One section of this story is a bit more graphic than usual, though I don't think it is all that explicit. In case anyone wants to skip it, it is marked off by seven X's instead of the usual XXX that I use to mark a scene change.

PETER AND ANJA CHAPTER 26: SECRET PLACES

Hogan was deep in conversation with Robin Redbreast as the milk van bounced along the road back to Stalag 13, leaving Newkirk alone with his thoughts.

Anja would be returning to university soon; Newkirk knew that, and he also knew there was nothing he could do about it. He was a prisoner of war; he had no right to expect that he would have a girlfriend to pass his time with, for heaven's sake. He missed being with girls, but he missed a lot of things, like fish and chips and football matches and civilian clothes. He missed the way Mavis would roll her eyes whenever he said something preposterous and the way Nora would grab him by the hand and tip her forehead right up against his whenever she had some gossip or mischief in mind.

So yes, he missed girls, and not just his sisters. There had been that little barmaid Pamela near the base where he did his aircraft mechanics training in the spring of 1940. She was nearly seventeen, more than two years his senior, and she'd smiled at him every night when she plunked down his pint of bitter.

She chattered merrily to everyone, but she took extra interest in him, mentioning her favorite songs on the wireless and pictures at the cinema. When he gave her a bright smile but didn't reply, she just said cheerfully, "Ooh, you're a quiet one. I like that. Adds a bit of mystery."

Gradually he got up the nerve to stammer back short, funny responses. His flawless imitations of Harry Champion and Tommy Trinder helped immeasurably. Amazingly, she laughed and was charmed by him. As his stammer receded bit by bit, their flirting intensified into infatuation, and it seemed to be mutual.

The other lads in his unit had found girlfriends too. When they made plans to go as a mob to the pictures, he asked her to go and she said yes. In the dark cinema, he followed the other lads' lead; he bought her jelly babies, held her hand, and put his arm around her. He thought things were grand. He missed that.

Then one night in early May 1940, egged on by his mates and her co-workers, they wandered out to the alley to kiss her at last, and things got rather heated. After a few minutes of snogging, she noticed where things stood with him and hiked up her skirt, expecting him to know what to do next. She didn't know he was fourteen and terrified.

He didn't miss that at all, especially not what she said.

"Can't you find your buttons?" she teased him, petting the front of his trousers. "Come on, lad, we haven't got all night."

He was nervous and thought frantically about what to say. He got an idea, and looked into her eyes. "Not like this, Pamela," he said coolly. "Not in an alleyway."

"My goodness, aren't we posh," Pamela said, sounding amused but looking wounded. "Where are we going, then—the Savoy Hotel?" she said sarcastically. She yanked her skirt down, pushed him away and walked off thinking, The nerve of that little East End guttersnipe, looking down his nose at me after I put everything on offer.

He hardly knew what hit him. He wasn't posh, not in the least. He wished he could tell her he was fourteen and didn't know where to start. And he couldn't stop thinking that his big sister would have his guts for garters if she caught him. Nice girls don't hang about in alleyways, Mavis would have lectured him. I'm disappointed in you, Peter.

When he saw Pamela the next night, she was going at it in the same spot in the alleyway with his mate Billy. A week later, Newkirk was on his way to a French airfield with the RAF Advanced Air Striking Force as the Battle of France began to rage; Billy had stayed behind to have an embarrassing infection treated. Three weeks later Newkirk was scrambling toward Dunkirk, where he was taken prisoner.

He hadn't had much experience of girls at all in the intervening four years, other than watching the Kommandant's secretaries come and go and making mental notes about the colors and styles they wore and noticing how they swished their hips when they walked. But he'd heard enough stories to know there was a difference between a girl who wanted to bonk in an alleyway and a nice girl who knew how to stay clean and careful. He had no doubt Anja was special. Clever, brave, pretty, sweet, kind, and definitely clean and careful. He'd be a fool to pass up a chance with her.

XXX

April 10, 1944

Newkirk hadn't expected to be back at the Schnitzer farm so soon. On Easter Monday, Klink summoned Hogan to his office and ordered him to organize a work group to mulch a half-acre of vegetable beds at the Moritz farm, which provided produce to the Stalag and throughout Hammelburg. The farm was adjacent to the Schnitzer farm. Hogan pulled together several of his key men—LeBeau, Carter, Olsen, Garlotti and Newkirk—and took off with Schultz.

