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Part 16: Rescue
'I'm tired,' Simon-Peter said, looking up at me appealingly.
He was hoping for a rest and I could tell from the way he was squeezing my hand that he was growing more and more exhausted. He was standing with his cheek resting against my arm, propped up against me. The poor boy could barely stand.
'Okay,' I said, at last, 'Let's stop here for the night.'
We were still in Verolino, having made it to the border on the goods train. We were just on the border with Zachyna, neutral territory. But the border was heavily fortified with double rows of razor wire. The rows were several hundred yards apart and between the rows of razor wire, the terrain was littered with minefields. Spider had warned us about the minefields. It would have been suicidal to try and get across. So, we were going to have to figure out another way. We were not entirely out of danger, but for the moment at least the shelling had eased. There was still the distant rumble of heavy artillery, but it was sufficiently far away for it not to be a threat.
Not far from the railway line, we found a bombed-out office building that had once housed multitudes of desks and clerks. Now all the clerks were gone. The desks had been mostly chopped up for firewood, and the steel filing cabinets were now lying on their sides, with their drawers open and all their contents strewn across the waterlogged floor like some kind of oversized confetti.
We clambered up the damp concrete steps and found a room where most of the windows were still intact. I guessed this had once been somebody's office. It was now completely bare, save for the rich, deep carpet that they had obviously not had the opportunity to remove. It was soiled and damp in places, where the rain had got in, but otherwise it was comfortable. And the windows were low enough for us to be able to look down into the shattered street below, and spot anybody who approached.
I found some torn curtains still flapping redundantly on one of the windows, so I pulled them down and rolled them up into a bundle, making a makeshift pillow for Simon-Peter. He settled on the carpet, in one of the corners, and laid down on his side. He curled up in the embryo position. I placed the rolled up bundle under his head and he cutely laid his cheek against it. I took off my jacket and draped it over him. He snuggled under it, preparing to let his exhaustion overtake him.
I stood up, but Simon-Peter called out.
'Don't leave me!'
'I'm not gonna leave you little one,' I said, 'I'm just looking for something else to keep us warm.'
He smiled, nestled under the collar of my jacket, and then lifted one end with his arm, inviting me to join him underneath the impromptu blanket. It was a very affectionate gesture.
I got down on the floor and laid down behind him on my side, spooning him in my arms. I thought I would lie with him till he was asleep. He settled his little butt right against my cock. I could feel his little boy softness even beneath the thick fabric of both our pants. As we laid there together, Simon-Peter piped up again.
'Cloud?'
'Yes, little one?'
'I'm hungwy.'
I remembered the Hershey bar I had in my pocket. The Hershey bar that Spider had given me. I took it out. The chocolate was crushed and had softened a little against my body heat, but it was still edible. I tore open the wrapper and gave it to Simon-Peter. He wriggled and turned towards me, smiling his gratitude, and half pushed-half sucked the sorry looking bar into his mouth, even as he laid there, his little cheeks bulging with the pleasure. He chewed away, swallowing big gulps of the sweet confection, until it was all gone. Then when he had swallowed the last mouthful, he looked at me, apparently struck by a sudden thought.
'Where's yours?' he asked, puzzled.
'I'm not hungry,' I lied.
If he wasn't convinced by that, he certainly didn't show it. He hesitated momentarily, but didn't say anything. It wasn't important for me. The way Simon-Peter had swallowed that chocolate, it looked like he needed it more than I did.
He turned back onto his side so that I was able to spoon him again, and I thought I would wait until he was asleep and then get up and doze by the window. From there, I could watch the deserted street, just in case anybody approached during the night.
We settled into our favorite position, on our side with me spooning him, and pulled my jacket up over us both. His little boy warmth was very alluring, and his little butt pressed into my crotch gave me an irrepressible erection. Little Cloud was so sensitive to such stimulation, especially being pressed so close to another boy's butt. After a few minutes of lying there together silently, it was Simon-Peter who spoke.
'Cloud?'
'Yes little one?'
'Do you want to put your pee-pee in me?' he asked, plainly.
His remark must have been prompted by my hard-on. My initial reaction was to laugh.
'Go on, put your pee-pee in me,' he said again, 'I know you want to.'
