CASTLE MARGARETHEN - 1
Copyright 2004 by Carl Mason and Ed Collins
All rights reserved. Other than downloading one copy for strictly personal enjoyment, no part of this story may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, except for reviews, without the written permission of the authors. Comments on the story are appreciated and may be addressed to the authors at edcwriter@yahoo.com
However based on real events and places, "Castle Margarethen" is strictly fictional. Any resemblance to actual events, or locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
This story contains descriptions of sexual contact between adult males and male teenagers. As such, it is homoerotic fiction designed for the personal enjoyment of legal, hopefully mature, adults. If you are not of legal age to read such material, if those in power and/or those whom you trust treat it as illegal, or if it would create unresolvable moral dilemmas in your life, please leave. Finally, remember that maturity generally demands that anything other than safe sex is sheer insanity!
CHAPTER 1
(November 2004 - Brinley-on-Thames, England)
A long-legged, tow-headed young English teen - 13 years-old as of two weeks ago - disconsolately gazed about the attic of his home to the west of London. Held too close to home for a good three days as a violent autumnal storm system cleared the British Isles, he was clearly bored OUT OF HIS MIND! In his frustration, he kicked at an old steamer trunk. To his surprise - and, to some degree, apprehension - the lid snapped open.
Although his father could be a bit stern about such things, his curiosity demanded that he check out the contents. The trunk had clearly belonged to his paternal grandfather, a grandfather who had died before he had been born. There was some clothing - including some really cool German military clothing and articles - a bound package of letters, and some books and folders. Most of the written material held little interest for him, but one book, bound in red leather, caught his eye. Leafing through the first few pages, he suddenly realized that it was his grandfather's diary. The name on the cover was that of "Alfred Kreuze," but he remembered his father telling him that their name had been Anglicized to "Cross" years ago. The entries seemed to begin in 1938 and to extend through 1986 when, he believed, his grandfather had died. Most of the entries were in German, but the writing was clear and he could understand quite a bit. (William had already completed four years of German study, at first with a tutor. In earlier days, some German had been spoken at home, though that didn't happen much any more.) Quickly leafing through the early pages, the boy came upon a page that, other than two capitalized words, was blank. "SCHLOSS MARGARETHEN" ["CASTLE MARGARETHEN"; pronounced "mar-gar-E-ten"], he read. The entries following that subtitle began in August of 1943. The names...Wow! Hitler, Himmler! And his grandfather had been a Colonel in the dreaded SS! The first few pages read like a mystery - and he DID like mysteries!
That evening after supper, he took the diary and knocked on the door of the study where his father was working on some papers that he had brought home from his office at the bank. "Got a minute, dad?" "I always have a minute for you, Will," his father responded. "What's on your mind?" Will went on to explain that he had "accidentally" opened Grandfather's trunk in the attic and had come across his diary. "Dad, it's really interesting, and you wouldn't believe how much of the German I can understand! I never knew Grandfather. Would you tell me about him - maybe when you're not so busy?"
"Well, Will, you're a young man now, and I guess it's time for you to hear a bit more about your grandfather. I think he was a great man, and I think you will, too. Come over here where we can be a bit more comfortable. I need a break from the number crunching anyway! It's a long story, but we can at least begin tonight."
William's father got up from his desk and moved over to a large, comfortable leather chair that stood before a small fire in the fireplace. The youngster really wanted to sit with his father, but...he was a "young man now" and, thus, he perched on one of the chair's heavy arms. His father grinned up at him affectionately and rubbed his back for a minute or two before speaking.
"Your grandfather's family had been German for centuries," he began. "You and I are the first to be born anywhere else. When the 'Schloss Margarethen' incident happened - in 1943, well into the Second World War - he was a Colonel in the Waffen-SS. That outfit included some rather unsavory types - such as the guards who ran Hitler's concentration camps - but he was never one of them. Indeed, he fought with great distinction in Poland, in France, and in the Balkans. He had definitely caught the eye of those in charge and was ready for a major assignment. It was just after the Russians had defeated the Germans at Stalingrad and then, several months later, smashed them again in the greatest tank battle of all time at Kursk that something unexpected happened."
His father hesitated for a moment before plunging on. "Will, in order to tell you what happened, I must use some words that I don't normally use. I don't think you've heard me use them - and your mother never will. I trust that you will understand...and not make them part of your usual vocabulary." Somewhat relieved that his father hadn't inquired too closely into his "usual vocabulary" - especially with his friends - the boy simply nodded. "Very well, then," his father continued. "You can read all of the details in the diary, but I think I can make your reading easier and faster by reviewing what happened before your grandfather went to Schloss Margarethen."
