothing to worry about.”

The blankets were pulled down and Liam was even colder now, especially when something icy pressed against his chest.

“Go away.”

“No, I won’t go away. I fight to save your life two times now and I have every damn right to see how you’re doing.”

Liam closed his eyes and went back to sleep.

***

“Brenner? What in heaven’s name are you doing sleeping in sickbay? Have you caught the plague?”

Wil sat up in bed looking over at the amused, unshaven face that was staring up at him. It was a miracle. Neither he nor the doctor honestly thought that McKinley stood any chance at all of fighting off the infection that had set in, but the fact that the Major was finally lucid was enough to give Brenner a small amount of hope.

“You scared me half to death.” Will leapt out of bed and checked Liam’s vital signs. No fever, no tachycardia and his breathing was slow and normal.

“I’m starving. I’d die for a mug of tea and some toast and jam.”

Liam grinned up at him and it took every inch of Wil’s resolve not to kiss that smiling mouth.

“You? You die for everything,” he said in this choked-up voice that was full of happiness and anger and exasperation. “How many more times are you going to expect me to save you?”

“It’s good training for your future career.”

“Well, don’t do it anymore unless you want me to have a heart attack.” Wil raced away to the other end of the hut to hide. His feelings were so strong that Wil was certain they must be written clearly for all to see, and that must never happen.

Chapter Five

“At last,” shouted Colonel Giles gleefully as he carried in a larger than usual parcel from the Red Cross. “I was beginning to think Jerry had swiped them so they’d have some goodies for Christmas too.”

He plonked the cardboard box on the edge of Liam’s bed and looked over at Brenner in a slightly shamefaced fashion. “Sorry, young man. I didn’t mean anything by that.”

Wil looked up from where he was changing Liam’s dressing and smiled, “No offence taken, Colonel. I have to admit the prisoners seem to be getting a better end of the deal at the moment, food wise anyway.”

Liam exchanged a glance with the doctor. From the few reports they had received, it seemed as if the war in Europe was going well for the Allies and the Germans were definitely on the back foot. Unfortunately this news had initiated a build up of tension within the camp that was almost palpable.

“I also come bearing this,” said Giles, brandishing a letter at Liam as if it were a Papal Bull. “Your first post from Blighty.”

Unable to restrain himself Liam snatched the envelope from Giles and tore it open, desperate to find out the news from home.

My dear Liam,

I can’t tell you how happy we were to receive news of your well being. We had almost given up hope, except for your father who said you were too stubborn to give in to the Nazis.

Liam laughed out loud.

All is well with us. Kathy is still doing a splendid job as a motor mechanic and says she’ll not be handing back your overalls after the war is over. We have had news from everyone and all the family are safe, except for your cousin Colm who was killed in North Africa. We are devastated for Mary and Stephen who have lost their only son, but at the same time it makes us so thankful to know that you and Joseph are safe.

We miss you terribly and Kathy even says she wishes you were here to push her out of the way and put the angel on top of the Christmas tree. Remember that year the pair of you knocked the whole kit and caboodle over? And to think you were five years older than her. There was a time when I doubted you would ever grow up, but you’ve turned into a fine man and your father and I are very proud of you.

I hope this letter finds you in good health and as good spirits as you can manage.

Happy Christmas, Son.

Much love

Mother

Liam folded the letter carefully and placed it back in the envelope then slipped it into the top pocket of his pyjamas which had been given to him by Fournier, courtesy of Harris, as an early Christmas present.

“I hope all is well,” said Giles, polishing his glasses carefully.

“It is, thank you, Doc. It certainly is,” said Liam trying but failing to keep the tears of relief at bay. He’d been so very frightened for his family.

“Splendid,” smiled Giles, “Well, now we can all relax I shall leave you to unwrap your Christmas box in peace. Goodbye, Mac. Auf Wiedersehen, Wil.”

“Would you like a cup of tea?” asked Wil after the doctor had left the hut.

Liam laughed as he carefully unfastened the string from his parcel. “You’re getting too English by half. You’ll be making me scones and jam next.”

“I wish. Not that I’ve ever eaten them,” grinned Wil, “Second stewing or fresh leaves?”

“Second, I think. After all it’s not Christmas yet.”

“No, three days to go. Not that we will be celebrating. Kommandant Schaeffer has given strict instructions that we are to carry on as normal.” He handed Liam a tin mug and sat down on the edge of the bed cradling his own.

“Digestive?” Liam offered him the packet.

Brenner looked at the biscuits and Liam could almost see his mouth watering. “Take one,” he said, waving the paper wrapping under Wil’s nose.

“I can’t. If they find out they would say it is bribery. Please don’t ask again.”

Liam knew when to stop pushing. He put the packet away and carefully placed the box on the table next to his bed, wincing as he twisted his body too far around.

“Let me,” said Wil standing up to help him. Their fingers accidentally brushed together and the young German pulled back suddenly as if he’d been hit by an electric shock then sank down onto the bed, restlessly worrying the lint off the worn woollen blanket.

“I’m sorry,” he said as Liam looked askance at him, “I’m a little jumpy.”

“Tell me about Christmas with your family,” said Liam, placing his hand over Wil’s to still the relentless movement of his fingers.

“Nothing to tell. It was very quiet most years, but my father was a history professor and sometimes we had students staying with us.”

Wil drifted away, his face sombre as he became lost in the past. Liam applied gentle pressure with his hand finding his own solace from that simple act of comfort. When Wil looked up at him again, he was haunted.

“I did a terrible thing. I told a friend that we had different people staying with us at times. It was an innocent remark. I didn’t mean anything by it. They were students, that’s all. Just students.”

Liam watched a single tear run down the side of Wil’s nose, but kept his silence wanting the young man to release some of this pain.

“Two days later I came home from school and my mother was frantic. The house was destroyed, floorboards ripped up, everything smashed to pieces. The Gestapo had taken my father away for questioning. It had been reported that he was harbouring Jews.”

Without thinking Liam took Wil’s hand and pressed it to his lips turning it over and kissing the scarred ridges on the palm.

“He was gone for three months and when he came back he was different, quiet. All he ever said was that he wished he had done what they had accused him of.” Wil worried at his lower lip, biting it until it bled. “I cannot talk about this anymore.”

He struggled to get away but Liam held firm, pulling the young man closer and ignoring the pain as his wound stretched and twisted from the movement of his abdominal muscles. “Come here,” he said running his fingers through the white blond hair and holding Will’s head in his hands, their faces no more than three inches apart. “Listen to me. You didn’t do anything wrong. I promise you. You’re kind, you’re gentle and you want to help people not hurt them. I know you, Wil Brenner.”

The kiss was slow and sweet, Liam’s lips barely brushing against Wil’s to begin with. Then it deepened in intensity and the great weight of feeling bearing down on Liam was terrifying, but never enough to make him stop.

“We must not.” Wil lurched away from him, fear written all over his face.

“We must,” replied Liam trying, but failing, to pull Wil closer again. He was far too weak to put up much of a fight.

“You have no idea how terrible things are here. You moan about your hard life, and how badly you are treated, but you know nothing. You have your Red Cross parcels and your letters from your home and your crystal sets telling you the news. You have hope.”

“There is hope for all of us, Wil,” said Liam taking hold of the German medic’s hand once more.

“Have you always been a homosexual, or is this just a wartime necessity to get you through the long nights?”

Liam hated hearing the rebirth of that clipped tone. It cut him to the quick. “No,” he said as loudly as he dared, outraged by Wil’s allegation. “My family know about my sexuality as do the army. I don’t choose to tell everyone, but that’s up to me. Do you think so little of what just happened? Do you think so little of me?”

The sudden movement shocked him and he found his mouth covered by the palm of Wil’s hand.

“Shhhh,” hissed the German, quivering as Liam ran his tongue over the skin.

He pulled his hand away and moved closer and Liam wanted another kiss more than anything in the world, but he knew better than to risk it. The look in those in those blue eyes was enough to tell him that. Not hatred or disgust. Just sheer bloody terror.

“I will give you a lesson about what it means to be a homosexual in my country since 1936 shall I?” said Wil coldly, “If they find out and you do not agree to be ‘cured’ then they send you into ‘protective custody.’ When you’re in the camp you must wear the pink triangle all the time and everyone is allowed to beat you, rape you, torture you. You are the scum.”

Liam could feel the blood rush away from his head. He felt sickened and a hair’s breadth away from fainting. “No,” he murmured, “It can’t be li-”

“If you do agree to be cured then it’s worse,” continued Wil in relentless fashion. “The Nazis somehow are under the impression that homosexuality will pollute the gene pool, but they don’t want to have to destroy any more Germans than necessary so they experiment on us.”

“How do you know this?” asked Liam reaching for Wil’s hand once more. This time the young man didn’t resist. Lost again within his memories, Wil’s eyes and his voice softened.

“I’ve only had sex once. There was this boy I knew who lived near me who was quite open about what he was. Karl his name was, Karl Bucher.” Wil half-smiled at the memory. “He was strange looking and I wasn’t really attracted to him but I- I was fourteen and I wanted to know what sex was like. To know if I really liked boys. So, when we’d finished packing stuff away after the Hitler Jugend meeting was over I just asked him outright if he’d show me how to fuck. He walked away and I thought he didn’t want me, but then he turned off onto this little path that led around the side of the meeting hall and looked back at me until I followed him. I remember it was just getting dark on one of those long summer evenings. We lay down in the long grass and he kissed me and I knew right then I liked boys so much. We were stupid, lying there not caring about getting caught, just kissing and kissing and kissing then he unzipped my trousers and slipped his hand inside my underwear. I can feel him now.”

Wil’s face was flushed from the heat of the memory and Liam tried hard not to become aroused. He concentrated on rubbing slow comforting circles on the back of Wil’s hand, enjoying that slightest of contact as he waited for the story to continue.

“I was so excited I thought I was going to come right there in his hand, especially when he got his own cock out and began to stroke us together. We weren’t so big then. I’m bigger now,” said Wil blushing again and Liam leaned forward and kissed him just once on the lips.

“Karl taught me everything he knew about sex that night. We were there ‘til early hours of the morning and it was so late when I got back home I tried to sneak back in quietly, but my mother and father were waiting for me. I had to think up an explanation for being out after curfew when my backside was leaking semen and I was covered in these little tufts of grass.” Wil sighed. “I can’t remember what I said, but I knew they didn’t believe me from their looks of disappointment. The next week when Karl asked me if I wanted to fuck I said no. I didn’t need to; I’d already found out what I needed to know.”

Liam was lost within this strange circle of story, but he didn’t want to interrupt Wil in case the moment was spoiled.

“I think my mother knew about the way I was. I don’t think she hated me for it, but she was scared, understandably so. She wrote to me at university and told me about Karl. He never tried to hide what he was from anyone, the stupid boy. He was declared mentally deficient and taken to this hospital where they were going to cure him of being a homosexual. His mother went along with it because she wanted grandchildren and a normal life for her son. When they brought him back home six months later he was cured alright. They’d castrated him.”

“Oh, Christ.” It took a second for the words to sink in and when they did Liam was left teetering on the edge of disbelief and fury. Things like that didn’t happen. They just didn’t. Not in the cocoon-like world he lived in.

Their second kiss happened as naturally as the first--a shared moment of comfort and sorrow--and, just for a moment, Wil opened his mouth and encircled the back of Liam’s neck with his left hand, pulling him closer.

When the kiss was over Wil pressed his forehead against Liam’s. “This is why it must not happen. One more week and you will be well enough to go back with the others and we will not have to see each other so much again.”

The footsteps echoing on the floorboards made them jump away from each other.

“Gosh, you both look as if you’ve lost a shilling and found sixpence,” said Colonel Giles, warming his hands by the stove and pouring a mug of tea.

“Pardon?” asked Wil in confusion and Liam couldn’t help but smile at the look of bafflement on the young man’s face.

“It means you look miserable,” explained Giles patiently, “Please don’t say you can hear the choir practicing their carol singing from this far away? The only reason I’ve come in here is to escape the caterwauling.”

“No, we can’t hear anything. Mind you I’m tone deaf so I wouldn’t have a clue how bad they were,” replied Liam with a forced air of brightness.

“Pryce keeps asking if he can come sick visiting, but the goons are adamant that nobody is allowed inside the hospital except for the patients and the medical staff. There is some logic to that I suppose. At least it would make sense if we had a ward full of soldiers with yellow fever, but we don’t. Anyway he sends his regards hoping you’ll be back over the other side of the camp for Christmas and I can’t see any reason why not.”

Three days. Not even the week that Wil had promised. Liam tried hard not to let his falling spirits show on his face, failing miserably.

“Missing the family are you, Mac?” said Giles patting him on the shoulder. “Never mind, you’ll have us and a tin of corned beef to cheer you up.”

Liam’s eyes met Wil’s just for a second before the medic moved away picking up the mugs and tidying the hut.

Three more days.

Chapter Six

Two more days, brooded Liam. Well, more like one seeing as evening was well on its way to night.

“Stop flitting around, Spike, you’re making me feel dizzy,” he said as he watched Wil mop the floor for the third time in twenty minutes. The reaction from using the nickname was amusing to say the least. Will looked at him with an expression of annoyance, shock and a tiny bit of pride.

“Don’t call me that.” Wil put the mop back in the bucket and leant on the handle.

“Why not? I like it, I think it suits you,” replied Liam with a grin. “Now come here and play pontoon with me. I’m bored and as my nurse you’re obliged to look after my mental as well as my physical well being.”

Just the mention of the word 'physical' had Liam hard as granite, but he tried his best to ignore it and shuffled the deck of playing cards, dealing out two face down to each of them.

“I can’t,” said Wil, looking down at his feet.

“Damn it, I’m asking you to play a round of twenty-ones, not play around with me.”

The sheepish smile on the German’s face made Liam ache even more for that mouth, but now he understood the source of Wil’s fear he was trying hard to resist temptation.

“If this were a normal camp I would have a hut full of patients with amoebic dysentery. Even though he disguises it well Gruber must be a very hygienic cook,” said Wil looking around him at the empty beds.

They both laughed out loud at the thought of the spotty, unwashed soldier being anything other than filthy when it came to preparation of the food.

“Well then, seeing as you don’t have any other patients you can come here and look after me, Spike.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Spike.”

“I’ll suture that mouth closed.”

“Spikey.”

“Enough or I swear I’ll tickle you. I know how much you hate that, remember.”

Liam thought back to the few fleeting moments of play between them when Wil had run his fingers teasingly over Liam’s ribs. “No tickling,” he said cowering away in mock fear. “I promise I’ll be good. Now come here and play pontoon with me, Wil.”

An hour later Brenner threw down his cards in disgust. “How come you always win every single game?” he sulked. “It’s impossible.”

Liam loved it when the little German got worked up; sticking his lip out in petulance, but always with a smile that lingered around his eyes to say that nothing was ever taken too seriously. Just for a second Liam imagined taking Wil back to meet his mum and dad and the thought broke his heart into pieces. He’d never met anyone he liked well enough to take home before.

“Maybe because I cheat all the time,” he said with a wicked grin that completely outclassed Wil’s cheekiness as he proudly displayed the cards that were hidden under his pillow. The look of sheer outrage on Wil’s face was poetry for the soul.

“You cheated? You underhanded, scheming, British-”

“Irish,” corrected Liam.

“You underhanded, scheming Irish prick,” growled Wil, grabbing Liam’s wrists.

Liam couldn’t resist; choosing his moment and waiting for muscles to relax, he reeled Wil in for a kiss.

“We will be found out.” Wil pulled back a couple of inches, panting, staring, pupils expanded with need.

“I’ll tell them I forced myself on you,” answered Liam, closing the small gap, his lips brushing against Wil’s and his tongue sliding its way into the partly opened mouth.

These moments of indiscretion increased Liam’s desire tenfold. The slow process of discovering Wil intimately was nothing like he had ever experienced before. His other liaisons had all been brusque, passionate affairs. No wooing or romance, just groping in a back alley or, once he had got older, good hard fucking.

“Tell me what it was like for you growing up,” said Wil, giving in slightly and lying next to him on the narrow bed, but still tensed and ready to spring up at any moment at the sound of footsteps. “Did you always know you liked boys the way I did?”

Liam thought back to when he was young. “When I was twelve I was kissed by Laura Roberts. She was fourteen, an older woman, and I was very flattered. When I was thirteen I was kissed by Laura’s brother Charlie and I’ve never looked back since that day.”

“Tell me more. Tell me everything,” said Wil excitedly and Liam thought that perhaps this was the first time the young man had ever spoken to anyone about sex since his night with Karl Bucher.

“I was a member of the church boys’ group. Mum thought it would be a good idea for me; stop me getting into mischief.” He laughed at the sheer absurdity. “One summer, I think it was 1930, they arranged for us to camp out in the garden of this big house near where we lived. We put up these battered old two-man army tents. There was even an area set aside for a camp fire. It was great fun. Charlie Roberts and I were sharing a tent and we sat up for hours talking about all kinds of things then he said he was cold and he climbed into my sleeping bag with me. It was a tight squeeze and we were pressed up close against each other face to face. Then we kissed.”

“What was it like? Did you enjoy it? What else did you do?” Wil’s questions tripped over themselves on their way out of his mouth.

“Yes, I liked it a lot,” said Liam with a slow smile as he remembered the feel of the boy’s lips against his. “And we did what came natural I suppose, pulling our pyjama bottoms down and touching ourselves, then touching each other. I wanted to see what his looked like but it was too dark so I just stroked him while he did the same to me. We kept kissing until we came all over each other.”

“Did you do anything else?”

Liam thought about it. They’d rubbed cocks until they were sore and spent but that was all. “No. It wasn’t until much later that I learned more. Next year when it was time for boys’ camp I was all grown up and working at the garage. I sometimes wonder what happened to Charlie Roberts. I bet he’s still trying to convince himself he’s a nice normal fellow.”

Just then a siren sounded and Wil jumped up to a sitting position. “Scheisse! It’s curfew. I must get back to the barracks. How did it get this late?”

“Stay,” said Liam. “Please.” He rested his hand over Wil’s. It was so very wrong to do this, but he couldn’t bear to be parted from him.

“I can’t, you know that. I have to obey orders.” Will’s eyes strayed over to the doorway as if he expected to be interrupted at any moment.

“You stayed before when I was sick.”

“But that was different. I needed to check on you every hour.”

“I’ve had a relapse. Can’t you feel how hot I am?” grinned Liam, taking Wil’s hand and placing it on his forehead. “Besides, I have a lot more to tell you.”

Part of Liam hated himself for manipulating the younger man this way, but after tomorrow the opportunity for moments of intimacy like this would be gone.

“I just want to spend time with you, Wil, that's all.”

The lights flickered off and Wil peered out of the blackout curtains. “I'll ask permission,” he said as he watched the guards take up their positions then he pulled the curtain closed and lit the hurricane lamps before leaving to face the duty officer.

***

Leaning against the wall of the hut and gasping in a final draft of smoke from the remnants of his half-dead cigarette, Wil nodded a nervous hello to Schmidt who was passing by on patrol and wondered why he was being so ridiculously irresponsible. He could hear his mother urging him always to be careful. Could see the blank look that his father had worn since his months spent with the Gestapo. He knew what he should be doing, should be saying, so why then was he flushed and panting, his heart hammering and his mind replaying those kisses over and over again? Because he was stupid, that’s why. Just a stupid little boy swooning at the feet of the tall, handsome officer.

At the pace of a slow funeral march, Wil climbed the steps into the hut, tossing his cigarette butt behind him into the gravel strewn snow. Far in the distance he could hear the sound of bombers on a raid over Munich. He’d not had a letter from his parents for a while, but then he’d not written to them either. They’d never been the kind of family to keep in regular contact - not since all the problems. Too many secrets. Too many skeletons hidden everywhere.

The inside of the sickbay glowed cheerily in the pale yellow light from the hurricane lamps but it didn’t make him feel at ease in the slightest. It made him feel other darker, dirtier things, but ease definitely wasn’t one of them.

“Just because Leutnant Aldmann believed what I told him doesn’t make this right,” he said, pouring a mug of tea for Liam and an ersatz coffee for himself. The German officers got to drink real coffee, but everyone else had to put up with this phoney stuff that was made out of acorns and tasted like it too. He pulled a face at the bitterness.

“Would sugar make it better? Or condensed milk?” asked Liam helpfully.

“I’ve already told you no. I don’t want to be accused of being bribed, along with everything else I’ve done wrong.” Wil didn’t know why he kept taking his anger out on Liam, blowing hot and cold all the time and behaving like a contrary child. He wondered why on earth Liam continued to put up with him.

“You’re so wrapped up in this blanket of guilt all the time that I’m beginning to think you enjoy it,” said Liam gently and Wil turned away, staring blankly out of the window, angry at the world, but more than anything angry at himself for being so petulant. Maybe Liam wouldn’t put up with his nonsense for much longer. Wil wanted more than anything to give in and be happy, but how was that possible here? Anywhere else and he could allow himself a little hope, but here they would be discovered and after that he had no idea what might happen.

“Two days, Wil. That’s all we have,” Liam reminded him in that reassuring way of his that slowly began to ease the tension.

Wil slumped down next to Liam on the bed. The prisoners’ huts would all be in darkness now, but it was up to him when he turned the oil lamps out in the sickbay and a little light seemed the safer option. “You said you were going to tell me more,” he said unenthusiastically, staring fixedly at the door as if it were about to burst open.

***

Liam squeezed Wil’s shoulders with both hands, kneading hard at the taut muscles. Perhaps this had been a terrible mistake; Wil was so skittish that it seemed as if he were about to bolt at any second. Leaning forward, Liam kissed the back of Wil’s neck and then began his story, hoping that the words would relax the younger man enough to allow them both to enjoy this stolen private time.

“I left school when I was fourteen and started working for my father as his apprentice. I was doing well and learning the trade, but it didn’t give me the opportunity to go and meet people. Not that I had a clue how to meet my sort, if indeed there were any of my sort in a little town like Gillingham.

Anyway, one night Mum sent Joseph and me to go and fetch Dad back from the pub. We took the shortcut down one of the alleyways and through the allotments, and were just about to get back on the path when we pulled up quick, because there, leaning against the fence, was this fellow getting very friendly with his girlfriend. He must have heard us and turned to look and it was then that I saw clearly that it wasn’t a girl he was with. They had their hands on each other’s cocks and carried on sliding their fists up and down as if they really didn’t care whether we watched or not and I was completely hypnotised by this until one of them gave us a wink. Then my brother looked at me and pulled a face and we ran for it, both of us giggling like idiots."

God! Liam could still remember the thrill of watching them at it.

“And?” asked Wil, spellbound once again.

"Well, we got Dad back home a bit the worse for wear and, once he’d passed out in his armchair and everyone else was in bed, I decided to tell my mother about what had happened, just to see how she’d react. She got the giggles a bit, just like we had done, and said we were a pair of nosy old buggers. Then she giggled again and said that maybe they were the old buggers and we were just the nosy ones. So, while she was in a good mood, I took the proverbial bull by the horns and told her about me liking boys over girls.”

“What did she say?” asked Wil with a look of expectation on his face that matched any child’s on Christmas Eve.

“She looked sad for a second, but then she said that all she’d ever wanted was for her children to be happy and if I was only going to find that happiness with another man then that’s how it was. She said that God must have made me the way I was for a reason, so who was she to judge me or the Lord. Then she became all serious and sat me down and told me that people didn’t take too kindly to queers in this country and that I had to be careful or I’d end up getting bashed about for it.”

“What about your father?”

Liam laughed. “Oh, he was very different. When my mother told him I thought the roof was going to come off the house. The bellow that came from their bedroom was terrifying. Half an hour later he wanted to speak to me and I was so scared I thought I was going to piss myself. He looked me up and down and asked me if I’d ever tried it with a woman and I looked at my feet and said no, but then I’d never tried eating pigs brains and I knew I didn’t want to do that either.”

Wil laughed and Liam took advantage despite the discomfort, pulling him back so he was lying against his chest. “You can still get up quick. We’ll hear if anyone comes near because of the ice.”

Kissing the top of Wil’s head Liam smiled contentedly, happy to have someone in his arms after so long. Happier still that it was Wil he was holding.

“Tell me more,” said Wil, looking up at him expectantly.

“I will in exchange for a kiss.” Without waiting for an answer, Liam bent down and pressed his lips to Wil’s. It was enough to make every part of his body ache for more and he leant back against the pillows before he gave in to temptation and stripped the German out of that hated uniform and took him there and then.

“When I worked at the garage I used to watch all the customers out of the corner of my eye and pick out the men I fancied, wondering whether any of them were queer like me. I’d save up their images inside my head and then at night I’d think of them and those two going at it in the allotments and what I’d done with Charlie and I’d masturbate over and over again. I must have been seventeen by this time. Seventeen and desperate.”

All this sex talk was a bad idea, thought Liam as he edged further away to try and disguise his erection. The last thing he wanted to do was scare Wil off.

“One day I was busy working on an old Austin Seven when I looked up to ogle the latest customer who was booking his car in for a service and I swear I nearly fell over in shock. It was one of those men from the allotment, the one who’d winked at me. You think you blush a lot?” Liam laughed when Wil flushed red at the mere mention of it. “Well, I must have looked like an over-ripe tomato and I hid myself underneath the bonnet of that car just praying for him to go. When I eventually appeared out from that engine there was the car of my dreams standing right in front of me. A Crossley.” Liam frowned at how little that apparently meant to Wil. “It was a classy car. You had to be rich to have one of those and it didn’t add up finding him having sex outside when he was driving around in one of these."

A little nudge from Wil woke Liam up from his automobile fantasy.

"I was shaking with anticipation and nerves as I drove it, all fixed, back to his house a couple of days later, and as I stood, clutching the keys in my pocket and waiting on the doorstep of that big mansion, I couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to be with him. ‘Hello,’ he said when he answered the door, ‘I’m Harry. Come inside, lad and I'll fix you up with some cash.’ So I followed him in, staring around like a fool at all the fancy things he had everywhere.”

Liam paused for a second, feeling alive with sensation as if he were about to step over the threshold into something new all over again.

“Don’t stop. I want to know everything,” said Wil, quivering with anticipation.

“You’re too impatient, give an old man a chance to get his brain into gear.”

Wil swivelled around to look at Liam. “You’re not old. What are you, twenty-five maybe?”

“Twenty-six.”

“Hmm, that’s old,” grinned Wil, “You look much younger.”

“And if Doc hadn’t told me that you were twenty-two I’d think you were a teenager.”

“I don’t look that young,” pouted Wil.

Liam kissed each eyelid and then moved down to nibble at Wil’s lower lip. “Just a baby,” he whispered.

“No more kissing,” insisted Wil with a smile, “You said you’d be happy just being here with me.”

“I want to do everything with you,” said Liam, regretting his words as Wil’s eyes darted back to the door and he felt the younger man tense up. “I’m sorry. I am happy. Happier than I’ve been in years.”

“Story then.”

“You’re a persistent little sod, Wil Brenner.”

“Yes, always. I told you mine so it’s only fair you tell me yours.”

Every shared word made Liam feel that little bit closer and he knew Wil must be feeling the same. The young man had gradually been giving in to Liam’s kisses more and more readily and now, for the first time, he brushed his lips shyly against Liam’s and pushed an inquisitive tongue into his open mouth. Liam closed his eyes; shutting out the barren desolation of the prison camp and imagining himself back on the sofa in the parlour at home with Wil in his arms and no such thing as a war to cause this huge divide between them.

When they finally parted Liam jumped in quickly before the German was able to open his mouth. “I know. You want to hear the story.”

Wil smiled and settled back against Liam, careful to keep clear of his injuries.

“So I came away from Harry’s with this huge smile on my face-"

“Nein,” said Wil, shaking his head in annoyance. “You had just got to his house, remember?”

Liam laughed; Wil was so easy to pick on. “Sorry. It’s my old brain, see? I need a baby one like yours to remember all the dirty details.”

“Stop teasing me,” said Wil frowning, “Tell me about your first time. Was it with Harry?”

“Alright, stop sulking and I’ll talk,” said Liam, running his fingers through Wil’s white blond hair. “So I followed Harry into his study and he perched on the edge of his desk and unlocked a cash box, counting out far more than my father had ever charged in his life. He handed me the money and asked me if that would cover for services rendered. Well I stammered and said it was far too much, but then he looked me up and down and lit a cigarette and told me that it all depended on what services were on offer. I nearly fainted with shock and looked away from him, but that didn’t help with my red face or embarrassing state of arousal when I saw that the walls were covered in erotic art. There were photographs and drawings of naked men, couples, everywhere.

