Transition Plan Chapter 91: Searching for Jeanne Part 9

…October 1915. Dahomey…

Colonel Armand Jacot awoke with a gasp.

He was very surprised that he was alive. He remembered instantly what happened. But he wasn't on the battlefield in Garua anymore.

His right arm was shackled to a bed in what he thought was the French Army base hospital in Dahomey. He'd visited this place too many times on behalf of other injured soldiers. And for Michelle's birth. This time it was his turn.

The handcuffs weren't necessary. He was alert but ached everywhere, and had no desire or energy to move. He felt strange on his left side. He looked down and saw his left leg missing just above the knee. He was too numb to be shocked. His left arm was pretty mangled with a few missing digits but he could feel that arm. His face felt tight and there were bandages on the left side. It appeared he was missing a left ear, but he seemed to have both eyes. With his functional right hand, he looked under blanket. All that made him a man was luckily all there.

"Damn…" he whispered.

He might make love again, but he knew he would never fight again, and it would be a long time before he even walked. He was actually thankful that was all that was damaged. And he was very surprised he wasn't in more pain. He didn't feel overly medicated. The only explanation was that the injuries were sustained so long ago that his body had time to heal considerably. He was afraid to know the real answer.

His gasp and spoken word startled Josephine awake and she instantly teared up and choked, "Oh, Armand… You've come back!"

She couldn't say anything else. She was too overwhelmed by the fact he was out of the coma.

He responded weakly to the sound of her voice and could see sleeping baby Michelle in her arms. Their little girl was much bigger and her hair was considerably longer. Josephine looked terrible from dark circles under her sleepless eyes and was extremely thin and pale. Much time had passed. Armand had guessed that much of that time was spent right here beside him.

He smiled at Josephine but rasped in a voice not used in a long time, "Uhh…. Hi, Jo. F-f- fancy meeting you here… H-h- how long?"

Josephine was too upset and too happy that he had awakened to laugh at his attempt at humor, "Oh dear me, Armand. You've been in a coma almost five months. It's mid-October. The men say you were delirious or unconscious all the way back from Garua until they got you to the hospital and you've been in a deep coma ever since."

"Merde. I don't remember anything. Since… umm…" he lamented, aghast at being unconscious for five months.

She gingerly held his right hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, leaned over the bed rail, tenderly kissed his lips without disturbing Michelle, and sat back down, "It's best that you didn't, sweetheart. You've had a rough time."

Armand was in disbelief, "I should have died. The grenade was right next to me."

Jo stated seriously, "Your medic is a miracle worker. And, sweetheart, you're alive because… well… because your friends valued your life more than theirs."

She choked on her tears and shut her eyes tightly closed, shaking her head.

"Who?" he asked in horror.

She could barely say the words, "Henri took most of the grenade explosion. He fell directly on it. Jean Claude took a lot of the blast blocking it while he tackled you underneath him but most of your left side was exposed. That's why...uh..." she couldn't finish the sentence but added, "A couple others took shrapnel but they are healing."

"Mon Dieu," he sighed. Nearly the whole squad was injured in some manner or killed in their Kamerun raid.

Those two men were his longest and closest friends. A single tear trickled down his cheek. He put his head back on the pillow closing his eyes in a prayer for his departed friends and their families. They always returned together from every operation. There would be no more operations for Henri and Jean Claude and those wounded seriously.

Josephine covered Armand's hand with her other hand to comfort him in some way.

"I know how much it hurts losing them, sweetheart. But know I love you Armand. Thank you for coming back to me."

"I love you too, Jo. I'm… I'm sorry… I failed you. And them. Completely…" he confessed in utter despondency.

She leaned closer to assure him, still squeezing the one good hand, "Don't say that, honey. You're a hero. Again. You made sure General Cunliffe took Garua. You and the team took down the radio station. You distracted the German defenders away from the main attack. They were totally confused. They thought the attack was from the rear. You completely cut off communications from Germany to their Schutztruppen. Kamerun nearly belongs to the Allies now. The General told me that in a few weeks the Capital City of Jaunde in the highlands in the south will fall. You helped win the battle in Germany's Southwest Africa colony too, dearest. With no radio in Togoland or Kamerun, no messages or orders could come from Berlin to the German Army leaders in Southwest Africa. What's left of their Southwestern African Brigade is decimated and on the run. All… because… of you, soldier boy!"

He shook his head in denial, "Maybe so. But I'm not a hero to Jeanne. Or to you. In three seconds Jo, I would have killed Karl-Heinz and the others and brought Jeanne home. She shouted my name, Jo. I could have gotten her. Three…fichu… seconds…"

"You did everything you could, Armand. She saw you. She called out to you. The other men heard her too. Jeanne has hope now we that are actively searching for her," Josephine assured.

"Hope? How? She thinks I'm dead..." Armand despaired.

Both were silent. There was no answer to that. Except the one remaining hope that Armand dare not say in front of her. What he'd tried to do wasn't enough by Armand's estimation, but he didn't want to get in an argument with his wife in his first three minutes of consciousness since May. So he changed the subject.

"So why am I shackled, Jo?"

She hesitated. There was a shadow behind them. She knew who it belonged to.

"I'll tell you why, Colonel," the Special Forces General interrupted as he entered the hospital room on his daily check of Jacot.

Armand tried to salute, but because of the restraints, he could only half-salute, and he said in shame, "Pardon me sir, if I don't salute properly. Or get up."

The General suppressed a chuckle but did smile despite the serious nature of the moment, "Nothing can suppress your humor, my friend. So… Armand. I am very glad you're awake, but since you asked, you have to know. This is why you should be shackled to your bed: you disobeyed direct orders not to go into combat and went AWOL with your men in a conspiracy to do an undercover combat operation for personal needs. You went as unauthorized guerrillas, not as French Army soldiers. You stole a patrol boat. Two of your men are dead. Three others will have to get a medical retirement, including you. That's why you're shackled. You should be in the brig for twenty years."