It took no persuading at all to organize a detour to the Schnitzers' farmhouse; the scent of bread baking was enough to lure Schultz there, and LeBeau was next in line, eager to be in a well-stocked kitchen. Oscar himself was out, but Hogan had business to discuss with Mathilde, who was organizing refreshments for a Wednesday night social for soldiers to meet the fräuleins and hausfraus of Hammelburg.

Mathilde had warm greetings for all the men, but above all for her dear Peter, whom she hugged and held for several long minutes, nose to nose, like a mother with her cherished child.

"Did you have enough to eat last night, dear?" she said, holding him around the waist. "You could stand to gain a bit of weight."

"It was all delicious, Mathilde, thank you," he said, smiling confidently.

"And I suppose you're wondering where someone has got to?" she asked.

"The thought had crossed my mind," Newkirk said. He absently reached up to tuck a strand of Mathilde's silver hair behind her ear and played with it for a moment, gazing at her. She was as beautiful to him as his Mum or Mavis.

"Normally Anja would be out with Uncle Oscar, but I'm making her rest. She took her pony and went up the apple orchard. If you go out the back door of the greenhouse and up the path, walk for five minutes and you're bound to find her." As the mother of four boys, she added without blinking, "Follow the pony droppings. Now, wait," she said conspiratorially. "I'll pack you a meal."

As she let him go with a peck on his check and went off to organize a picnic, Hogan appeared at Newkirk's side. "Going someplace?"

"Um, ah, Anja's out there somewhere," Newkirk stammered. "I, um, I th-th-thought…"

"Go," Hogan said cheerfully. "But keep an eye on your watch. I need you back here in an hour and a half. By then, the beer should start wearing off so Schultz can drive again." He nodded his head toward the big dining table, where Schultz was holding forth while guzzling from a beer stein.

"Yes, Sir, thank you, Sir," Newkirk said as LeBeau brushed past him to help Mathilde in the kitchen, and winked.

Mathilde packed slices of ham, apples, roast potato wedges, honey cookies and cider for Peter and Anja, and kissed him again to send him on his way. The rest of the men gathered around the table to enjoy the feast she assembled from Easter leftovers and the morning's cooking and baking.

XXX

Newkirk had just entered the orchard where Anja's Sheltand pony was grazing. He was surveying the grounds in search of Anja, expecting to see her under one of the trees, when he heard a rustle in the leaves. A walnut bounced on the path in front of him, and then another. He looked up. There she was, perched on a branch and looking mischievous. She was a vision of spring in a white and yellow blouse and a sky-blue dirndl with yellow laces

He scrambled up after her, gave her a kiss, and threatened to tickle her unless she came down at once. They compromised by sitting on neighboring branches to crack open a few of the nuts she had in her apron pocket. They nibbled away, then descended and wandered off hand in hand, following the path of a stream. The skewbald pony rambled behind them like a pet dog until Anja tied him loosely to a tree and lectured him to be quiet and wait. Ahead of them, amid patches of daisies, marigolds and primroses, was a small, tumbledown house.

"What's that?" Newkirk asked.

"I'll show you," Anja said.

They pushed open the creaky door and Newkirk stepped inside first, marveling at the sight. It was a snug but well-furnished room. A small sofa faced the fireplace, a few books were scattered on a low table, and a dining table and two chairs occupied a corner.

"What is this place?" he asked.

"It's an old caretaker's cottage," Anja said, running her hand over a dusty table. "I used to come and play here with my cousins when I was small. Now I come here just to read and think."

"Oh, really? You have this all to yourself?" Newkirk said. Looking around, he noticed a small vase with posies. They were still fresh; she'd been here within a few days.

"Not completely to myself," Anja said. "Sometimes Norbert comes with me. Sometime Axel. Never both at once, of course. They're so jealous of each other." She smiled gently. "You've met them."

Newkirk tried not to let his frown show. "Have I?" he asked. Actually, he was quite sure he hadn't, because he would have remembered. And he was feeling rather misled. What sort of girl was Anja, anyway?

"Yes. Of course you have," she said, coming closer and resting a hand on his hip. "At uncle's house. They're nice boys, though not very bright. Norbert's a fast runner and Axel is always hungry, just like you," Anja said. "They both have big brown eyes."

No, he definitely couldn't place these two. He was probably pouting when Anja suddenly poked him in the ribs.