‘It was you watching Arthur and I that night, wasn’t it?’ Harry asked me, pouring himself a drink from the decanter on his desk. ‘Arthur was terrified. He wouldn’t indulge in any outdoor fun after that. Thought you and your friend’d run straight off to the police station and inform on us. I knew different though. I could tell from the look in your eyes and I can’t tell you what a pleasant surprise it was to see you again at the garage.’ I didn’t know what to say, or what to do, but that was fine because Harry took the lead, quite literally, taking me by the hand and pulling me up the stairs and into his bedroom.”

Liam leant over and took a sip of water from the tin mug. His voice was husky and his lips were dry, but he knew that a drink wasn’t going to help much with that.

“He took his time, kissing me until I was panting while his fingers were busy unfastening my jacket and shirt then working their way into my trousers. God, he knew what he was doing. Falling to his knees he sucked at my cock--something I’d never even heard of--and I came in his mouth there and then, almost crying with shame. He was so gentle with me. Told me that it was to be expected and would make it all much better in the long run, then he taught me how to suck him and play with him and before long I was fit to burst all over again. After that it all went topsy-turvy and it wasn’t what I expected at all. He greased up my fingers and encouraged me to push them inside him, and soon he was moaning out like nothing I’d ever heard before and begging for me to fuck him. Once my cock was actually inside him I had to stop for what seemed like an hour. I was terrified I’d spoil it for him and finish off too early again so I thought about Father O’Reilly and Mrs Kincaid, the old lady who lived down the road from us, and I waited for that feeling to die down. Then when I was ready I started to fuck him. Taking hold of my hand he showed me how to hold his cock and bring him off into my fist and when he’d come I pushed him onto all fours and fucked him ‘til I was done.”

Liam could feel the hammering of Wil’s heart which almost matched his own for pace.

“I told my mum and dad I was doing some gardening for him, earning a bit of pocket money. They weren’t to know that if we were outside it was Harry’s arse I was ploughing, not the earth. He was so furious with me when I joined up in 1939, ‘I’ll miss your cock,’ he said, ‘but I don’t expect it’ll take me that long to find a replacement.’ Bet the bastard did as well.”

“Did you care about him?” asked Wil, looking up at him with this uncertain expression on his face.

“Not in the slightest,” replied Liam. He never had. He’d let Harry treat him like a whore and that was enough to turn off any feelings that might have developed. Harry was handsome and well off--although no one was entirely sure how honest his money was--but there was never any spark between them. Liam had known the man for five years and they’d never had one conversation that wasn’t to do with sex. Although it had all been worth it for the education he’d received.

Liam wished that this conversation had never happened. It wasn’t that he begrudged telling Wil his secrets, but he was so turned on from the memories of his past with Harry Matthews and, more so, from the temptation of Wil lounging lethargically against his chest, that he was getting near fever pitch.

“Damn!” Wil jumped up startling Liam out of his daydream, “I haven’t changed your dressing since midday.”

“No, please. It’s fine; it’s almost healed now anyway,” pleaded Liam. He was too worked up to deal with this.

“If I don’t it will get infected again and we’ll be right back to the beginning,” said the medic from the far end of the room where he was gathering together fresh dressings.

“Then I’ll be able to stay here.”

“Or maybe you will die like you almost did the last two times.”

Liam could hear a note of hysteria in Wil’s voice and it only added to the existing tension in the room.

“Lie flat, please,” said Wil, returning with his tray of supplies and Liam wriggled down the bed obeying orders with his eyes tight shut like a child.

Sucking in a deep breath of air, he shivered as the bedclothes were dragged back down over his body, and the feel of Wil’s hand squeezing his shoulder gently didn’t help him in the slightest. As the pyjama trousers were pulled low enough for his dressing to be changed, his erection escaped, pinging back taut against his belly.

Half-opening his eyes to gauge Wil’s reaction, he watched the young man working away diligently to clean and dress the wound. It was what he had expected, but not what his body ached for and he couldn’t suppress the slight moan of disappointment. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice huskier than ever, “All this talk about sex and having you near me…”

Wil didn’t answer him and Liam couldn’t bear to look at the back of Wil’s head, knowing all the time that the German was disgusted by his lack of control. He felt the mattress move and closed his eyes once more. On second thoughts it would be worse to see it written all over Wil’s face.

The feather-light touch of fingers gliding across his erection made him arch upwards and cry out.

“Oh, god, please,” he begged, clamping his hand over Wil’s and keeping it wrapped tight around his cock.

Chapter Seven

More than scared, more than excited, more aroused then ever, Wil unfastened each button on Liam’s pyjama jacket until it slithered open and he was able to press his cheek against warm skin, the way he had longed to for ages. To lie here with Liam wasn’t a crime, was it? He couldn’t be sent to one of those camps just for this. Their hands were still tangled together squeezing Liam’s cock and Wil tried to resist taking it any further, but as his blood pumped into the lower regions of his body it carried with it all of his good sense and gradually he began sliding his fist over the solid length, pulling the foreskin back until the glistening head peeked out. Liam’s hand was still moving with his and it seemed such an intimate thing to do that Wil almost forgot how to breathe. Twisting further onto his side, he hooked his leg around Liam and pressed as close as he could get to the older man, running his tongue over Liam’s chest and licking each nipple in turn then blowing on them until they peaked.

Liam groaned at the sensation. “I have to touch you,” he murmured, releasing Wil’s hand and pulling him into a tight embrace. Their kisses were no longer gentle. Now they were bruising passionate exchanges, tongues thrusting and twining as Wil continued to drive Liam into a frenzy with the timid movements of his fingers.

Tugging at Wil’s clothes, Liam undid the fastenings of the coarse woolen trousers and grey tunic.

“Can’t stand seeing you in this, it reminds me too much,” he said sucking kisses onto Wil’s smooth, pale skin.

“Oh God,” moaned Wil and he arched his neck more to give Liam easier access, but then Liam’s words filtered through and he shivered and tried to break free from the embrace. “Of how wrong this is?”

“No. God, no. Never. It makes me realise how right this is, no matter how impossible it might seem,” said Liam, holding Wil tightly against him and rolling them over until the young German was sprawled on top of him. Easing his fingers between them he unclipped the braces then, unable to get any closer to finding skin, he grabbed at Wil’s cock through the thick material of his trousers.

Panting with frustration, Wil sloughed off his jacket and threw it to the floor, trying not to see the Wehrmacht emblem which was glaring menacingly up at him. Pushing his trousers down to mid-thigh he canted his hips and moaned out his pleasure into Liam’s mouth.

“Why do they say this is wrong?” he asked, quiet words ghosting over Liam’s lips. “I need this. I need you. So why is it wrong?”

“It’s the world that’s wrong, sweetheart, not us,” murmured Liam, kissing away the sadness and wrapping Wil tight in his arms as they clung together, edging each other closer with smooth, grinding movements.

“Shhhh,” hissed Wil, shifting away from Liam all of a sudden. The crunching noise of heavy boots grinding into ice drifted off into the distance, and Wil swallowed down the fear that had risen like bile in his throat.

“I must blow out the lamp,” he said looking once again at the door, the fear returning in a flood as thoughts of possible repercussions arced around his brain. He wasn’t that worried for himself, but what of Liam? How would the guards behave if they found out that one of the prisoners was a homosexual?

“No, please Wil, I want to be able to see you. We’re safe here, sweetheart. How many times has anyone ever come to check sickbay?”

I know, but still-” Wil was silenced by a mouthful of greedy kisses and he gave in to the heat that burned in the pit of his stomach then flared outwards, flushing his skin and turning his brain to jelly. All he could think of was the fluid thrust of Liam’s body that was pushing him higher and higher.

Shaking now from an overdose of emotion and sensation, Wil buried his face in Liam’s chest, tonguing each nipple in turn until it hardened in his mouth. Sometimes all he wanted was to be normal. If only he were able to desire a woman with all her luxuriant softness it would make his life so much better. Better than this? He rubbed himself against the rough stubble on Liam’s neck, tasting the tang of salt and sweat and man. Better than this? No, that was not possible. This was what he had dreamt of every night. What he had masturbated over since he was a boy. What he had wanted forever.

Leaning up on one elbow Wil continued to rock against Liam, trying to remember to keep his weight off the healing injuries. His heart pounded in his chest as he traced a finger over Liam’s face pressing it between dry lips and feeling the pull as it was drawn inside that mouth. Gasping with pleasure as Liam fellated his finger, Wil looked down to where their cocks slipped and slid against one another and he was gone, falling fast as he groaned and smothered his cries of pleasure against the crook of Liam’s neck.

***

What a place to find love! Twenty six years old now, Liam had been looking for it all his life, and the irony of finally finding it in the arms of a German soldier in a prison camp was enough to make him cry. If he wasn’t so incredibly happy.

Liam watched the expression on Wil’s face in the flickering glow of the oil lamp. There was so much he wanted to say to this boy. He remembered opening delirious eyes and thinking he must have died and gone to heaven when he saw the angel bending over him. And hadn’t Wil been just that? Saved him twice now from death. Couldn’t be anything but an angel and Liam wanted to shout out his happiness from the rooftops.

Wil’s eyes widened and as the shudder of the younger man’s climax ripped through them both, Liam clung on tightly. He felt the bite of Wil’s teeth against his skin and the flood of wet and bucked up once, twice, shivering and murmuring and heaving his body against Wil’s until he too was spent. Feeling more protective and loving than he ever had in his life, Liam kissed Wil’s blond hair and held him close, refusing to let go even when Wil tried to break free.

“We must get cleaned up, get dressed,” said the German soldier in that disconnected way that Liam hated.

“Just a while longer,” he murmured, clinging as tightly to his illusions as he was to Wil.

“Listen,” hissed Wil, “We cannot be found like this. We cannot sleep in each other’s arms. We cannot be naked and touch and kiss and hold each other. We cannot do what we want.”

“One day I’ll take you home with me and we’ll do all those things,” said Liam, eyes closed, unwilling to deal with reality just yet.

“Take your... how do you say it? Take your head out of the clouds and don’t say pathetic things like that. It will never happen.”

Liam’s hands slipped dejectedly to his side.

“Please don’t look so sad,” whispered Wil as he cleaned them both up with a wash cloth and a bowl of water. “You know I want to be with you, but if I allow myself to daydream then I shall forget and make mistakes and terrible things will happen to both of us.”

“Listen to me,” said Liam stroking his thumb over Wil’s jawline. “You know that the war is going badly for Germany. From what I’ve heard it might be over sooner than we think.”

Wil slumped forward, defeated by the weight of the world and Liam pulled him back into his arms. “You’re safe here. Let me hold you.”

“I know you’re right about the war,” Wil said quietly, “and that is good for you. But what of me?”

Oh God! Liam was a stupid naïve fool. Never mind the repercussions of being in love in a prison camp. If the Allies did win, as expected, then what would happen to the German soldiers? He couldn’t see the authorities being particularly happy about him returning with Wil as a souvenir. But damn it all, it must be possible. The prisoners here would testify that their Spike was a good man. “I’ll find a way to bring you home,” he said full of renewed hope.

“Maybe I don’t want to live in England. Maybe I want you to stay here,” said Wil, playfully running his fingers up and down Liam’s ribs.

Liam squirmed and removed the annoying hand, holding it tight in his own and kissing it gently. “Think about how good it will be. We’ll share a flat and I’ll come in from work all oily and greasy from working on the cars and you’ll be studying and look up at me, taking your glasses off and…”

“How do you know I wear glasses to read?” interrupted Wil.

“Because I know everything about you. I can feel you inside my heart all the time.”

“Yes,” said Wil quietly.

“You’ll jump up and kiss me, not caring that I’m looking like a greasemonkey, then you’ll run me a bath and make me a cup of tea.”

“Ja, it will be perfect,” murmured Wil, his blue eyes closing as he fell headlong into the fantasy life that Liam was mapping out for them.

“When the bath’s ready you’ll unfasten my overalls, slowly easing them off my shoulders and kiss every inch of skin you find.”

Wil’s breath rate increased and his hand wormed its way into the open fly of Liam’s pyjama trousers.

“Then I’ll strip you naked and run my hands over your body, leaving streaks of oil on that perfect pale skin.”

Wil curled closer and squeezed Liam’s exhausted penis, kneading the soft flesh until it began to firm up in his hand.

“We’ll climb into the bath and you’ll lie there between my legs then we’ll relax and talk while we wash away the grime.”

Wil swirled his thumb around the tip of Liam’s penis and worked the steady flow of pre-ejaculate up and down the hardening shaft. “Do you think there are others like us?” he asked.

“Of course,” answered Liam, running his hand over the front of Wil’s trousers and teasing the cloth-encased erection with a thumbnail. “Men from opposing sides fall in love just as easily as Romeo and Juliet did.” It was the first time that love had been mentioned and when Liam saw the look on Wil’s face he knew his feelings were reciprocated. The half-spoken revelations intensified Liam’s need and he scrabbled to release Wil’s cock, sighing with relief when he finally held it in his fist.

Dragging Wil far enough upwards to latch onto his mouth, Liam made love to him with his lips and fingers, grunting softly with each twist and flick of Wil’s wrist and desperate for some private time so he could show Wil how much more he meant to him with each passing day. Holding back with difficulty he watched the explosion of feelings on Wil’s expressive face and got caught up in the moment allowing himself to be pushed over the edge, silencing their passion with his lips pressed firmly against Wil’s as they clung on to each other and rode out their shared orgasms.

They lay together in a more than companionable silence, too relaxed and happy to break free from the satisfied stupor until Wil finally noticed what a mess he was in and jumped up from the bed looking down at his sticky clothing with a grimace. Filling a bowl with water, he washed away the remains of the semen from Liam’s skin and then concentrated on the state of his uniform.

“What you were saying about the war earlier. I think it must be true,” said Wil scrubbing at the white stains on his grey trousers with a damp cloth, “They’ve drafted some of the really hopeless bastards from here to the frontline. Kramer, who they used to consider too old and too wounded to be of use to anyone, went yesterday.”

“What about you?” asked Liam as he placed the replaced the urine bottle on the table and reached for his toothbrush, dipping it into the small tub of toothpowder. “They won’t post you will they?”

“I don’t think so. I was sent here because it was necessary under the Geneva Convention for all camps to have access to medical care so I was considered good enough to count. I was also useless at soldiering so that’s another reason I got drafted away from the frontline.”

“We’re lucky to have you.” That uncertain smile made Liam’s heart miss a beat, “Not just me, Wil, we all appreciate having you here. I for one would be dead if it weren’t for you.”

“You're lucky that Colonel Giles is here. He’s the one who saved you,” said Wil looking at the floor. “I’m just a medical student with very little practical experience-”

“Who was willing to repair that artery for me when Giles wasn’t sure if he could do it,” said Liam taking the cloth from Wil and holding both the young man’s hands. “Doc’s a fair chap who tells the truth as it is and he sings your praises almost as much as I do.”

The hurricane lamp guttered, its meagre supply of fuel almost running out, and Wil lay next to Liam too exhausted to do anything more than cover himself up with his battle tunic.

“I don’t think he’ll be singing my praises so much if he discovers what we are doing,” he said pensively.

“No one will find out,” said Liam clamping his arm tightly around Wil’s slim body as the sirens heralded another round of bombing and the entire camp became swathed in a blanket of darkness.

Chapter Eight

Unused to sleeping with another person, Wil jerked awake as a strong arm wrapped around him and warm breath tickled the back of his neck. Slipping out of bed, he picked up the depleted oil lamp and carried it to the far end of the hut, his bare feet freezing on the icy boards. Refilling the lamp with fuel, he used the same match to light both it and the wood burner and then peered at his watch. Only four thirty! He had more than enough time to climb back into bed with Liam and enjoy the new sensation of being loved.

Satisfied that the stove was burning well, Wil hung the lantern up on its hook and crept shivering back into bed, pulling the blankets over him. Liam muttered in his sleep as cold feet made contact with his leg.

“Morgen, Liam,” Wil whispered, wriggling around in the Irishman’s arms then unfastening each button of the pyjama jacket and kissing his way down Liam’s bare chest. With every touch of his lips he could feel Liam’s cock grow heavier and more erect, and by the time he’d reached Liam’s belly, it was poking out of the open fly and begging for some attention.

Will was scared; he hadn’t done this for many years and then only once with a cock that was much smaller than this one, but the scent of Liam’s maleness was more than appealing and Wil suckled at the very tip of the foreskin, tasting the drizzle of fluid that seeped into his mouth. His own cock thickened up and he loosened his trousers, freeing himself then squeezing his shaft tightly with his left hand. Taking the head of Liam’s cock into his mouth Wil explored it slowly with his tongue, working away at himself with a slow stroke.

Still apparently fast asleep, Liam moaned quietly and arched up into Wil’s mouth, catching him unawares and making him gag slightly. Adjusting his position so that he was now lying with his head on Liam’s belly, Wil found he was able to take more of the erection inside his mouth and still be in a comfortable position to masturbate. Needing to feel more skin, he tugged at Liam’s pyjama trousers and the man shifted just enough for him to remove them.

“Morning,” said Liam in an embarrassed voice at having been caught out and Wil just smiled and laid his head back on Liam’s stomach, sucking him off at a leisurely pace and enjoying the feel of his cock rubbing up against Liam’s warm body.

Everything was perfect and that made it all the more painful if he thought about their circumstances too deeply. Instead Wil concentrated on what he was doing and continued to build Liam higher and higher until he felt fingers twist into his hair and the body beneath him tense. Taking as much of Liam’s cock into his mouth as he could manage, he swallowed down mouthfuls of bittersweet fluid.

“Oh God, that was incredible,” sighed Liam, replete and obviously happy with his lot.

Wil twisted his neck to one side to remove the crick and lay back down on the warm belly, kissing away the few drops of semen that had escaped, but as soon as he’d got comfortable he was tugged upwards until he was straddling his lover’s chest, the tip of his erection rubbing against Liam’s lips.

Kneeling up, Wil leant on the wall and thrust himself into Liam’s mouth, watching the passage of his cock intently. His gaze moved upwards, staring into warm brown eyes that were filled with pleasure and love and he knew, however bad the inevitable hurt would be, this was always going to be worth it.

”Ist gut… ich liebe… Gott…” Muffling his cries with a hand clapped over his mouth, Wil thrust hard into Liam’s mouth, letting his orgasm build and then peak. Knowing that nothing would ever be the same again.

“Can’t get enough of you,” sighed Liam licking the semen from his lips as Wil collapsed into his arms. “What’s the time?”

“Not six yet,” said Wil sleepily as he glanced at his watch. “Would you like a cup of tea? I need to get dressed now in case they take a look in here at change of shift.”

Liam nodded, happy to relinquish his lover for the sake of a cuppa.

Wil threw on his clothes and boots then put the kettle on the stove to boil and brought Liam a bowl of cold water to wash and shave. “I’ll be back soon,” he said, wanting in a ridiculous way to kiss Liam goodbye. He made do with a smile, handing Liam a clean urine bottle. “So you’re not forced to fall over and hurt yourself again,” he said, the smile widening into a cheeky grin as he exited the hut.

Skidding his way across the frozen ground, Wil felt as if every single pair of eyes was staring at him. Maybe they could tell what he’d been doing by the inane grin that was plastered all over his face. The washroom was freezing and as Wil wrapped a towel around his waist he was startled by a slap on the shoulder.

“Hello, Spike,” said Schmidt, “Word to the wise, Schaeffer is on the warpath today. There’s a whisper that one of his sons was killed in Ardennes so it is advisable for us to keep our heads down.”

Wil nodded as he brushed his teeth with the revolting tasting powder. The kommandant wasn’t an easy man to get along with at the best of times.

“I don’t envy him finding out about his boy’s death at Christmas however much of a bastard he is to us all,” continued Schmidt, as he released a stream of urine into lavatory pan. “I don’t think things are going so well on any of the fronts. I believe the Yankees have slaughtered us in Belgium.”

“You should keep your opinions to yourself,” murmured Wil, drawing the blade of his safety razor across his cheek and wincing as the skin burned beneath blunt metal.

“I don’t care anymore. The sooner it’s over, the sooner we can get back home. I’m just praying for it to end either way.”

“Schmidt, next time I think it will be advisable for you to take notice of Brenner. Report to the guardhouse now,” hissed Weiss.

Wil shook his head sadly as he watched the foolish private soldier being marched off for punishment. He didn’t envy him one bit. Confined to barracks meant something far more sinister in this camp. Wil often ended up treating soldiers for an array of severe injuries that resulted from disciplinary beatings. He hated this place, this life. If it wasn’t for Liam he didn’t think he could go on much longer.

By the time Wil returned to the hospital the sirens were screaming out reveille, accompanied by the kettle which was singing away merrily on the stove.

“You could have taken it off the boil. I’m not your slave, you know,” snapped Wil, the build up of pressure in the camp unravelling his already frayed nerves.

“I’m sorry,” said Liam, “It’d only just begun to whistle.”

Wil sighed. “I didn’t mean to jump down your throat.” He poured out semi-stewed tea before it was ready and handed Liam a mug of something that resembled dishwater. “This camp is so claustrophobic at times I can't breathe.”

“Come here and I’ll rub your shoulders,” said Liam.

“And how will that look when the guards come in to make certain that you haven’t killed me in an evil escape plan?”

“They’ve already checked up on me. I told them I’d hidden your body under the floorboards, but they didn’t seem to worry much.”

“Very funny. See me laughing?”

“Come here,” demanded Liam. “I’ll make you laugh. Well, I promise to put a smile on your face at least.”

“Morning chaps,” said Giles, breezing into the hut like a whirlwind and interrupting the playful banter before it became a little too personal. “Leutnant Aldmann just advised me you’re under the weather again, Mac.”

“The major’s temperature was raised and his pulse was racing so I thought it best to keep an eye on him in case it was a sign of infection developing, but he seems very much better this morning,” stammered Wil, jumping in quickly. Too quickly, he realised when Giles looked at him curiously for a moment before focusing his attention back on the patient.

“You do look a little flushed, Mac. Perhaps it would be advisable to spend another day in sickbay and then move you back over Christmas morning as a gift for Pryce from Santa Claus,” smiled Giles sitting on the edge of the bed and checking Liam’s pulse.

“Thanks, Doc. That would be wonderful. I don’t want to miss out on the festivities,” said Liam cheerily, glancing over at Wil with this veiled expression of concern in his eyes.

Wil knew what Liam was trying to say. He didn’t want him jumping to wrong conclusions, wanted to make sure he knew this was all an act for the Colonel.

“Why did you fail to inform me of Major McKinley’s deteriorating health?” asked Giles, “That’s not like you, Brenner.”

“I didn’t notice until after curfew when I was doing last obs. I got held up talking to Schmidt. I’m sorry, Colonel.”

“No need for apologies, young man. If I were Liam I’d be most grateful to have my own private medic on tap.”

Did the doctor know something? Wil could feel the flush rising and he kept his eyes cast downwards and his ears pricked as he mopped the floor and listened to the British officers discuss the lack of Red Cross parcels for the Russians who were displaying obvious signs of starvation. Wil was ashamed, but what could he do? He himself had lost a good ten kilos since being here. It wasn’t as if any of the guards had it good. Schmidt certainly didn’t at present. No one here had anything that even vaguely resembled a life.

***

Sirens screeched once more and the loudspeaker crackled out its message calling all prisoners, including those in sick bay, to report immediately to the parade ground for a head count.

Liam was confused. “An all prisoners appel before breakfast? That’s odd,” he said looking quizzically at the others.

“All I can think is some idiot has tried to break out without informing any of us escape officers. On Christmas Eve as well, the fool. Whoever it is is obviously trying to ruin everything for the rest of us.” Giles grimaced knowing full well that the repercussions might spoil any plans they had for a more relaxed few days.

“If I were you I would get out on parade as quick as you can and keep your heads down. Do not irritate Major Schaeffer today,” muttered Wil looking around him as if the walls had suddenly grown ears. He hurried out of the hut without a backward glance.

“What the dickens did he mean by that?” asked Giles, helping Liam lace up his boots.

“I have no idea. He never mentioned anything earlier,” replied Liam.

“I’m surprised. You two always seem as thick as thieves. I thought you’d exchanged deepest, darkest secrets by now.”

“Brenner looks after me and he speaks good enough English to talk to, but we’re not pals, Doc.” No, certainly not pals.

“I’m sorry. I trust Brenner and so I tend to think that everyone else does too. I’ve said some pretty vicious things about Hitler and the Nazi party in front of him and he hasn’t even batted an eyelid. The first time I was terrified I was going to be hauled up in front of Schaeffer and sent off to a work camp, but after a while I began to assume his views weren’t dissimilar to mine,” explained Giles in that naïve way of his which was quite endearing in a man of his years. To have seen so much hurt and yet still try and look for the good in everyone was a character trait that was quite enviable.

“I don’t think Brenner is politically minded,” said Liam, worried about Wil’s safety. By his own admission Giles wasn’t the best at keeping a closed mouth and if any word of Wil’s subversive views were to leak out then the young German might well suffer a very bad ‘accident.’

“Now,” snapped the guard from the doorway and the two British officers marched over to the front of the camp where the rest of the prisoners had assembled.

Looking up to nod a swift hello to Pryce, Liam did as Wil had instructed, keeping his eyes fixed firmly to the ground, happy to be a shrinking violet if it meant that he avoided trouble.

Schaeffer was talking in this overly-controlled manner that bothered Liam. Normally the German kommandant seemed to want to give Hitler a run for his money, yelling and screaming at everyone in the vicinity, but right at this minute he was icy to the point of detachment.

“It has been rumoured that prisoners have been hiding contraband. You will remain here while everything is thoroughly searched.”

The ranks hummed with a general muttering of discontent but there was nothing anyone could do. They watched as the unteroffizier barked out orders and units of soldiers quick marched off to ferret around in the huts.

The weather was absolutely freezing and Liam shivered, unused to the cold after spending such a long time inside in the makeshift hospital. Wil had looked after him well, keeping the wood burner stoked and the door shut at all times, giving him extra blankets and cups of tea. Not many prisoners of war ever had it so good. Not many of them fell in love with their captors.

“We’ve managed to smuggle a Christmas tree into Little Britain and we’re going to be dressing it tonight. Here’s hoping Doc will release you into our care. After all it’s not as if he won’t be on hand to give you the kiss of life if you need it,” whispered Pryce.

“Silence,” screeched the kommandant, his voice returning to its usual volume, but Liam didn’t feel reassured in the least at this resumption of normality.

“It seems he’s more than a little angry,” murmured Wesley raising his eyebrows. “I wonder what’s bothering our beloved Piggy so much today.”

No one quite knew where the Schaeffer’s nickname had originated, but it suited the man down to the ground with his bright pink face and pot belly.

“I suggest we keep our mouths shut or else we’ll be spending Christmas in solitary,” murmured Liam. He couldn’t see any worthwhile purpose in upsetting the applecart without good reason.

“Or sickbay,” smirked Wesley, “and you’ve spent quite enough time in there, old man.”

Since last night, every single comment sounded as if it had a barb attached to it. Liam glanced at Pryce’s face, but nothing seemed awry; the professor looked to be his usual amused self. Shifting his gaze across the icy courtyard, Liam watched Wil intently. He was not affiliated to the camp and was here on attachment from the medical corps so he was not required to take part in the search of the prison. The little German seemed lost, entirely out of place in his surroundings, or was that only because Liam was seeing him through different eyes now?

After more than hour had passed by, Liam was shivering from the intense cold and struggling to stay on his feet. More than once he slumped over to one side, on the verge of fainting, but thankfully Wesley noticed and looped an arm around his waist, holding him up as best he could. Even from a distance Liam could see the concern in Wil’s eyes and knew that the medic was only just managing to stop himself from rushing forward.

‘Please be sensible, Wil,’ he prayed as he leant into Pryce, gaining comfort from the warm body and rock solid support the man offered.

It sounded as if the huts were being systematically ripped apart from the inside out. Liam watched the kommandant strut up and down dragging his wounded leg at a bizarre angle, and when he caught a glimpse of the expression in those cold grey eyes he squirmed at the belly ache of fear which was growing inside him.

Schaeffer was an unimpressive looking little man: wisps of grey hair sticking out from beneath his cap, always untidy, not at all how Liam imagined a German officer should look. It was obvious to everyone that the kommandant was full of spite; unhappy with his lowly rank and position, but not clever enough to find a way to better himself. He was bitter and mean, but never normally the kind of man to evoke fear--altogether too much of a coward to be dangerous--but today everything about him seemed wrong.