He could obviously feel my hard dick pressing into his butt. I pulled him to me even tighter and kissed him behind his little protruding ear, but didn't take his demand too seriously.
'Just go to sleep now,' I said to him.
When he sensed that I was not about to accede to his request, he fumbled for my hands, clasped about his chest, and he slid them both down onto his crotch, placing my palms flat against the little lump he had in there.
'I feel vewy horny,' he sighed.
He let out a trembling little breath, like a little sigh of ecstasy as he felt my hands press on his stiff little rod. It was an unequivocal message. That was what I liked about Simon-Peter, he was good at making his feelings known. I had taught him to always communicate what he was feeling. His little dick was so hard, I knew he was so sexed up that he urgently needed relief.
'I can feel your little pocket rocket,' I said, and gently squeezed the hard little lump in his crotch.
He let out a little high-pitched laugh.
'Hehe, pocket wocket,' he giggled, and with that he thrust his little hips, pressing his irrepressible little rod hard into my palms, seeking stimulation for his little boy boner.
It seemed that his tiredness of a few moments ago had magically dissipated.
'You really are horny, aren't you?'
'Yeh,' he said, and continued thrusting his crotch into my palm.
I pressed the heel of my palm hard into his stiff little rod, squashing it down roughly. He gasped with pleasure. That was extremely erotic. So I did it again, pressing my hands even harder onto his straining little dick. I loved the way he winced when I did it. He held onto my hands as I did so, ensuring that I didn't let go, almost begging me to hurt him. I cruelly mashed my hand into his crotch through his pants.
'Ah!' he squealed.
I pressed and pressed, thoroughly obliterating his little stiffie into his abdomen and he winced again.
'Ooh, you're making me... I think I'm gonna...'
Then suddenly he froze. He opened his mouth and drew his head back hard into my chest as I held him in my arms, and I knew he was cumming. I pressed hard a couple more times, thus ensuring his little orgasm, and he surrendered to a gentle tremor. He seemed to tremble in my embrace for a good few seconds as his irrepressible little dick dry-cummed in his pants. This little boy was so sexed up and his little dick was so sensitive, I had made him cum even through the fabric of his jeans. His tiny little rod had achieved nirvana swaddled in the folds of his clothes. Fuck, it was so erotic.
Simon-Peter laid in my arms for a few seconds, not moving, not speaking. I held him there, my hands resting lightly over his post-orgasmic little jewels, now recovering in his pants. Then he spoke.
'Please put it in my bum now,' he pleaded.
He was so sexed up he wanted my cock in him. I knew that feeling. I knew that feeling well. But I was all too well aware that Simon-Peter was still a virgin.
'I can't put it in you just like that,' I explained, 'You've never had anything up there have you? It'll hurt you. We need to open you up first.'
He wriggled about and turned towards me so, that we were huddled together face to face under my jacket. The faint sweetness of the chocolate was still on his breath.
'Open me,' he said.
I looked right into his cute little elfin face, slightly bemused.
'What?'
'Open me,' he said again.
I hesitated a moment, thinking it over.
'You really want me to?'
'Yeh,' he said, without hesitation, 'I want you to be the first.'
And as he said it, he thrust his little hips against me, pressing his still hard little lump into my tummy, and I could feel how sexed-up he was. His little dickie was hard again. When I looked down at him, pulsating with little boy lust, it amazed me how powerful the sexual urge was in this little boy. Human sexuality is such an irrepressible force. It is so inherent in us that even here, amongst all this devastation and destruction, our lives in transition, our very survival in the balance, this little boy's burgeoning sexuality still found a way to flourish. His wayward little boy lust was tremendously arousing. This tiny little pixie-like boy was so beautiful to me and I wanted to fuck him more than I had wanted to stick my cock into anybody in my entire life. To have him lying there next to me, squirming around with a little erection in his pants, begging me to fuck him was quite a sight to behold.