"I am prepared to do so, General," Armand said stiffly.

"I know you are Armand, but there are mitigating circumstances in your situation," explained his commanding officer.

The General unlocked the cuffs, and he explained, "So… you have served your sentence of 30 days punishment for the minor charges of insubordination and disobeying orders. The others got no punishment because they followed you."

"I'm grateful sir."

Josephine was in tears of relief for her husband.

The General scolded, "You'd better be, Colonel. Not only should we put you in military prison but we should also bust you to Private and dock your pay. But in point of fact, you and your squad of only eight have turned the tide of battle in western Africa twice in the course of less than a year. You and your men single-handedly took down the entire German communication network in western Africa. The Germans are in total blackout now. Their only colony left is Southwest Africa and it's been isolated because of your two operations. We've nearly won the battle there too. Because of you."

It occurred to Armand his daughter had been kidnapped more than a year, and he shuddered.

But the General pursed his lips, "You are an extraordinary man and a helluva hero. But you're also infuriatingly independent, Colonel. I persuaded headquarters to only give you a reprimand instead of a court martial, and your punishment was your time served in that shackle in bed while you've been in the coma. Which more or less started when the grenade went off."

The General smiled, sat down, and placed his hand on Jacot's shoulder, "But now, Armand, my dear friend. I'm really sorry about your men. They'd do anything for you. The ones left have already said for the record that they would march right back into any hellhole in Africa to fight the Germans again and rescue your daughter right alongside you."

"I have no better friends and soldiers, sir. General… I… I don't know what to say. This is so generous. I flagrantly disobeyed orders because I disagreed with the decision about my daughter and… "

Josephine cut Armand off before he got himself in any more trouble, "Say 'thank you' to the General, and be happy about it, Armand. Then shut up, dear."

The General chuckled, "You always did have a smart woman backing you up, Armand. I'd strongly recommend listening to her. Besides, it's punishment enough to lose your men and not to be able to fight anymore. I know you. You want to be right in the middle of the battle. This will be worse than prison for you, my friend. There will be no court martial and you will retire as a Colonel with a Colonel's full pension. When you are able, Armand, we're going to let you retire here in Dahomey and when it's safe you can go home to Marseille. There will be no more rent for you - we are giving you a home on base housing. Permanently. But now, I have to get back to the office. I'll stop by every day to see how you are doing. Like I always do. Enjoy your family and baby. Your fighting days are over with a reward from a grateful nation, Armand."

"Thank you sir. We are truly thankful," he said, completely overwhelmed by the leniency shown him. Only the Field Marshal could make those kinds of decisions, and in the General he had no better friend.

Josephine squeezed her husband's hand in admiration.

The General left. It was completely silent between Armand and Josephine except for the sounds of her weeping with happiness and them staring at each other lovingly. She was crying mostly because she was so proud of him, what his leaders did to spare him punishment, and that he had awakened. That he was so broken was irrelevant. He was alive.

Armand on the other hand was still ashamed and embarrassed, "I don't care about being a hero, Jo, or that the Army will take care of us. I'm… I'm so sorry Jo. Look at me. Now I am not worth anything to you. I failed you. And I failed Jeanne, too."

"It doesn't matter. You tried. You were so brave. I am so proud of you, Armand," she explained.

She needed to be closer to her husband. She placed Michelle a play crib next to her chair in which she had sat for hours each day looking for signs of his recovery, sat on the edge of his bed, carefully put her arms around him and hugged him, still weeping for joy.

Then, she sat up and looked her husband directly in the eye, "You must not be sorry, Armand. I've been doing a lot of thinking and praying since you left, dear. Thinking and praying about what should have happened before you left…"

She hesitated, trying to compose herself.

Armand looked at her kindly, "This can wait, Jo, if you want. We have plenty of time now."

She was insistent, "How do you know that, dearest? No… it can't wait. What if you… oh dear God… slip again? You almost did three times already. I have to say this to you now. Before… before… well… you know…"

Armand couldn't object. For a moment she couldn't look at Armand, and sighed deeply.

She regained her strength and continued, "I'm the one that needs to be sorry, Armand. It was because of me that you had no other choice to do this desperate move. I let you go there. I wasn't thinking. We needed help from our friends, Armand. Over year ago when it first happened. In all my terrible anger I pushed you and them away. And I nearly got you killed I was so selfish and blind with my own anger. We should have gone to the Clayton's and gotten the ransom money. We'd all be together again…"

Armand wouldn't let her take all the blame, "I would do it all again in a heartbeat, Jo. Don't make yourself sick about this, dearest. Don't give up on her. We'll get her back."

She dismissed any thought of rescue again, "Not in your shape, soldier boy. You can't fight again. There's another way. A way I wouldn't let you even consider then."

"What are you saying, Jo?" he asked, drawing her out. She needed to mentally get to this place.

She said with a deep catch in her voice, "I want to see her. Them."

"You mean…?" Armand knew who, but he needed her to keep talking, to get her to commit to wanting help to find Jeanne.

"Yes, Armand. Jane. Jack. The Count. Lily. Their new baby. We have to beg Jack and the Count to find her now. I know they wanted to. They can be your arms and legs and you can be the brains of the operation. I want Jack to be with her again. And it's not because they are rich. We both know they loved each other, and hope they still do. I was so cruel to that poor little boy. I said things that should never be said to anyone. It should have been all of us together looking for her from the day it happened. I was so stupid…"

"Are you sure Josephine? You were so against any of this," he questioned. Much of it he agreed with her about, but that was then, in less desperate times.