As the collection of so called 'illegal items' grew into a large pile, Liam tried to make sense of all this. He replayed Wil’s muttered warning and the ransacking of the prison huts and leant against Wesley’s shoulder, keeping his eyes fixed on the greying snow and watching as fresh flakes began to speckle the ice. It was going to be a white Christmas, but not quite the one he’d dreamt of as a child.

“Prisoners 0249A and 8351A, step forward.” Schaeffer had come to halt in front of the Americans and was staring belligerently at the men. “Prisoners 0249A and 8351A, front and centre, now.”

The very audible grunts and squeals coming from the ranks of prisoners were doing the Americans no favours at all. Could they not see that Schaeffer was close to breaking point? This was not the time for farmyard impersonations.

Captain Harris and Lieutenant Osbourne pushed their way to the front. Liam hadn’t had much to do with Osbourne since arriving at Oflag XVIC, but he seemed nice enough -- a mousey, gingerish little man with this enigmatic smile that put everyone at ease. The fact that he was friends with Harris was a big thumbs up as far as Liam was concerned. Harris was a good sort. He looked somewhat less than intelligent, but on the inside he was quick witted and useful. The man was always ready to cheer everyone up by clowning around or picking on the goons in a good natured fashion and Liam had quickly grown to consider him one of his close friends.

“We found these items packed away underneath the floorboards of your bunk. Have you anything to say?” Schaeffer held up a bottle of home distilled Raisin Jack--vile spirit made from the preserved fruit sent to them by the Red Cross--and a small item that Liam couldn’t quite make out.

Oz sucked in a hiss of air through his teeth then tutted and exchanged looks with Harris who shook his head sadly before speaking. “Damn, the housekeeping here’s not up to much. I guess you better mail that stuff off to the last guy who slept in my bed at Camp Sunnydale.”

Liam cringed as he heard laughter ripple through the ranks. This was not the time for Harris and Osbourne’s notorious double act.

“This is S.S. property,” screamed Schaeffer, holding up the small object that Liam had been unable to recognise before. Bloody hell. Now he could see more clearly he realised it was the damn stamp he’d requested from Harris to authenticate a set of documents.

“Oh,” said the dark-haired American with a look of fake admiration. “Well, if you know who it belongs to then you’d better return it to them quick, because I’ve never seen it before in my life.”

The slap of hands between Oz and Harris was immediately followed up by the whip crack of a pistol that echoed around the camp. One shot at point blank range; two men covered in blood. One lying sprawled out in a pink and grey mess of snow and brains, the other, dripping red and still as a statue.

There was an unearthly silence that lasted for tens of seconds until it was broken by Harris who let out one huge wail of despair and anger. “You fucking bastard,” he screamed as tears of rage and disbelief streaked a path down his face.

This was the moment when rebellion hung in the balance. Liam looked up to see four machine guns aimed directly at them from the wooden turrets. He weighed up the odds. If those MG42’s were fired then everyone would be slaughtered, including the goons. But would the guys in the turrets care? Of course the Germans would fall back to the safest position against the fence and it would be the prisoners who would be dead, mown down in an act of revolution. Maybe they would become martyrs? So many dead because of this war. So many martyrs on all sides.

“You killed him,” whispered Harris wiping away the tears and the coating of blood that turned him from a clown into a wild man. “You killed him, you fucker. Why? Why, for Christsake?”

It seemed that the guards were as stunned by the whole event as the Allied prisoners were. Liam watched Harris stumble forward, tripping over the body of his friend, blinded by gore and hatred, and he never thought for a second that the young American would make it as far as Schaeffer. Harris had his bloodied fingers wrapped around Schaeffer’s bulging neck when another whip crack reverberated around parade ground, the sound rippling in waves in between the huts. Liam was on the point of vomiting his guts up as he watched his friend topple slowly to the ground but then he saw it was the butt of his pistol that Schaeffer held aloft. His inability to take another life must have angered the German intensely and Liam watched impotently as the kommandant kicked his boot into Harris’s face over and over again.

The shock of white blond hair moving out from the line of German soldiers was unmistakable. Do something, Wil. Don’t do anything. Liam was in a quandary.

As Brenner pushed forward, kneeling beside the unconscious American and examining his injuries, Leutnant Aldmann took Schaeffer by the arm, discouraging him from any further action. The kommandant was led away from the scene of devastation by two of his soldiers as Wil attempted to stem the bleeding.

“All prisoners are ordered to return to their huts. There is a lock down until further notice,” shouted Aldmann who then turned to address the senior American officer. “Major Wilkins. It would be best to teach your men the meaning of the word discipline if you do not wish to witness a repeat performance of this.”

“I’ll be sure to do that, Sir,” replied Wilkins saluting smartly.

Liam was disgusted. Wilkins was a smarmy crawling prick, only concerned about himself and what gains he could make from the war. Liam looked on as Colonel Giles winced in shame then stepped out of the ranks to approach Leutnant Aldmann.

“This is absolutely unacceptable. You cannot murder prisoners of war in cold blood.”

Aldmann remained silent.

“I will not obey the curfew as I have every intention of doing my best to help Harris,” continued Giles. “He needs to be taken to sickbay immediately and I suggest you do that now, Lieutenant.”

Aldmann barked out a series of orders and two privates marched off, quickly returning with a stretcher and carrying the unconscious form of Harris off to the hospital hut.

Giles looked at Wilkins with disgust written all over his face. “And as for you, Major, I’ll be scheduling you for a backbone transplant as soon as possible.”

Liam felt an overwhelming need to worship at Giles’s feet for the way he was handling the situation. He’d never witnessed anything that turned his stomach so much throughout the entire war. To stand by and watch an Allied soldier murdered in cold blood was something that would haunt him forever. God only knew how Harris was going to feel if he recovered consciousness. Part of Liam hoped for his sake that he didn’t.

A heavy silence blanketed their small grim world as the prisoners trudged back to their huts. No one argued or chattered. They’d been broken as effectively as if those machine guns had opened fire on them. Liam felt like a spare part as he limped after Wil and Giles. Sinking down onto his bed he listened to the tense voices and swift commands from the room at the end of the hut that was set aside for quarantine and operations. Eventually, after several hours had passed by, Giles came through and sat on Liam’s bed, looking shell-shocked and shattered.

“How is he?” asked Liam expecting the worst.

“Fractured skull, possible contusion of the brain and we can’t yet rule out internal haemorrhaging. His eye socket has been shattered and worst of all the damage to the left eye was irreparable. We had to remove it.” Giles stood up and walked over to the stove pouring himself and Liam a mug of tea. He handed the enamel cup over to Liam with trembling hands. “I’m so furious, Mac. I can’t believe that I stood by and let this happen.”

“You did more than anyone else,” said Liam, quietly reflecting on his own ineffectuality. He’d been too busy thinking about Wil when he should have been concentrating on his fellow soldiers.

“Colonel Giles, can you help me carry Harris through? If he’s kept in the warmest place he’ll stand a better chance. It’s so cold back there he’ll get hypothermia.”

Wil was standing in the doorway, blood spattered and exhausted and Liam looked over at him, his feelings in complete turmoil. If he hadn’t been so worried about jeopardising his and Wil's relationship could he have prevented Oz’s death? The word German echoed around his brain. His lover was a German - same as Schaeffer, same as Himmler, same as their precious Fuhrer. Wil was the enemy.

“I’ll go back to the British quarters, Doc. I’m plenty well enough now and it’ll give you more time to look after Harris,” said Liam unable to take his eyes off Wil. Just because he was confused about his feelings didn’t mean they’d disappeared. For the second time since he’d known him Liam could see the hurt written all over Wil’s face and wondered how the young German had ever managed to survive this long with such a thin skin. There was that word again--German--and right now it made Liam feel sick.

Chapter Nine

Wil sat in the mess hut, picking at his stew. It was Christmas Day and there was not even one piece of meat in the disgusting meal, not that he’d be able to stomach it better if there was. He was too miserable to eat.

It wasn’t difficult to make sense of Liam’s about turn in feelings. Yesterday had been a living nightmare. Schaeffer had been immediately shipped off to some secure hospital; the Wehrmacht were good at brushing their mistakes under the carpet. It wasn’t so much the fact that the kommandant had shot one of the prisoners, but more a case of the subsequent bouts of hysteria that made Aldmann place the call to his chief of staff. Apparently it was acceptable to commit murder, but to cry about it afterwards was not.

When Liam had said he was moving back into the hut with the other British soldiers Wil had initially thought it sensible. He didn’t feel in control around the Irishman and with an extra person in the hut there was a high chance they might be caught out. But then Wil had seen the look in the other man’s eyes and had understood the real reason behind McKinley’s decision.

He’d been too busy for the remainder of yesterday to allow himself time to think. It was essential that they get hold of penicillin and dressings for Harris’s eye and Wil had been sent on another charity mission into the local town to try and scrounge more supplies off the local doctor. He was in luck; Brandt had given up the battle. Without enough resources available to be able to treat the townsfolk, the doctor had opted to move back to Munich to stay with his daughter and help her out with the children now that her husband had been killed. Brandt gladly offered Wil anything that would help, knowing what a difficult situation the young man was in.

The penicillin gave Harris a fighting chance. Wil stayed awake keeping a check on him all that night, the hours passing by so slowly with nothing to think about but Liam. But in the end he realised that this was for the best. It should never have happened in the first place.

At four in the morning, after he had just managed to shut his eyes for a few minutes, Wil had been woken by painful sobs which broke his heart. Harris was awake and remembered everything. Wil hadn’t the heart to tell him about his eye, displaying his usual cowardice and leaving that most difficult of tasks up to Colonel Giles.

Pushing the lumps of potato around his plate, Wil wondered if the doctor was informing the American right now of his newly disabled status. Life was cruel and bleak and there was nothing to look forward to for any of them.

***

‘Sleep in heavenly peace?' Chance would be a fine thing, thought Liam as he sat in his bunk listening to the fourth rate choir murder a few Christmas carols. He’d been plagued by horrendous dreams all last night; Wil dead at his feet in the snow; him standing there sobbing covered in a warm splatter of blood and brains. Twice he thought he’d woken up screaming, but the sounds of snuffles and snores from his comrades convinced him otherwise. He physically ached for Wil, reliving his memories of their short-lived love affair until he was almost sick with misery. It wasn’t Wil’s fault he was German. This war had nothing to do with nationality. It was all about hate.

“I didn’t hear you singing along, old chap,” said Pryce as he bounded towards their shared bunk with the enthusiasm of a five-year-old. It seemed Wes was all for making the best of things.

“I don’t sing well,” smiled Liam. “I promise you it’s a blessing that I never joined in.”

“It’s Christmas, Mac. We need to show Jerry that we’re not going to lose our spirits just because we’re their prisoners.”

“I think Harris may well have a differing view on the matter,” said Liam, thinking of Wil and the American together in the empty hospital. A sudden flash of jealousy seared through him and it was so intense that his chest ached.

“Awful thing to have happened,” said Pryce. “I heard on the grape vine that Schaeffer’s been shipped off to ‘convalesce’ somewhere, leaving Aldmann as kommandant for the meantime. Personally I don’t think it makes any difference who’s in charge, they’re all as bad each other. Bloody Germans! I’m so sick of this. When will it end?”

Liam was unused to hearing his friend sound this down. Obviously the earlier Christmas spirit was a sham. “You alright, Prof?” he asked, lacing both their mugs of coffee with a generous dollop of moonshine.

“Not really, no.” replied the Englishman quietly. “My father wrote to inform me that my brother Timothy has been seriously wounded in France and isn’t expected to make it. Even if he does pull through he’s lost both legs.”

“I’m sorry,” said Liam looking over at the branch of fir covered in chocolate wrapper paper chains that made do as their Christmas tree and focused on the sad looking cardboard star that sat, none too proudly, on the top. Would the pain ever end?

***

Aldmann removed the curfew on the afternoon of Christmas Day and Wil watched the prisoners take their exercise, wrapped up as best they could against the bitter cold. As flakes fell from a dead grey sky in an endless flurry of white he wondered if he’d ever be warm again.

“Time for your medicine, Captain Harris,” he said as cheerily as he could manage under the circumstances as he threw his cigarette butt into the snow and closed the door of the hut, shutting out the cold which was worsening as evening approached.

The American was curled over on his side in a foetal position, thin blankets pulled tight around him.

“Come on, Captain, I need you to sit up and take these tablets then I must change your dressing.”

“Why?” asked Harris in a dull voice.

Wil could do without this at the moment. “Because if you don’t take the penicillin you’ll likely get an infection and die in agony. I’m sorry to be so blunt, but that’s how it is.”

Harris turned over to look at Wil, one eye exposed and the majority of his head swathed in bandages. “And why the hell would that bother me?” he said in a voice twisted up by pain and delirium. “How the fuck do I go on when my friend has had his head shot off because of me? Yeah, that’s right, Brenner. They were my things. My fault. Tell who the hell you want to, I don’t care.”

Taking advantage of the fact that Harris was lying on his back, Wil began stripping the soiled bandages away. “Try and keep calm. Raised blood pressure won’t do your head injury any good at all.” He removed the final pad and winced at the angry looking scar where the empty socket had been sewn over. The bruising was horrendous. “I won’t tell anybody anything. Your friend’s death was not your fault and you have to try and believe that.”

Wil cleaned the wound site and slipped two penicillin tablets into Harris’s mouth, lifting his head and giving him a sip of water out of the tin mug.

“You’re right, Spike,” snarled Harris, spitting out the nickname as if it were an expletive. “It wasn’t my fault, it was your fault. You fuckers started all this, all the killing, slaughtering, murdering. You’re all just a bunch of hate-filled bastards. You’re all the same. Now leave me alone.”

Wil staggered back from the bed. Harris’s wound was only partially redressed, but Wil couldn’t go near the American again, couldn't bear to see the scorn in the man’s eyes... eye. No, it was far worse than scorn.

Fighting back the tears, he stumbled down the steps out into the bitter cold Christmas night. Pushing blindly past the body that stood in his way, he wrapped his jacket around him and opened his tobacco tin.

“Brenner, are you alright?”

Mumbling his assent Wil took his last cigarette and put it to his lips, his hands shaking so much it took three strikes of the match to get it to light.

“You better be careful or the snipers will get you.”

Wil looked up blankly at the doctor. “I’m sorry?” he asked in confusion.

“Never mind, Wil. How’s our patient?”

“He’s awake and he’s angry and miserable, just as you’d expect.” Wil looked down at the dry snow that was beginning to form drifts at the side of the building. All too soon it would cover and turn to sheet ice and make the place grimmer than ever, but for now it was like particles of shimmering frost.

“I’ll sit with him until curfew then at least you can have a part of Christmas to yourself,” said Giles in a sympathetic tone of voice.

“Thank you, Colonel. I appreciate it,” said Wil, still unable even to glance up at the British officer for fear of betraying his fragile frame of mind. Giles was an enemy prisoner not a fatherly mentor. He had to remember these things.

“Wil?” The concern in Giles’ voice was very evident.

“Please. Harris’s wound needs to be dressed. It was too upsetting for him to have me do it.” Wil scrubbed an arm across his face.

“Upsetting? In what way?” asked Giles, resting a comforting hand on the medic’s shoulder.

“Please. He needs attending to.” Wil shrugged free from Giles’s touch and raced off around the corner of the building, dropping the cigarette in his hurry to get away.

***

However hard they tried to jolly things up in the British hut it failed dismally, the sombre mood continuing to drape over them like a curtain. No amount of Raisin Jack, as the Americans called it, was able to lift their spirits, and the meal of corned beef and tinned Christmas pudding was better than usual, but certainly not turkey with all the trimmings.

When the choir concert started up for the third time that day, Liam took his mug of liquor-laced tea and snatched a look out of the window, peeking through a gap in the ragged blackout curtain and watching with envy as Giles trudged across to the sickbay. There were another three hours until curfew, but the compound was deserted except for the few guards that were on duty. No one wanted to brave the icy cold weather and all seemed to be happy to stay within the protective boundaries of their allotted quarters.

There was no point in lying to himself about why this was his favourite window to look out of. Luckily it was fairly close to his bed and the stove so his constant vigil didn’t arouse suspicion. At first he viewed the exchange between Giles and Wil with intrigue, but his feelings soon changed as the encounter drew out to its odd conclusion and he was left in a state of flux, caught up in this bewildering sea of raw emotion.

Lying down on the bunk, Liam checked his dressing. The wound site was clean and healed, but the others weren’t to know that.

“I need to pop over to the hospital to get some fresh bandages,” he said throwing on his greatcoat and limping off in the direction of the door.

The carollers continued to wail out Hark the Herald as Wesley broke off from the pack and followed his friend. “I’ll go for you if you like,” he said, wrapping an arm around Liam’s shoulder in a gesture that reminded the Irishman all too much of how Giles had been touching Wil.

“No, it’s fine thanks, Prof. I need a smoke and some fresh air and maybe a break from the singing,” he said with a forced grin.

Wesley smiled sheepishly. “Just an attempt to resuscitate some of that seasonal spirit. Carols around the piano was about the one good thing I remember from my childhood Christmases. Even Father joined in, although I doubt whether he will be this year. Too caught up in Home Office business I should imagine.”

Liam smiled sympathetically. He’d realized, during the course of this war, just how lucky he was as far as family was concerned. “You enjoy yourself, Prof. I have a feeling Aldmann won’t be enforcing the lights out so early tonight so we’d best make the most of it.”

“Make sure you’re back for the mince pies and home made crackers. No bang I’m afraid, but apparently they’ve also taken the snap out of the crackers back in Blighty, something to do with the war effort. Still, at least we’ll have the paper hats and mottos to look forward to.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” It was hard to put on a happy face when he was falling part inside, but Liam achieved it as best he could and, grabbing his crutch from where it was resting against the wall, he hobbled out of the hut, taking care as he made his way down the icy steps. The limp was more pronounced than it needed to be, but Liam needed to keep up the pretence of any kind of injury for as long as he could.

It was so very cold, colder than it had been all year. The night sky was heavy with snow and the air was like ice. By the time he reached the hospital he was in two minds. Should he go in and get some dressings to keep up his ruse? The problem with that plan was that Giles might want to examine his scar and he’d know there was nothing wrong. He’d also have to see Harris and Liam wasn’t sure if he had the stomach to deal with that today. The guilt was weighing heavily on his mind.

No, it was Wil he was most concerned about. He’d watched the way the doctor’s hand had rested on his shoulder; seen the effect it’d had as the young German rushed out of sight. Liam had to find out what was going on. Had Wil told Giles about them? Had Giles said something to upset the young soldier?

Limping around to the side of the hut, he followed the recent footprints behind the wooden building, leading along the side of the barbed wire. Wil was leaning against the hut, head down, arms wrapped around him trying to ward off the cold.

“Wil?”

“Go back to your quarters.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I said go back to your hut.”

“Not until you tell me why you’re out here freezing to death,” persisted Liam. He was already chilled to the bone, all wrapped up in his great coat and he hadn’t been outside for anywhere near as long.

“I don’t have to justify what I do. You’re enemy. All of you. Just enemy. Now do what I say and go away.”

Liam hung his head as he watched Wil scrub away the tears of frustration. “I’m sorry. I over-reacted about Osbourne. I never blamed you.”

“Why shouldn’t you blame me? I’m one of the ones that let it happen. I’m German, you’re British, therefore we hate each other.”

“We’re supposed to.” Liam could never hate Wil.

“I hate you.”

“Well hate me if you must, but for God’s sake go inside to do it or you’ll be sure to catch pneumonia.”

“Stop telling me what to do, Engländer.” Wil swung out blindly and Liam parried the fist before it made contact with his face.

“How many times do I have to tell you I’m Irish not English,” said Liam, catching hold of both arms then leaning in and pressing his lips against Wil’s. God help him, but he didn’t have the power to resist, however dangerous it might prove to be for both of them.

Wil didn’t put up a fight, just wrapped his arms around Liam’s neck and pulled him in hungrily. The kiss was hot and hard and it made Liam burn up from the inside out. All the hurt and misconceptions that had arisen from being on opposing sides melted away as Liam wrapped Wil up inside his greatcoat and gave in to his feelings. He tried to keep it innocent, but with the younger man rubbing up against him and moaning into his mouth that was fast becoming impossible.

Clawing at the fastenings of Wil’s uniform, Liam shuddered with need when his fingers made contact with the smooth skin of his belly. Fighting with the catch and zipper of Wil’s trousers he eventually cupped the semi-erect penis, flicking open each tiny button on the underwear until he was able at last to close his palm around Wil’s cock.

“I want you,” hissed Wil as he waged his own private war with Liam’s clothing.

Liam drew in a deep breath as Wil’s frozen fingers made contact with his erection. It was like being stroked by ice as the hand skated over his taut hot skin and Liam whimpered at the erotic sensation, all the while pulling at Wil’s cock and keeping to a matching rhythm.

“I want you,” said Wil again pulling Liam’s mouth down to his. “I. Want. You. Inside. Me.” Each word was punctuated by a kiss and every kiss took a little while longer to finish until the heat between them became so intense that Liam had to pull back before his climax hit him.

“Not here, my sweetheart,” he murmured against Wil’s lips.

“Yes, here. Now.” Wil twisted around until he was facing the wall of the hut then lowered his trousers.

Liam shifted his legs apart until the height difference between them diminished enough for his thick cock to nestle into the crack of Wil’s buttocks. He didn’t want their first time to be like this. Not shivering with cold and squashed up against the wooden planks of a prison hut. Not on display to the public where they might be discovered at any second.

Rocking his hips, his erection gliding slick and urgently, Liam was so tempted to give in, but Wil had told him he hadn’t had a lover since he was a boy. It would be too painful and Wil would hate him after it was over and Liam couldn’t bear the thought of that. He could almost see him lying on his stomach and quietly sobbing himself to sleep.

“I need you,” pleaded Wil, leaning his head back and inclining it so that he was able to bite at the smooth column of Liam’s neck.

“No. Not without anything. I’m not going to hurt you,” he replied, fisting Wil’s cock harder, trying to give him satisfaction with his hand.

Wil scrunched down pressing back against Liam and his cock began this slow slide against skin that was so incredible Liam groaned with the pleasure. Searching in his trouser pockets Wil rummaged through items of medical equipment then with an almost inaudible “Yes,” he stood up, passing Liam a small tube of antiseptic ointment over his shoulder.

“See, I come prepared,” he said triumphantly, stowing the unwanted assortment of bandages and cotton wool swabs into the side pocket of his jacket then reaching back to lick at Liam’s mouth. “Please. It may be the only time we have together. I need you.”

Harder than he’d ever been before in his life, Liam squeezed out some of the ointment onto his fingers and wrapped an arm around Will’s stomach, hoisting him into a better position then gliding his slicked finger down the cleft, rubbing circles against the tiny indent.

Wil arched and pressed his palms against the back wall of the wooden hut, spreading his legs and allowing Liam easier access. “More,” he begged insistently as Liam worked away slowly at his cock and his hole.

“Shush, sweetheart,” murmured Liam, resting his lips against Wil’s ear. “We must be quiet.”

Wil nodded, pushing back against Liam with such force that Liam’s lubricated finger slipped inside. Oh God, it didn’t matter where they were, he’d never wanted anything so much. Preparing Wil as quickly as possible, Liam coated his cock with more of the cream and then gripped Wil tightly around the waist, heaving him up higher and pressing his erection against the stretched hole.

Oh, it was too good. He was going to come before he was even embedded. Every fraction of an inch made him harder and more desperate. Wil was his now; pliant and relaxed in his arms, breathing warm against his skin and sighing as his body accepted more and more of Liam’s cock.

“Am I hurting you?” asked Liam. He couldn’t stand the thought of Wil suffering in silence.

“A little but it feels good,” whispered Wil and Liam knew that this was the truth when he slipped his hand downwards and was greeted by a solid erection. With one final push of his hips he was fully sheathed inside the young man’s body and all thoughts concerning the danger of their situation were eclipsed by the incredible sensation.

Liam listened to the sounds of Christmas carols sung in different languages coming from the huts as he stroked soothing hands over Wil’s body. He had to take it slow, wait for that determined roll of the hips signifying that his lover was set for more.

Lover. Liam let the word sink in. Wil was the only man he had ever thought of in that context. Harry was a sexual partner and his only other experiences were that shy groping session with his friend Charlie and a few chance encounters with virtual strangers round the back of the lockups in Gillingham.

“I’ll find a way for us to be together,” said Liam as he began to rock slowly in and out while his hand, slick with the medicated cream, twisted and slid up and down Wil’s cock.

“Don’t talk,” hissed Wil, pushing back onto Liam. “Show me how you feel, don’t tell me things that can’t happen.”

Liam felt sick with sadness. Wil was right; there was no point in filling his head with false promises. There was a high probability that neither of them would make it to the end of the war alive and, even if they did, what were the chances of them being able to meet up afterwards? Slim to nonexistent was the answer. All they had was now.

Closing his eyes and resting his head against Wil’s, he held him tightly around the waist, fingers twisting, turning, rippling over his cock in this fluid wave that Harry had taught him. Wil moaned and clenched his muscles and Liam was trapped inside the most constrictive, hot, wonderful place he’d ever been in his life.

“So good. Jesus, it’s good,” he murmured and when Wil turned his head and leaned back, Liam took his mouth in a passionate kiss. The danger sank away into insignificance. All he could think about was this lust, desire, love he was feeling which was enveloping him more each day.

Wil shuddered and moaned into his mouth, teeth raking against his as he fought to disguise his climax, fucking into Liam’s fist until his sperm splashed hot over Liam’s palm.

Licking the semen off his fingers Liam climaxed, biting into the Wil’s neck to muffle his cries. His fingers slipped downwards to clutch at Wil’s softening penis and he collapsed forward, blanketing the younger man and pressing him up against the wooden planks.

“Liam, this wall is uncomfortable,” whispered Wil, after a couple of minutes had elapsed, “I’ll have bruises all over me if you don’t let me move.”

Pulling away just enough to turn Wil to face him, Liam held the younger man tightly in his arms. Half-dressed they clung to each other, sticky flesh rubbing wet and intimately together.

“I must go,” said Wil, shifting to one side and pulling up his trousers and underwear with a grimace. “Now I have to brave the showers and my cock will most likely freeze like an icicle.”

“And I shall sleep with the smell of you all over my hand,” replied Liam getting dressed then pulling out a packet of cigarettes and passing one over.

Wil shook his head. “I have to go now,” he said less than enthusiastically.

“Just one cigarette,” said Liam popping the almost full pack into Wil’s pocket and silencing him with a kiss. “Tell them you confiscated them. They’ll be proud of you.”

Lighting them with a match protected from the wind by the curl of his fingers, Liam slumped back against the wooden wall of the hut, standing as close as he could get to Wil without being too obvious. The smoke might well arouse the suspicion of a curious guard and it would be bad enough to be caught fraternising, never mind anything more intimate.

“I don’t want to go,” said Wil solemnly, almost desperately, “If we could just…” He looked up at the twenty foot barbed wire fencing around the perimeter of the camp. “Sometimes I think it would be easier to give up.”

Hearing those words from Wil’s mouth hurt so much, even though Liam had thought the exact same thing many times himself. It didn’t matter who was captor and who was captive, they were all stuck here in this camp with no food and no comfort, slowly going out of their minds. They’d all seen it happen to Schaeffer and, no matter how revolting the kommandant’s act of mindless violence was, there was no denying that the man was demented. Liam had looked into his eyes and seen the cold hard truth.

“Don’t,” he said quietly. “Don’t even think it. We have us. Here. Now. That’s all we need.”

“I must go,” said Wil, dropping his cigarette into the snow and Liam stared down at the drift of steam and smoke which slowly diminished with a dying fizzle.

Wil turned to leave, but then stopped for a moment and span around quickly, ending up back in Liam’s arms and reaching up for a long involved kiss.

“You are all I think about,” he said quietly and then with one last brush of lips he disappeared off around the side of the hut.

After a few minutes had passed, Liam retraced Wil’s footsteps, gaining some comfort from the fact that his lover had stood there. Crossing the parade ground back toward the British hut, he tried to avoid any curious look from the guards. Did they suspect? Had they seen Wil appear from the same direction?

No one questioned him so he kept his head down and carried on limping, breathing a sigh of relief as he made it safely back to the hut.

“Finally, Mac. Where have you been? Colonel Giles said he hasn’t seen you,” said Pryce.

Oh Jesus! Liam had never even thought about any explanations that would be needed afterwards. “I bumped into Brenner and he redressed the wound for me,” he said, wishing that he hadn’t had to involve the medic in his lies.

“The doc told us that Harris rather tore a strip off young Spike, not that he deserved it, but I suppose, when push comes to shove, all Jerry are the same deep down.”