Still huddled under my jacket, I pulled him towards me so that we were pressed together face to face. I could feel his heat - the flush of sexed-up little boy. His little body was burning with desire. He buried his face in my neck, submitting to me, and I breathed in the heady aroma of his chestnut-colored hair, which smelled of boy - a faintly tangy whiff of little boy pheromone, like warm milk. I loosened the front of his pants and pulled them down to his thighs, so that his little butt was exposed. His little dick sprang up insistently, still sexed-up even though he had just dry-cummed. I put my arms around him again, pulled his now naked little butt closer, so that his crotch was pressed right into me. It was so arousing when his stiff little peg dug hotly into my abdomen. The two squishy globes of his little ass were perfectly small and round, just right for the palms of my hands to clasp and squeeze. I licked my fingers so I could stick them into his little cunt. I slathered my fingers really well and then started feeling into his butt crack for his little star. When I felt its puckered firmness, he winced a little and gasped slightly at the feel of my fingers seeking entry. His little star was burning hot. I pressed and pressed, a little harder each time, until I managed to get one finger in. His little chute yielded, and my finger slipped inside. I was able to get it in about halfway. The lining of his little chute was velvety and smooth and so warm that I knew it was the perfect orifice for my cock. I couldn't believe this little boy, who was still relatively inexperienced in all this sex stuff, was letting me feel him up so intimately, and that it was at his instigation that my fingers were now probing into his most intimate place.
'Okay little one?' I whispered into his face.
He smiled and nodded, his eyes gently closed.
'That feels good,' he whispered back.
What an utterly sexual little boy he was. Other boys his age might have been screaming in protest by now, with both my index fingers now stabbing insistently into his hole, stretching the opening of his little boycunt. But he didn't protest at all. On the contrary, the deeper I probed, the more compliant he became, until I had pressed my fingers so deep inside of him, he was moaning and keening with the sensations I was giving him. His urgent little high-pitched moans were tremendously arousing, rising in intensity in direct proportion to the depth my fingers were stabbing into him. I had to raise myself up in order to shove my hand in further, so that my index finger was buried in him all the way. That was quite deep, considering it was the first time anything had been up this little boy's virgin cunt.
When I had played with his hole and stretched his little cunt as much as I could, I decided there was no more time for preliminaries. The truth is, my little dick was so inordinately horned-up for this little boy that if I didn't stick it into him real soon I was gonna waste a perfectly good fuckwad by squirting in my pants from sheer overexcitement. I needed to feel my stiffness firmly engulfed in his little butt and injecting my meager load deep inside him. There was no more time to waste. I stood him up and stripped his pretty little body completely bare, so that I could enjoy him in all his glory. It was cold in that bare room, with most of the windows blown out, but I didn't care. I had to fuck him. I clinically removed all his clothes, lifting off his little t-shirt and removing his little jeans one leg at a time. I sat on the floor as he stood there naked and I marveled at his boyish prettiness. He was so perfect, with all his curves and contours so nicely proportioned. His little body was so smooth, so tight, so hot with little boy lust, and his little dick was so stiff with desire, it was like he needed this. Even his little cocklet was straining upwards with the need to fuck, his tiny little peg inordinately aroused by the prospect of the utter pleasure that was in the offing. And that little metal amulet strung about his neck, nestling against the silky-smooth skin on his chest - this boy just oozed fuckability. He was so beautiful, so knowing, so precocious, and so utterly exploitable, I needed to bury my boydick right inside him. I wanted to force his tiny star open and stab my hairless dick into it. I wanted to deposit my warm kidspunk deep into his little virgin cunt and soil his pristine little chute with its first baptismal rinse of boysperm.
I could stand it no longer. I hurriedly took my clothes off and freed my trapped erection. Little Cloud was proudly standing rigidly to attention, ready for action, loaded and cocked for firing. Then I laid back down with Simon-Peter, both of us naked. I picked up his bare little frame and lifted him onto me, so that he was astride my lap. He was imperceptibly light. I wanted to be able to see him, to look into his face as I entered him. I positioned him over my crotch, his slender thighs parted over my hips, and I maneuvered the tip of my dick just behind his tight little balls. I placed my cockhead at the rim of his little star, held in place by the natural funnel of his little cunt, poised to invade it.
'I'm gonna fuck you now okay?' I said, in keeping with my teachings to always say what you wanted, to express what you were feeling and explain what you intended to do.
