Fighting For Love

I - For The Country!

Hey, y'all!

This is a story written some time ago, about two German guys that meet during WWII.

Contains boy on boy action, so if that's not what you're into, I kindly suggest you to leave.

I love History, but I tried my best to make this not so boring, there'll be a few jokes and other things that you may not get, but try to focus on the story, I promise it's worth it 💜.

Without further to say, I'll stop boring you with this long ass intro, enjoy the story, see you down there 😘

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Chapter I: For The Country!

October the 3rd, 1939 - 20:00

Frankfurt, Germany.

I am Braun Schröeder and I live with my mother, Adalgisa, in a small country house in a rural area just outside Frankfurt. We have been living here since my father, Jörg, died of the plague when I was just 7 years old. A tragedy, really, my father, always compassionate, wanted to bury a dead squirrel he found at a park in Berlin and ended up catching the plague while he was at it. The disease also struck me, but I, as you may have guessed by now, have survived.

I don't remember much about my father, despite me being old enough to do, except that he had freckles, eyes that were either green or blue - as I said, I don't remember much - and blond hair. However, I do remember he worked as a treasurer for the previous government, Marshal Hindenburg's and that's why we lived in Berlin.

Now the piles of documents on the table have turned into milk bottles and eggs; my mother works as a baker, as she liked the thought of having some autonomy in her earnings, apart from the pension she received as a widow. Under the company motto "Selling cakes and pastries for Frankfurt's high society since 1929", she dreams of one day opening a proper bakery downtown, but so far, a dream is all it is.

At least something good came out of that year.

A decade later and my mother and I are sitting at the kitchen table enjoying dinner. Roast duck with sautée potatoes and white wine. My favourite dish.

"The duck is divine, mom," I said.

The compliment made her smile. She sipped from the glass

"Well, it's your birthday, the least I could do is your favourite dish." Oh, yes, forgot to mention, I am turning eighteen today.

It is great being an adult, I guess.

"By the way," She added, taking another sip "I've received a letter from your uncle yesterday in which he said he was coming. But, as always, he did not mention the time, so I wouldn't be surprised if he walked in at 11:59."

My uncle, Hans, is an admiral from the Kriegsmarine, which meant he lived in Hamburg, Germany's biggest harbour.

He used to visit us on Christmas, usually staying until New Year's Day and, when he could, would also visit us on our birthdays, but, with the arrival of the war, I was not expecting him to come anytime soon.

"I would not blame him for not showing up at all," I said, now taking a sip of my own wine.

I felt the burning sensation of the drink running down my throat. Not the best one out there, but it was potable.

"Oh, but I am. He hasn't come here since New Year's and that was ten months ago! He didn't even bother to come on my birthday on June 24th!" She exclaimed, angrily, taking a final sip of her glass, without showing any signs of resistance. Not even a small cough.