Liam clenched his fist wanting to silence that ignorant mouth. How could anyone be so narrow-minded? How could a friend of his think such bigoted things? How dare Harris blame Wil for Schaeffer’s behaviour? Truthfully though, his anger wasn’t directed specifically at anyone. How could it be when he himself had had exactly the same reaction? He was angry at the world.

“You’re awfully quiet, Mac. Anything the matter?” asked Pryce, offering him a chocolate digestive.

“I’m fine,” replied Liam, dunking his biscuit in the tea and peering out in the direction of the hospital. Wil was sitting on the steps, still shivering, still with no coat on. Damn him for not taking better care of himself.

Liam pressed his fingers up to his face and breathed in. Despite everything this had turned out to be one of the best Christmases he had ever spent on this earth.

Chapter Ten

“You can’t keep coming here for more bandages,” smiled Wil. “Colonel Giles is starting to ask questions.”

“Bugger Giles,” murmured Liam, checking carefully to make sure Harris was asleep before dragging Will into the quarantine section of the hospital. “On second thoughts I’d rather bugger you,” he said, peppering kisses onto the young man’s cheeks and licking his way over Wil’s bright red lips until they opened up fully to allow him a proper kiss.

Pulling away with a concerned look on his face, he placed, a hand over Wil’s forehead. “You have a fever, sweetheart. Get the doc to have a look at you.”

“It’s just a chill,” replied Wil, peering out into the hut to ensure all was quiet then throwing himself happily into Liam’s arms once more.

“Tonight?” asked the British officer in between enthusiastic kisses.

“Ja. Usual place,” said Wil.

Their secret rendezvous point was the only part of the camp that wasn’t overlooked by searchlights or on one of the guards patrol routes. Liam couldn’t wait until he could make love to Wil in a proper bed but for now he would take anything he could get.

“I’ll see you later,” smiled Liam, taking a roll of bandage from the supply cupboard and placing it in the pocket of his great coat to camouflage the real reason for his visit and then heading off in the direction of the exit.

“Hey, Mac. Are you ever gonna heal? I’m beginning to wish my insurance offered me better hospital care. This place must be the pits.”

Liam whirled around, taken aback by the cheery voice. “Morning, Harris. Sorry to have woken you. I have a tendency to be loud and overbearing. It’s the Irish in me.”

“Don’t worry about it,” laughed the American officer who was still bandaged up like a mummy, but seemed in good spirits despite everything. “Stick around and talk to me. No one from my neck of the woods is allowed in. It’s good to see a friendly face other than Doc.”

Liam sat on the side of the bed trying not to take offence at Harris’s words. He’d felt exactly the same way about Wil during his first few days in sick bay and the growing physical attraction he had for the young German probably helped a lot in altering his opinions. Wil was a truly compassionate man, but it was harder to see through the barriers without there being an added incentive.

“I hear the war’s going great for us,” said Harris loudly and very definitely for the benefit of Wil.

“I believe it is,” replied Liam, unable to prevent himself saying something in defence of his lover who was busy mopping the floor. “Listen, Alex. None of this was Brenner’s fault. He’s done his utmost to nurse you back to good health. He’s a medical student not a killer.”

Harris looked downwards, one dark brown eye staring at the blanket that he was rucking up between his fingers.

“I know. He’s been kind, but-” Harris swallowed hard, “I can’t stop thinking about Oz. He didn’t deserve that.”

“No he didn’t, but you can’t blame what happened to either of you on anyone but Schaeffer,” said Liam gently. “Storing up all this hatred won’t help you or bring Oz back.”

“Doc says the same, but I don’t find it as easy as you do. At the end of the day Brenner’s still German. I can’t forget that and fall into his arms. Every word I say to him feels like I’m betraying my buddy.”

Liam froze. ‘Don’t find it as easy as you do.’ ‘Fall into his arms.’ Had Harris been awake? Had he seen or heard something? No, that was ridiculous. In the mood he was in the American would surely have said something.

Liam stayed for an hour or so to keep Harris company, making him coffee and telling him silly anecdotes about some of the goons. It was good to have the chance to be near Wil for a while longer, exchanging subtle glances with him whilst watching the fluid way he moved about the hut. God, Liam wanted to run his hands through the white blond hair. Wanted to bend Wil over and fuck him hard.

Deciding to make a move before the erotic nature of his thoughts gave him away, Liam found himself promising to visit Harris again if the opportunity arose. It wasn’t deceitful; he was doing his bit to cheer up the wounded American. It was sheer good fortune that it meant spending a few more stolen hours in the company of his lover.

***

“Ohhh,” groaned Wil, his cry of pleasure muffled by Liam’s palm as he bucked his hips and forced his cock into the tight clench of the British officer’s fist. On his knees in the snow, trousers pulled down and with Liam pounding away inside him, Wil had never felt such raw emotion before. He knew they should be more careful, but the lust was proving to be stronger than any rational thought and Wil found himself becoming more wanton with every passing day. This was all they had, and he would risk anything to feel complete and have Liam inside him where he belonged.

Fingers splayed out, pressing down on his back and Will turned to watch as Liam licked the taste from his hand, grunting as he heaved out his orgasm. Every spatter of warmth inside him made Wil feel more indestructible, but as soon as the sex was over it was followed by an inevitable rush of fear. Struggling to get to his feet, legs still boneless from his climax, Wil pulled up his trousers and brushed the snow away as best he could manage.

They stood next to each other leaning against the back wall of the hut and Liam lit two cigarettes then passed one to Wil.

“We’re taking too many chances,” he said, “I think people are beginning to suspect. Harris for one, maybe even Giles and Pryce.”

“Harris?” said Wil nervously. He was very much aware of the American soldier’s intense dislike for him. It was all too easy to see the shivers of revulsion every time Wil so much as approached him to change his bandages. Some of the more basic tasks had been almost impossible to cope with at first, but at least the man was able to fend for himself now.

“It’s my fault,” said Liam, puffing away on his cigarette.“I thought he was asleep when I came to see you this morning. I don’t remember what we said, but-”

“But what?” asked Wil.

“Brenner, what are you doing back here consorting with prisoners?”

Wil looked into Schmidt’s amused brown eyes.

“I was confiscating his cigarettes. Why, what did you think I was doing?” Wil felt the pack slide across into his hand. “It’s not right that the prisoners have such a better time of it than we do. It makes no sense.”

He waved the pack of Players at the German guard.

“I agree,” said Schmidt taking one and lighting it.

“Damn Red Cross and their parcels,” continued Wil. Then he stopped and looked Liam up and down, “And you. What are you still doing here? I’ve got all I want from you, Englander.”

Wil could tell how hard it was for Liam not to smile as he limped off back to the British hut. “And if you flaunt any more of your contraband I’ll do more than confiscate it,” he shouted.

“Ja, from me also,” said Schmidt in broken English, putting out his half-smoked cigarette and stamping his feet to warm them. “Thanks, Brenner. I’d better go check in with the duty officer to see if he wants me to do something exciting like patrol anticlockwise for a change.”

Wil nodded, coughing harshly as the bitter cold air forced its way into his chest which was tightening by the hour. He didn’t want to be sick now, not when he had a lover. When it was all over he was going to remember this time forever. Liam would always be his - in memory at least.

***

Liam strode away, fear building as he realised how close they had just come to being discovered inflagrante by Schmidt. His legs were trembling as he made his way up the steps of the British hut and he stumbled on his way in and almost fell over, causing great concern amongst his fellow officers.

“Are you sure you’re well, Mac?” asked Wesley as he helped him get comfortable on his bunk, “Doc said earlier that Spike’s coming down with something. I wouldn’t complain if all the Krauts succumbed to an outbreak of Spanish flu, but it would be a damn shame if we got ill now this bloody war’s so close to ending.”

Liam looked around the bleak hut, staring at the photographs and posters that the men had pinned up on the timber walls, mostly to remind them of loved ones but also doubling up as insulation material. Listening to the mournful jazz music emanating from Doc’s ‘private’ quarters at the far end of the hut, Liam contemplated how he would feel when this precious time was be over. The pain was intense and as real as if he’d been punched in the stomach.

“I’m fine, Prof,” he said eventually. “Got frozen to the core while I was outside having my evening constitutional and it made me a little shaky on the pins. A mug of tea will fix me up.”

“As long as you’re sure.” Pryce looked dubious, unconvinced by Liam’s words, but a large smile reassured him and he mooched off in the direction of the huge army issue tea kettle, leaving Liam with some quality time alone with his thoughts.

Things could be worse, he decided, glancing over at Captain Rayne who was huddled up in his bunk re-reading the Dear John letter he had received a week ago from his fiancée of seven years. Liam was one of the lucky ones; at least he still had his lover. Every minute they spent together was to be cherished.

***

Tidying his clothing after another intense bout of love making, Wil reached up for a long drawn out kiss from Liam. The passion between them grew stronger every day and Wil was beginning to feel as if his real life no longer existed. Lost inside his fevered imagination he could barely carry out his daily duties. All he could do was daydream away the hours until it was time for their next liaison. Colonel Giles had voiced some concern over his lack of attention, but had put it down to Wil’s sickness, an idea which Wil had done little to repudiate. After all it suited his purpose and kept the doctor well away from finding out the true reason for his reveries.

It had been two months of absolute happiness for Wil. The foulness of the meals passed him by, the icy weather no longer penetrated the surface and his hacking cough didn’t concern him in the slightest. He was in love and prayed daily that the war would never come to an end. It must not end. This must not end.

The whine of the air raid siren escalated from a low drone to a wail. The look outs must have been caught napping as the insistent serenade was almost immediately accompanied by a deep rumble overhead. With the constant explosion of bombs coming from the direction of Munich, they had all had thought that they were in for a quiet night, but apparently this was not on the cards.

The ack-ack guns, high up in their turrets, swung around and began firing as the first wave of aircraft flew overhead, but instead of bombs falling, a rain of paper dropped from the sky, littering the area for miles around with a flurry of pamphlets.

Wil was not interested in anyone’s propaganda, but Liam bent down to pick a leaflet up and in the guttering light of a match silently read through the information.

“Is it true what Doc says about there being no patients in sickbay?” he said casting the fourth match aside after it had burnt down to his fingernails and died.

“Yes, that’s right,” replied Wil. “Bertrand recovered enough from his pneumonia to return to quarters yesterday.” He had a fair idea of what was on Liam’s mind and wondered if they dare risk it. How perfect it would be to lie down on a bed and make love like a proper couple.

“Good.”

Undercover of darkness, as the searchlights played over the night sky instead of the prison camp, Liam and Wil slipped into the hospital hut.

Breathing overly fast from a combination of excitement and danger, Wil could feel his heart beating like a drum inside his chest as his fingers searched out Liam’s cock.

“I need to talk to you,” said Liam pulling away and lighting the hurricane lamp.

Wil trembled. Was this it? The end of everything. The end of his world.

Taking Wil by the hand, Liam lead him over to the privacy of the quarantined area and placed the lamp down on the rough wooden bench, then, seating himself on the low metal cot, he pulled Wil down next to him.

“This paper promises safe conduct to all German soldiers who carry it,” he said extracting the leaflet from his pocket. “It’s signed by Eisenhower and so when the time comes if you give yourself up to the Americans you will be safe.”

“It’s only propaganda. You know that. It means nothing.” Wil pushed his lover down on the bed and straddled him. “So long since we’ve been able to do this,” he whispered as his mouth explored Liam’s skin.

“Promise me you’ll carry the paper,” said Liam, fighting to resist the kisses.

Wil smiled sadly. “Imagine what the Wehrmacht will do to me if they find me carrying this. I will be shot dead as a traitor. It’s not sensible.” For the first time ever Wil saw signs of tears in Liam’s eyes and was distraught. “I’m sorry, mein liebchen,” he whispered.

“Don’t be sorry, Wil. Just do it for me. Hide it, keep it safe. It gives you a fighting chance. It gives us a chance. Maybe the only one we have.”

Wil took the leaflet and sat up, reading it carefully and wondering, hoping against hope that the words might have some truth to them. After all life was very different for Americans and British so Liam said.

‘The German soldier who carries this safe conduct is using it as a sign of his genuine wish to give himself up. He is to be disarmed, to be well looked after, to receive food and medical attention as required, and to be removed from the danger zone as soon as possible.’

Would they remove him as far as England? It seemed highly unlikely.

“It gives you a chance,” insisted Liam once more and Wil nodded, tucking the paper away inside his jacket. As far as he was concerned it signified nothing more than his death warrant, but it was worth it to see the look of happiness on his lover's face.

Liam lavished Wil with kisses until he became playful and aroused once moreand didn’t give a damn about anything other than their love affair. The lies were good lies. It was make-believe that had kept him going this long.

“You’ll be fine,” said Liam in between more kisses. “You’ll surrender to the Allies and then I’ll find a way to bring you to England to be with me.”

“And we’ll live together in that little apartment?” sighed Wil.

“Yes.”

“And we’ll be happy?”

“Forever.”

As bombs replaced the flutter of paper, Liam made love to him with such passion that Wil was utterly convinced they were safe from the world in that imaginary double bed in a little flat in Gillingham.

***

“Oh yes, yes, so good,” moaned Wil as he stood with his palms pressed up against the back wall of the hut, filled to bursting with all eight inches of Liam’s cock.

Every time they arranged to meet, Liam promised himself that he wouldn’t be so foolish and risk everything again. They would talk and they would kiss, but it would go no further than that. As soon as he had Wil in his arms, however, promises flew out of the window and he ended up giving in to his desires. They made love at every opportunity, hidden away from the rest of the camp in any place they could find that offered them some privacy. Liam longed for the luxury of a comfortable bed and dreamt of it often, falling asleep with his fingers pressed tight against his face so he could breathe in the scent of Wil’s come and imagine that they were back home living in that little upstairs flat that he described so clearly to his lover. The one that only existed in his head.

Holding Wil tight around the waist he whispered words of want and need, breath drifting soft over the skin of Wil’s neck as the German boy arched against him reaching back for kisses and proof of love.

“As far as we can work out this area is unguarded…”

Liam gulped in a deep breath as he fought for control, but fear made the build up of semen reach the point of no return and he clung tight to Wil as his sperm surged deep into the young man’s body. Tidying his clothing and mustering some much needed dignity, Liam turned around to look into the accusatory eyes of Giles and Pryce.

“Well I suppose this explains why that chest infection of yours keeps getting worse, young man,” said Doc, looking at Wil over the top of his glasses. He reminded Liam of a kindly headmaster. “This is not quite what I had in mind when I said keep warm as best you can.”

Wil was shamefaced, staring down at his boots, and Liam wanted nothing more than to kiss him and tell him everything was fine. He wasn’t a monster; he was kind and gentle and everything Liam wanted in life and it shouldn’t matter where he was from- except that it did so very much.

“I must go,” said Wil, disappearing off around the corner without even a last look behind him.

Pryce remained silent with a stony expression in place and Liam examined the ground, ashamed of his actions and, on top of that, ashamed of his shame.

“I think we need to talk this over, Mac,” said the doctor quietly after Pryce had turned and walked away.

Giles, being the senior officer, wasn’t expected to bunk in with everyone else. His quarters were hardly secluded with thin ply walls and a curtain that made do as a door but the men were good chaps and offered up as much privacy as was possible when it became apparent that personal business was on the cards.

Liam felt like a naughty schoolboy caught around the back of the bike sheds and, all the way back to the hut, he kept trying to conjure up explanations. However all he truly cared about was protecting Wil. Damn his own reputation, although ‘bugger’ would be a rather more apt expletive in this case. He almost smiled. If this story came out then there’d be plenty of those sort of jokes around the camp before long.

“This is all rather embarrassing,” said Colonel Giles as he and Liam sat in the far corner of the British hut with battered enamel mugs of spiced up tea warming their hands. “I don’t want you to think I’m in anyway shocked by the fact that you’re a homosexual.” Giles looked up. “Are you a homosexual? Or-”

“Yes, Colonel, I’m a card carrying member of the queer party. I was quite honest about it when I joined up,” sighed Liam. If this conversation was going to continue in this stilted fashion then they may as well not bother. “I’m not taking advantage of Wil in any way.”

“It’s not that that bothers me, Mac, although Brenner is a nice lad and I wouldn’t like to see him hurt. What worries me the most is what life is going to be like for you if this becomes public knowledge.”

“Well, perhaps you and Prof could do us a favour and not tell anyone. That way our secret won’t get out,” suggested Liam in a cool tone of voice. “After all it’s really none of your business.”

“Liam, old chap,” said Giles, leaning forward and placing a hand on his shoulder, “I can do that and I’ll most certainly speak to Pryce about the matter, but only if you swear to me that this affair will not continue.”

Liam blinked and stared down at the greyish liquid in the mug as if it would reveal some answers to his dilemma.

“It’s for your own sake I’m asking this, young man,” said Giles, lacing Liam’s tea with another generous dollop of alcohol from the canteen. “It’s not safe for either of you, as I’m sure you must be aware.”

“I- I can’t give him up, Giles,” said Liam, looking up into clear green eyes that were full of concern rather than disgust. That didn’t help make explanations any easier though and it was damn near impossible to speak the truth without stuttering over the words. “He’s- He’s the first man I’ve ever cared about.”

The Colonel shook his head sadly. “That doesn’t alter the fact that he’s an enemy soldier and your captor and therefore you cannot form an attachment to him. It’s impossible, Mac, you know it is, and as your commanding officer I insist you have no further intimate contact with him.”

The siren sounded, forewarning them of lights out in thirty minutes and Liam swallowed down his tea. He was angry but what could he do? Giles was a senior officer and one who had well and truly earned Liam’s respect. It was his duty to obey orders.

“I’ll agree to this, but only if I can see him tomorrow to explain. He’s not stupid, Doc. If anyone has shown a lack of common sense in this it’s me. I kept pushing and in the end he gave in, and now if you’ll at least let me apologise I’ll feel slightly better about letting him down.”

“One more private meeting,” agreed Giles. “But try and make it a fully clothed one for the sake of Spike’s health. The poor lad’s near to pneumonia as it is. His chest has been bad for over two months now and I’ll bet that your outdoor pursuits haven’t been helping him any.”

Liam felt horrible. He knew that Wil hadn’t been feeling a hundred percent, but once they were together they never seemed to be able to keep their hands off each other. “I promise, Doc” he said quietly, “You’re right. It must end now for everyone’s sake.”

“Good man.” Giles smiled with obvious relief. “From what I’ve heard on the crystal set the Allies are pushing through Europe and are on Germany’s borders. With any luck we’ll all be heading home in a month or so.”

Liam smiled half-heartedly, trying to show some sign of elation at the good news as he reluctantly followed the rest of the British officers to the wash house. He should be over the moon and not feeling as if his world had shattered around him. At the very least he must put on a show and try to mend some broken fences.

Deliberately choosing to stand next to Pryce at the row of metal wash basins, Liam finished brushing his teeth and, once he’d rinsed his mouth, he looked tentatively over at his friend.

“I’m sorry that you had to find out in that way,” he said quietly. This was probably the best place Liam could find to carry out this conversation tonight, the noise of the water sluicing away down the drains ensuring that his words didn’t travel too far.

“You could have told me, McKinley. I rather feel now that you don’t trust me.” Pryce refused to look at him and Liam realised that a huge wedge had been driven between him and his friend that evening. He hoped that it would not prove to be an insurmountable barrier.

“Nothing of the sort, Prof, I trust you with my life and always will.” Liam sighed. It was going to be almost impossible to find the right words that would come anywhere close to explaining the depths of his feelings for Wil. “I never meant things to get this out of hand. I’ve been careful from the beginning of the war not to get involved with anyone, but-”

“I truly understand how difficult it must be for you, Mac, it’s just-“

“I should have told you earlier and I apologise.”

The conversation was stilted and more than difficult. Brusque interrupted sentences were interspersed by awkward silences, and the order to return to their hut was obviously welcomed by both men. Why was being a homosexual so dreadfully appalling? Despite his anger at the unfairness of life Liam still felt terrible for deceiving his friend. His affair with Wil had ended up hurting far too many people and he should have regretted it, but, try as hard as he might, he couldn’t help but treasure every moment spent with the only real lover he’d ever had known.

Liam trudged back to the hut, damp towel wrapped around his neck. He immediately sensed a change in atmosphere inside the small building and even though he was sure this must be all in his mind, was glad when it was time for lights out and he could hide away in his bunk. Unfortunately he didn’t manage to sleep a wink. How could he knowing that in a few short hours he was going to deliberately break Wil’s heart?

By the time the sirens sounded out reveille, Liam had worked himself up into a frenzied state. He shovelled down the porridge like substance in vain hope that it would make him feel better but the opposite was true. Running for the latrines, he threw up the contents of his stomach into the filthy lavatory pan and remained bent over the bowl for longer than necessary whilst he tried to collect his thoughts.

The rest of the day passed him by in a confusion of half-hearted forgery projects and further maggoty meals that were becoming less edible as each month elapsed. The recent sudden decline in the state of their rations had coincided with the appearance of the new camp commandant who’d arrived in a bluster of new rules and regulations a few weeks back.

Heinrich made Schaeffer seem like a positive angel. This man was old and disfigured and had a pathological hatred of anything that wasn’t Germanic perfection. Almost everything on the camp met with his very vocal disapproval, except for Wil who he held in high esteem, probably because of his capable talents as a medic and his true Aryan looks. Initially Liam had teased Wil about the kommandant’s crush on him, but once it became apparent that the young man was becoming increasingly unhappy about the situation Liam left the subject well alone.

“You understand nothing,” Wil had hissed when Liam was making fun of him a little too loudly in sickbay.

And it was true. Liam knew very little but he was slowly beginning to learn that life was very different for the German people who had been living under the umbrella of the Third Reich for over a decade. Hopefully once the Nazi’s were removed from power, things would become a little less bleak for them as a nation. He had learned from Wil that life in Germany had been an uphill struggle since the Great War - the War to End All Wars which had been superseded in such a terribly short time.

It was getting lighter in the evenings now and that would make their meetings many times more awkward. Still it wouldn’t matter after tonight, thought Liam as he arrived at the usual rendezvous point.

Wil’s approach was heralded by a hacking cough which broke Liam’s heart even more.

“You never told me you were so ill,” he said in an accusatory tone that came out far more harshly than he intended it to. Wil could no longer disguise his poor state of health even when he was wearing that beaming smile that was reserved especially for Liam.

“Colonel Giles has insisted I take the last of the penicillin and I will.”

The feverishly bright eyes added a few extra words to the sentence. ‘I’ll take the medicine for you,’ they said. ‘For you.’ But what if Wil refused to waste medical supplies on himself after tonight? Still, Liam had no choice; there was no going back from this. Doc had made himself explicitly clear on the matter.

“Wil,” said Liam pulling his lover towards him and holding him close. “We have to talk.” Accepting just one kiss from those soft lips, Liam hid his face in Wil’s neck. “We can’t see each other anymore. Too many people know and it’s becoming far too dangerous.”

“Nein.” Wil pushed Liam away from him just enough to look into his eyes. “Is not possible. Why? Why now? Everything is almost over, you said so yourself. I need you, Liam.”

“I need you too but I’ve been ordered to stop seeing you and I am a solider, as are you, and it is our duty to obey commands. Please don’t make this any harder, sweetheart.” Liam stepped back a little more unable to cope with the horror stricken look in Wil’s eyes. Saying those words had hurt as much as if they were being branded into his skin with a red hot iron.

Wil clung to the thick woollen lapels of Liam’s overcoat. “I don’t care about the fucking army. I care about you. Please. You promised. Remember you said you’d bring me back home to England and we’d live together and we’d be happy. You promised.”

How could Liam stand by and watch this young man’s world fall apart? His head was aching and his chest was tight and he could feel the tears spilling out from his eyes.

“And I will get you out of Germany. I will find you and I will bring you back home, but for now…”

“But for now you don’t want me,” wheezed Wil, struggling to breathe, overcome by the combination of distress, panic and deep-seated infection.

“Hush. You know that’s not true.” Liam tried to silence the outburst by burying Wil against his chest. “You know how much I want you.”

“Not enough,” said Wil, his voice muffled by pain and bitterness, breath so hot Liam could feel it through the layers of his clothes.

“Too much, damn it.” Liam rested his hands on Wil’s narrow shoulders. “You’re the only man I’ve ever loved, Wil Brenner.”

He unfastened the clasp on his new prisoner of war issue watch which he’d received barely a month ago from Switzerland. Most of his possessions had been lost during the forced march he’d and this was the only thing he had on him that would act as a promise of his good faith. “Take it,” he insisted, handing the timepiece to Wil, “Take it and then give it back to me when we meet up after the war is over.”

Wil slipped the heavy silver bracelet over his hand then unfastened his own gold watch.

“Fair is fair,” he said fastening the strap, which was rather a tight fit, onto Liam’s right wrist.

“Wrong hand,” said Liam, looking downward with pride at the timepiece. It was more than a simple swap of jewellery; it felt like an exchange of vows.

“My hand,” explained Wil with a solemn smile that succeeded in smashing Liam’s already broken heart into painful shards.

The kiss was only intended to seal the promise, but as soon as Liam’s lips made contact with Wil’s mouth he immediately pulled his lover hard against him, overcome by desire and the burning need to prove his feelings one last time.

Liam’s fingers trembled as he fought to release both their cocks, then, lifting Wil just enough, he held him tightly in his arms, sighing with unrepentant pleasure as their bodies crushed together, erections grinding slick and hard as they shared greedy goodbye kisses.

“Love you,” he whispered over and over again as he pumped his hips and thrust his erection against Wil’s hardness, pushing them both to the limit as they clung together wrapped up in their passion for each other.

“And what do we have here?” said a nasal voice coming from just behind Liam’s right shoulder. “It seems our informant was correct and the little medic is indeed a schwuler.”

Liam turned his head to see the camp commandant and two of his men staring at them with violent disgust written all over their faces. Heinrich spat very deliberately, the discoloured spatter of mucus sliding in a dirty rivulet down Liam’s boot.

“What an unfortunate waste.”

Liam shivered and turned away from the three men, concentrating instead on his terrified lover.

“Wil, Always remember I love you,” he whispered, emotion crashing over him in waves of fear and longing as Wil shivered in his arms.

“Ich liebe dich, mein leibling.” The words were barely audible; little more than breaths but Liam heard them clear as a church bell on a winter’s morning

Soaked from a mixture of their semen, Liam tucked himself away and tried his best to tidy Wil up whilst Kommandant Heinrich stared blankly at them with serpent eyes, slapping his riding crop into a gloved palm.

“Farber, Weiss, escort Major McKinley back to his hut.”

Liam’s heart pounded in his chest when he saw the abject terror in Wil’s eyes. Pulling away from the German guards he rounded on Heinrich. “Wil’s done nothing. If you want to take your bigotry out on someone, it’s me that should be punished,” he shouted, fighting back as the guards attempted to restrain him. Then he felt the cold steel of a pistol barrel pressing against his neck and remembered the horror of Osbourne’s death. The last thing he wanted was for Wil to have to witness the same thing happening to him.

“Under the terms of the Geneva Convention I have no reason to discipline you,” replied Heinrich, “Despise, yes, discipline, no. Brenner, however, is a different matter entirely. He is under my command and he has been in caught performing in a manner which is unacceptable in the eyes of the Wehrmacht and society.”

Heinrich’s twitched upwards in a brief parody of a smile and he held Wil’s chin in his left hand forcing him to look up.

“Untermenschen,” he said staring down at the young German as if he were worthless, “A genetic defective.” Heinrich accompanied this unwanted translation with a sneering look in Liam’s direction then turned back to peruse Wil’s face. “Such a waste, Brenner,” he repeated, twisting Wil’s head to the side with a sudden jarring movement that made the bones crack loud enough for Liam to hear. “You had potential.”

“Get your fucking hands off him,” screamed Liam, no longer caring about the click of the gun as it was primed. Breaking free and almost managing to land a punch that would have wiped the smirk off that ugly face for once and for all, he was felled by a single blow from the butt of the pistol, ending up face down on the ground in a chilling replay of the incident involving Harris.

“Be grateful you’re still alive, Major McKinley,” hissed Heinrich, grinding the heel of his boot into Liam’s hand, “If it wasn’t for Schaeffer’s ill thought out actions you would most certainly be dead.” The commandant slammed his boot down once more onto Liam’s fingers then stepped away and addressed his men. “Farber, Weiss, take the prisoner to solitary to cool off.”

Liam lifted his head and watched Wil being marched away by the kommandant; a small fragile figure almost immediately obscured from sight by a cluster of German soldiers. As he was hauled to his feet by the two remaining guards the sickening well of fear in the pit of his stomach was quickly surpassed by realisation and then rage.