He nodded, patiently putting himself in my hands and closed his eyes, expectantly mustering his reserves, waiting obediently for my assault. I thought that was so erotic. It was a wonderful quality for such a little boy to be so attuned to his sexuality. I really admired that of Simon-Peter.
I held him in my hands by his waist. I took a deep breath and thrust up quickly, at the same time pulling his hips down hard, and my cockhead punched into his yielding little muscle, burying itself deep into his little pelvis. When I forced my dick into him for the first time, he yelped. He tried not to. I could see him biting his lip and holding his breath to stop himself from crying out. I held him there, to make sure he didn't struggle free. But he didn't try to fight it. He sank down onto my little stiffie with minimum effort, so that it glided up into him with frightening lack of resistance. Fuck, my little cock felt so good in his tiny cunt. My stiff little fuckstick burned with pleasure. I was in heaven! His little virgin cunt was so tight, as yet untouched by any kind of fuckgames, still innocently unfamiliar to the pleasures and perversions of boysex. His little sphincter gripped my cock with all the rigidity of a new pair of shoes - it needed to be broken in. It needed to be rudely awakened from its boyhood latency, stripped of its guileless innocence and traumatized into accepting the unwarranted invasion of my boydick. It needed to be worn in and limbered up for the sexual calisthenics that were invariably going to be demanded of this little boy. Simon-Peter was going to be such an accomplished little fuckboy. How I envied the many men that were destined to pump their copious pedo fuckjuice into him, and the many other young boys who would fill his little preteen cunt with their meager little kiddie fuckwads. Mine was just the first. The first of many.
When my dick was fully inside him, he was sat right down on my lap, breathing little shallow breaths. Simon-Peter was very tenacious, very compliant, and I thought very brave. The way his eyes widened as I forced my dick into him told me he had never anticipated what it would feel like to have something so big up there. But he seemed thrilled by it. It was hurting him, but he was deriving a strange pleasurable pain from it, and I was happy that it was me that was driving this pleasure into his little body. His little snatch was so snug that I thought I would never get my boycock into him, yet alone stab it in and out. But when I did start my thrusting, he fell forward onto me, his little arms gripping me, so that we were hugging face to face as we fucked. It was a good sign, almost as though he was embracing the act of fucking as much as he was embracing me. I was firm, but gentle; single-minded, but patient, using all my knowledge and expertise to make this as smooth and painless as possible. He was a brave little chap, so utterly committed to this quest. I was in awe of this tiny boy, who was prepared to suffer this excruciating ordeal for me and for his own sense of achievement. He wanted to be fucked. He really did want to be rooted hard up his little cunt, and the thought that this boy was so driven by his libido that he was prepared to suffer for it, was inordinately arousing.
I moved him up and down slowly on my lap, maneuvering his little body in my grip, as though pumping my dick with an oversized fleshlight - a live fleshlight - and he gasped on each downstroke, as though my thrusting into him was forcing synchronized little breaths out of his mouth. My cock was gripped so tightly inside his little chute, my foreskin was stretched and stinging. But the sensation of tightness just added to the pleasure. With my boydick buried so deep up his little cunt, gripped so firmly by his recalcitrant little sphincter, the rising excitement in me was tangible. It was one of those fucks that was so acutely arousing, and so stimulating to my little cock, I knew it was going to be profound and explosive. My cock actually entered a state of semi-orgasm, where I knew that my cum had already started and was teetering on the brink for a long few seconds before boiling over into a full blown cum. Then I knew I couldn't hold back any longer.
'I'm gonna cum inside you now,' I announced breathlessly, trying to get the words out before my orgasm took hold.
Simon-Peter nodded with confidence and without hesitation, not at all fazed. I could see him fully attentive and fully compliant. What a dirty, filthy little spunkboy he was. I was gonna pay him the ultimate compliment by shooting my kidspunk right inside him, deep into his hot little boysnatch.