"That was when I wasn't thinking clearly, Armand. It's all very clear now. Please sweetheart, I want to see Jane again, Armand. She has every reason to never ever talk to me again, but I have to apologize and beg for her forgiveness. I miss my friend terribly. I was horrible to her. Mon Dieu I wish I had her support since the accident. I want Jeanne and Jack to play together again someday Armand. To grow up together if they still want to. They adored each other and I destroyed that. I crushed Jack. I dashed his hopes of him ever seeing her again, Armand. A little nine year old boy. How could I do that? But that's not all I want, Armand. I want Lily to play with Michelle. I want Michelle and Jane's new baby to grow up friends. I want our families to be as close friends as before all this…"

She broke down. It was all out of her. Finally. It had been eating her up inside with no one to tell for months.

Armand tried to soften her self-blame. He had no idea what her mental health was since he was gone, but it seemed vastly improved, so he noted, "Honey. You were in shock over losing Jeanne. We both were. I wasn't kind to Jack and the Count either after her abduction either. We barely spoke the entire journey back from Kamina."

She understood but responded, "I know. But it didn't give me – or you - the right to lash out at all the other people who love her too and wanted to help in every way possible. I don't know how you could even live with me then. I made awful mistakes and I wouldn't blame you if you never forgive me. Oh dear God, Armand, look what me being selfish and stupid caused. Look what I did to you."

He soothed her hand with his damaged left hand. It hurt like hell when he moved it, "It's OK Jo. I'm still alive and I still love you. You can't look back. What's done is done and we did what we did. But the Clayton's are kind and forgiving people. Perhaps there is a way back with them."

"So how do we get in contact with them?" she asked anxiously.

"We can get on the Wireless here on the base," he suggested, "Just throw me in a wheelchair and push me over to the transmitter room. I can type it myself. I still have one good hand."

She made a face at his continued humor, "Very funny soldier boy. But no, Armand. Not a telegraph message. We did too much damage to our friendship. This has to be face-to-face. We have to tear up that court order in front of them."

He detested that that they had taken that extreme action but she had insisted on it at the time, "I'd rather burn it and let them witness it."

"Yes. Yes dear. Of course."

Armand bit his lip. So much of this had been because of Josephine's extreme behavior. He was glad she had finally realized it, and changed. Despite her haggard look, she seemed in much better mental health. Armand said a short prayer of thanks. She could have completely gone insane with what happened to him in Garua.

He further suggested, "Maybe we can get on a ship in a few weeks and we can go to their treehouse."

She agreed enthusiastically, "Yes that's it! But not just yet. Let's get you well first and walking, Armand. I know you would want to climb that treehouse ladder on your own power to stand there with your friend Count Clayton."

She always knew wanted he wanted, and replied, "You are right, honey. But Josephine. When we're all together again, what about the real future?"

"After we get Jeanne back, I can go back to being a nurse in Marseille to support us, and even here for awhile when Michelle gets bigger and doesn't need such intense care anymore. They have people here to take care of small children whose parents work here, or you can stay home with her. You always were upset that you missed most of Jeanne growing up because of your military deployments. Now you can change that.

"That would be wonderful, cherie," he smiled.

It was unusual for men to be care givers in that era, but he liked the prospect of caring for Michelle.

"And Armand, I want Jack and Jeanne to see each other any time they want to. Even if she wants to go to Scotland to visit their castle. Back to the land of the Mangani. Anywhere. However far their journey of friendship may take them."

"Even the journey down the aisle as adults?" Armand inquired just to make sure of the depth of her sincerity about her total change of heart.

"Yes. Even that. Especially that, Armand. I do so pray that they will love each other enough to do that."

He promised her, "But until then it's all about me getting healthy again, and getting reacquainted with you and that sweet little girl napping next to you."

"With my help, dearest," Josephine insisted while she kissed his lips very tenderly, "And now, Armand, you must get your rest."

A nurse stood in the doorway, and finally cleared her throat to get their attention. She needed to tend to Armand. She'd been there for quite some time.

"You too, Jo. Go home, sleep in our own bed, and know I will be sleeping there soon too," he said with a sly smile.

She knew the look. It was certainly obvious to Josephine that Armand's brain wasn't damaged. She already knew another part of him wasn't. Their lifelong romantic banter could not be suppressed, even in the toughest times.

"Just sleeping?" she asked coyly not caring what the nurse overheard, "How about this: by New Years Eve, Armand - you and I are going to make love again in our own bed."

"November…" he winked, "Even if it's right here on this gurney."

"Deal, soldier boy," and she kissed him on the forehead.

The nurse just smiled and shook her head at their lovetalk, "All right, Colonel, it seems you're back with us. And feeling frisky, I see. Let's see how you're really doing. The Doctor will be here a few minutes. And it's time for more medication."

It would turn out to be that Armand did beat the deadline they set. And it was while he was still in the hospital very late one night with no one around. Josephine wheeled him into a dark back corner of an empty patient room, and then they left all the brakes off…

…November 1915. The slums of Douala…

"The boss will see you now," one of the main henchmen informed Karl-Heinz and Margrite, and ushered them into the main reception room. It was stifling and heavily smoke-filled, and ringed by henchmen surrounding the boss' chair, the only place with a spotlight. It was like a throne.

It had been four long months, not one like the guards had said - the whole summer and early all the fall waiting to see the boss.

Margrite and Karl-Heinz stood hand-in-hand and face-to-face about ten feet in front of the boss as a spotlight was turned on, highlighting them. The boss was more grizzled, and he stared seriously at them both.

Karl-Heinz swallowed hard.

"Well… look who the leopards dragged back to Douala," the boss said with no cheer.

"Um… hey. Boss. It's good to see you again," Karl-Heinz tried to say casually.

"Cut the shit, Karl-Heinz. Let's get to business. What do you want?" the boss snapped.

Karl-Heinz cleared his throat, and was in desperate need of a glass of water, "Yes sir. Well sir. We'd like to work for you again. Me. Margrite, and Gunter. And our adopted son."