"Yes, and long eyelashes and soft, silky ears."

"Silky ears?" Newkirk echoed back. What an odd thing to mention.

"They're dachshunds, silly," Anja giggled.

"Oh, I see," Newkirk said with a laugh, grabbing her around the waist.

She thumped him on the chest. "You're jealous," she said. "I like that. It means you're protective too."

"Does it?" Newkirk asked in a low voice, closing the small distance between them. He brushed her hair from her shoulders, ran his hands down her creamy-white neck, and wrapped an arm across her back. Gently stroking one cheek, he pulled her chin toward him and pressed his soft lips against hers.

XXXXXX

Ten minutes later, a shirtless, panting Newkirk had untied her laces, unbuttoned her blouse, and found his way within to undo the clasps on Anja's bra. It was a complex operation, but happily no structural collapses or calamities had ensued. Kissing and embracing, they had shuffled their way into a small room at the back of the cottage, big enough for just one double bed and a dresser. Newkirk could see the bed over Anja's shoulder and was wondering how to maneuver her there.

He didn't have to. She had coaxed him out of his trousers and led him, wearing only his shorts, to the bed. She slid off her outer garments and let him remove the bra. He touched her tenderly, stroking her soft breasts with fluttering fingers before daring to press his lips and then his tongue to them.

Anja gasped at the sensation, loud enough for Newkirk to stop what he was doing and look up in surprise. "No," she whispered. "Keep going. It's good." He smiled and resumed what he was doing, this time with his eyes on her, a teasing look in them.

He could feel himself responding too quickly and pinched himself to slow it down. He explored her body with complete fascination, relishing the softness of her skin and breasts. She explored too, experiencing hands-on everything that she already knew from textbooks.

Gradually, with the confidence and dexterity of a pickpocket, Newkirk wriggled off her bottoms and made his fingers busy. He'd had some advice from LeBeau, and rather more detail from Olsen, and he applied himself, step by step, starting with a slow circling motion.

XXX

It took fifteen minutes for Newkirk to satisfy Anja, and keeping his own pleasure at bay had been a challenge, but now it was his turn. He had just found his way into starting position without too much clumsiness. He was pushing and sighing with pleasure, anticipation and awe when he suddenly remembered what Louis had told him. He must never, ever forget protection.

So he pulled out and searched for the words to tell her why. But he was instantly flustered, because he was unprepared. He realized that when he left camp he was simply so excited to see her that hadn't expected any of this to happen, so he hadn't planned ahead. He knew better than this; he and LeBeau had talked about this moment, and he should have tucked what he needed into his pocket before he left the Stalag.

"Anja, I didn't bring any, ah, um, I mean, I mmmeant to, but uh, not that I was pl-pl-planning this, but uh, I think I fffforgot, um, that is, I don't have a…"

"Ein Pariser? I have three," Anja said with a smile. "We'll have to pace ourselves." She reached into the small dresser next to the bed and pulled out a small aluminum tin. Together they figured out how to roll it into place.

XXXXXXX

It didn't take long after that before Newkirk was lying face down on Anja's bosom, sweating and smiling sleepily.

Anja ran her fingers through his short hair, then stroked from his waist to his hip to his bottom. "Don't you dare fall asleep on top of me, young man," she scolded. Then she bit her lip. "Peter, was that really your first time?"

"Um, uh, yes," Newkirk answered. He yawned, then his eyes popped wide open. "Was it alright, Anja? Did I do something wrong?" he asked anxiously.

"Alright?" she laughed. "No, it was perfect. It was … very satisfying," sounding quite seductive to his ears.

"I noticed," Newkirk said with a sly grin.

"Yes, and I just wondered how, well, if you were … a virgin too… how did you know?"

"Oh. Well, I'm around a lot of older chaps all the time. And, uh, they, they talk. And, and, and Louis said that if you're a proper g-g-g-gentleman, you always remember the 'ladies first' rule." He bit his lip and then added in a low growl, "And I've always been qu-quite good with me hands."

Anja ran her hands over his sides and kissed him again, making him tremble. "Mmm. I have to agree. And Louis is a very wise man," she said. "Now where's that lunch you brought? I'm starving."