I had waited so long for this. Fuck, I wanted to shoot my spunk into him so bad. I had long anticipated this beautiful moment. I exhaled sharply. My orgasm knocked all the breath out of me as it took hold. Little Cloud almost exploded, violently bursting my watery fuckwad deep inside his abdomen, staining the walls of his little chute, finally christening his little snatch with its first de-virginal soiling of boyspunk. My cum rippled through me with each violent pulse of my dick as it injected my essence deep inside him, making my whole body quake with unbridled pleasure. It was the most delicious orgasm. My little dick tightened up so good inside him, it was almost transcendental. His big round eyes widened as he felt the warmth of my watery kiddiecum permeating his boycunt, and the sheer joy was evident in his grin. He had never felt such delightful sensations up his little chute before.
I stabbed violently into him a couple more times, trying to wring the last few jolts of pleasure out of my orgasm as it tailed off. Unable to pump anymore into him, my cock stopped pulsing and I reluctantly pulled out, laying Simon-Peter gently back on the floor. He was limp. He seemed spent and exhausted. He rolled over onto his side and curled up into the embryo position. I surveyed his beautiful, naked little body for a few moments, admiring his soft baby-like curves, pleased with my work. It was so gratifying to look on the little boy I had just deflowered. I admired the little body I had just fucked my boyseed into, and there was something infinitely satisfying at seeing him there, so used up, so utterly fucked, and leaking watery boysperm from his punished little star. Actually, there was a slightly pink hue to it. Simon-Peter was bleeding. Not profusely, but there was enough pink slime on my cum-stained cock to know that his chute had taken a battering. The remnants of my thin kidspunk was mixing with his blood, turning the residue a bright pink, and it gave me a cruel little stab of satisfaction that I had now de-virginized this boy. He had felt the first painful intrusion of erect boycock up his little cunt - the initial ordeal now over, his pain for the moment assuaged, and I curled up next to him content in the knowledge that his initiation was complete. His little cherry had been busted. His tiny butt had been opened and he was now fair game for all the impetuous little boydicks and mancocks that were destined to enjoy it from hereon in. His tempting little chute was going to pleasure those appendages with such relish and aplomb. Fuck, it was a great feeling.
'Cloud?'
Simon-Peter spoke without looking at me. He was still laid on his side, staring into the makeshift pillow, looking withdrawn but obviously still very much alert.
'Yes little one?'
'Does this mean we're bwothers now?'
I smiled, and he looked around just as I beamed down at him affectionately. It was an odd question. I didn't quite understand his little boy logic, but I rather liked it. I leaned over and kissed him gently on his flushed cheek.
'Yes,' I said, 'I guess it does.'
* * * * * *
We were rudely awoken by the sound of people coming up the stairs and voices echoing up the stairwell. I sat up with a start. Damn! I had fallen asleep and didn't hear them approach. I realized it was morning. The wall of darkness that was visible through the windows when we had gone to sleep had now given way to bright sunlight. I was momentarily dazzled. By the time I came to my senses, there was someone already in the room, standing on the threshold looking down at us. It was a soldier, with camouflage battledress, full body armor and night vision attached to his helmet.
'Look here Jens, two strays,' he called out to his colleague.
Another soldier, a sergeant, stepped into the open doorway just as I looked up, and they both stood there expectantly looking down at us.
'Good work Emil,' said the sergeant, apparently pleased to have stumbled across us.
They were not hostile. In fact they seemed very unthreatening. They had assault rifles, but the barrels were pointed at the floor. Their weapons were Colt Carbines, but I couldn't work out what nationality they were.
'Come on you two,' the sergeant said, 'you're coming with us.'
By now, Simon-Peter was also awake, and he looked at me, alarmed. We remembered, almost simultaneously, that we were both naked. We had fallen asleep like that, curled up together, keeping warm from each other's body heat. His instinctive reaction was to sit up and embrace me, I guessed partly to cover his nakedness and partly to comfort himself against this rude intrusion. His little body was still warm from where he had been huddled with me under my jacket.
'Here, get dressed,' the sergeant said, kicking our little stack of clothes across the floor towards us.
I hesitated, still rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. Simon-Peter was reluctant to let me go. He wasn't an exhibitionist like me, and wasn't used to flaunting his nakedness. He was still very bashful and reserved, not being the seasoned fuckboy that I was, whereas I had no difficulty showing my shit to anybody who was interested.
'Don't be shy,' said the other soldier, 'we're Danish.'