Chapter Eleven

Wil had never been so terrified in his life. The small cell behind the guardroom was not even big enough to house an army cot. There was no electricity and only the smallest of windows that allowed a misty filter of natural light in during the day. As far as he could tell he’d been incarcerated for about twenty-four hours, but his fever was rising at a rapid rate and it was hard to stay lucid.

The cell door slammed and Wil shivered when he saw who it was. He was becoming accustomed to each guard’s ritual treatment of the resident homosexual.

“Suck my cock, Brenner,” said Farber, rubbing his penis over Wil’s cracked lips then backhanding him when he shied away. “You filthy piece of shit.”

The beating that followed was hard and merciless and Farber didn’t let up until Wil choked on a combination of blood and phlegm and then threw up all over the floor.

“Lie there in your stinking mess, arschficker,” smirked Farber as Will sprawled face down in the puddle of vomit.

No one would help him. Even if anyone wanted to they wouldn’t dare because they would doubtless end up being labelled a homosexual also. Wil was a dead man.

“You will be court martialed when the kommandant has the time to spare. Perhaps you should spend what days you have left trying to think up reasons why you prefer to fuck men.”

“Leave the freak alone, Farber,” yelled a voice from outside the cell that sounded like Braun. “If you beat him to death then there’ll be no one to stand trial and I won’t get to watch the little tunte piss himself in front of the firing squad.”

Farber laughed and a steel capped army boot landed on Wil’s ribs making him jerk upwards from the pain. Then the door slammed shut and he was left alone to pray for the trial and the punishment to be over and done with as soon as possible.

***

The machinery of the lock made rusty clanking sounds and when it finally gave way the heavy wooden door opened with a creak. Shielding his face from the harsh sunlight, Liam was hauled out of the cooler by two goons and stumbled over the rough ground, his wounded leg stiff and aching from where he’d spent a lengthy amount of time in cramped conditions. Too broken to even think about what might be happening to Wil, he looked around him in confusion, not even sure where he was supposed to go until he felt the pressure of an arm around his shoulders.

“Come inside,” said Pryce, “We’ve been worried sick. All we knew was that you’d been carted off to solitary. Doc’s been doing his level best to find out what’s been happening. Poor fellow’s been going out of his mind.”

Out of his mind? thought Liam in disbelief. Did either of them stop to consider how he was feeling? Or Wil?

Once inside the hut Liam found himself looking at everyone with different eyes. Was it rumour or gossip that had been responsible for this? Was it a vindictive need to punish Liam for his homosexuality? For his love affair with an enemy soldier?

Blinded by angry tears that scalded his eyes like acid, Liam felt the support from arms either side of him now as he was ushered in to a quiet conclave at the far end of the British hut.

“Mac, old chap, it’s good to have you back,” said Colonel Giles, relief at the Irishman’s safe return to the fold evident on his face. “We’ve been-”

But his sentence was cut short.

“Which of you bastards did it,” said Liam in a controlled voice that contrasted starkly with his words. Slowly, he rounded on each officer in turn. “Which of you pathetic excuses for humanity told Heinrich about Wil and I?”

This outburst was followed by a lengthy silence during which time a mug containing more liquor than tea was forced into Liam’s bruised hand.

“Calm down and explain yourself,” said Giles a trifle frostily. “We have no idea what’s been happening or what you’re talking about.”

“They knew,” said Liam, staring blankly out of the window in the direction of the German barracks and praying that he’d catch a glimpse of Wil. “They knew we were there and there was nothing I could do. Untermenschen, they called him. Subhuman.”

He shook his head trying to force the bad memories to retreat. “There was nothing I could do,” he repeated. “Wil told me stories of how the Nazis treat homosexuals in Germany. Put us in camps where we’re beaten and raped. Take us to hospitals where they castrate us to stop us from spreading our disease. Apart from me, Wil’s only ever had one other lover in his life. He was too terrified of what might happen to take the risk and now one of you has condemned him to suffer those fucking consequences, you thoughtless, heartless-”

“Why one of us?” asked Pryce, interrupting the flow of angry words.

“Because you’re the only ones who knew.” Liam was baffled. Surely it was self-explanatory.

“Are you absolutely sure about that?” asked Giles in that stern but kind voice of his. “This is a terribly serious accusation you’re levelling our way.”

Liam felt like a school boy all over again and sank down onto Giles’s cot looking around him at the array of accumulated personal items whilst he mulled everything over. He was still amazed that Harris had managed to scrounge an old phonograph and a collection of jazz records for the colonel.

Harris! The American could have overheard them in sickbay. Then there was Schmidt the guard who had spotted them on more than a couple of occasions sharing a companionable cigarette. Maybe he’d seen them do more than smoking. Liam also had to consider more difficult truths. He and Wil had often been so overwhelmed by their need for each other that discretion was pushed aside as an afterthought. He could well be the one to blame for Wil’s current situation.

“I’m so very sorry,” he said with a deep sigh. “I should never have come in here blurting out unsubstantiated accusations.”

“It’s fine, Mac. We understand,” said the colonel, “You rest here while Prof and I try and root out what’s happened to Brenner.”

Wesley gave him a comforting pat on the shoulder on his way out of the room and Giles was about to offer him a helping hand up from the low army cot when he caught sight of the injuries to Liam’s left hand.

“How did this happen?” he asked, examining the swollen discoloured tissue.

Liam winced as the Doctor moved his index finger. He’d not paid much thought to it since it happened.

“This was courtesy of Kommandant Heinrich’s boot,” he said with a wry smile.

Giles shook his head angrily. “These people have no idea about how to treat prisoners of war. I intend to document every single incident once I get back home.”

“Home seems a very long way away,” said Liam more to himself than to the colonel.

“Indeed it does," agreed Giles. "Now can you move your hand, Mac?”

His swollen fingers refused to do more than wiggle a little and the pain from that was too severe to encourage him to try harder.

“You’ve definitely sustained a minor fracture or two,” said the colonel, “I wish there was something I could do, but we’re so low on supplies that I can’t even manage a splint.”

“Truthfully, Doc, that’s the least of my worries,” said Liam finishing up his tea.

***

Unfortunately, the only information any of them were able to garner was that Wil had been confined to the guard house. Liam had done his best to find a way to make contact, but he daren’t risk bribery in case it only succeeded in making things worse for his lover. Days passed by in a blur and Liam was aware that all his comrades were becoming increasingly worried about his state of mind. He was also certain that whispers concerning his private life were working their way around camp, not that he cared much. He didn’t give a damn about anything anymore. It was all too easy to give in and lose himself in a canteen of the foul moonshine liquor, but the sensation as it burnt its way back up made the short oblivion that it offered unappealing to say the least.

The air raids were growing in intensity; bombers flying across in wave after wave with the sound of the ack-ack guns much more diminished that usual. There was a sense of expectancy in the air and every prisoner in the camp, bar Liam, was buzzing with excitement at the idea of being homeward bound at long last. The German guards were becoming more restless by the hour. It was as if everyone could taste the Allied victory that was so very close at hand.

Liam was sitting on the steps of the sickbay idly toeing the muddy ground when he heard the sound of quiet footsteps approaching and looked up to see Schmidt hovering over him.

“Brenner would want you to have this,” said the guard, looking around then holding out his hand and letting the Rolex drop into the British soldier’s palm.

Why did it feel like thirty pieces of silver?

The bottom dropped out of Liam’s world. He’d never taste Wil’s mouth or feel those arms around him again. He had nothing left to live for any longer and gazed blankly up at the pale blue sky which was so at odds with the blackness inside him.

“How did he die?” he asked slowly.

Schmidt shook his head, “No. No. He is not dead. I’m sorry my English is not the best. I took this from him before the others could get their thieving hands on it.”

The world started turning again and Liam remembered to breathe. “How is he?” he asked, trying not to sound too desperate, too heartbroken in front of his enemy

“Not good,” said Schmidt matter-of-factly, “Kommandant Heinrich is returning today from Munich and we expect Brenner’s court martial will begin almost immediately.”

“Court martial?” said Liam slipping Schmidt his last packet of cigarettes.

Schmidt nodded his thanks in a curt manner that belied his true nature. It was obvious that he wasn’t the informer – not unless he was trying to make amends. The sad truth was that there was only one man in this camp Liam could trust implicitly.

“You must understand, Major, that homosexuality is not tolerated in the German army and is punishable by execution. I’m sorry to have to tell you this. Truly sorry. Brenner is a good man and he’s my friend. He doesn’t deserve this.” And with those few devastating words Schmidt turned and left Liam in a state of gut-wrenching panic.

“Mac, you cannot be seen consorting with the enemy.”

Liam had no idea how long Pryce had been standing there, but slowly the muted words began to filter into his brain.

“Some of the chaps are not quite as tolerant as others.”

Liam slid the watch back onto his wrist and stared down at the cracked glass wondering whose boot had caused the damage and how injured Wil’s own pretty face was. It took a while longer for Pryce’s sentences to penetrate and when they finally seeped though Liam discovered that he couldn’t give a damn. Nothing mattered anymore.

“They’re going to execute him, Wesley,” he said quietly, staring at the inner wall of barbed wire fencing.

“No!” exclaimed Pryce, ushering Liam in the direction of the British officers’ quarters. “There must be some mistake.”

“It was Schmidt who told me and I can see no reason for him to lie about it,” said Liam in a monotone voice that matched the dull thud of his boots as he stumbled into the hut. “Please do something, Colonel,” he said finding himself once again in the inner sanctum and looking up into Giles’s kindly green eyes.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to make yourself a little clearer, Mac.”

“According to one of the guards, Brenner is up for execution,” explained Pryce, pacing the floor in anxiety.

“I see,” said Giles, drumming his fingers on the small wooden crate that made do as a bedside table.

“You must help him,” said Liam, his left hand sliding restlessly over the pair of watches that sat snugly side by side on his wrist.

“I wish I could, Mac, but I can’t interfere in the workings of the Wehrmacht.”

“Can’t, or won’t?” asked Liam looking up at Giles.

***

Wil wanted to keep fighting for Liam’s sake, but it was becoming so very difficult. Frozen to the core and wracked by painful convulsions from the fever, he lay curled up in a corner of the cell barely able to think. Every sound was amplified in his head; the roar of the bombers and the staccato reply from the anti-aircraft guns. Even the quiet conversation of the prisoners outside drove him to distraction, but worst of all was the scrabbling of the rats beneath the huts at nights. He dreamt incessantly of them burrowing inside his body and eating him alive.

It needed to be over. He couldn’t take much more. Even when he was so sick that he could barely stand, it didn’t stop the never-ending procession of guards from coming in to taunt him, or worse. No one had sexually assaulted him as yet, but the physical abuse was getting more and more frenzied and he knew from the way things were deteriorating, it would only be a matter of time.

“It’s your lucky day, schwuler,” said Farber, who was without doubt the worst bully of the bunch. “It seems the kommandant has things other than courts martial on his mind today, which is a pity seeing as I was so looking forward to seeing you die. Still, perhaps I can find another use for you.”

Cupping his crotch, Farber thrust his hips forward in an obscene pumping gesture.

“Get up on your knees like the bitch that you are,” he growled. “Now’s your chance to find out what good Nazi sperm tastes like.”

Wil kept his face turned to the wall. He wouldn’t do it. He’d rather die at this bastard’s hand than suck that vile penis.

“Farber,” shouted a voice from inside the barracks that may have unknowingly saved Wil's life. This was followed up by the sound of hurrying footsteps and urgent voices. The guard grabbed a handful of Wil's matted hair and he took shallow breaths and tried to remain calm.

“No matter. I’ll have fun at your expense later on, one way or another.” Slapping Wil around the face in a final farewell gesture, Farber stalked out of the cell wearing a slimy smile of self-satisfaction.

The shouting and flurry of activity continued, but Wil didn’t even wonder what was going on, let alone try and look out of the tiny window. Even the screech of the sirens and the follow up announcement of an appel didn’t interest him in the slightest. All he could think about was the safe conduct leaflet tucked away safely in his boot. Wil had initially only held on to the pamphlet for Liam’s sake, but things had changed now and as soon as he found the opportunity he would run for the safety of any Allied soldiers he could find. Vague hope was better than none at all.

***

Lying on his bunk with his hands tucked behind his head, Liam tried to ignore the stream of well- intentioned men who were doing their best to keep him occupied him with offers of football or some totally unnecessary forgery work. He was surprised by the number of prisoners who still considered him a friend, but that didn’t mean he could drag himself out of the castle of Giant Despair and respond to their entreaties.

Moments after he’d managed to close his eyes and fall into a restless sleep the sirens began screaming and this was followed up by a barked command for all prisoners to assemble in the courtyard. Liam stared up at the few remaining slats on Wesley’s bed. If only he could get some respite from this misery for a few hours he might remember how to function, but it never seemed to happen. If he wasn’t physically doing something which required concentration then his mind replayed the continual loop of memories, potent enough to make him cry at night when no one was able to see him.

“Come on, Mac,” said Pryce hustling him out of his bed. “Heinrich’s already pacing up and down out there. We don’t want to be hung, drawn and quartered for late attendance.”

Right at this minute Liam couldn’t think of anything more preferable than public execution, but he wasn’t going to let Pryce know how low he was feeling. Putting on his jacket and making his way sluggishly out to the parade ground, he scanned the group of Germans, as he did every time, on the off chance of seeing Wil. Pushing his way into the ranks of restless prisoners he waited, with a minimal amount of curiosity, to see what this unexpected appel was concerning. Heinrich was too preoccupied with his own business to waste time calling the roll twice in a day unless it was of great importance.

“Prisoners, you will collect up your belongings, as much as you can carry in a kit bag, and in precisely one hour’s time you will be marched out of camp.”

“Dear God, where in heaven’s name are we off to now?” muttered Pryce, scuffling his feet on the still frozen scrub of the so called parade ground.

Liam shuddered. He couldn’t do it. The last forced march had nearly killed him and now he was far weaker and permanently exhausted. He’d rather die than go through this torture again.

“May I ask how far we will be going, Kommandant?” asked Giles stepping forward out of the ranks. “The majority of these men are not in a fit enough state of health for a long journey.”

“That is none of your business, Colonel Giles, and to be frank the men will most definitely walk if the only other choice is a bullet to the brain. The human desire for survival is quite astonishing on a psychological level, don’t you agree?”

“You callous…”

But it seemed Giles had lost both the words and the will to fight and he took a step back exchanging a grimace of despair with Liam. To argue would be pointless as it was obvious that there was nothing that anyone could say which would alter the man’s decision. Heinrich was an out and out sadist and a jumpy one at that who was behaving like a cat on hot bricks.

“You are dismissed. Reassemble here in one hour’s time.”

Too dazed to make sense of any of this, the columns of men returned to their respective huts.

“It must be good news,” said Pryce who was busy packing his possessions into a worn green canvas sack. “It can only mean our troops are advancing into Germany.”

“But why then would they force us into a route march across the damn country?” asked Giles, peering ruefully through the curtained off doorway at his beloved phonograph that he was going to have to leave behind.

“We’ve all heard the rumours,” said Liam, stowing his meagre belongings away and staring at the way the second hands of the two watches on his wrist were in complete synchronicity. “And we know they won’t want to give in and leave us to be freed by our own troops.”

Pryce sank down onto the thin mattress. “Don’t do this, McKinley. We all know you’re worried and hurting, but don’t take the hope away from the rest of us, damn you. It’s all we have left.”

“Enough of this bickering, chaps,” said Giles. “What you all need to be concentrating on is getting your feet as comfortable as possible for walking; two pairs of socks, powder on the soles to keep them as dry as possible and please remember to take all the first aid kits from the Red Cross parcels. That’ll be just as important as rations.” Removing his spectacles for a moment, Giles rubbed his eyes. “I’m off to pinch whatever supplies I can get my hands on from the hospital then I shall collect up some spare socks and food to give to the Russkies. They’ll be in a terrible state without any aid.”

Liam pushed aside the idea that Wil might already be lying in a pit somewhere and actually felt his self-pity diminish when he thought of the starving Russian soldiers. He was in the midst of apologising to Pryce when the distinctive sound of a pistol shot rang around the camp.

***

“Brenner, get up. Kommandant Heinrich wishes to see you,” said one of the guards, standing over Will with his arm raised threateningly.

Wil was too far gone to even recall the soldiers’ names. Almost too weak to move he struggled to get to all fours.

“Ja, ja, we all know how much you want a cock up your arse, schwuler, but now is not the time,” said the other man turning his nose up in disgust at the smell from the bucket in the corner of the cell.

Arms gripped him tight around the biceps and Wil remembered how wonderful it had felt when Liam pushed him up against the wall of the hut and kissed the breath right out of him. Hauled unceremoniously to his feet, Wil swayed and almost collapsed as he looked up into the sneering faces of the guards.

Marching as best he could through the camp, flanked on either side by the taller soldiers, Wil gulped. This was it, the moment he had been expecting, and he was much calmer than he ever imagined he’d be. Wil’s only fervent desire now was for Liam to be home safe with his family with this nightmare finally over and done with. He looked around surreptitiously, hoping to catch sight of his lover, but the camp seemed almost deserted. Something was most definitely wrong. Wil thought of the stories that had been told and retold by some of the sicker guards and his stomach turned circles. Just because there were no shots fired didn't mean that the prisoners hadn’t already been shipped out to a desolate area and lined up in front of a mass grave. Real terror set in and Wil almost blacked out, his legs giving way as was dragged up the steps into the kommandant’s office

Breathing deeply to keep himself from slipping away into an unconscious state, Wil concentrated on his surroundings. The room was smaller, but far more luxurious than he’d expected it to be. It was just another of the huts, but the walls were papered and hung with elaborately framed photographs depicting some of Heinrich’s meetings with the Nazi hierarchy. There were Indian silk rugs on the floor and heavy velvet drapes hung at the windows to disguise the roughness of the pine frames. It was obscenity and insanity all rolled into one. Why would anyone coming to a hell hole like this bring with them a beautifully carved antique desk?

“Ah, Brenner,” said Heinrich dismissing the soldiers and circling Wil like a vulture. “You are a lucky lucky boy, for today you have been handed a reprieve. We have been ordered to march the prisoners out of this camp and on to Dachau and for this we need as many guards as possible. Even those who are less than normal men will add to the numbers, if not the usefulness.”

Wil fought against the effects of the fever. Was he dreaming this? Did he really have a stay of execution? If so no amount of insults would cloud this moment. Liam and he were still alive and life meant hope.

“However if you so much as look at McKinley then I’ve given orders that he is to be killed on the spot. Is that clear enough for you?”

Wil croaked out an affirmative and managed a salute then stared blindly up at the camp kommandant waiting to be dismissed.

“Before you go and get cleaned up I have a gift for you.” Heinrich reached under his desk and pulled out a new jacket with the insignia to show that Wil had been newly demoted to private soldier. “I’ve had it personalised by a seamstress in town. You will wear it at all times.”

Wil took the tunic and stared at the design that was stitched onto the left sleeve. The embroidered emblem of the pink triangle stood out, startling in its gaudiness - a beacon to show he was a homosexual and fair game to all.

“You will wear it at all times,” repeated Kommandant Heinrich. “Or else you will be the one who will be put to death in a most agonising way and I’m sure your precious McKinley would not want to witness that. Do you understand me?”

Wil shivered, the effects of the fear and the raised temperature combining to make him woozy and disorientated.

“Do you understand, Brenner, or has all that arse fucking addled your brains?”

Wil was trying his best to remember how to form words when he doubled over and slapped a hand to his cheek, his ears ringing from the discharge of Heinrich’s pistol. Blood from the grazing path of the bullet wet his skin, congealing on his fingers like semen.

“Farber,” shouted Heinrich, “Escort Brenner to the shower block and then back to barracks.”

“Jawohl, Kommandant.” The guard’s voice rattled like machine gun fire as he stepped smartly into the office and saluted his commanding officer.

Struggling to stay upright as he was frog-marched through the camp, Wil kept a hand plastered to his wounded cheek and for the first time in days he thought about the future. It suddenly dawned on him that he had to walk maybe a hundred kilometres, maybe more and he had no idea how he was going to manage that when he could barely make it to the shower block.

The kommandant had said they were headed for Dachau. He’d heard rumours about that place, everyone had. It was likely that if they ever set foot inside the gates he would never make it out. With any luck the Allied prisoners were being sent there to be transported north rather than to visit the gas chambers, but nothing was certain.

“Get washed,” snapped Farber, “We haven’t got all day.”

Careful to keep the safe conduct notice well hidden, Wil stripped off, feeling the guard’s heavyset eyes burning into him. He wondered if this was the moment he was going to suffer his first rape. For a so called queer hater, this man seemed overly keen on Wil’s body.

“You intrigue me, Brenner,” said Farber, leaning against the tiles and lighting up a cigarette as he watched Wil wash himself in the shower. “I don’t understand why you’d want to fuck a man let alone a filthy British one.”

“Less filthy than you,” muttered Wil, regretting his words the moment he was dragged out of the water and pushed down onto his knees.

“How dare you speak to me like that? You disgust me. Make me want to vomit.”

And yet out of the two of them it wasn’t Brenner’s cock that was hard and upstanding. Wil stared pointedly at Farber’s erection which was distending the front of his trousers until he was sideswiped by a clenched fist, the wedding ring on the guard’s left hand gouging an extra piece of flesh out of Wil’s already wounded cheek.

“Get dressed, you perverted piece of shit,” screeched Braun, “Trying to make me a cocksucker like you. Believe me when you get to Dachau you’ll learn your lesson. They’ll experiment on you and cut off your balls and then slice into your brain and when there’s not enough left of you to be bothered with they’ll chain you up to be fucked to death like a glory hole.”

Wil’s blood dripped down in spatters and mingled with the water running pink into the drain and he watched it trickle away. Not going to give up. Not yet.

Chapter Twelve

The heavy steel gates of the camp were dragged open and the kommandant’s black staff car raced away down the dirt track, brown slush from the half-melted ice spraying out from the path of the wheels.

With two soldiers guarding either side of the entrance, the column of prisoners began to march out in orderly fashion, not wishing to aggravate their captors until a viable escape plan became apparent. It was a case of hive thinking; they had all been incarcerated for so long that the men, whatever their nationality, were in tune with one another.

“Mac,” hissed Pryce urgently and Liam woke from his reverie and looked askance at his friend.

“It’s Spike.”

Under the pretence of hoisting his kitbag higher, Liam glanced over his shoulder and saw Wil, eyes glued to the ground, sick, beaten and painfully thin, but alive. Alive. That single gun shot hadn’t ended Liam’s hopes after all.

“Wipe that soppy look off your face,” warned Pryce, “or there may well be hell to pay for both of you.”

But nothing could contain Liam’s happy mood and as if to mark down the day as auspicious, the sun came out and the skies blued. Perhaps the dark depths of this elongated winter were finally coming to an end. Much of the area was still heavy with snow and the going was difficult, but Liam was so preoccupied with the thought of Wil being only twenty feet away from him that he could have been walking on air.

The Bavarian countryside was spectacular with its mountains and lakes and forests of fir trees and Liam supposed that it would have looked just as beautiful from inside the prison camp, but he’d never once noticed. Corralled within the wire fencing, all he could see was scrub grass and dirt. It had blended together into a vision of absolute greyness. Misery sketched in artist’s pencil.

“What’s the triangle about on Spike’s sleeve all about?” asked Giles, his voice covered by the marching songs from the Yanks.

Liam risked a look, dropping his crutch and turning to get a better view of his lover as he picked it up.

“It’s the same as when they make the Jews wear the Star of David,” he explained. How he was managing to keep so calm was beyond him. “Homosexuals are considered the lowest of the low. They have to be marked at all times. It’s the law.”

Giles sighed disconsolately. “I feel so naïve,” he said, “I’ve always been brought up to look for the best in people, but…” He shrugged, unable to find the words.

“There are good Germans and there are bad Germans,” said Liam slowly, “Same as every other nationality.”

After three hours of walking one of the guards barked out an order for them to take a break, and as they sat down at the side of the road Liam was finally able to get a proper look at Wil. He hoped for some eye contact, but apart from doubling up with a cough that sounded as if his insides were about to end up on the outside of him, the young man was almost lifeless.

“I’ll try and get some penicillin to him,” said Giles, searching through the supplies in his kit bag. “I think I have some left.”

“Be careful or you could make things worse.” Pryce looked first at the group of guards who were laughing and smoking together then at Wil who was sat on his own.

“Schmidt may be able to help if you can get his attention,” suggested Liam.

“I’ll try,” said Giles, clutching the small glass medicine bottle in his fist.

“It seems like decades have passed since I’ve been home,” sighed Pryce as he shared out a bar of chocolate, “I wonder if there’s anything recognisable left. Sometimes I think when I finally set foot on shore I’ll be a stranger in a strange land.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” said Giles, watching carefully and picking his moment as Schmidt was walking past. “Guard,” he shouted, jumping to his feet. “How far do we have to walk? None of us are strong enough for a route march across Germany.”

Liam watched Giles slip the small glass bottle into Schmidt’s tunic pocket, disguising the true content of his conversation with heated gesticulation.

“He says he’ll try his best but he can’t promise anything,” said the colonel returning to sit beside them. “I asked if I could check him over but Schmidt said that would be impossible. Wil’s allowed no contact with any of the prisoners.”

Disturbed from their conversation by a burst of chatter from the Americans, the three Englishmen couldn’t help but listen in.

“Oh, for christsake,” said Meers, the loudest mouth of all, who was sat in the midst of a small troop of men. “Nurse Spike is alive and kicking, that means I owe you five packs of smokes now, Shorty.”

“Three cheers for the little fag,” yelped Levinson sticking his hand out in Meers’ direction and whooping with glee.

“Enough,” snapped Captain Harris and the men quietened down.

Liam was saddened but not surprised and he kept his head down - something he’d learned to do a lot more recently. What did shock him however was the bitter retort from his friend.

“Keep your bloody ignorance to yourselves,” said Pryce, rounding on the Americans like a bull terrier, “And you,” he said pointing at Lieutenant Levinson. “I would have thought, being Jewish, the last thing you would have been was a bigot.”

Levinson looked truly ashamed and when the order came for them to regroup into their ranks he took the opportunity to shake hands and apologise. The whole camp had been protective of the Jewish prisoners, making sure that none of them were ever left in a position where they could be victimised by the guards. This was especially the case with Jonathon Levinson who was more vulnerable than most being extremely short in stature.

“I’m sorry, Mac, that was totally uncalled for.” Harris looked embarrassed at the awkward situation which had been manufactured by the thoughtlessness of his fellow officers. “Spike’s a good man. He’s been more than kind to me.”

Liam couldn’t look at the American. This swerve from cruelty to kindness was playing havoc with his emotions. Gripping Harris’s hand to show he harboured no ill feelings, he hurried off to pick up his kit bag then slid back into the ranks of men, keeping an eye on Wil as much as possible. Damn, he looked ill and there was a nasty gash on his face. Liam swallowed; he needed so much to be near him, to hold him. This was fast becoming more painful than not being able to see him.

***

Wil was proud of himself. All day long he’d manage to keep up. Never giving in to the pain. Never giving in, full stop. The pace had been reasonable, mostly because the German guards were as malnourished as the prisoners, and Wil had made the most of it, drawing strength from having Liam close by.

They stopped for the night in an abandoned warehouse just off the road. The guards handed out dry rations to the prisoners and Wil was kept busy filling up the canteens of water from a nearby tap.

Farber and Weiss were despatched by Aldmann to scrounge some supplies from a nearby village and they returned an hour or so later with rabbits and potatoes and several bottles of home brewed schnapps. Wil sat quietly to one side watching as his so called comrades slid the warehouse doors shut and built a fire close enough to the exit for the smoke to escape through the cracks.

Soon the rabbits were skinned and gutted and Gruber was spit roasting them over the flames. It seemed to Wil as if reality had shifted and there was no such thing as a war anymore. This night was a parody of things he had always wanted when he was younger; camping out in the forest, cooking food, laughing. When they’d all eaten and the rest of the German soldiers were busy swilling down schnapps and singing drinking songs, Schmidt took the opportunity to pass the bottle of penicillin to Wil.

“From the British doctor,” he muttered under his breath as Wil nodded his thanks and hid the small vial in the pocket of his trousers.

“What are you doing over by the little tunte, Schmidt? Getting yourself a blow job maybe?” sniggered Braun in a voice that was filled with derision.

“I’m collecting the mess tins to wash,” Schmidt replied, moving away from Wil as quickly as possible.