XXX

Getting dressed was easy for him, but being presentable was a bit more of an undertaking for any girl, and Anja sent Peter outside to wait while she pulled herself back together. While he dawdled, he spied a patch of wildflowers and wandered over to pluck a handful. His clever fingers skillfully wove together a daisy chain for her hair. He slipped primroses into the strands.

He held it out, a symphony of white and yellow, as she emerged from the cottage into the sunshine, and in that moment they both melted. She was so pretty, he thought as the sun dappled her rosy cheeks. And he was so sweet and kind, she thought as he placed it on her head and tucked it into her golden brown hair. "For my princess," he said.

"It matches my blouse perfectly," Anja remarked softly. "Thank you, kind Sir."

"A bit of blue to bring in the color of your skirt would tie it all together," Peter said with a slight frown as he adjusted the garland in her hair. He looked at her and smiled. "And it would match your eyes."

"You're dressed in blue. That's perfect enough for me," Anja said sweetly, kissing his cheek. "Let's go. They'll be looking for us." Then she looked up at him mischievously. "Can you walk alright?"

"Oh, stop it," Peter said, pushing playfully at her shoulder. "If you can, I certainly can." Then he took her hand.

XXX

"I thought we were going to have to send a search party!" Hogan said as soon as Peter and Anja were within hearing range. "Where were you two?" They romped up to him, holding hands and smiling broadly, their cheeks pink from sunbeams, fresh air and exertion.

"We wwwwere rambling down by the stream, Sir," Newkirk replied. "Anja showed me all the places she used to play with her cousins. There's a llll-lllovely lllittle bridge…" Blimey, he thought, his tongue wasn't cooperating with two Ls in a row and it came out sounding horribly wet.

"Near the cottage, Colonel Hogan," Anja added.

"Cottage?" Colonel Hogan replied.

"There's an old caretaker's cottage," Anja said.

"We ssssearched everywhere for Hansel and Gretel, but couldn't find them," Newkirk joked. He was behind Anja now, his arms wrapped around her waist.

Hogan looked at the kids, so happy together, and genuinely wished they could have more time. "Next time leave pebbles instead of bread crumbs, alright?" Hogan said. "An hour and a half means an hour and a half, Peter, not two hours. We need to get back to camp before we're missed."

"Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir"

Hogan leaned in to stroke Anja's cheek. "We'll see you soon, sweetheart. Corporal Newkirk, you've got five minutes. And I mean five," he said, smiling as he left the two of them to say their goodbyes.

Schnitzer had arrived back from his rounds, and moments later, he was in the kitchen chatting with Hogan when he elbowed the Colonel in the ribs and jutted his chin toward the garden. Peter had Anja in a gentle, confident embrace. He was kissing her neck and chin and her head was thrown back. They were the only two people in the world.

"You will talk to him about being careful?" Schnitzer said. "With her feelings as well as… well, you know what I am saying."

"Of course," Hogan said. "He's a good boy, Oscar. LeBeau and I have already warned him that you'll have his head if he gets too fresh with Anja. He won't do anything stupid."

"He's a man, not a boy, and she is a young woman," Schnitzer corrected him. "And he is a very good kisser, it seems," he added with a rumble of laughter.

Hogan watched and chuckled with a bit of parental pride as Newkirk switched his attention to Anja's lips. "Yeah, he sure is. He takes after his old man."

LeBeau by now had come up to Hogan's side. "He does seem to have learned a thing or two," he said with a smile.

XXX

Newkirk glued himself to LeBeau's side in the truck on the way back to the Stalag. He was giddy with excitement and wanted to tell LeBeau what had finally happened with Anja. LeBeau didn't need an explanation; it was obvious to him from Newkirk's dreamy gaze, silly grin, and intermittent yawns.

"Am I correct in thinking that the time has come for you?" he whispered softly.

"Yes," Newkirk said with a slight laugh. "How could you tell?"

"Chut," LeBeau whispered. "I know you. You're bursting to tell me something. What else would it be? And you were a gentleman to Anja." It wasn't a question; it was an expectation.

"Of course," Newkirk said earnestly. "She's a young lady, after all."

"That's all that matters, that you were kind, careful and respectful. We can talk later." He squeezed Newkirk's arm, then felt him lean in and settle there. Newkirk let out a deep, satisfied yawn and grew heavier on LeBeau's shoulder, his cheek resting on LeBeau's head, his breath slow and

Harry Champion and Tommy Trinder were popular comedians in the music halls of the 1920s and 1930s.