The sergeant laughed. I didn't quite understand why that remark was funny. I assumed it was because the Danes were perhaps renowned for their lax attitude to nudity. I didn't really know. I'd never been fucked by a Dane.
'Where are you taking us?' I asked, still sat up on the floor holding onto Simon-Peter.
'To the refugee station at Kolina,' the sergeant explained, 'we're under orders to round up any civilians.'
'Whose orders?' I demanded.
The soldiers both turned to each other and laughed. I was confused because I wasn't aware that I had said anything amusing.
'Never mind whose orders,' said the sergeant, dismissing my question, 'Get your things and come with us. You can't stay here. It's too dangerous.'
'Why should we?' I questioned.
They both laughed some more. Everything I said seemed to amuse them, though it was a friendly if condescending laugh. They didn't seem to take my reservations seriously.
'What's so funny?' I asked, offended.
'You,' said the sergeant, 'you're funny.'
'Yeah, like you have a lot of choice,' said the other, heavy with irony.
'How do I know I can trust you?' I asked, suspiciously.
'We're with NATO,' said the sergeant, by way of explanation.
'Coalition forces?'
'Yes,' said the sergeant, 'we're part of VFOR, Verolino Protection Force.'
'Not UNVERO?'
They both exchanged glances and laughed mockingly, like I'd just said something ridiculous.
'UNVERO was a joke,' said the sergeant, 'We're here to sort out their mess.'
'Yeah,' said the other, 'Come on, you'll be safe at the refugee station.'
'But I don't want to go to the wefugee station,' Simon-Peter protested, and he held onto me even tighter, as though expecting me to save him.
'It's okay little one,' I reassured him, kissing his cheek, 'they're gonna look after us. Don't be afraid.'
He seemed reassured by that. The soldiers didn't question my spontaneous kiss. Perhaps they assumed we really were brothers.
I managed to prize Simon-Peter off me, then I helped him up and dressed him, holding out his underwear for him to step into and pulling his t-shirt back on over his head and his diminutive little shoulders. The two soldiers stood and waited. When Simon-Peter was dressed, and I had tucked his t-shirt into the waist of his pants, I started getting dressed myself.
As I dressed, pulling on my boxer briefs and hitching up my pants, the two Danish soldiers were watching me silently. I just caught a glimpse, out of the corner of my eye, of their admiring looks and the way they briefly glanced at each other with a hint of approval. They even smiled at each other like they were really enjoying looking at me. That gave me a little stab of delight. I liked it when guys admired my body, even when they were doing it furtively. Tell the truth, they were quite good looking themselves. They were young, no older than 21 maybe, and both of them were blonds. Their heads were well hidden by their helmets, but they had blond eyebrows which gave them away. One of them, the sergeant, was slightly shorter than the other, and quite bull-chested. He had very toned and muscular shoulders and upper arms. It was clear he worked out. The other was altogether taller and slimmer, with incredibly long legs. They were both very handsome, obviously fit and virile, and I found myself wondering if they had big cocks. I was starting to miss playing around with a proper adult cock. Fucking about with other boys was great, but there was really no substitute for a good hard rooting by a thick adult dick. My little snatch craved a good pummeling from a big mansize fuckstick and I wondered if these handsome soldiers were the ones to do it. How I would have loved their blond dicks in me, filling my boycunt with their steaming hot Danish jizz. Fuck, I wanted them to stick their cocks in me real bad.
When I was dressed, they picked up our backpacks and Simon-Peter grabbed Howard the bear. Then they escorted us out of the derelict office block that had been our home for the night. On the way down the stairs, Emil, the other soldier, took Simon-Peter's hand, which I thought was incredibly caring and thoughtful. The sergeant, Jens, gently put his hand on my shoulder, protectively guiding me down the steps. As he did so, he glanced down and smiled at me affectionately. I knew straight away that he liked me. It was a warm and benevolent smile, and his touch was very caring and paternal. I decided I liked this young soldier and was instantly drawn to him.
Down in the pockmarked road was a waiting vehicle. It was an olive green VFOR Land Rover and there was a third soldier sitting in the driving seat, with the engine running. Jens held the rear door open and Simon-Peter and I climbed into the high vehicle. Within minutes we were sitting in the back seat of the Land Rover being chauffeured through the rubble-strewn streets of Verolino.