The boss sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers, "I've had my eyes on you, Karl-Heinz. You were working for me already. You just didn't know it."

"What?" the kidnapper puzzled.

The boss leaned forward and scolded Karl-Heinz, "Who the hell did you think told those people to give you jobs? There aren't any jobs in this town except what I make, or hadn't you noticed?"

"Oh."

That's why he was the boss.

"You're very good at carrying, loading, and unloading effectively and working with a team without complaining, so I'm going to make all three of you dock workers. Even with Gunter's weak back."

"That would be good," Karl-Heinz said non-judgmentally, even know he knew the work was back-breaking. Hopefully Gunter would get lighter work.

"Do you know why?" the boss inquired.

"No, sir. Please tell us," Jeanne's captor asked cluelessly.

The boss explained, "Simple, Karl-Heinz. When you worked for me before, you were pretty good at making trades and bartering for this and that for better deals for me with the other shipping firms and trading companies on the harbor alongside us. Perhaps I will let you get back in the business again, as long as you prove to me that you still have what it takes. A little hard labor is good for the soul. If you see a good deal along the way, make it. I will tell your immediate supervisors to let you."

Karl-Heinz stood tall, "I assure you sir; we will earn our keep and keep your business going. And speaking of that, sir, we have something for you."

Karl-Heinz dug into his pocket, which caused a dozen guns to be drawn against him, and stopped. He ever so slowly pulled out and handed the boss a huge wad of bills – mostly British pounds, French francs, and some Deutschmarks which were now just about worthless.

"A down payment on what we owe, sir," Karl-Heinz stated confidently.

The boss flipped through the thick stack of bills, and smiled with the unexpected surprise, "Now that's the Karl-Heinz I remember. Always ahead of the game. Much appreciated, young man."

Most of the loot was from Jeanne's pickpocketing of rich people, either their cash or valuables that had been pawned for cash. The little girl was keeping her own tally to settle her ransom with Karl-Heinz. It annoyed Karl-Heinz when she gave him a daily total. It was a much higher sum than he expected.

The older man noted, "This is a great down payment, Karl-Heinz. I knew you were still a good man. This is a very nice surprise. But it looks like you still owe me over three quarter million Deutschmarks from that deal to help you win that radio contract with the German Army. I can't forgive that kind of debt. I really thought that would work out. You normally have a good sense of these things."

Karl-Heinz explained, "Me too, sir. No one counted on the French Special Forces. And I know sir. I will pay it. I promise."

The boss waved the big wad of currency, "I know that. This huge down payment proves it. You could have kept all this from me for your own gain. And true. There's other forms of payback and proof of loyalty. You have a wife now, right? This is the girl you've always been with since you got her off the streets?"

"Yes sir, I do. Yes, I'm still with Margrite. She is my wife now."

Margrite was ecstatic Karl-Heinz called her 'wife' to try to protect her from the boss' desires, but she shivered at what was about to happen. Would the boss would take another man's wife for partial payment of a debt? This old man was more cold and amoral than she remembered him.

"Robbing the cradle, eh, Karl-Heinz? Step forward, Margrite," the boss demanded, "Turn around. Let me see the grown up woman you've become."

Her simple, thin, short, clingy, shoulderless print dress and her bare feet didn't really hide much. The boss gently took and kissed Margrite's hand politely, and looked her over wantonly as she turned and posed provocatively. She knew he would want that. She finished the turn and stood still and pulled the front of her skirt up, exposing herself only to the boss. She'd worn nothing underneath for this very purpose this morning, even over Karl-Heinz' objections. She knew what was expected of her.

The boss continued to speak while mentally finishing disrobing Margrite, "Nice, Margrite… I hear you adopted a little refugee boy too, Margrite. He works the streets pretty well so I'm told by my people. Already making a name for himself. A chip off the old block, eh, Karl-Heinz? Congrats. Margrite, it seems like you'd be a good mother to a boy.

"Thank you sir," she said softly, with her eyes cast to the floor.

"Thanks, boss. Margrite is a good woman – a fine wife and foster mother," Karl-Heinz stated, genuinely wanted to stop the criminal overlord from taking her for his pleasure, by showing how much Margrite meant to him.

He dared take no other action. When you worked for the boss, he completely owned you, everything you possessed, and everything you did. It was not much different than Karl-Heinz owning Jeanne.

"That is for certain, Karl-Heinz. I pride myself in 'knowing' good women. Well y'know, I'd normally demand payment from you for her services to me for awhile. Married or not. It's been a long time since I enjoyed all of her delights. Despite my need of her again, since she's a mother, and you three need to be united as a family, I am going to not ask her to serve me. I've got a lot of other… younger… single women. I do have my scruples, believe it or not, Karl-Heinz. I know you really didn't want her to do this."

Margrite offered humbly just to reinforce their loyalty, "I would spend nights again with you, boss, if I must."

The boss got a horrible sneer, "Well, Margrite, all right, since you offered. Right now. Right here on this chair with me. You can watch us, Karl-Heinz."

She turned with trepidation to look at Karl-Heinz, but steeled herself.

Karl-Heinz just stood stoically as she stripped in front of the boss. The crime lord loosened his belt and dropped his pants. He was really ready for her.

"Omigawd," she thought seeing him.

She approached him and kissed his scruffy mustachioed face. He smelled bad. She boldly grasped and guided him as she sat directly on him in his lap. He seemed smaller than the last time they'd been together.

Karl-Heinz never flinched but his blood was boiling. The boss was taking advantage of his woman. And it mattered to him at lot. He never truly realized how much.

But after a few moments joined, the gently pushed Margrite away from him after enjoying the kiss and caressing both breasts and enjoying her warmth from within for a few moments.

Seeing their tension, the boss declared, "No, Margrite. No need to finish this. This was a test. You both passed. There's love to be made here in this room right now, but not between you and me. But I will watch you two. I want to see how real lovers do it."