Will's butt suddenly slipped off the leather-covered arm of the chair and he slid down next to his father. He SHOULD get up...but it was so comfortable...the fire was hypnotic...and he liked the feeling of his father's arm around him. He just grinned at his dad and stayed right where he was.
"Ah, yes," his father murmured, tightening his arm slightly around his beloved son. "In any case, in late July...of 1943...there was a high-level meeting in Berlin in Heinrich Himmler's office. (You will remember from your school lessons that Himmler was the chief of the SS.) Reports had been coming in from the field that at least five thousand German soldiers had died mysteriously in Russia since February...Majors, Lieutenants, Sergeants, and Privates...even a General. Himmler was able to tell the officers that his scientists had determined that they had died from a drug administered during sex - both natural sex and...homosexual...sex. Do you understand?" His now wide-eyed son looked up at him and said, rather impatiently, "Yes, sir."
"Further," his father continued, "the scientists now believed that this drug was administered... during intercourse or oral sex...without danger to the perpetrator. In short, the Russians had found a new - and very deadly - way to kill Germans. You will guess, Will, that the meeting immediately degenerated into very confused and often angry shouting. These were senior officers. No one was so naive as to suggest that the losses could be contained by telling the soldiers 'simply to say No.' Additionally, Hitler had always adamantly refused to send German women to the front. Their role in German life, he had argued, involved devotion to 'Kirche, Kinder, und Kueche' [church, children, and kitchen]. The question remained as to what could possibly be done."
"Finally, a very senior Wehrmacht General said, 'Well, if we cannot allow our troops to turn to Russians for physical relief, and the Fuehrer will not send German women to the Front, I see only one possibility. Our own must take care of their own.' Naturally, he was met on every side by demands for an explanation. 'Look,' he stated, 'look at what German youth have contributed to our War effort. The young are among our finest fighters in the Wehrmacht [the Armed Forces], be it in the Herr [the Army] - including the SS-divisions, he added gratuitously for Himmler's benefit - the Kriegsmarine [the Navy], the Luftwaffe [the Air Force], and in all other units. We put HJ [Hitlerjugend or Hitler Youth] boys into the flak battalions in January; in February we organized the 12.SS-Panzerdivision 'Hitler Jugend.' The enlisted men (HJ volunteers) were joined by experienced men and officers from the 1st Panzer Division and Wehrmacht officers who had previously been in the Hitler Youth. They have served us well, especially at a time when we have suffered heavy battle casualties - and they have been joined by young Aryans from all over Europe. If an appeal were made to young men for volunteers to serve the Fatherland in a particularly difficult mission, a mission vitally important to our victory over the Bolshevik-Jewish menace, I believe that many would step forward. Further, it they were promised a commission at the rank of Untersturmfuehrer [SS-Second Lieutenant] on completing their training, I think their ranks would be increased. Yes, those who accepted the challenge - which, obviously, could not be detailed in the posters - would have to be trained in serving the physical needs of men. Nevertheless, once they saw their girls again - in Berlin, in Vienna, or in Oslo - who can believe that there would be problems?'"
"Your grandfather, Will, reported his informants told him that the meeting became very acrimonious. Insults and even threats were exchanged. With one eye on Hitler, we may assume, Himmler actually said that the proposal was 'disgusting.' Privately, however, he ordered that an experimental program for 24 volunteers be conducted at Schloss Margarethen in the upland country where today's Germany, Austria, and the Czech Republic meet. That's northwest of Linz and Mauthausen, the infamous death camp, in Austria. Were it successful, it would be much expanded. Your grandfather, Will, was put in charge!"
Hearing a gasp from his young son and having noticed occasional twitching in the vicinity of his groin, Will's father knew it was time to stop. "It's getting late, old chap, but if you wish me to continue...perhaps tomorrow night...I shall." "Oh, yes, Dad!" his son exclaimed. "What an adventure! It puts Sir Arthur Conan Doyle to shame!" "Very well, William. If my work allows, I shall. In the meantime, I want you to read further in the diary about what really went on at Schloss Margarethen. I'll help with things that you don't understand. In this case, I would rather you see me for assistance rather than your teacher at school - or your mother. Agreed?" "Yes, sir!" the boy responded. "Dad, one more thing. Most of my friends' fathers treat them like babies! Thanks so very much for treating me like...like a man." Will's father tightened his arm around the lad, gave him the lightest kiss on top of his head, and sent him off.
That night in bed, Will couldn't put the diary down. What an adventure - even though some parts made him feel a bit...strange. As he turned to the pages that described his grandfather's arrival at Schloss Margarethen, it was almost as if he were in the room, talking directly to him.
(To Be Continued)