Jens sat in the front passenger seat and Emil got into the back, with Simon-Peter between us. I put an arm around Simon-Peter, partly to steady ourselves as the vehicle jiggled about on the uneven road, and partly to comfort us against the devastation that we observed as we rode in the Land Rover. I looked out of the window and saw the sheer scale of the destruction, now revealed to its full extent by the daylight. There were streets and streets of nothing but rubble. Where the buildings had not completely collapsed, their burned-out shells still stood with no windows. Shops were bare. Houses were abandoned. A few stray dogs roamed the streets, but otherwise they were deserted. The road was littered with shell craters, so that we had to weave and meander around them. The sheer scale of the destruction was so great, it was almost impossible to envisage how all this might someday be rebuilt.
Presently, we reached a very imposing building that seemed to be set well back from the road, and was surrounded by a large expanse of lawn and hidden by trees. It had obviously been a well-to-do home at some point, and was strangely untouched by the shelling. Its separation from the surrounding buildings had spared it. It was a sprawling mansion with lots of high windows. At the front there was a long, sweeping drive that led up to a grand entrance. There was a portico supported by two ornate pillars, from which a flag with the VFOR insignia was flying. Parked on the drive were other olive green vehicles, APCs, Humvees and Land Rovers, all with VFOR in big white letters on the sides. All had little Danish flags on them. There were troops in battle dress crisscrossing the lawn in groups of twos and threes.
The Land Rover came to a halt on the gravel drive by the entrance, and the soldiers helped us out of the car, gripping our arms firmly as we climbed out. I noticed the way my feet crunched on the gravel as I hopped down. I looked up at the impressive building.
'Is this the refugee station?' I asked.
Jens laughed. He laughed at everything I said.
'No, this is Sector HQ,' he explained.
Sure enough, there was a wooden sign erected just on the side of the entrance, VFOR MULTINATIONAL FORCE - SECTOR HEADQUARTERS.
The soldiers escorted us inside through two high wooden doors that were propped open. Inside there was a rather elegant lobby with a polished marble floor. It had a very high ceiling with an enormous crystal chandelier hanging from it and a grand staircase that wound its way to the upper floors. I guessed this must have been home to some very important people. To one side there was an enormous desk with computers and telephones on it, with lots of untidy cables trailing all over the floor. It looked very out of place in the grandeur of the lobby. Behind the desk, a very young soldier with spectacles was sitting with his tunic hanging open. It was oppressively hot in there, I noticed.
Jens and Emil took us over to the desk.
'Two more for you,' said Jens.
The young bespectacled soldier took a cursory look at us and then switched back to staring at the computer screen.
'Okay, take a seat,' he said, 'I'll deal with you in a minute.'
He seemed more interested in finishing what he was doing and was in no hurry to deal with us.
Simon-Peter and I sat down on a row of wooden chairs that were by the wall.
'Wait here,' said Jens, 'you need to be processed.'
At this point Jens and Emil left us. The bespectacled soldier at the desk largely ignored us, for the moment absorbed by some other more important task. We sat there nervously observing the comings and goings in the echoey marble lobby, with various troops tramping in and out, carrying Colt Carbines or grenade launchers or some other piece of military paraphernalia. Tell the truth, it was a little disorienting and alienating.
When he was ready, the bespectacled soldier finally turned to us and asked us a whole battery of questions. He asked for our names and all sorts of other information, all of which he typed into the computer. I told him what little I could. For myself there was not much to tell. I had nothing to confirm my identity. I remembered nothing much from before the war, except that I had a pretty abusive childhood. I ran away from a violent and dysfunctional home because my parents didn't want me. But I had no idea who they were or where they would be now. I had a few vague recollections, but since my head injury I seemed to have forgotten more than I retained. Simon-Peter, on the other hand, was able to remember everything. He gave a lot more information, including his surname, his parents names, his birthday and even his address in London. Tell the truth, he made me very envious. I thought how nice it must be to know when your birthday is.