Margrite and Karl-Heinz were both ecstatic and appalled at the same time, but smiled at each other.

They performed their bawdiest acts together as if they were doing a show for the boss' entertainment. It actually was for his entertainment. The boss got his penultimate enjoyment by watching them as he ordered another girl to join him in his lap to finish with her while he watched Karl-Heinz and Margrite peak, and then pulled up his pants.

The pair was exhausted, and had drawn a crowd, and were cheered and applauded by the other henchmen. Karl-Heinz and Margrite dressed and held hands. They actually felt strangely satisfied performing for the boss.

He smiled at them, "Fine job, you two. No one could ever fake that amount of affection. We're done here. You start officially working for me directly at the shipyard tomorrow. Bring Gunter. Enjoy the evening. You three are all mine starting in the morning. Again. Welcome back, Karl-Heinz and Margrite. If I were you guys, I'd go do that again at home. You were truly amazing. If you ever want to entertain me and the boys again, just let us know."

"Thank you sir. We will sir," Karl-Heinz agreed. He knew he had to. But actually he wanted to. They turned to leave.

She whispered on the way out walking through the darkened corridor, holding him tightly with a broad smile, "I would do that with you again if we had to, Karl-Heinz."

"I know you would, Margrite. You're my girl. And I know you'd do anything for me. But there's one thing I haven't done for you. Until now."

"What?" she asked excitedly, as they exited the building, and were on the street again.

"You'll see. It's a surprise…" he grinned.

On the way home, the couple didn't take the usual way home. She was puzzled. He stepped into a small chapel.

"Why are we here, Karl-Heinz?" she asked rhetorically, hoping her dream was coming true.

He vowed, "Tonight we are going to love each other again. But as husband and wife. For real this time."

She was overjoyed. The ceremony with the preacher was quick and simple but they were really, truly married. The clergyman was amazed with the large donation Karl-Heinz made for their marriage for such a scruffy looking couple. They also bought a couple of small rings at the pawn shop with some of the extra money they had. Margrite looked at her brand new ring all the home as if it was one of the crown jewels.

"Oh Karl-Heinz, I love you," she gushed, with a hug and a kiss.

And he did genuinely say, "I love you too, Margrite."

He always did, but never felt he really had time for the formality of marriage, rarely mentioned his true feelings to her because of their nearly ten year age difference, and never was secure enough in all his life of crime to do something about his feelings for her. But she was always there for him no matter what and never complained about not having a 'normal' life. She took being a surrogate mother seriously and had kept Meriem in check even when she was unresponsive or defied the men.

It had taken that horrible fight long ago between Karl-Heinz and Margrite and that time apart in Togoland to force him to realize how much she meant to him. Seeing Margrite almost used by the boss as just another throwaway love toy like the boss' younger women, and Margrite's bravery to have sex with the boss just to put Karl-Heinz back in the boss' good graces finally caused him to do something. Life was too short.

They went home that night and did exactly what the boss told them to do, but not before telling Jeanne and Gunter they got married. The little girl was so happy they were wed that she called the woman 'Mom' again and hugged her tight. Jeanne couldn't believe that their crime boss had made them do that in front of all those men and women, but Gunter had a really good laugh about their personal burlesque 'floor show'. Karl-Heinz pulled out a bottle of champagne Jeanne had stolen and they all drank it to celebrate being officially part of the Kamerun crime world again.

It was Jeanne's first taste of alcohol, and at first it burned her throat, but after a few more sips, she decided she liked the tart flavor and all the fizzy bubbles that popped and tickled her nose. She especially what it did nearly immediately to her head. She understood now why Gunter liked booze. The champagne dulled the constant pain of this criminal life.

"So show us what you did for the boss that convinced him," requested Gunter. All four were tipsy and Karl-Heinz and Margrite were excited enough as 'newlyweds' to not have any inhibitions about doing that.

They repeated their vigorous 'show' for Jeanne and Gunter who laughed and cheered and clapped like the boss' inner circle did, but gave the new 'official' couple their private time after as they went to their own beds. In their bed afterward their repeated Margrite gave Karl-Heinz a particularly affectionate hug and kiss. He responded, but asked "What was that for?"

Margrite beamed, "You saved me today, brand new husband of mine."

"From what, dear wife?" he replied. The term actually sounded pretty good to him.

"From being in the boss' bed for who knows how long - when all I want is to be here with you in our bed," she answered.

"Oh. Well… um… my pleasure. But he did have a moment with you though, didn't he? You were brave, dear."

"Well yes, but I've been there before and he was nothing like you dear. You know he was trying to goad you into responding, and then it would have been all over."

"Yes dear. I'm painfully aware of that. I hated him having you, even for a moment."

Margrite snuggled into Karl-Heinz' arms and slept contently.

Overhearing their conversation in her brand new comfortable cot at the foot of their bed, Jeanne learned yet another hard lesson in the seedy morals of the criminal world. She thought about what had happened to her captors. Having relations with anyone other than Jack when they were reunited to become married adults, whenever that might be, completely horrified her. Being touched by someone else other than Jack reviled her and she shivered. The Bible said that kind of activity was only meant for husbands and wives to do, and she gave a prayer of thanks that Karl-Heinz and Margrite were finally married. She further prayed in thanks that she was not doing that kind of servitude for Karl-Heinz and Gunter like so many flesh peddlers on the streets with their women. She vowed never to ever do that, no matter what. It appeared thankfully that Karl-Heinz had some limits they would do or make her do. And she hoped they wouldn't change their minds.

…

The next morning Karl-Heinz roused Jeanne awake with his sleazy smile. She hated it when he smiled at her. It usually was never a good thing for her, and she'd always have to make a sacrifice that compromised her values further. She had a throbbing in her head that she knew the champagne caused. She'd heard Gunter complain about what he called 'hangovers'. It was not pleasant despite the pleasure the drink had given her last night.