“Ja, I’m sure,” said Farber, joining in with the conversation, his tone more menacing than that of his fellow soldier. “I've an idea. We could have ourselves a little after dinner entertainment.”

No. Please no. Wil curled up into the corner. He could imagine, very clearly, Farber’s idea of entertainment and cringed at the idea. It must not happen in front of Liam, who would, without doubt, risk his own life to save Wil’s, of that he was absolutely sure. Something must be done to prevent that. How far could he go to keep this quiet? If he could just persuade them to take their games outside.

“Brenner, get over here now,” shouted Farber.

By now, the prisoners were bedded down for the night at the far end of the warehouse, but Wil was certain that they were close enough by to hear raised conversation, especially the way sound echoed around the high-roofed building. Wil huddled up against the wall clinging on to the hope that Leutnant Aldmann would intervene. He was the only officer left now. All others had been dispatched to the front.

“Over here on your knees now, Schutze Brenner.”

Addressing Wil by rank meant that Farber was happy to use wehrmacht superiority to get his own way and Wil decided that at present he had no choice but to obey. Getting unwillingly to his feet, he approached the laughing guards, eyes darting between Aldmann and the group of sleeping prisoners. Panic began to rise. If he didn’t submit to Farber, everyone would discover what was happening then Liam would try to stop it and he would be shot.

Wil was left with no choice. Walking up to Farber, he looked him up and down with what he hoped was an enticing smile. If the man could see any hint of the revulsion that festered inside then he’d be in trouble. “We should maybe take this outside,” he said glancing in the direction of their officer.

“What, so you can run off? I’m not stupid, Brenner. Suck me off or you’ll find out what it feels like to have the barrel of my rifle up your arse.”

Wil shivered and dropped down to his knees.

“That’s it, schwuler, plenty of good German cock for you here,” sneered Farber, smiling appreciatively at the drunken crowing coming from the other guards. “No need to get serviced by British filth. All you needed to do was ask nicely.”

Farber took a bottle of schnapps from Braun and gulped down a couple of mouthfuls then poured some of the liquor over Wil’s upturned face. Wil hitched in a sob as the liquid spilled into his wound. The pain was extreme, and in combination with the humiliation, built to an unbearable level.

“I need to sterilise him first,” said Farber, raising the level of his voice and putting on a performance for his posse of bullies. “We all know where that mouth’s been.”

Laughter rang out in staccato bursts and Aldmann looked up from the other side of the warehouse. “Keep the noise down,” he shouted, “I’m trying to read.”

Coughing and spluttering from the alcohol, Wil wiped the burning liquid out of his eyes and looked over at where the officer sat with his nose buried in a book. The man had no intention of getting involved.

“You should make him beg for it,” said Braun. “This is a fucking privilege.”

Farber opened the fly of his trousers and his erect cock sprang to attention, twitching and filling even more as he rubbed it into the wound on Wil’s cheek.

“Tell me how much you want to eat my cock, Brenner.”

Wil gagged on the idea of saying the words as much as the thought of sucking the man’s penis.

“Tell me how badly you want it or I’ll make your boyfriend watch.”

Wil tried so hard to spit a sentence out. “I- I-”

“You’ll have to do better than that,” said Braun, his voice thick with lechery. Fondling his own aroused penis he cupped his groin and thrust it forwards in mimicry of copulation. “Come on, Brenner. All you have to do is show us how much you prefer German cock.” Unfastening his trousers, Braun grabbed a handful of blond hair and pulled Wil toward him forcing his swollen organ between Wil’s lips. “Taste it.”

“Hands off the little cocksucker,” hissed Farber, dragging Wil back until his face was in contact with that filthy groin once more. “You can have him after I’ve finished.”

Wil swallowed down a mouthful of bile, shaking with fear as his eyes shifted restlessly, searching for a way out. If he could just get his hands on a rifle, or better still a machine gun, he could slaughter the whole fucking lot of them.

“Suck it and tell me how good it is,” insisted Farber, breath coming in quick aroused pants, rivers of sweat running down greasy skin as he thrust his penis between Wil’s lips. “Suck it.”

“Suck his fucking cock,” growled Braun as he masturbated into the thick strands of Wil’s hair and then rubbed his drooling erection over the raw wound in Wil’s cheek. ”Not going to cry this time, Spike?”

Wil ran his tongue over the cock in his mouth and placed both hands on Farber’s thighs squeezing gently as if he was about to fellate him. Then, pushing as hard as he could, he shoved Farber backwards, the element of surprise allowing him to skitter away from his attackers and cower against the wall.

“You little shit,” snarled Farber, advancing on Wil with Braun close behind as a protective semi-circle of bullies formed around them.

The first boot knocked Wil over onto his side and he curled up into a foetal position coughing up blood as the two guards kicked him over and over again. Finally the pain became unbearable and he was broken enough for the tears to roll down his cheeks. Was he imagining the sound of footsteps approaching? Please don’t let it be Liam.

“Enough. Leave him be,” came the harsh command from Aldmann as he pushed through the shield of men. “We need as many able-bodied men as possible to march the prisoners to Dachau.”

Aldmann stood over Wil and listened to the laboured breathing.

“Colonel Giles,” he called. “You are needed over here.”

***

The prisoners had been so relieved to stop after eight hours of marching that even the paltry meal of hard tack biscuits and water didn’t dull their raised spirits.

Exhausted beyond belief, Liam rested his head on his kit bag and tried to sleep, but it was next to impossible in such an unwelcoming space littered with this many bodies. The old warehouse was cold, dirty and smelt as if it had been used to store sack loads of rotten potatoes. The air was filled with decay and Liam covered his mouth and nose with his hand, but that only reminded him of Wil and the way he used to breathe in the scent of their sex.

“Bastards,” grumbled Pryce as the aroma of roasted meat wafted over towards then. “I’m so hungry I could eat a horse.”

“The goons probably are,” quipped Harris and after today’s unfortunate turn of events Liam was relieved to hear some humour from the American. Harris had been a changed man since the loss of Osbourne.

Finally the mouth watering smell of roasted meat was gone, replaced by sounds of drunken laughter. Liam closed his eyes and put his hands over his ears, trying to picture himself sitting in the Fleur de Lis just down the road from his mum and dad’s house, sharing a joke with his brother, a pint in his hand and Wil at his side.

Twisting and turning as he tried to find a more comfortable position on the compacted earth floor, Liam looked up, sensing a sudden change of mood. The laughter was a little more grating and there was this indescribable tension building inside the warehouse. Anticipatory. Nervous. Fearful.

“We all know where that mouth’s been.”

The words raced around out of control inside his brain. ‘Where that mouth’s been.’ ‘Where that mouth’s been.’ Fuck! He could hear Wil’s name and he looked up trying to make out what was going on in the flickering light from the fire.

“Don’t,” warned Pryce, “It won’t do either of you any good.”

With his hands over his ears and his eyes closed tight, Liam tried to shut off the sounds that were coming from the far end of the warehouse, but he could still pick out some of the vile words. When the laughter turned into something far worse it was only the force of Wes’s arms pinning him to the floor that stopped him from fighting his way over there. The muffled thuds and yelps of pain were agonising and he jerked each time he heard Wil erupt into a spasm of coughing.

When Aldmann called for medical help, Liam was on his feet before the doctor, but Giles shook his head. “No, Mac, I’ll look after him.”

His head resting against the front of Pryce’s tunic, Liam bit his lip until pain stopped the tears and he was calm enough to allow himself the comfort of being held by his friend. Wesley had this god given knack of keeping him sane and strong enough to go on.

Torn between trying to listen to what was happening at the far end of the warehouse and trying his hardest not to, Liam opted instead for daydreaming. The promise of a shared future, which had been unlikely to start off with, was becoming more and more ephemeral as the months passed by, but it was the only thing that kept Liam alive. It wasn’t the sex he dreamt of, it was finally being able to hold Wil properly for the first time without fear spoiling the moment.

“How is he?” asked Pryce and Liam was too terrified to do anything other than lie with his head against Wes’s chest under the guise of being restrained.

“Alive,” replied Giles, “I couldn’t do a proper examination, but he has broken ribs and several older injuries. His bronchitis will develop into pneumonia if he’s not careful. He’s promised he'll take the penicillin.

Giles patted Liam’s shoulder. “He says to keep his watch safe, Mac. He wants that back when this is over.”

Chapter Thirteen

Morning came and with it a case of sore limbs and bad memories of the night before. Liam arched his back, stretching and yawning and doing his best to look around the old storehouse and discover how Wil was doing. If indeed he had made it through the night. Doc hadn’t sounded too positive yesterday.

He spotted Wil almost immediately and was overcome by such sheer relief that he almost felt ecstatic. The young German was keeping himself to himself, hunched over in the corner while he struggled to ready the rifle he was holding. Liam was surprised that he’d even been allowed use of a gun, but he supposed, from a German perspective, with this many prisoners to control it was imperative to try and put up as good a show of strength as possible. Not that Wil Brenner holding a gun as if it were a poisonous spider seemed a particularly lethal deterrent. Every single thing Wil did made the love Liam felt for him grow a little stronger each day, and the sight of the medic puzzling over long forgotten details of how to clean and load his weapon made Liam’s heart ache with longing.

The prisoners were allowed half an hour to eat a pitiful breakfast and prepare themselves for the journey. Immediately after that canteens of water were passed down the line and they were divided into their nationality groups, forming columns as they readied to march out.

“No one can take much more of this,” muttered Giles dejectedly.

It seemed, however, that Meers and his buddies were not feeling so defeated. Or if they were they were disguising it awfully well.

“Fuck 'em all!” they sang loudly and repetitively, ignoring the bitter winds blowing down off the mountains.

“Fuck 'em all!
The long, the short, the tall;
Fuck all the Pelicans and Dogfaces too,
Fuck all the generals and above all fuck you!”

The raucous singing didn’t bother Liam; it was more the butchered words that drove him closer to despair. But what the song did succeed in doing was working the goons up to fever pitch.

“You will stop that now,” yelled Braun, waving his rifle in the general direction of the rank of Americans.

Liam prayed for them to co-operate with the German soldier. He’d only take it out on Wil later, and if that happened Liam knew he wouldn’t be able to cope anymore. He’d go down fighting. It would be better for them to both be dead than to live through this hell.

“Okay,” said Meers, “You win. No more ‘fuck you’ songs.”

Staring down at his boots, Liam concentrated on each footstep, trying not to think how much he needed Wil, how amazing it was to be with him. How miserable he was that they’d taken that stupid stupid risk.

“Please Mr. Truman, let the boys go home,
We have conquered Naples and liberated Rome;
We have subdued the Master Race,
There are no Krauts for us to face.”

If he hadn’t pushed Wil into having sex with him then they could have found a way to be with each other when the war ended. There would have been hope whereas now he was left with none. He was a blind, stupid fool.

“Please Mr. Truman, let the boys go home,
We have conquered Naples and liberated Rome;
We have subdued the Master Race,
There are no Krauts for us to face.”

“Stop that now,” screamed Braun.

“For God’s sake we were only-”

Liam flinched as a rifle shot abruptly ended whatever Meers had been about to say, missing him by a fraction of an inch and connecting with one of the men who stood behind. There was an anguished yelp, and, as the soldier slumped down to the right, Liam recognised him as Webster, a pleasant enough young man who didn’t deserve to end his days like this. The rifle rang out again as Braun lost complete control, shooting blindly into the ranks of prisoners. Chaos ensued; men were scattering, blood was streaming, shouting was coming from everywhere, so loud and confusing that in his befuddled and exhausted state Liam couldn’t make sense of it. The worst thing of all was seeing the look of horror on Harris’s face and knowing that he was reliving the moment when his friend was murdered in front of him.

“Halt.”

The order came from Leutnant Aldmann who was striding down from the front of the column flanked on either side by his N.C.O’s.

“What is happening here?”

“The Americans disobeyed a direct order, Leutnant,” said Braun by way of explanation.

“Your man shot them for singing marching songs, Lieutenant,” said Giles bitterly as he knelt and tended to one of the wounded men. Liam watched as Wil dragged himself over to see if he could be of use, still keeping his eyes firmly fixed to the ground.

“They disobeyed,” mumbled Braun.

Aldmann was about to respond when a wehrmacht jeep pulled in to the roadside, almost spinning off into the hedge it was going so fast. The conversation between the occupants of the military vehicle and the German officer in charge of them was terse, but there was much gesturing, and, once the jeep had sped away, Aldmann was left standing in the middle of the road with no expression on his face whatsoever.

“Leave the wounded,” he barked, coming back to life all of a sudden.

“I absolutely refuse.” Giles looked up, stunned at the command from the German officer.

“Webster is dead,” said Wil standing up slowly and painfully. “There was nothing I could do for him. The bullet hit him in his chest.”

“But that’s not the case with young Levinson here,” said Giles getting to his feet.

“Leave the Jew in the ditch where he belongs or I shall put a bullet through both your brains.” Aldmann drew his pistol and aimed it directly at Giles.

Liam was sickened, but too numb to do anything to resolve the situation which was spinning out of the control, much the same way as the jeep had done five minutes earlier.

“He will not last long anyway,” muttered the German officer, shrinking in on himself by the second, but still keeping his arm raised at shoulder level.

“I cannot leave a man out here to die.” Colonel Giles was unperturbed by the pistol aimed between his eyes.

“You will do what I say or I will give the order to shoot you all.” Aldmann was not exaggerating. It was plain for all to see that he would carry out his threat if pushed too far.

The few German guards that were left stretched out along the lines of prisoners, rifles drawn as if they were about to go into skirmish.

“Besides which we’ll be heading cross country from now onwards and need to keep the pace up unless you wish to spend a night in the open air.” Aldmann shrugged but his pistol remained in the same position.

Liam cringed at these words; half of the men wouldn’t survive a night spent outside in these unseasonably cold temperatures.

“It is no matter,” said Wil who had taken Giles’ place tending to Levinson. “The Jew is dead also.”

***

Covering the body of the unconscious soldier with his blood-spattered jacket, Wil stared daggers at Colonel Giles, trying to silence him with a glare.

He knew what he was doing. He’d listened in to the muttered conversation between Aldmann and the driver of the jeep and understood now how dire the situation was for them, and he was relieved, traitorously so. Levinson would stand a far greater chance of survival if they left him where he was.

“Let me at least examine him to make sure,” protested the doctor.

“He is dead, Englander. Do you not think I am capable of determining that?” Wil shoved the butt of his rifle into the small of Colonel Giles’ back, encouraging him back into the ranks. It was the hardest thing he had ever done since being in the camp. The look of betrayal cut deeper than the hard labour of any burial duties.

The soldiers shuffled back into a column, stunned into silence once again from yet another exhibition of brutality. Wil wondered if he was ever going to be able to forgive the displays of cruelty and prejudice exhibited during these times. Not that it was likely he’d have long in which to forgive anything once they made it to Dachau.

As the prisoners began to march off to the left up an icy, dirt track, Wil flicked the coat away from Levinson’s face before taking up a rearguard position and following the convoy of men. His chest hurt worse than ever. Breathing felt more like inhaling lungfuls of water and the route Aldmann had chosen up into the hills made marching ten times more difficult. Stumbling and just about managing to save himself from falling, Wil was tempted for a moment to give in to his exhaustion and collapse onto the ground. That way they would shoot him for sure and he would be put out of his misery for good. The only thing that stopped him was a picture that formed inside his head, of himself face down in the mud with Liam spread-eagled over him, protecting him from the inevitable volley of rifle shots. That would never happen as long as Wil retained the slightest puff of breath in his body. Not much longer and Liam would be safe. If he listened hard Wil was sure he could hear a dull drone in the distance.

“Quick march,” shouted Aldmann indicating with his pistol that the column of men were to leave the track and make their way across the fields. “Schnell.” Terror was evident in the officer’s voice as he glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the road. Distracted by the rumbling sounds, the officer stumbled and fell onto the hard ground, ripping a hole in the knee of his fine Wehrmacht breeches. Try as hard as he might, Wil couldn’t keep the smirk from his face and disguised it best he could manage by looking downward as he gingerly made his way over the frozen furrows.

It was almost impossible to keep up the pace. Tripping over for the fifth or sixth time in as many minutes Wil listened intently for a moment before getting stiffly to his feet. He could definitely hear what sounded like a convoy of vehicles -- heavy armoured vehicles, he imagined from the low pitch of the noise. It could be Wehrmacht but that seemed unlikely considering the decided lack of military equipment for the past two years.

Aldmann stopped in his tracks and with a small pair of binoculars scoped the landscape in a 360 degree vista. With nervous fingers, he let the glasses fall and winced slightly as the leather strap snapped tight around the back of his neck. Brandishing his pistol, he pulled the senior-ranked guards to one side, frowning with disapproval as the prisoners took an impromptu rest break, but far too preoccupied to do anything about it.

Wil listened to the hushed voices, but was unable to pick out anything of use. He watched the bemused faces of the allied prisoners, allowing himself the occasional selfish yet necessary glance in Liam’s direction, but nothing more overt than that. Anything else would put Liam’s life at risk and he was not going through this hell on earth only to allow his lover to die at the last second.

By now the atmosphere was so tense that Wil’s heart was beating out an erratic rhythm that reminded of him of the American swing music he loved. A droning accompaniment to the jive percussion grew louder and louder as a mixed flight of Mitchells and Mustangs flew overhead. Wil had never been so elated to see enemy planes before. The sound of armoured vehicles and jeeps added to the noise and the cacophony grew ever louder with the arrival of marching boot steps on tarmac.

Wil was good at reading body language and he could see from Aldmann’s rigid stance and fierce grip on his pistol that the man was close to breaking point.

“Shoot them,” the officer snarled, lips curled back like a rabid dog.

It was the moment Wil had dreaded.

Even subhumans such as Braun and Farber were taken aback by this new order and looked over in the direction of the approaching might of the American army, fearing the harsh recriminations that may ensue if they were to carry out their officer’s wishes.

Aldmann raised his pistol at the exhausted prisoners then slowly swung his arm toward Braun.

“Shoot them all. Or I will shoot you for refusing to obey an order.”

All the guards, bar Schmidt and Wil, hefted their rifles, bracing them against their shoulders.

At that precise moment desperation proved itself to be a very powerful thing. Wil could sense its presence in Aldmann’s rantings and felt it surge through his own veins.

“Run, for Christ’s sake, run,” he screamed as loudly as he could manage, swallowing down the need to cough. “The Yanks are here. They will kill us for sure.” He pointed at the massed ranks of troops marching up the road then took off, resembling a wounded puppy more than a hare, in the direction of some farm buildings on the edge of the tree line.

“Christ Almighty, Spike’s right,” Wil heard Meers yell, “The fucking cavalry are here. Hoo-fucking-ray.”

It was, most assuredly, the only time since he’d known him that Wil had been glad to hear that particular man’s voice.

Still dragging his weakening body across the icy terrain, Wil sighed raspily with relief as he was passed on both flanks by German guards who had run after him and were heading for the hills. Finally he had recalled something useful from his psychology classes. It was indeed basic human instinct to follow the leader.

By now the thumping of blood in Wil’s ears was concealing everything that was going on around him, the pain in his chest was severe and his body which had little enough energy to begin with was close to collapse. A volley of shots heralded the likely approach of terrible events and tears blinded him as he flew through the air, landing and then sliding across the ground, the skin on his scarred palms being sheered away by frozen clods of earth and bristling corn stalks. Finally a heavy blanket of warm blood and darkness spilled over him and he breathed in the comforting scent of death. It was nothing like he’d expected it to be.

“I’m in two minds whether to kiss you senseless or throttle you for your abject stupidity, but right now I’m opting for staying here until someone drags me away from you.”

Wil grinned like a loon and refused to give way to unconsciousness.

***

Strafed for the third time during this godforsaken war Liam launched himself forward, gammy leg complaining bitterly, but holding up as he rugby tackled his man to the ground. He didn’t care what came of it; the Americans could string him up from the nearest lamp post as far as he was concerned, but he was not letting that sorry excuse for an officer shoot Wil.

Blood from the wound in his shoulder pumped orgasmic spurts over the pair of them and in a bizarre way it seemed comforting. Wil breathed in deeply then twisted his head to one side and the look of incredulity followed by sheer happiness gave Liam new found determination to work a miracle. Dirty unshaven cheeks grazed over each other then, out of sight of prying eyes, their lips brushed together.

“Major McKinley,”

Colonel Giles’ voice was distant and clipped, difficult to hear amidst the combined sounds of revelry and chaos. Let it all go away. Let everything go away save for he and Wil.

“Just a little longer,” he begged, desperate not to let Wil go.

“If I don’t treat you soon, Mac, then you’ll both be staying here forever.”

Running his lips over the side of Wil’s neck Liam sat up, feeling decidedly groggy. His fingers rested as close to Wil’s as he dared whilst Giles stripped him out of his jacket and shirt and tended to the bullet wound. Wil tried to speak, but was defeated by a paroxysm of coughing. The doctor eased the young man up to a sitting position who then, concealed from the world by army issue blankets, rested happily against Liam’s good shoulder, neither of them saying a word as they watched jeeps race off over the bumpy terrain in pursuit of the escaping German soldiers.

“I think we made it,” Wil said finally breaking the comfortable silence as he used his pocket knife to punch open the can of milk Giles had handed him.

“That we did,” murmured Liam looking around him at the sea of Red Cross packages that had been dropped by a squadron of R.A.F. planes.

For a fleeting moment life was perfect, but then a jeep parked up next to them and Wil carefully shifted away from Liam’s side.

“Remember Safe Conduct,” whispered Liam, reality hitting him like a brick to the forehead as the warmth from Wil’s body dissipated and he was abandoned except for a small can of Carnation milk, which he clasped as if it bore the imprint of Wil’s hand. He couldn’t bring himself to look at the American officer who leapt out of the vehicle and stood before them, bright faced and full of victory glee.

“Colonel Giles,” he said saluting the senior officer briskly, “I’m Captain Marsh of 157th Infantry. Great to see so many of you alive and well. The men have been telling me how lucky they were to have such a good doctor looking after them.” His eyes skimmed over the two Brits then alighted on the huddled form of Wil. “I see you managed to catch one of the goons before he did a disappearing act.”

Giles frowned. “This is Private Brenner from the medical corps. He’s one of the reasons the men from our camp are in such a good state of health, Captain. As I’m sure you are aware medics are required by international law to receive exemplary treatment at all times.”

Captain Marsh did not look impressed. “All prisoners of war will receive exemplary treatment from us,” he said grimly, “unlike the Krauts who treat their own people worse than animals.”

Liam knew exactly what Marsh was about to say next; the man was as easy to read as a comic book.

“I’ve just gotten word from my guys in 3 Battalion who were the ones to liberate the prisoners at Dachau,” continued Marsh, his revulsion evident to all. “The S.S. should be executed, every damn one of them. Anyone who played any part in the shit that went on-” Marsh swallowed back his words.

“But Corporal Brenner had nothing to do with any atrocious acts that were committed,” persisted Giles. “Captain Marsh, I apologise if my words came across badly, I was merely trying to ensure that this man receives the good treatment he deserves.”

“He will be treated the same way as the rest.”

“The other prisoners from our camp will testify on his behalf,” said Giles doggedly.

“I can’t see any reason why this would ever be necessary, but I shall pass the information on.” The American was fast losing patience.

“Do you know a Lieutenant Levinson?” asked the doctor coolly.

“The guy injured by the roadside?” replied Marsh. “Yeah, if it wasn’t for him we would never have had any idea which way you were headed. You owe that man your lives.”

“Well, if it wasn’t for Brenner then he would have been executed by the guards so I believe the debt of gratitude is mutual.”

There was a look of resignation on the colonel’s face as he finished his last sentence and Liam knew the attempt to save Wil from further harm was over, but still a profound feeling welled up inside him bordering on the love he felt for his family.

Marsh looked down at Wil. “On your feet, soldier. Now.”

Wil slowly unfurled himself from the blankets and stood to attention.

“Name, rank and number,” barked the American officer.

“Brenner. Sanitatsoldat. MC3696.” Wil showed him the dog tag around his neck as confirmation.

Marsh noted down the information then ushered Wil in the direction of a covered army truck which was guarded by an over the top amount of soldiers.

Without looking back the American officer shouted instructions at Giles and Liam who were still separated from the rest of the freed prisoners. “Group together with the men from your camp then make your way to the roadside and you’ll be transported out of here.”

‘Was that it?’ wondered Liam, ‘The big liberation.’ One day maybe he would learn to feel gratitude, but right now he was too numb and too cold and too broken.

“Come on, old chap. I can see your friend Pryce waving at us so I assume he has news.” Giles handed Liam a small wax paper packet of dried dates and guided him down towards the other former inmates of Oflag XVIC.

Liam had never felt so lost in all his life. Sitting beside the others he kept his head down and picked at the dried fruit. Digging out the pits would at least keep him occupied for the time being and the sugary food might give him some energy.

“Is this it?” he heard Colonel Giles ask. “Is this damned war finally over?”

“As far as Europe is concerned yes,” replied Pryce in an elated voice, “All bar the sweeping up and the formalities.”

“What happens now?” asked Harris, the only man besides Liam who did not have an ecstatic look on his face. This war had taken a terrible toll. Liam half-listened for the answer, watching as bodies in covered bags were loaded onto a Red Cross ambulance.

“From what I can gather, we’ll all be bussed out of here to transit camps in France and then will be flown on to Britain. From there you Americans will be transported home,” explained Wesley. “This isn’t going to be a quick operation, I’m afraid. I’ve been told it could take months.”

A large number of the massed military vehicles moved away northwards leaving only skeleton force of lorries behind and Liam felt oddly abandoned. Rescue should have been more impressive. He felt more like an evacuated child than a returning war hero.

After sitting and shivering in the cold for far too long, they were eventually moved into one of the American trucks and had to endure a horribly long journey through the night. Although the medics had administered pain relief to Liam prior to transit, the effects had worn off after a few hours and now every bump in the roads was causing him severe agony.

“Will this ever end?” he mumbled to himself as the other men slept fitfully around him and he was left alone with his thoughts.

Finally succumbing to exhaustion Liam dropped off to sleep, but was woken what seemed like minutes later by a stranger’s voice.

“Boujour et bienvenue a Rheims.”

Now he wasn’t only parted from Wil, he was in a completely different country.

Chapter Fourteen

“Name, rank and number?” asked the hundredth voice in succession and Wil answered it in lacklustre fashion. He was long past being scared; boredom and irritation had surpassed that hours ago. The safe conduct leaflet was screwed up in his pocket. It would be of no use to him here, of that he was absolutely certain.

Having answered every question as truthfully as possible, Wil was then shepherded into a containment area surrounded by high wire fencing. One of the old German camps, he supposed, much bigger than Oflag XVIC.

His request for medical attention had been abruptly denied, and if he’d been in a fit enough state to think clearly he would have disposed of his Wehrmacht tunic with the embroidered pink triangle long ago. But by now it was too late for he had already been seen wearing it by many of the men, and at very least the jacket would offer him some warmth on these bitter cold nights. Why was this winter taking a lifetime to be over? Did spring hate the war as much as he did and refuse to turn up for duty?

Having endured several more interrogations, a swift medical examination and a delousing, the men were eventually allocated huts to sleep in. To Wil’s utter relief, he wasn’t incarcerated with Braun and Farber, but they were in the same camp as him, and he imagined his days were going to be mostly occupied in an effort to evade them.

“You’re homosexual? Ja?” asked a chubby nondescript man whilst they were in the shower block washing away the remains of the chemicals from the lice treatment.

Wil rubbed a hand through his shorn blond hair. What was the point in lying? “Yes,” he answered, thinking of the immense comfort that had come from giving in to his desires and finally allowing himself to be loved by another man.

“Give me head and I’ll give you a packet of cigarettes,” said the fat man in forthright fashion.

Wil declined the generous offer and hurried back to his quarters. His allotted bunk had all its wooden slats in place and the palliasse was still damp from delousing spray, but at least that meant it was clean. He lay down with his fingers locked behind his neck, contemplating what might lay in store for him now.

***

Weeks, maybe months passed by; Wil wasn’t sure of the timescale any longer. The Americans weren’t cruel to their prisoners, but they weren’t particularly kind either. It wasn’t until Wil had collapsed on the parade ground, suffering from double pneumonia and pleurisy, that he finally received the medical care he needed. But being in sickbay made him mournful for the past. All he could think about was the time he had Liam had spent together in their own, much smaller, hospital wing and it made him fretful and depressed.

