The Littlest Resistance Fighter

I walked up to where a young boy was sitting by the campfire, eating a heated C-ration like the damned thing was worth eating. His hair was black, his face held the sunken cheekbones of so many children you saw in the European Theatre of Operations and he wore the battered remnants of what had once probably been a rather spiffy looking school uniform. War can break your heart that way. Sure he loved the flavor of the C-rations, he had probably been eating worse things, and fewer of them, for a long time.

"Hey, Sarge." Jacobs called to me. "You got anything for our little friend?"

I smiled and dug into my pocket, I had stuck a candy bar there and gave it to the kid. "Thank you." he said to me in quite good English.

"What are we doing today?" Jacobs wanted to know.

"Going to try to chase the Germans out of Ste. Marie, that's a small village up ahead a couple of miles." I said. We were quickly approaching the German border, and had some hopes of ending this war by Christmas. Of course, less than a month later, we'd be wrapped up in the Battle of the Bulge and that hope would disappear, but that was later. Gasoline was a problem, and lack of it had slowed our approach to the Ardenne Forest down to a crawl, at this rate, we could walk across the River Meuse when we got to it, for it'd be frozen over. The gasoline we were getting were going north and south of our part of the First Army, where General Eisenhower figured we would be breaking through the German lines. Shows how much he knew!

"So who you going to send on recon?" Jacobs wanted to know.

"Did I hear you volunteer?" I grinned at Jacobs.

"Me? Damn!" Jacobs grunted. "I gotta learn to keep my big yap shut."

"We got to know what Ste. Marie looks like." I pointed out. "Where the Germans are, how many of them, and so on."

"I know that." came a small voice. I blinked, looked at the kid.

"You know what?"

"I know where the Germans are in Ste. Marie." the kid said.

"Really?" I said, cocking an eyebrow. This kid was maybe six or seven years old. "And how many of them are there, and what are their armaments, then?"

"They have twenty-seven effectives and two officers. Their men are armed with MP44 submachine guns, and they also have four MG42 machine guns placed in two nests on either end of the road through Ste. Marie, also...." and I stood dumbfounded while this kid (this KID!) sat and rattled off everything we needed to know about the Gemans in Ste. Marie!

"Is this the straight dope, kid?" I asked when he was done. "I mean, how do you know all this?"

"I heard Marcel, my older brother, talking about it to his friends." the kid said. "They were part of the French Resistance. And the rest, I saw myself just yesterday."

"I'd like to meet your brother." I said, and I meant it. We had failed to meet up with any Resistance members, which was somewhat surprising after so many weeks of their almost unfailing help in ridding their country of the Germans.

The kid's face clouded. "The Boches came for him." he said. "Just like they came for my mother and father last summer. I hid until they were gone, or they would have taken me, too. Then I ran away. I knew you Americans were close by, so I came to you."

"Damn." I said feelingly. "Sorry to hear that, kid. Well, you stick close to us, and we'll take you back home again. What's your name?"

"Henri." the kid said. He pronounced it "On-Ree."

"Hey, so am I. Henry, that is. Henry Belkins. But they all call me Hank."

"All right...Hank." the kid smiled. Then the smile faded. "But my home is gone. The Germans burned it when they took Marcel away."

"Well, stick with us and we'll find you a place." I promised. I went off to find Capt. Mavis and discuss the approach we'd use.

Those machine gun nests were a problem! Ste. Marie sits atop a rather steep hill, and the road was the only real way to get to it. With the machine gun nests in place, we would have to face a rather long exposed approach with no ground cover. Those machine guns would cut our troops to fucking pieces! Capt. Mavis began to plan the attack that way, but I had a better idea.

I went back and found the kid again. "Henri, you grew up in Ste. Marie, yes?"

"Yes." the kid agreed.

"Is there any way we can get into the town other than going right up that road?" I asked him.

Henri considered. "Well, there is the path down to the pastures, but it is not easy."

I smiled and said, "Henri, you are going to show us that path."

And so the battle for Ste. Marie went well, thanks to our little member of the Resistance helping us. With a feint up the road (that cost us some good men, though not as many as if we had meant it), while the main force snaked up the rather treacherous side path that went up a precipitously steep incline (practically a cliff!) to the village, we managed to clear the town by the end of that same day.