"You're going to be on your own now, street rat. We need Gunter at the docks with us. The boss is starting to let me do deals now for more business with the smaller traders. Also starting tonight, no more chains at night for you. If I am going to trust you to work alone in the day, I have to trust you when we sleep at night. "

It was the most amazing good news ever from her kidnapper.

She assured him, "I will not betray that trust. I won't run away. I like it here. I make a lot of money and take a lot of things out there."

Gone were the days she would have bolted for Nigeria with an opening like that.

Karl-Heinz noted the pride in her voice and eyes, "The boss says you do own the streets. Good job 'Manheim'."

It actually made Jeanne happy that the ultimate Kamerunian crime boss' spying 'eyes on the streets' were noticing her and approved. She knew they were there.

For the first time, Karl-Heinz and Gunter and Margrite believed what she said, and that she really meant it. At last the kidnappers felt like Meriem was theirs to mold however they wanted now, and had exacted the ultimate revenge on the little girl's family and her friends by making her into one of them.

…

But there were other eyes on the streets that watched the 'lone wolf' thief every day, how 'Manheim' did business on the street, and noticed with great interest the new routine of not having Gunter guard Manheim's back. For several days they continued to watch Jeanne on the streets just to make sure. The fat old man with the gun really wasn't protecting her like all the months before.

The teen gang leader said, "It's time that new loner boy learns who really is in charge around here. We'll teach him what a mistake having the glocken to work alone costs."

"Yeah this kid is making business hard for us," one of the boy's gang members noted.

After a particularly fruitful heist for Jeanne, she left her secret stash point, but two boys leaped out at Jeanne as she rounded the corner on her way for another foray into the market. They dragged her to a dead end alley where the entire gang surrounded her.

The gang leader spoke as if he was presiding over a court, "Well hello, loner. I hear your name is Manheim."

Jeanne struggled vainly against the bigger boys' grip on her, "Let go of me arschloch. I have as much right to be here as you do."

She was mad at herself for letting her guard down for a moment to let herself be caught.

Her coarse language surprised him and he accused, "Oh but that isn't the case with you, Manheim. You are not sharing the street with us fairly."

"There's plenty for everyone," she asserted, "Maybe you should work a little harder at the take."

Manheim's snide remark made the others snicker and the gang leader bridle, but he ignored her insult.

The boy continued his interrogation, "We all have to share the loot out here better, Manheim. You take too much for one person."

She responded, "I steal for three adults and me. That's a gang. The old fat guy is a drunk and he eats a lot too. More than three of you combined."

They all laughed about that.

The gang leader was not amused, and despised that his boys were responding to Manheim. He scrutinized her carefully, "Despite that you still don't seem much into sharing. I think you're different. Not just in color."

Her cheeks burned at their racial prejudice.

He stood closer to Jeanne, pointed at her face, and asserted, "I think you're a girl! You're too pretty to be a boy."

She tried to leverage the two bullies holding her to escape.

Goaded to anger, the gang leader pulled her pants down to her ankles and completely off, holding them up like a trophy from a hunt. Everyone laughed and she was deeply embarrassed as they all stared at her femininity. Her captors still held her tight.

He sneered and grabbed her crotch, "See? You are a girl. You are not playing by the rules, Manheim, if that's your real name? Boys own the streets. Girls own the bedrooms."

That was as nasty a comment as could be said. She was utterly repulsed by his grope.

She struggled, as he got right in her face, and demanded, "So…what's your real name, girl?"

"Meriem."

"Meriem?" he said, and he kissed her roughly.

She spat out the kiss right in his face.

He brushed it off and smirked, "Come now, that's not the way a girlfriend should act. Maybe you can steal stuff for me. Maybe you can be my girl. Even if you are young and nasty."

Jeanne snarled, "Never. I have a boyfriend and he would skin you alive right now for doing that and never look back at the bloody mess. Only he can touch me."

Her eyes were unnerving like a jungle cats eyes.

He ignored her threat, "But he's not here now, is he? In fact I've never seen you with a boyfriend. I don't think you really have one. We all know what boys do with girls, and if you were older I would."

Another gang member shouted, "Do it Ulrich. Girls younger than her do it every day. And get paid to."

Everyone broke into a hearty round of guffaws and they started goading him on with cheers and whistles.

As he momentarily took his eyes from hers to acknowledge his friends' encouragement, she struck. In a deft move that would have impressed Jack, Jeanne simultaneously kicked the boy in the groin and kneed his wrist in the raw nerve there, involuntarily forcing him to release his knife and tossed high into the air. She dropped straight to the ground, forcing the boys holding her arms to smash their heads together knocking them out cold. As the attacking boy doubled over in pain she pushed him on this back, caught the knife as it fell, ripped his pants to the ground and sat astride his legs and held the knife as she caught it, pressed her hand on his chest hard and pointed the knife at his throat to keep him down. His skin against hers and leaning over and being able to see his masculinity in front of her was disgusting but she did that to keep him pinned to the ground.

The other boys thought about seizing her, but were stopped by what they saw happen next.

She had grabbed his hurting private parts without reservation and squeezed roughly. He screamed. Even at 15 he was smaller than Jack, and she placed his own knife against his most sensitive area.

One dolt boy joked, "Hahaha look! She's gonna screw Ulrich. She's in lurrrv with him."

"You idiot. Shut the hell up! Can't you see what she's doing?" a colleague punched him.

She glared that boy into silence and suddenly he saw what was actually happening. He gulped.

"No one move or I'll make Ulrich a girl right now!" Jeanne shouted.

Somehow they all knew she meant it. Even though she was outnumbered, they were frozen. All it would take was one swift stroke to Ulrich to emasculate him.

She said very threateningly, "He's far too small for me, so if I cut it off no one will notice, now will they?"

He shrieked, "No please don't! I'll do anything if you spare me."