Once he was well enough to be released he kept himself to himself, the frequent taunts about his sexuality washing over him like water. Words meant nothing; actions were what he was most afraid of. The first thing he’d done on arrival here was to pilfer cigarettes and chocolates to use as barter for a crudely fashioned knife which he kept on his person at all times. He’d only ever had to wield it once.

“Hello, it’s the little schwuler,” sneered Farber, thrusting Wil up against the fencing. “If anyone needs relief, Brenner here is our man.”

The handle of the knife slipped into Wil’s fingers from its hiding place up his sleeve and it felt right, redemptive almost. As he curled his arm around Farber’s thick waist and positioned the point perfectly to take out the man’s left kidney, it was all he could do to stop himself from pulling the blade towards him in one swift movement. He imagined the feel of the knife slicing through flabby weakened muscle and took pleasure in the look of fear on Farber’s face. The man was close to pissing his pants.

“Take your filthy hands off me now,” he hissed. “Doctors know the most efficient ways to kill as well as to cure.”

Farber blinked once, twice, and then let go as suddenly as if he’d actually been stabbed.

“And if you want cock this is not the best way of getting some.” Will raised his voice so it was easily audible to the group of spectators. “Taking a bath would be my immediate suggestion.”

He’d had no trouble since then.

The camp was a busy place indeed; big American army cars rolled in and out all day long. Wil watched with interest and wondered what in God’s name all these officers could think of to discuss next. What to do with the many thousands of German soldiers was probably the simple answer. He was busy reading the registration numbers on the staff cars and trying to recall if they’d visited before when he caught sight of a familiar face disembarking from a vehicle. Captain Harris was a distinctive figure; a handsome man before his injury, the patch over one eye only added to his good looks, making him seem heroic and distinguished. Harris didn’t appear to notice him staring and Wil thought nothing more of it, continuing about his daily business of keeping out of everyone’s way then heading for the mess hall like one of Pavlov’s dogs as soon as the dinner bell chimed.

Filling the mess tin up to the brim with stew and mashed potatoes, Wil walked over to his usual place close to the exit and sat on the bench seat, ready to wolf down his meal. Food here was basic but good. The meat used could have been actual beef, and vegetables tasted like he remembered them to be, not all mildewed and rotten the way he’d been used to for the past couple of years. Getting up to refill his mug up with real coffee, he was surprised and more than a little nervous to hear an American voice shout out, “Spike!”

Almost spilling the precious drink onto the floor, Wil steadied his hand and turned to see who was calling him. If any of the American soldiers had been talking to some of his fellow guards from the camp, he may well be in trouble. He didn’t think the news of his love affair with an Allied prisoner would be well received by anyone. Maybe this was Farber’s way of getting back at him after the knife incident.

“Captain Harris.” Wil’s attempt to temper the relief was rather too evident in his voice. “You’re the last person I expected to see back in Germany.”

“Yeah, well, extenuating circumstances and all that,” replied Harris with the lopsided grin that had been missing for so many months. “And to that end I was wondering if you’d mind coming to the C.O.’s office so I can talk to you about something.”

“Most certainly,” replied Wil, downing his coffee in a gulp then taking his mess tin and mug over to the big enamel sink to wash them up. Once that job was done he joined Captain Harris, who was standing over by the doorway surveying the mass of German soldiers with a speculative look in his eye.

“What does this concern?” asked Wil nervously as he followed the captain through the private courtyard and into the well guarded building.

Harris offered Wil a seat and then sat behind the desk. “I’m working with a military legal team who are compiling cases of war crimes for prosecution,” he said.

Wil’s eyes widened in fear. Did Harris think he was one of those responsible for the terrible things that had happened at their camp? The American had always blamed him for what happened to his friend.

“Relax, Spike,” said Harris, pouring Wil a drop of whiskey from his hip flask. “What you did for Levinson will not be forgotten. You treated us prisoners without any prejudice and we owe you for that.”

Wil looked down, wondering for the thousandth time why he hadn’t done more to help. He thought of blood and murder and beatings and the look on Harris’s broken face that still haunted him at night.

“You’re a gift for the prosecutors, Brenner,” enthused Harris and Wil was sure he had missed an important part of the conversation. “If you agree to testify against Shaeffer then we stand a good chance of getting a full guilty verdict. I want to see that piece of shit hung out to dry for what he did to Oz.”

“I will do what I can but you must understand that if word gets out here then my life won’t be worth living,” said Wil pensively.

“Is your life worth living now?” asked Harris in lawyerly fashion.

Wil wondered if it was the man’s actual profession. He seemed too young to have passed the bar.

“It sure wasn’t a few months ago,” continued the captain. “If you want we could bring other soldiers to trial for the way they treated you. Jesus, Spike. If the Allies hadn’t invaded when they did, you would have been executed just for being queer.”

Wil looked away, uncomfortable discussing his personal situation with anyone. “It was the law of my country,” he explained as if that made it any better.

“Which went against every recognised humanitarian ruling.”

Wil fell into silence as he considered Harris’s words carefully. Did he want to relive all the horrors for a second time? Could he manage it without suffering a breakdown? It seemed unlikely. He was a coward, after all.

“I will testify against Schaeffer, but that is as far as I wish to take things,” he said quietly, accepting a cigarette from Harris’s pack of Lucky Strikes. “And I will only do this if you can get me out of here.”

It was time for some hard bargaining.

“I’m hoping I can do better than that,” said Harris with a smile as he picked up the telephone.

***

“Homecomings are notoriously difficult so be prepared for the worst.”

Liam hadn’t taken much notice of those words during demob lectures. All he had been interested in was putting on his civvies, collecting his final pay and then getting on the Gillingham bound train.

Life during the months following liberation had taken its toll. The camp at Rheims was dirty and stinking and so over-crowded it was impossible to find a square inch of turf to call his own. After so many years remaining disease free, Liam had contracted a bad case of dysentery soon after arriving there. This would have been quite risible if he hadn’t been in so much pain from the violent stomach cramps.

His illness had prevented him from being shipped off home to Blighty at the same time as his comrades, and the lack of familiar faces had unnerved him to a greater extent than he ever thought possible. Hospitalisation had also meant he was unable to discuss Wil’s situation with Colonel Giles before he left, and this above all else sent him spiralling down into a deep depression. Having received his first wage packet in years from the temporary British Forces pay office, he blew the majority of his money making long and pointless calls to various government departments in Britain. Unwilling to go into specifics over the telephone, he was palmed off onto every incompetent odd-bod in the War Office. It was hopeless, he decided eventually, feeling as if he had let Wil down once again.

Demobilisation, when it finally came, did not prove to be the quiet occasion he had wished for. Liam’s whole family had gathered in London to meet him. His father Frank had even ‘borrowed’ one of the fancy cars he was working on in the garage to transport the McKinley clan around in style. It turned out that the Bentley he was being chauffeured home in belonged to Harry Matthews and the irony of this managed to put a small smile on Liam’s face for the first time that day.

The regulation welcome home party was more of a trial than anything else. How was he supposed to perform for long lost relatives when he’d been through hell and come out the other side with major scars and a broken heart to boot? He survived the event by drinking too much black market whiskey and sloping off somewhere quiet to lick his wounds, leaving Uncle Padraig to talk to himself about life in the trenches during the Great War.

Time passed slowly. Liam was behaving like a bad tempered fish out of water and he knew it. Permanent worry lines were etching their way onto his mother Rosie’s plump kindly face and his dad hid away behind a newspaper when he wasn’t at work. Two worlds had collided for a short while, but had then been thrust apart further than ever. Now Liam was caught up in the wake and was dragging everyone under with him.

Longing for space, he resented having to share a bedroom with his brother Joe, who had returned home from France three months earlier. Both of them needed time to emerge from their own private grief and neither was ready to share a room nor memories. With only a scant year and a half between them, the McKinley boys had been good friends all their lives. Now they were like squabbling toddlers, each demanding privacy rights and superiority. Something had to change or they’d end up killing one another.

The problem was that alternative accommodation in Gillingham was scarce, to say the least. The town had suffered severe damage during the air raids and there were all too many homeless families on the look out for somewhere to live. However desperate he became, Liam would never rob those folks, who were more needy than him, of the chance of a new home.

If Liam wasn’t aware of quite how badly his mechanical skills were needed then he would have taken his demob pay and left Gillingham for good. He would have done what he was longing to do and run off to find Wil, bringing his lover back home to start a life together somewhere new in England. But this was an impossible dream and he knew it. He had a host of obligations to fulfil and he wasn’t the kind of man to turn his back on them.

Wandering the streets, as he did most nights, Liam ended up at the little backstreet garage. Unlocking the padlocked door, he lit the stove and put a kettle on to boil. This place was his one refuge from life. He’d started coming here in order to make surreptitious phone calls in an ongoing attempt to track down Wil. When that had proven to be fruitless, he’d tried in vain to find contact addresses for his former P.O.W. friends in hope that someone, somewhere could help him. Having banged his head on every brick wall, he still found his way back to the grubby premises, finding some solace in the respite from the constant roar of close-knit family life.

Most evenings Liam sank down onto the worn armchair that his dad had offered sanctuary to when mum wanted it thrown out from the parlour. Tonight, however, he was restless rather than lifeless and he prowled the workshop, a mug of tea in hand as he looked over the tools and the cars and the spare parts. A stock-take badly needed doing. Kathy was a whiz at the books and she had a natural affinity with engines, but when it came down to ordering parts she was definitely lacking in knowledge.

A hefty wooden ladder stood propped against the wall, and after putting his tea down on the workbench, Liam heaved it over towards the open loft entrance and slotted the side rails into chiselled out grooves in the rafters in order to fix it firmly in place. From the opaque sheet of cobwebs covering the rungs, it seemed as if nobody had been up there in the years since he’d been away.

The attic was divided into two sections and Liam had always intended to rig it out with shelving in order to utilise the area as storage. A different plan now was forming in his mind. There were proper glazed windows in place and it wouldn’t take a lot to install another small stove for heating and warming up food. The small washroom and lavatory out back wasn’t ideal, but it was adequate. This certainly wasn’t a palace but he’d be happy to pay his parents rent on the loft if it meant he could have some badly needed privacy. At the very least, fixing up the rooms would keep him physically and mentally occupied.

The plan was met with approval from everyone. Joe was initially irate at not having thought of the idea himself, but was placated once Liam pointed out that he would have a cozy bedroom all to himself. His mother’s worry lines lessened when Liam promised he’d be home most nights for dinner and Dad was over the moon at the idea of a little extra beer money in his pocket.

Over the course of the next couple of weeks, Liam transformed the dingy attic space into a clean, bright and comfortably furnished flatlet. The local auctions had been a great source of second hand goods and the family had also contributed to the leaving home fund, or ‘Liam’s bottom drawer’ as Joe laughingly referred to it.

Even Rosie McKinley voiced her genuine approval as she climbed the newly-fitted back staircase and looked around the tiny apartment.

“You could do worse,” she said, handing him a brown paper bag, the glimmer of a smile playing around her eyes.

Liam opened the housewarming gift and took out a porcelain potty, decorated in grotesque style with nymphs, cherubs and bunches of grapes.

“Thanks ever so, Mum,” he said dryly, putting it in pride of place on top of the chest of drawers.

“It was your gran’s,” she said with a snort of laughter. “Your father told me how far it was to the lav so I thought you might be needing it now that winter’s on its way.”

“And so I shall,” he said, looking around his little home with bittersweet feelings; proud of all he’d achieved in such a short time, but also deeply sad that it would never become the love nest he’d dreamt of sharing with Wil.

“You know you can tell me anything, Son,” his mother said, placing her hands on Liam’s shoulders as if he were a little child and not a big man who towered over her petite frame.

“Nothing to tell,” he muttered, hugging his mum tightly in hope that this would quell the misery he was trying to hide. “Not much anyway.”

Half an hour and two cups of tea later he had recounted the entire story and shed more than a few embarrassed tears over his misery at being parted from Wil.

Running her fingers over the two watches on Liam’s wrist, Rosie asked gently, “Is one of these his?”

Liam pointed to the one with the smashed face. “I gave it to him,” he said, unable to find any more words as the memories of that terrible moment he believed Wil to be dead came flooding back.

“You should get it fixed,” she said, staring at the cracked glass. “The jewellers in Westerham Road will do it for you.”

But Liam couldn’t bear the thought of being parted from the watch. Not until he was able to put it back on Wil’s wrist where it belonged. “I never meant this to happen, Mum,” he said staring down at the timepieces and wishing once again that he didn’t have to apologise for his feelings.

Rosie patted him on the hand and then, in complete contrast, swatted him quite fiercely with her handbag. “Enough of that, Liam McKinley. None of us can help who we fall in love with. Haven’t I told you that before?” Then she shook her head in mock exasperation. “And it wouldn’t be a bad idea for you to stop wallowing in self pity and go ahead and do something practical about finding your young man.”

Liam rubbed his eyes and wondered for the thousandth time how he was lucky enough to have been granted the gift of such a wonderful, if eccentric, family.

“You really are a hopeless wee man at times,” Rosie said crossly, pacing up and down the six foot square space as she worked herself up into quite a state. “It’s not as if any of us have ever judged you.”

“Mum,” he said with a grin, “if they’d have put you up against Hitler, I swear the war would have been over in a month.” Dodging a cuff around the ear, he kissed his mother gratefully on the cheek whilst drawing up plans for a new onslaught on the Ministry.

Chapter Fifteen

Sunday, the traditional day of rest, had never seemed very restful in the McKinley household. They’d all get up at the crack of dawn, Dad would polish a row of shoes until they shone like glass and then Mum would drag unwilling bodies down to Our Lady of Perpetual Succour for Mass. Once duty was done, Dad would disappear off down the pub for a pint or two whilst Mum prepared a roast dinner.

Since the boys had returned from the war neither of them had set foot inside the parish church. There was an unspoken agreement that time was needed to get past the horrors before they made their peace with God. Yet, even if no nagging was involved, Liam still felt guilt niggle at him and made a point of arriving home when Mass was well and truly over, just in time to accompany his dad and brother to the pub.

The Fleur de Lis was a friendly little establishment. It was all too easy to let time slip away, knocking back a few pints of ale and having a game of darts, but the McKinley men never overindulged on a Sunday. If they did, Mum would refuse them a place at the dinner table and in these times of rationing that was cruel punishment indeed.

Back home well before last orders, Liam stowed a few of bottles of beer on the pantry floor then nosed around the kitchen, munching on pilfered pieces of raw carrot until he was shooed away by Kathy. Having made use of the indoor bathroom facilities, which came as a treat now he was living back in the dark ages of plumbing, Liam took a seat at the dining table and pinched the pages from the Sunday Express as his dad finished reading them.

The door bell rang but Liam paid it no heed, letting Joe do the honours as he was already on his feet sorting out cutlery and table linen. It was most likely someone selling poppies for Armistice Day and he’d already given a good whack of his weekly wage packet to the Legion. It seemed only appropriate this year to commemorate those who had fallen.

“Li!” called Joe, coming back into the dining room. “Visitors for you.”

“Who is it?” asked Liam, abandoning the sports pages unenthusiastically and frowning as Joe took over his seat at the table.

“No idea. Never seen them before,” said his brother with a decided lack of interest, already deeply embroiled in a write up of the previous days’ football matches.

Expecting nothing more than an enquiry about a car, or at very worst a customer with a breakdown, Liam made his way into the dimly lit hall and stared at the shadowy figures of two men.

“Sorry to disturb you on a Sunday, Mac,” said a familiar voice, “but I come bearing gifts and I didn’t think you’d want to be kept waiting.”

Many months ago the bottom had dropped out of Liam’s world and he’d not been the same man since. Now everything was suddenly righting itself and it was a dizzying sensation. Here he was, standing in the hallway of his family home, gazing at Wil, his own beloved Wil, and he was utterly lost for words.

“I’m most terribly sorry if I’ve done the wrong thing,” said Giles, taking off his trilby hat and wringing the felt brim between nervous fingers. “There was no telephone number for this address and I thought perhaps…”

Unsure of his decision, the doctor stopped in mid sentence and waited for some sign of reassurance to indicate that he’d made the right choice, but Liam remained dumbstruck and rooted to the spot.

“I think it’s best we leave,” said Giles to Wil, who was standing there as pale and as silent as a ghost; a lost loved one who was so very much mourned.

“No!” Liam had never felt so bewildered and bashful in his entire life, but he was not foolish enough to let this overwhelming confusion of emotions stand in the way of his future.

“Wil,” he murmured, bridging the gap between them with tentative footsteps. “Oh God. Is it really you?” Heart hammering loudly in his chest, Liam traced the jaw line and cheekbones of Wil’s face with trembling fingers.

“I thought you didn’t want me.” Wil leant into Liam’s touch, looking up at him with those angelic blue eyes that Liam had dreamt of every night.

“I’m sorry.” Liam was remorseful. Wrapping Wil up in a tight embrace, he buried his face in blond hair and tried to keep a grip on his emotions. “I’m so sorry, my darling,” he murmured, “I couldn’t believe you were real.” Somewhere in the distance he could hear Giles talking to someone, but it was impossible for him to concentrate on anything other than Wil.

“Mrs McKinley? I’m Rupert Giles, a friend of your son’s from Germany. I’m afraid this may prove rather awkward to explain.”

The doctor’s distant words washed over Liam like mist. He had Wil back in his arms, safe, sound and more beautiful than he had ever remembered. Not caring one iota about the conversation that was carrying on around him, he bent his head and kissed Wil firmly on the mouth.

“I’m more than pleased to make your acquaintance,” said Rosie, shaking Giles by the hand and then turning to look inquisitively at the other visitor who was immersed in her son’s arms. “Maybe explanations will not be as awkward as you imagine. But a little decorum wouldn’t go amiss.”

“Wil,” she said, separating the reunited lovers with a determined arm. “Welcome home, lad.” With motherly instinct she pulled the fragile young man into her arms. “Everything’s fine. My boy’s told me all about you.”

Wil clung to the middle aged lady for a few moments as if she were a lifeline then let go and edged closer to Liam, who was by now blushing as red as a beetroot at his earlier display of exhibitionism.

“And as for you, Liam Padraig McKinley,” said Rosie, rounding on him with a merry grin accompanied by a wagging finger. “Have I brought you up with no manners at all? Take their coats, show them into the parlour and I’ll be in with some tea. I’ll have Joe set the table with two extra places for dinner. It’s a good thing I bought the brisket. There’ll be enough of that to go ‘round.”

“Your mother is an absolute gem,” said Giles as he and Wil handed over their coats and followed Liam into the best room.

“That she is,” agreed Liam in a trancelike fashion, unable to take his eyes off Wil. He looked so different out of uniform. Younger and defenceless and so very handsome that it was almost unreal. He reached out and touched Wil’s fingers in a tiny but intimate gesture, and the smile he received in return filled him with warmth.

Giles removed an envelope from his inner jacket pocket and studied it for a while before handing it over to Liam.

“This is from Captain Pryce,” he said in a slightly guarded manner. “He asked me to give it to you in person and requested that you read it in private.”

Liam stared at the writing on the manila envelope. Recently it seemed as if the war was something that had happened a million years ago. Unable to get in contact with anyone, he’d pushed the memories of friendships forged to the back of his mind. But now that he had Wil next to him and he was holding those slim fingers in his hand, the past came crashing back.

“Please tell me everything that’s happened,” he said. “I’ve barely been able to get a word of sense out of any government department. And now…” Liam’s newfound powers of speech eluded him once again as he looked at the man, his man, standing next to him and he knew that he was grinning like a loon. Then he remembered the manners that his mother had been harping on about earlier. “Please have a seat,” he said politely.

Giles sat in the fireside armchair and was about to begin the tale when Rosie McKinley bustled in with a tray which she placed carefully on a polished walnut table. Pouring tea into the best china cups, she handed them around with an air of pride.

“I’ll leave you in peace to talk,” she said. “Dinner will be at least an hour. Frank always says I’ll be late for my own funeral.”

“Thanks, Mum,” said Liam. He waited for his mother to leave the room then carefully placed his cup and saucer on the table. “Will somebody please explain what’s happening?” He was petrified to say what was on his mind, but it had to be done. “How long is Wil here for?”

Suppose it was only a matter of days. What would he do then? Huddling closer to Wil on the settee, he reached out for a hand to hold onto, sick with fear at the idea of losing him again so soon.

“How long do you want me?” asked Wil with a shy smile, and Liam’s heavy heart suddenly became as light as a feather.

“You know the answer to that, liebling,” he said, tightening his grip on Wil’s hand. Right now he was torn in two. He wanted nothing more than to slip away from the overcrowded house and find somewhere quiet to talk and kiss and make love, but overriding that was the need for an explanation. How had he not managed to even break the ice with the Home Office when Giles had done the impossible? "But how...?"

“Captain Harris helped,” said Wil.

“Alex?” queried Liam. This was most unexpected. The American officer may have been Liam’s friend, but he certainly wasn’t Wil’s.

“Alex Harris phoned me from a camp near Munich,” said Giles. “Passed on information about Wil being incarcerated there and wondered if I could do anything to help him.”

Liam had gone from loon to Cheshire cat and didn’t care in the slightest. He couldn’t resist slipping a surreptitious arm around Wil as he basked in unadulterated happiness now that he was beginning to believe this was actually for real.

“Funnily enough,” continued Giles, “it turned out that Wil’s situation wasn’t a particularly difficult one to resolve. For starters, his place of birth is listed in the register as Oxford.”

“I was born in England and our family lived abroad much of the time when I was young.”

Liam could hear Wil saying those words to him when he was re-dressing his leg wound. He was a fool not to have recalled it until now. “That was one of the first things you told me about yourself,” he said, looking at Wil in astonishment.

“I remember,” laughed Wil. “I also remember exactly how much you didn’t want me talking to you. You were a bastard back then.”

Giles snorted with amusement at Wil’s words then tried to conceal his mirth by swigging down the rest of his tea.

Liam was enamoured by the way Wil was loosening up and becoming his old self and swiftly began to fall in love with him all over again. “You could have mentioned it,” he chastised with a gentle nudge to the ribs. “It doesn’t take a genius to work out that might be useful.”

“I was thinking about you too much to worry over little details.”

Completely won over by the words, Liam gave in to his urges, planting another quick kiss on Wil’s lips then looking up at the door, absolutely certain that his mum would barge in and separate them again.

But it was Giles who played the role of chaperone this time. “Enough of that revolting sentimentality,” he tutted. “Remember I’m a bachelor and, as such, am unused to public displays of affection.”

“Hurry up with the explanations then,” grinned Liam, taking hold of Wil’s hand once more and squeezing tightly.

“I’m doing my best, young man,” said Giles, shaking his head at Liam’s impatience before continuing the tale. “Having seen Wil’s expertise in all things medical, I was more than happy to take him under my wing and act as his sponsor for university but, unfortunately, I had no way of knowing how to go about it. Then I recalled a friend of ours who had quite lofty connections in the Home Office.”

“Wesley!” exclaimed Liam, kicking himself once more for not putting his brain to good use. No wonder he was a mechanic; engines were far easier to deal with.

“Indeed. I remembered that Captain Pryce’s father, Roger Wyndham-Pryce, happened to be an Under-Secretary of State and so I tracked Wesley down. He’s still in the military, by the way, unlike you and I. A few strings were pulled by various departments and Wil here gets to be a temporary British citizen.”

“Temporary?” queried Liam, feeling queasy again at the idea that this reunion was to be a short lived one.

“A minor technicality,” said Giles. “The paperwork for citizenship is all but done, bar one signature.”

“Doctor Giles has arranged for me to begin studying at his old university next year.” Wil radiated excitement.

“With testimonies from several American prisoners winging their way to the board courtesy of Harris, plus my own personal glowing recommendation, it wasn’t difficult to persuade St Thomas’s to accept him,” said Giles with a hint of well deserved self satisfaction. “All he needs now is a permanent address and he’ll by signed off by the Home Secretary.”

“I’m sure I can help with that,” said Liam, convinced now that his ear to ear grin would have to be removed by surgical procedure. In a few short hours he’d have Wil in his arms, in his bed, in their bed. “If you’re sure you want to live with me, that is,” he said, turning to look at his lover.

“Yes,” came the simple answer. “Please.”

That final softly-spoken word was so full of need that Liam’s heart raced and his blood pulsed through him and it was all he could do not to take Wil there and then on the parlour floor. Then he sobered a little. He’d never have had the opportunity to make love to Wil again if it hadn’t been for his friends. “Giles,” he said, “I can’t thank you enough for this. I‘d be most grateful if you’d give me Wesley’s telephone number so I can call and thank him for his efforts too.”

“Read the letter first,” said the doctor rather cryptically.

Liam puzzled over his reply for a short while then, leaving Wil and Giles wrapped up in a discussion about university, he picked up the tea tray and carried it into the kitchen.

“Everything alright?” asked Kathy inquisitively as she busied herself checking saucepans full of vegetables to see if they were done.

“Better than,” smiled Liam, knowing exactly how much those few words would annoy his nosy sister. And with that he left her to seethe as he attempted to find somewhere quiet to read Wesley’s letter.

The hall was as private as it got in this house. Sitting on the turn of the stairs directly beneath the landing window, Liam opened the envelope from Wesley and unfolded the piece of foolscap, struggling to read the untidy handwriting in the half-light.

My dear Mac,

I hope this letter finds you in better health and more cheerful spirits than when I last saw you. By now you should be reunited with Brenner and I sincerely wish that all goes well for you both. Life will be difficult, a fact that I’m sure you are aware of, but sometimes fighting hard to achieve one’s desire makes it that much sweeter in the end.

Piecing together past conversations with you and Colonel Giles, I am led to believe that you have a very supportive family who are fully aware of your situation. I’m positive that this, above all else, will be the key to your happiness. I envy you and wish that I had the same level of support from my own parents.

I’m glad my father and I could be of assistance in obtaining citizenship for Brenner and, knowing you, I’m certain that you’re feeling eternally grateful to everyone who has come to his aid. I have, however, something important to tell you; something which is far from easy for me to put into words; something which will cause you to feel quite the opposite of gratitude towards me.

It was I who informed Kommandant Heinrich that you and Brenner had become intimate. I also told him the details of your planned rendezvous. I cannot explain why I did such a terrible thing and then proceeded to shame myself still further by lying to you in an effort to cover up what I had done.

I have no excuses. All I can say is that during the long time we spent together my feelings toward you had grown intense in nature and had surpassed the bounds of friendship. My bitterness and consequent actions were hateful and hypocritical in the extreme and I can only hope that in time you will be able to forgive me. The weight of guilt and sorrow has been a heavy burden to bear.

Yours sincerely

Wesley Wyndham-Pryce

Liam re-read the letter and sat silently for a few minutes, immobilized by an unexpected wave of grief for the man who he’d once thought of as a brother.

***

The past few weeks had been a whirlwind for Wil. He’d flown from Munich to Nuremberg to make a written testimony detailing the events which had taken place at Oflag XVC and after that had been an official guest at American Headquarters whilst his naturalisation was being decided. During this agonizing period of waiting, he busied himself trying to track down his parents, a sad and difficult time. The telephone call he’d received from Doctor Giles had been medicine for his exhausted and world-weary soul.

“Well, Mr Brenner, how do feel about coming to England to sort out the final details of your citizenship?” the Englishman had said, obviously thrilled at being the bringer of such glad tidings.

Trembling with excitement and nerves, Wil had spent the next day in a fluster. Captain Harris had been a godsend, calming him down and taking him to the local PX to be kitted out with a new wardrobe and anything else he might need.

“I’ll see you back here for the trial,” said Harris as he drove him to the nearest USAF base and saw him onto the C47 bound for R.A.F. Mildenhall.

Doctor Giles had met Wil at the airbase, shaking his hand and then carrying the small leather suitcase for him as if he were a woman. Perhaps he seemed that way to the Englishman. The doctor had talked to him all the way back to London and all the way from London to Kent and Wil was certain he hadn’t answered him once.

“I promise you it’ll be fine,” Doctor Giles had said as they stood on cracked terracotta tiles outside a glossy green front door in Trafalgar Street.

But it wasn’t. Liam had stared at them as if they were ghosts from the past that needed exorcising and Wil wanted to whimper and run away. In fact he was on the point of doing just that when he was encompassed in warm powerful arms and Liam was whispering words of ‘sorry’ and ‘darling’ and kissing him over and over again with that perfect mouth that Wil had been thinking about for months.

As abject terror was transformed into something akin to a morphine high of happiness, Wil had found himself drawn into the safety of Liam’s mother’s arms. He felt as if he’d found his sanctuary from the horrors of the world and once again slipped back into a state of extreme shyness. He didn’t deserve this. Surely he didn’t. But slowly, surrounded on all sides by comfort and friendship and love, he came back to life, laughing with Liam and Giles and smiling irrepressibly as he began to believe in this future that people were talking to him about.