When Jens and Emil came back to collect us, the bespectacled soldier called them over and they murmured confidentially amongst themselves for a few minutes. They gathered around and pored over the computer screen, either suspicious or perhaps doubtful as to our identities. I could see the seated soldier glancing over at us as they talked, his spectacles glinting from the reflection of the computer screen. They exchanged a few words. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but clearly their exchange was about us. Even Jens turned and glanced over at us one more time as they talked.
When they had finished, Jens came over.
'Come with me,' he said, beckoning me over.
I stood up. Simon-Peter got up at the same time.
'Not you,' Jens said to him.
Simon-Peter panicked and threw himself onto me, afraid the he was going to be left behind.
'It's okay little one,' I reassured him, 'I'm just gonna talk to the sergeant. I'll be back.'
'You pwomise?'
'I promise.'
He was loath to let me go, but he grudgingly released his little fingers from around my waist, and allowed Emil to guide him away.
Jens led me away across the lobby and into a side room. It was cool and calm and quiet in there, away from the general noise and commotion of the lobby. It was also fairly bare except for one small table and four chairs. I sat in the chair that was facing the door. Jens sat on the left hand side. When we were sat down, another guy entered. He was not in battledress. He was a civilian worker and was wearing a light blue sweatshirt with a big UNHCR logo emblazoned on it in white.
'This man is from the refugee station at Kolina,' Jens explained, 'he just wants to ask you a few questions.'
'Okay,' I nodded, having no reason to be apprehensive.
I trusted Jens. This blond Danish sergeant had already formed a secret little rapport with me, and I found his presence reassuring, so I had no qualms when the UNHCR guy sat down opposite me.
The UNHCR guy was a lot older, maybe in his late 30s or early 40s. He had rather thick black hair that was combed neatly to one side. He took out a rather slick looking ballpoint pen and a pad, which he folded back to expose a fresh page. Then he leaned over the table towards me, his pen poised to take notes.
'Who is that little boy you were brought in with?' he asked me.
'Simon-Peter,' I replied, mystified as to why he would want to know that.
'How did you come to know him?'
I thought to answer 'I'm giving him fuck lessons', but I resisted the temptation. I didn't think they would appreciate that.
'He's my brother,' I replied, thinking that a far more fitting response.
They looked at each other, perhaps in recognition that this wasn't going to be as straightforward as they expected.
'C'mon, he's not really your brother, is he?'
'What would YOU know?' I retorted.
The UNHCR guy took a deep breath.
'It's very important that you tell us everything you know,' he explained, 'there may be people looking for him.'
'Okay,' I said, relenting, 'I met him at the hotel where I worked. He was staying there with his dad.'
'He's the son of a British Army officer, isn't he?' the UNHCR guy asked.
I bit my lip. I couldn't lie. I didn't think I could make it stick, so I nodded.
'Yeh,' I confessed, 'His father was a Major General.'
The UNHCR guy nodded in agreement.
'Thought so.'
I neglected to tell them that his father was also an expert boyfucker. I omitted the bit about enjoying the inordinate pleasure of having my little ass rooted long and hard by his father's big adult dick.
I looked up at him sheepishly.
'Am I in trouble?' I asked.
He looked confused.
'Trouble? Nooo,' he replied, reassuring me, 'You're a hero.'
'A hero?'
'Yes. You saved that little boy's life. We all thought he was dead. Have you any idea what his mother has been going through?'
I told them the story of how we had tried to get on that transporter. I confessed everything about our trek across Verolino to the airfield. I told them how we had greased the palms of the UNVERO soldiers to let us in, and even the bit about how we very narrowly failed to get on that aircraft. They looked at each other, exchanging a concerned look, and it was easy to see that the same thought had occurred to them both simultaneously.
'Lucky for you that you never made it onto that transporter,' said Jens.
That seemed an odd statement. How could it be lucky?
'Why not?' I asked.
'That flight never made it,' he replied.
I looked at him querulously, not sure if I had heard him right, or necessarily believed it.
'What do you mean?'
'It came under fire shortly after take off,' Jens explained, 'the last RAF flight out of Verolino was shot down.'
'Oh,' I said, not quite able to envisage it, 'Did anyone...'
'No,' he interjected, already anticipating my question, 'There were no survivors. Everyone on that transporter died.'
* * * * * *