Her animal-like eyes bore into him and she embarrassed him further by saying, "You beg like a girl. Are you sure you don't want to be one?"

No one dared to laugh at her insult at his size and his cowardice. He was completely at her mercy. And it appeared to them she didn't have any. Two other pairs of eyes watched from the shadows with much satisfaction at this confrontation.

She warned everyone, "Never ever try to attack or touch me again. I will leave you boys alone on the streets if none of you bother me. There is plenty for everyone, even if you do get less. And you always will with me on the street. Understood?"

The boy was more frightened than he'd ever been in his life and agreed, "Yes. Yes, I agree. Just get the knife away from there. Please!"

Jeanne moved back just a little, still ready to strike in order keep the other boys from attacking her, "Of course. By the way, this is my knife now, even if it did touch your stinking slimy glocken."

"Take it. It's yours," he instantly agreed.

She nicked him just a bit so he'd wince and never forget, gave him a final hard squeeze and yank, making him scream, she smiled evilly, and got up.

Jeanne pulled her pants back on and backed away in disgust with her new knife at the ready, eyeing them in her retreat, lest anyone think of making a move against her. No one would dare do so when their 'boss' agreed never to bother Jeanne again. Ulrich curled up in a fetal ball and sobbed in pain and embarrassment. He would never lead this gang again.

Several young boys made up their minds, looked at each other and told their former leader, "We're leaving. You are a disgrace, Ulrich. She completely owned you. Don't follow us."

The older boy was in no shape to really object. He was still in terrible pain and wondered if he would ever be the same as a man, with his private area swelled up painfully, deeply bruised, and even bleeding from her precision slice on the softest part of his skin. He wondered how she could possibly know a boy's anatomy so well.

The two preteen boys followed Jeanne for blocks and approached her cautiously. They asked formally with respect, "Fraulein Meriem?"

She whirled and pointed the knife at them. Her cat-like speed was unbelievable and she was on them in a second. The boy who dared say her name now had the knife pressed against his throat. He cringed and held hands up and backed up. She bared her teeth and growled.

It was like talking with an animal, but one swallowed hard and asked, "C-c-c can we work with you? We're done with Ulrich. He's a coward."

Jeanne sized them up and reluctantly agreed, "If you promise to never touch me. If you are brave enough to work with me, we meet at the fountain tomorrow at 8 am."

"Of course, Meriem," they agreed.

"Fraulein Meriem to you. Never forget it," she growled.

"Yes Fraulein Meriem."

…

Jeanne slammed the door to the flat closed, and that was a clear sign to Margrite she had experienced a hard day.

Margrite asked cheerily, "What did you bring us today, Meriem?"

She flung the loot on the table. There were piles of three different kinds of sausage, bread and rolls, a couple of cans of soup and some fresh vegetables, and even a bottle of wine. It was a banquet.

"Good haul dear," Margrite praised.

"What are you doing different?" asked Gunter, clueless.

"First, I don't have you slowing me down anymore, idiot. And second, I formed a verdammt gang, what do think I did?" she snapped. She was in a horrible mood.

Gunter seethed with her insults, but Karl-Heinz could tell she was speaking truth.

For emphasis, she ripped off a piece of bratwurst and bread and stuffed it in her mouth with the brand new knife. No one asked her to surrender it. It was a beautiful knife, having been stolen from someone really rich.

"Oh? Uh. Well. Impressive. Nice new blade too," Karl-Heinz praised, trusted that she wouldn't use on him, and glared at Gunter's insults, "But a girl running a gang in Douala, Meriem?"

She lied to cover up the embarrassing incident with Ulrich, "Well something happened today that they learned I was a girl. The nastiest girl in town, at least. The knife used to belong to a teen gang leader, but it's mine now. Part of the deal for peace between me and them."

"What happened to you, honey?" Margrite asked gently to calm her down.

"I don't want to talk about it. It doesn't matter now," Jeanne seethed.

Gunter sniped at her, "We thought you were only queen of the jungle?"

She replied nastily, "Nah. Queen of the streets is more accurate now."

Margrite was saddened. Meriem's bravado and confident swagger had completely replaced the sweet, innocent, frightened little girl of over a year ago. Meriem was just another cunning young criminal ruling on the streets. She looked tough in her pants and shirt and buzz cut hair and chapeau. The girl's hazel eyes were hard now.

Word did get around in the underworld that Meriem was the queen of Kamerun youth street gangs and no one got in her way or messed with her. It was a dubious honor, and deep within Meriem, she was still ashamed. But she had to survive doing what was necessary. And being tough was absolutely necessary. Meriem rationalized that it wasn't compromising Jeanne's true inner values. It was just required doing business on the streets of Douala. She could still feel one way and act another. She did not know the phrase 'actions speak louder than words'.

Now known as the city's first girl thief, none of the slave traders or traffickers messed with Meriem. Her 'rep' preceded her. And the boss' men helped spread the rumors of her ruthlessness with their whispers, to keep Karl-Heinz' girl safe. Any girl capable of emasculating a boy without blinking an eye had no business in the flesh business. They left her to her thievery and pick pocketing.

The boss continued to monitor her progress through his operatives. When he found out from his spies that 'Manheim' was actually Meriem, he almost ordered his enforcers to beat up Karl-Heinz and Margrite for lying about having an adopted 'son'. He relented, fully understanding that they were doing everything they could to protect her from the traffickers, a dreadful and messy business even the boss couldn't control and wanted no part of. The boss thought it was actually clever of them to disguise the girl's gender, and Meriem's 'tom boy' personality sure did make a convincing young man. A few times he got to see her in action from afar.

Another day, it was time for a test.

Walking the streets dressed in much finery intentionally and acting like a dandy and pretending he was completely unaware of what was going on, the boss felt a tiny brush against him, sensed the empty pocket instantly, whirled and grabbed a child's arm brutally and flicked his knife open against her throat. It was Meriem, with a look of horror and great pain.