St Thomas’s medical school sounded wonderful and he couldn’t wait to begin there, although this would probably entail being parted from Liam, at least during the week, and he wasn’t sure if either of them could cope with that.

“How long will I be away?” he asked Doctor Giles fretfully.

“Well, I’d assumed you’d do your residency in a local hospital, but if you prefer to go further afield I’m sure it can be arranged,” replied the doctor, looking at him over the top of his spectacles.

“No, no,” gasped Wil, “local would be very good.”

“I’m teasing, young man,” laughed Giles, “You’ve got to learn when someone’s pulling your leg if you’re to survive St Thomas’s. You wouldn’t believe the high jinks I got up to during my student days.”

Liam poked his head around the parlour door, “Sorry to interrupt, but dinner’s ready,” he said. “Mum reckons you’d best be quick or Joe’ll eat the lot.”

He was smiling broadly, but it never quite reached his eyes and when Doctor Giles patted him sympathetically on the shoulder Wil knew it had to be something to do the letter from Captain Pryce.

“Are you alright?” he asked, getting to his feet as soon as the doctor left the room for a quick wash and brush up, and taking advantage of the moment of privacy to slip his arms around Liam.

“How can I not be with you here?” said the Irishman, leaning in for some kisses which intensified and left Wil feeling breathless and needy.

They clung together as they had done in the past, except now the fear was gone.

“Come on then, before I get carried away and make love to you,” said Liam, reluctantly releasing Wil from the clinch with a final parting kiss. “Time to meet the rest of the folks.”

Wil decided he would much rather stay in here. He was wracked with fear at meeting the rest of Liam’s family and leant into Liam’s embrace, gaining comfort from the contact.

“Maybe I shouldn’t eat with everyone,” he whispered nervously.

“They’re not ogres, you know,” laughed Liam. “They’ll love you as much as I do.”

With his eyes cast downwards, Wil followed Liam through the hallway and into the dining room. It was overwhelmingly bright, filled with cheerful chattering and the sound of clanking crockery and shuffling feet. A fire burned merrily in the grate and a fat ginger cat snoozed on the half-moon rug in front of the hearth. Wil felt exactly the same way as he had when he was standing outside the British hut, wanting to belong, but knowing he never would.

“So you’re the young fellow Rosie told me about. The one our Liam’s been moping over.”

Wil swallowed and looked up at a craggier and burlier replica of his lover. Expecting to see harsh recriminations written all over the man’s face, he was shocked at the welcoming smile.

“Pleased to meet you, sir,” stammered Wil.

“Call me Frank. I’ve not been awarded a knighthood yet, although it’s well overdue,” said the big man as he poured everyone a glass of beer.

Wil was then introduced to Joe, who gave him a sullen nod, and Kathy, who looked him over from top to toe in a curious but charming way.

“Finally our Liam brings a boy home,” she said with a giggle. “We were starting to think he was a monk.”

“Better a monk than a monkey like you,” quipped her brother.

“Enough of that, you two,” snapped Rosie. “Now hand the plates around, Kathy, so everyone can dig in before it gets cold.”

Sitting quietly, flanked on either side by Rosie and Liam, Wil felt safe enough to people watch. Helping himself to a small portion of beef, he piled up the vegetables and strange little batters that he imagined must be the infamous Yorkshire puddings Liam had talked about so often.

“Wil, are you staying in England for good now?” asked Rosie as she poured a puddle of gravy onto her plate.

“I think so,” he replied. “I have to go back to Germany to testify at the trials and then after that I come here for good.” His English was eluding him, probably because of his nervousness.

“Schaeffer?” asked Liam, sliding a hand down under the table and gripping his leg tightly.

“Yes,” answered Wil, trying to rid himself of the memories that always surfaced as soon as the man’s name was mentioned. “I pray Harris will hold up. He’s putting all his efforts into getting a conviction and a death sentence, but I don’t think he’s ever thought about what happens once this is over.”

“He’s strong,” said Giles. “Hopefully he can put it behind him and move on with his life.”

“What happened?” asked Frank, looking askance at the three men in turn.

“Schaeffer was our camp kommandant,” explained Liam, his face greying as he retold the story. “The man put a pistol to Lieutenant Osbourne’s head and shot him in cold blood for no reason whatsoever. Then he beat Harris so badly that the man lost an eye.”

“Bastard,” muttered Frank under his breath, ignoring the glare of disapproval from his wife.

“Wonderful meal, Mrs McKinley!” exclaimed Giles in an attempt to dispel the glum atmosphere. “I can’t thank you enough for your hospitality.”

“You’re most welcome, Doctor Giles,” replied Rosie, looking around at the crowded dining table with a smile of pride. Then she spotted the full plate in front of her younger son. “Eat up, Joseph,” she said. “It’s not like you to turn your nose up at dinner.”

Joe stared down at his plate. “I’d rather be dead than share my food with a Nazi.”

“What did you say?” demanded Liam, shoving his chair back and getting to his feet.

“You heard well enough,” replied Joe, looking at Wil and Liam in disgust. “Queer is one thing, but to bring home a Nazi soldier and expect us to welcome him is another.”

Wil wanted the floor to swallow him up whole. Making a grab for Liam, he held onto his arm. “Please don’t,” he said in a whisper. “This is too soon for everyone. I should go.” He was indescribably sad that this wonderful, beautiful day was going to end so badly but it was not surprising to him in the least.

“I won’t have him speaking to you this way,” said Liam, pent up rage bubbling to the surface as he broke free of Wil’s grip and strode around the table.

“Sit down, the pair of you,” barked Frank McKinley, standing up and leaning the flats of his hands on the table. “This is my house and I make the rules here.”

His younger son frowned at him, unwilling to back down, and Frank rounded on him with a fierce glare.

“Listen up, Joseph, and listen well. I’ve heard enough from your mother to know that this lad is a good man. You wouldn’t have a brother to fight with if it wasn’t for him. He’s respected by people who know far more than you. He’s willing to stand up and testify against those godless bastards. And he is welcome to eat at my table.” The final word was accompanied by a slam of the hands down on either side of his plate. The cutlery and the crockery rattled and then fell silent as if submitting to Frank’s patriarchal words, as did both his sons, who took their places without further ado.

Wil blinked. He would have loved to a have a father like Frank. This man would never have been beaten into submission by the Gestapo.

“I never knew you had so many words inside you, Frank. For that you deserve an extra bottle of stout,” said Rosie, patting her husband on the shoulder with a smile of pride.

After this episode, the atmosphere around the table was never going to be easy but the family endeavoured to make their guests feel as comfortable as possible. Joe ate his food, staring down at his plate with a blank expression, however there were no more outbursts and for that Wil was eternally grateful.

“Are your parents happy about you living over here, Wil?” asked Rosie as she served up spoonfuls of dessert and covered them with sauce.

Wil tensed up. “Our house in Munich was bombed,” he said. “My parents never bothered going to the shelters when the raids were on. My father wasn’t well and couldn’t cope with the confined spaces.”

He recalled the moment when he’d walked down his street and seen nothing but rubble and burnt out shells of buildings. He hadn’t been close to his mother and father for years--it had never been the same after all the troubles--but still he’d loved them in his own way.

“There was nothing left of our home,” Wil said with a shiver which he tried his best to camouflage with a shrug. “I asked at the…” he struggled to find the English word and gave up when he couldn’t think of it. “The Rathaus, but they said there had been no evidence that either of them had survived. There was no one to tell me. I have no other family. No family now.”

“Oh yes, you do,” said Rosie in an indignant voice. “You most certainly do have a family, love. And I’ll not hear a word to the contrary.”

Chapter Sixteen

“Oh heavens,” said Giles, looking at his watch in consternation. “I must be heading home before I outstay my welcome.”

He stood up from his adopted fireside chair in the McKinley parlour and looked unwillingly at the door before opening it and walking into the hallway.

“Not at all, Doctor Giles. There’ll always be a place for you at our table whenever you want to join us,” said Rosie, following the doctor and shaking him firmly by the hand. “It was a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for everything you’ve done.”

Wil stayed back from the throng of people milling around the hallway. He looked up at the dimly lit stairwell with worried eyes and wondered how he could have been stupid enough to think everything would work out like a children’s storybook.

“Wil, don’t forget your suitcase is still in my car,” said the doctor as he took his overcoat and hat from Liam.

“I’ll come and get it,” answered Wil hurriedly, not wanting to draw attention to the matter of sleeping arrangements. Maybe he should go back to London with Giles and find accommodation there.

“We’ll see you out, Doc,” said Liam, putting paid to Wil’s hastily drawn up escape plans.

Giles said his final farewells to the family and the three men walked the short distance up the road to where Giles had parked his car.

Wil was quiet, locked inside a state of complete panic. He longed to be held by Liam, to experience once again that intense passion as they made love, but it would be impossible to act with anything other than propriety whilst they were staying in Liam’s family home. It wasn’t even as if they could get married. They were sentenced to a life of illicit touching and back alley fucks. But this was a ridiculous way to carry on. Pulling himself together, Wil concentrated on how wonderful it was to be in Liam’s company once again. He was entranced more than ever by the handsome Irishman with his overflowing kindness, his huge strength of spirit and his wonderful family. This was all that mattered. Later, once he had qualified, things might be different and they could be together the way they wanted.

Having talked over arrangements about university and Wil’s final meeting with the Home Secretary’s underling, the doctor bade them goodbye, and with a parting wave and a toot of the horn, the Austin Seven disappeared from sight around the bend.

The night air was cold and crisp, autumn well and truly closing in towards winter, and Wil shivered, wishing he had bothered to put on his coat. With a quick glance to make sure no one was peeking at them from behind net curtains, Liam slung a casual arm around Wil’s shoulders, taking the case from him in exactly the same way that Giles had done.

Wil was in danger of becoming mortified if this carried on. “I’m not a girl, you know,” he said indignantly, narrowing his eyes whilst making sure he retained a hint of a smile.

“No, you’re my boy and I want to take care of you.” Liam rested his lips against Wil’s hair. “And right now I want to take care of you at home.” There was a silence and then Liam added, “But believe me, the place is nothing special.”

“What?” asked Wil in confusion, wondering whether his grasp of English wasn’t as good as he had initially thought.

“My home is nothing special. I don’t want you to be disappointed.”

“Your home is wonderful,” said Wil as he stood on the doorstep, looking up at the terraced house. “I love it and everything in it.”

“But this isn’t where I live,” mumbled Liam, biting his nails as nerves obviously got the better of him. With that he pushed open the front door of the McKinley home and went in, offering up no further explanation.

Wil was entirely bemused by this exchange. He followed Liam in and said his goodbyes to all, hugging Rosie and Kathy and suffering a fierce handshake from Frank. The man had a ferocious grip, but his wide open smile made the pain worthwhile. Joe was thankfully nowhere to be seen.

“Take this,” said Rosie, trying to force a dish of leftovers into Liam’s hands, but he refused her with a shake of his head. “Wil and I both have our ration books,” he said. “And you’ll be needing that after feeding the five thousand tonight.”

“It was nothing,” shrugged Rosie dismissively, but she looked rather proud of herself all the same. It was no mean feat in these times to squeeze out an extra two portions and still have everyone well fed by the end of the meal.

“It was wonderful. You are wonderful,” said Wil. “Liam, and I, are very lucky.”

Rosie hugged him again. “You be careful now,” she said. “There’s very few as broadminded as us. Promise me you’ll look after each other.”

Wil remembered a similar lecture his own mother had given him when she had found out he was a homosexual. She had been nowhere near as compassionate, perhaps because life in Germany was far more terrifying back then, but most likely because Rosie was a kind soul who cared deeply about her son and his happiness. Wil’s mother had never forgiven him for what happened to her husband.

“We will, Mum,” said Liam, giving his mother a final peck on the cheek. “Bye, all. See you at work tomorrow, Dad.”

As the front door closed, it was as if another era had ended. Liam looked at him with such passion that Wil felt as if he were about to melt into a puddle on the doorstep, but then, out of the blue, the man was off, charging up the road as if he was being chased by a pack of hell hounds.

“Hey! Wait for me,” called Wil, stopping to catch his breath under the pretence of lighting a cigarette. He’d never had much of a fondness for physical exercise.

Liam stopped in his tracks and turned, waiting for Wil with a sheepish grin on his face. “Sorry,” he said. “To tell you the truth, I’m a bit nervous.”

“Of what, liebling?” asked Wil, reaching up quickly to caress Liam’s cheek.

“Of this not being enough for you.”

Wil laughed in amazement. “Just being here is more than I ever hoped for,” he said, passing Liam the cigarette as they began to walk up the road at a more reasonable pace.
He was, however, somewhat startled when they took a turning up a dark alleyway in between two oppressive industrial buildings.

‘McKinley and Family Motor Mechanics.’ The sign was hard to decipher without street lighting, but the beams of moonlight were enough to make it just about legible.

“It’s not much,” reiterated Liam, holding Wil up as he struggled to find footing on the uneven ground. “I’ll find somewhere better, but for now this is it.”

There was the sound of a switch being flicked and then a stairway was illuminated by a flood of electric light. Holding Wil by the hand, Liam led him up the wooden steps to the small doorway.

“Home,” he said, unlocking the door and turning on the lights.

Wil stepped over the threshold and looked around the tiny apartment in amazement.

“Our home?” He was quite stunned as he looked around at the newly whitewashed walls and colourful rugs covering the floorboards.

Penitent words tumbled over themselves to escape as Liam paced the floor, flagellating himself over the sorry state of the place. “I had to jerry-rig a sink up here using hoses from the garage downstairs,” he said, pointing to the small washing area in the corner. “And the only lavatory’s outside.” Prowling pensively around the flatlet, Liam pointed out flaw after flaw, hands thrust deep in his pockets in an unusually defensive manner.

“It’s perfect,” said Wil, looking at the double bed with the navy blue candlewick bedspread and wrought iron headboard. It symbolised everything he desired. The idea of him and Liam living together in a little flat had been the one thing that had kept him going through impossibly difficult times, given him the strength to keep fighting. It was almost funny to see the way Liam was falling to pieces over it.

“There’s no plumbed in bath,” stammered Liam. “I keep a tin one up here, but it’s hard work heating up enough water on the stove.”

“Liam,” said Wil, stepping in the path of Liam’s route march around the flat and pulling him into his arms. “It’s perfect, liebling, exactly how I imagined, but I have to tell you I didn’t come here for the washing facilities.”

With a guileful smile he reached up, pulling Liam in for a kiss, slipping his hands inside Liam’s jacket and unbuttoning the shirt. It was heaven to be able to feel him again, to be able to touch and taste and mouth his way over smooth firm skin and tensed muscles.

“The stove,” said Liam huskily, in between kisses. “I must light it. It’s cold. You’ll get sick again.”

“We’ll keep each other warm,” said Wil, insinuating his way in between Liam’s legs and then pushing him in the direction of the bed until he fell backwards, taking Wil with him.

***

Liam came to his senses the moment he bounced onto the mattress and was covered in a blanket of warm, loving Wil.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, rolling them over until he was on top. “My sweet boy.” Tracing Wil’s lips with a finger, he leant in closer and kissed him with several months worth of pent up passion. The kisses at his mother’s house had been caring and needy, but understandably restrained. Now that Liam was free to uncage his feelings he was feverish with love and lust. The tenderness was still there, but right at this moment it was surpassed by a fire inside him. “I love you so much,” he said, delving back into Wil’s mouth with all the desperation of a drowning man.

“Ich liebe dich,” replied Wil, reaching up for more kisses and running his hands over Liam’s back. “Make me yours again,” he pleaded, thrusting upwards with a pump of his hips until Liam could feel the solid outline of cock rubbing against his own hardness.

“You’ve always been mine and you always will be,” Liam said, heart beating in double time as he tore at Wil’s shirt until the buttons scattered in a shower of white pearl droplets. “I love you,” he murmured again. “Love you so bloody much.”

Frantic from the need to feel skin against skin, Liam removed his own clothes at breakneck speed, tripping over his feet in an effort to disrobe as quickly as possible. Then he turned his attentions to Wil, undressing him hastily and throwing the garments on the floor then pulling back the bedclothes with a flourish. Picking Wil up in rakish style, he threw him down onto the sheets, loving the soft intakes of breath and the arousal in Wil’s eyes as he gazed up at him, erection slapping firmly against his belly. Unable to restrain himself any longer, Liam dived downwards, burying his face in Wil’s groin and placing feather-light kisses over every inch of skin and wiry hair until Wil was moaning and pleading with him for more.

“Want this, do you?” asked Liam, looking up from where he was camped between Wil’s thighs and poking out his tongue.

“Yes,” hissed Wil. “Want your mouth, want your cock, want all of you, always.”

Bending his head, Liam ran the tip of his tongue reverently over the head of Wil’s erection, licking up the droplets of fluid that oozed out from the slit.

“Oh God,” moaned Wil, straining upwards for more as he succumbed to Liam’s attentions with a look of rapture. “I don’t know how I stayed alive without you.”

There was a sudden twist of desperation in Wil’s voice that made Liam shiver exactly as if someone had walked over his grave. “I’m here now, sweetheart,” he said, giving Wil’s cock a final kiss then crawling up the bed until he had his lover in his arms where he belonged.

They clung together for a few minutes, limbs entwined as they lay swaddled in blankets and sheets with their cocks pressed close together as if they were one.

“Did anyone hurt you?” murmured Liam, holding Wil’s face in his hands and running his fingers over delicate features and the fading scar on his cheek. “Tell me the truth.”

Wil shook his head and Liam remembered how to breathe again. If something had happened to him, if he had been raped then Liam would never have been able to forgive Pryce for igniting the touch paper that started off the hideous chain of events.

“They threatened me, that’s all,” said Wil quietly.

“I would have killed them.”

“I know,” said Wil, mouthing kisses onto Liam’s chest and neck. Pushing the covers away, he drew back a little as he traced the dips and swells of Liam’s torso then, running a finger down the line of dark hair, he slid his fist around the swollen cock and squeezed tightly.

Liam cried out as his body arched involuntarily and his belly filled with fire. No more talking now; he needed to make up for all the time that had been lost. Reaching downwards, he grasped hold of Wil’s hardness, feeling it slide wet and thick between his fingers, then slowly he began to mirror Wil’s movements, sighing with pleasure as they worked each other off. Taking Wil’s lips in a deep kiss, he explored every inch of that pretty mouth with his tongue, trying to show that his feelings ran deeper than ever.

“Want you,” groaned Wil. “Please.”

It was what they had always dreamed about; being able to have each other, face to face, in a comfortable bed, in a warm safe place. Shaking with need, Liam leant over to the bedside cabinet, opening the drawer and fumbling around until he found the small jar of hand cream.

Wil twisted around until he was lying on his back, his erection as hard as an iron bar, leaking a spill of fluid onto his stomach. He looked so wanton and made Liam feel so wanted that it became an incredibly emotional moment for him.

“I love you,” he said solemnly.

Drawing his legs up high, Wil grabbed Liam’s hands and pulled him closer until he was kneeling between his raised thighs. Dipping his hand into the open jar, Wil coated his fingers with the lotion then slathered it over Liam’s cock.

“Oh God.” Liam’s words evolved in a long drawn out groan. The cream oozed cool and slick, sliding down his erection and dripping in dollops onto Wil’s balls before disappearing into the crack of his arse.

“Yes,” hissed Wil, eyes bright with excitement.

Covering his fingers in the cream, Liam massaged Wil’s scrotum, feeling the blood pulse below the surface and the skin wrinkle in anticipation. This slow exploration was erotic and delicious and was something they’d never been able to do before. Their entire history as lovers had been carried out in a rush of heated passion. Liam ran the slicked up knuckles of his hand down that tight strip of skin below Wil’s balls, his own cock twitching with excitement as Wil gasped and pushed up from the bed, begging for more in husky whispers.

Circling the puckered indent with the ball of his thumb, Liam pressed and felt it throb a little and then relax. He explored inside, loving the feel of the silken heat as he attempted to find that secret place that always made Wil cry out in ecstasy when they made love. He tried instead with an index finger and as he crooked it he discovered a small swollen nub on the inner wall and teased it with his fingertip.

Immediately Wil arched up from the mattress, thrashing his head from side to side and shouting, “Please, fuck me, please. I need your cock in me. Please, Liam.”

Liam gulped; it was unlikely he was going to last long, the state he was in. His erection was so full of blood it stood vertical, stiff as a poker and thicker than Wil’s slim wrists. Greasing it up with some more of the lotion, he knelt over Wil, shaft in hand as he eased it into the tight crack between Wil’s buttocks, hunting for the tiny dip. It was too small. He was too big. He hesitated, terrified of causing any pain.

“There!” cried Wil, thrusting up enough to be able to fuck himself on the first inch of Liam’s cock.

Breathing in deeply and still desperately trying to gain control of his body, Liam slid forward, giving in to the tide of arousal as he buried himself up to the root in Wil’s velvet heat.

Liam was mesmerized; he never knew Wil’s pupils dilated so much when they were making love that his eyes almost looked black. He’d never seen the flush of arousal that stained Wil’s cheeks and lips, making him more beautiful than ever. He looked forward to learning every nuance.

“My sweetheart,” he said pulling out and then slamming forward, angling his thrusts in the direction of that mysterious place inside Wil’s body that had fascinated him ever since they had become lovers. He knew precisely where it was now; he’d touched its ridges and felt its strange slippery hardness. Soon he was going to know every part of Wil intimately with his fingers and his tongue. They’d been given the most precious gift ever--time to be together--and Liam was damn sure he was going to value every second of it.

Each time he and Wil made love it had been sublime, but there had always been that fear present which was like the shadow of a guillotine hanging over them. Now, safe in their own little world, a million miles away from pain and hurt and bigotry, Liam felt complete.

Wrapped up inside this man who he loved more than life, Liam surged against Wil, fingers stroking, lips pressing close, mouth against mouth, sharing his breath and his body and his hopes and his dreams. When the passion became too much, he gripped Wil tightly in his fist and with firm strokes brought him off, letting go of the long months of heartbreak and agony as he cried out Wil’s name and came.

***

“That’ll be four shillings and sixpence, sir,” said the jeweller as Liam stood at the small counter, examining both watches carefully.

“I’d like a box for this one,” he said, pointing to the Rolex.

“Certainly,” said the old man, going in to his stock room to hunt for some suitable packaging. “They certainly are very nice timepieces. If you ever want to part with either of them I’ll give you a good price.”

Liam watched the jeweller carefully mount the watch in its presentation case. “They’re not for sale,” he said emphatically, handing over a five bob note.

Whistling tunelessly, he walked back along Westerham Street towards home. It was barely five, but the garage was all locked up for the night. Dad and Joe would be in the pub by now, having a quick half before tea. Occasionally Liam joined them for a beer, but not tonight.

He raced up the back stairway, his head full of plans. In a few short hours, if the Air Force was as efficient as usual, Wil would be back in England. Liam had just enough time to tidy the flat and have a wash and brush up before driving up to Mildenhall to meet him. He’d been squirreling away cans of petrol for the journey ever since Wil had left. There were advantages to being in the motor trade.

Liam pulled up suddenly when he noticed the door was unlocked. Neither he nor Wil ever left it open, even if he was working in the garage all day. Wishing he had some kind of weapon to wield, he cautiously turned the knob and pushed the door open, hoping against hope that the hinges weren’t going to squeak out an alarm signal. Then he came to another sudden halt. The lights were on, a huge saucepan of water was coming to the boil on the stove and the tub was almost full. This didn’t seem the usual modus operandi for a burglar.

“Where’s my grease monkey?” asked Wil plaintively from the small settee which they’d just about managed to squeeze in to the corner of the room. “I have a bath ready for you and here you are all clean and handsome.”

“You’re here? How are you here?” Liam strode over, taking the book out of Wil’s hands then pulling him into his arms and greeting him with a long, loving kiss.

“Alex had some interviews to conduct over here so we took an earlier flight and he dropped me off.”

“Alex!” said Liam, growling a little as he said the name. “Captain Harris has become Alex. Do I need to worry about this newfound familiarity?”

Wil grinned wickedly, obviously quite enamoured by the idea that Liam might be jealous. “He wanted to take me away for a dirty weekend, but I resisted. Even though he was so handsome.”

Liam knew it was a joke, but all the same his heart ached at the thought of someone stealing Wil away from him. “Mine,” he said, holding Wil tight. “Only mine.”

“Always,” answered Wil, sealing the words with another long kiss.

The lid rattled noisily on the huge cauldron of a pan that Rosie had given them, and between them Wil and Liam carried it over to the bath, finding it hard to see amidst the billows of steam. Liam was always relieved once it was emptied and returned safely to its place in the worn enamel sink.

Liam removed Wil’s fogged up reading glasses, placing them carefully on the chest of drawers, and then began the exquisite task of undressing him. He was still in awe, amazed that someone up there on high had decided that he of all people deserved this. He’d felt so wrong all his life and now to be able to exist in a state of sheer happiness didn’t seem quite real. His fatalist instincts told him to go with the flow and take what was on offer, but wasn’t there always a price to be paid for everything?

“Don’t go all melancholy on me,” said Wil, pinching him on the ribs. “The problem with you is you think too much.”

“And isn’t that a case of the pot calling the kettle black,” snorted Liam, running his fingers over Wil’s sides in revenge as he remembered how angst-ridden the young man had been at the start of their relationship.

Pinching turned to tickling and the flat filled with laughter as they rolled half-naked on the rug, play fighting like puppies. Garments were discarded one by one then Liam dunked Wil unceremoniously in the tub and climbed in after him, pulling the spluttering man close until he lay half-submerged and nestled against him.

“Was Nuremberg difficult?” asked Liam as he roused himself from the contented trance-like state he was in and ran the bar of soap over Wil’s back and shoulders.

Wil remained silent a while longer, ruminating over the past week, and Liam, the born worrier, began to feel uneasy.

“It was not easy to hear everything described in detail,” said Wil finally. “I felt useless all over again.”

Liam understood completely, remembering how he’d hesitated in the ranks that day, unsure how he could help. Christ! His heart hurt when he thought of the blame he’d placed on Wil’s narrow shoulders after Osbourne’s death.

“Schaeffer got a death sentence. Alex was ecstatic, too happy, I think. He’ll come down hard now it’s over.”

Knowing Harris as well as he did, Liam agreed with the assessment. The American had been almost destroyed by this incident and the only thing that had kept him together was the idea of Schaeffer getting his just desserts.

“They brought Braun to trial also,” continued Wil in an increasingly somber tone. “It was a last minute thing.” He paused for a moment. “I was glad to see him hang. I only wish Farber was there beside him on the gallows.”

It wasn’t often that Wil referred to the abuse he’d suffered at the hands of his fellow soldiers and Liam never forced the matter, letting the truth come out in dribs and drabs.

“He’ll pay,” he said, lathering the soap into Wil’s hair.

“And your friend, Captain Pryce?” asked Wil, leaning into Liam’s touch. “Will he pay also?”

“You know what he did?”

“I knew as soon as you had read the letter.” Wil shrugged. “Maybe even before.”

“I should hate Wesley, but I can’t,” said Liam as he rinsed Wil’s hair off with cupped hands. “That doesn’t mean I can understand it, though. He told me it was all because of the strong feelings he had for me, but how can you do something so cruel to someone you supposedly care about?”

Wil twisted around and straddled Liam’s thighs, leaning forwards and pressing warm lips against his. “War is cruel,” he said simply and those three words gave Liam the closure he’d been looking for.

Even with the stove burning and the thick curtains closed to block out the drafts, the winter wind still whistled in icy gusts around the flat. Drying off as quickly as they could, Liam and Wil dived under the thick eiderdown quilt, another of Rosie McKinley’s donations, and huddled up together, waiting for the shivers to die down. Then Liam remembered his earlier trip to the jewellers and, with a slight frown, raced out of bed, returning with the small brown paper bag.

Taking the Rolex out, he handed it to Wil. “I was told you wanted this back.”

Wil opened the box and gazed at the watch with its gleaming new face.

“I thought it was lost,” he said, looking up at Liam, blue eyes brightening from unshed tears.

“I thought you were lost when Schmidt gave it back to me.” Liam remembered that black moment when his heart had stopped and the spirit ebbed away from him. “Read the inscription.”

Wil turned it over and stared at the back plate of the Rolex. “Wil McKinley,” he said in a voice broken up by emotion.

“That’s you,” said Liam matter-of-factly, fastening the watch on Wil’s wrist and then closing the bracelet of his own. They fit perfectly.

DONE