"Hello Meriem. You might want to think twice about robbing from Karl-Heinz' boss," he boss hissed through gritted teeth.

She was instantly afraid, having never seen the boss before and fearing what would happen to her and her captors, "Omigawd. I… I'm so sorry. I didn't know. Please don't turn me in or hurt me."

"Don't worry. I won't. You're Karl-Heinz' kid. You're safe. I wanted to see what you'd do to a rich-looking stranger. Now I know. If it hadn't been me, you'd be long gone with ten thousand francs right now. "

"What are you going to do to me now?" she agonized.

He gave her a big grin and let her go, but she sensed his henchman lurking in the shadows, so she just stood with him as he replied, "Compliment you on your good techniques, Meriem. You need to know I was doing this decades before you were born. Go work on that 'brush and lift' tactic a little more. And don't tell Margrite about this. She'll just worry."

"Uhh… OK. And thank you sir."

Meriem still looked terrified as she turned and disappeared down the alleyway with her very concerned gang, but the boss just grinned at all of them.

"Who the hell was that Meriem, and why did he let you go?" asked one of the boys.

"That was the 'Boss of Douala'," she noted.

The boy gulped, "And he let you live?"

"Yep…"

Word got around she 'hit' the boss and survived, which further added to her reputation, which the boss did deliberately. The man could not wait to see the product of what Meriem would become in a few years under Karl-Heinz' training. The boss needed good young talent like this. Meriem's threatened emasculation of the gang leader boy was truly impressive, and the boss reminded himself to never force her to become one of 'his girls' when she came of age. That desire would have to come from within her.

Meriem's gang all took pride in being pre-teen thieves with as much success as older children, and added a couple of other girls. They hunted the streets more effectively than any teen gang. She taught them a lot of tracking, stealth, climbing, complete three-dimensional awareness, hiding, plus better fighting skills. Much of what Jack had taught her and what she learned from seeing her dad train the Special Forces. As leader she got the best of the spoils of the daily take, but no one came up wanting. Karl-Heinz and Gunter and Margrite were impressed, and none of the three adults ever went hungry again. She was extremely adept at pickpocketing the very rich. Several boys became Meriem's close friends and protectors so she didn't get caught, and when her gang got too big, they formed allied gangs.

Late one night Meriem tallied the gang's latest loot, and she had the sad realization that the streets of Douala were as much of a jungle as the land of the Mangani, and the skills she learned from Jack were as applicable here as in the wild. Only Douala was a ghastly perversion of the jungle.

In Douala, all the predators were human.

Naima would have said to Jeanne that not one of them had any honor. Jeanne sobbed with the revelation that the caracal matriarch was right, particularly about her guise as the female street gang leader 'Meriem'. Jeanne realized what was within her was mostly gone and Meriem had replaced her.

Jeanne didn't know who she was anymore. And it frightened her.

…Christmas Day 1915 Douala…

The tattoo artist proprietor asked Meriem, "Aren't you a little young for this sort of thing, young lady?"

It was rare that a woman came into his tattoo parlor. Then it just wasn't a 'proper' thing for a woman to do.

The angry pre-teen girl snarled, "I know what I'm doing. Isn't my money good here? There are other parlors who'll do exactly what I want. I don't care who I pay. Someone told me you were the best. Do you want my business or not?"

Anxious for the business in depressed times, the store owner backed off, "OK, OK, calm down, young lady. I was just askin'. No one can do a better job for the money than me. So let me get this straight, Fraulein Meriem. You want what on your where?"

Meriem stated clearly, "I want an anchor just below the inner part of where my thigh starts."

She'd looked at all the designs and picked the most realistic anchor design. It would take some time to do.

The man shook his head, "OK, you asked for it. That's a pretty sensitive area."

She dropped her trousers and spread her legs apart on the table. It wasn't the first time he'd had women nude in the tattoo shop for their application. Just never one this young. And never one this unashamed to show it.

While he worked on her, watching her grimace but never yell out despite the agony, "Someday, this is going to be mostly hidden when you get a little older, if you know what I mean."

Meriem shrugged, "That's fine. Only one other person is meant to see this besides me. Only his hands are going to be there when we grow up. Ever."

He replied, admiring her threshold for pain, "OK missy. Your boyfriend will like this no doubt."

"I hope so," she said but thought, "It's my only reminder of him every day."

She gritted her teeth as the tattooist did his thing. The needle went a lot deeper into the flesh of her thigh than she anticipated.

Only Jeanne knew the true meaning of the anchor – two 'J's' joined back-to-back signifying 'Jack and Jeanne' being a couple. She had compromised almost everything of value to her, but one goal remained still clear in her mind. That reunion with Jack. If they couldn't be together for now, then the symbol of their 'promise' to reunite would be with her all the time until that happened. She'd see it every time in the mirror when she bathed or changed, and Karl-Heinz and Margrite would not be the wiser about it if they saw it. In a few more years it would be covered and only she would know it was there, until that first time with him.

Deep in her heart, she knew it would be years, and hoped there would be enough of the old Jeanne left in her for him to still love.

She needed the reminder of the tattoo. The mental connection she had sporadically with Jack seemed to have faded. She was worried that Jack had moved on with life, or that all the countless changes in her life had changed their relationship irrevocably. Or God forbid, something awful happened to him.

It had been a long time since her abduction, but she still hoped for Jack's rescue. She had barely noticed that hoping had mostly replaced praying.

…

Author's Note: Poor Jeanne keeps slipping further into criminal ways with less and less realization that it is happening, but she still has a dream. Any resemblance of Meriem being a female Disney's Peter Pan with the lost boys is strictly intentional… :) And oh ye of little faith - you really didn't think I would kill off an ERB Tarzan canon character like Jacot, now did you?