Not that much was left of it. I began to see why Henri had left the town, it wasn't just his home burnt out, it was the entire freaking village! The Germans had fortified the remnants, mostly tumbled walls of stone. But a lot of it was charred and blackened remnants of French peasant homes. From the way Henri acted as he stood among the wreckage, he had known of all this beforehand. He had waited at my behest at the edge of the cliff until the fighting was done, but he joined me and led me to the wreck that was once his home.

"You see why I cannot go home again." he said. Still not a tear.

"Well, don't worry too much, kid." I said. "We'll take care of you until we can get you to some relative of yours."

"I'll stay here." he decided for himself. "This is my home. The Boches did not kill everyone in the village. They will come back."

"Maybe." I said. The sun was setting, a wind blew a tree branch into the sun's path and plunged us into sudden shadow. "But we'd better make camp for tonight."

We used some of the German's tents, not like they'd need them anymore. A campfire kept things warm enough, though I could tell it was going to be a hell of a cold winter already. C-rations came in three varieties, dull, duller and dullest, but it filled the belly and warmed you some as well.

"We got your campsite set up, Sarge." came Pvt. Haskins' voice.

"Uh?" I was surprised by this, while a sergeant got first pick of camping sites, I hadn't bothered with it much. Who needs to worry overmuch about where to lay a bedroll? All the ground was level enough.

"Our newest member picked it out for you special." Pvt. Haskins' grinned.

Henri came up behind him. "Come, Sergeant Hank." he said, pulling my hand. "We go to my home now."

He led me to a house that had been destroyed quite some time ago. Only a few low stone walls remained of it. Over to a particular small square of stones. "Here." He said to me. "This was my room. You sleep here tonight."

Well, they had built me a fire and the ground was level enough. I rolled out my bedroll and shuffled my pack down to make it a pillow for me. You learned how to separate the stuff packed inside so that the soft things like clothes were all at one end, that let you rest your head on that portion.

I shucked my helmet and boots, but that was all. Hell, the Germans could counter-attack during the night, you know. I was just settling down when I felt the edge of my blanket lift. I looked up, and Henri was crawling into my bedroll with me.

"You don't have a bedroll or place to sleep?" I asked him. "I could get you one."

Henri smiled. "We have a sleep-together." he said. "This is my bedroom."

"A sleepover, you mean." I yawned. "Okay, kid, snuggle on in. This is your bedroom." I had slept with my men on cold nights, snuggling together to keep warm. And I had grown up in a large family, where more than one kid in a bed was normal. Henri nestled under one of my arms, and I let him make a pillow of my bicep. Hell, if anyone deserved a bit of tenderness from Old Sarge Belkins, it was this kid. He had saved any number of human lives.

"Thank you." he said to me when he was settled in. "You have returned my village to me. You have freed us from the Boches."

"Hey, you're the one who did it." I said to him. "Without your help, we would have had a hell of a time taking this place." I shuddered when I looked back on it. Without knowing about the smaller path we had used, our casualty lists would have looked like a bad joke. Those twenty-seven Germans could have killed over a hundred Americans. As it was, we had lost only four men, plus a dozen more wounded to various, non-lethal amounts. Not bad at all for a village situated like a fortress! "Thank you, Henri, for being brave enough to help us."

I gave the lad a hug. That was all I meant by it. My arm under his head, I settled for squeezing his shoulder, and my other over onto his stomach briefly.

But when I relaxed the hug, Henri's hand came up and caught hold of mine, and guided it downwards. I gasped when I realized that,while he had kept on his jacket and shirt, he had stripped everything off below the waist. I hit his little pud and gasped, jerked my hand away. "Sorry." I said, like it was my fault.

And Henri's hand came over and onto my stomach, went down. He was balked by my pants, but it didn't stop him from cupping my crotch in his palm. Didn't keep him from grasping at my dong, once he had figured out how it lay inside my clothing.

"Now, Henri." I said gently. "What are you doing here?"

"The things that friends do in their bed at night." Henri said. "The thing that friends do when they are grateful to their friend. It is a little thing, is it not? It makes both of us happy. It is also something I want to do with you."

"Oh." I said, not very intelligently. Meanwhile, Henri's fingers were working on the buttons of my fly. At the rate he was going, if I planned to stop him, I had better speak up pretty quickly.

Instead, I lay as I was, and Henri's fingers finished and slid into my fly like small snakes seeking warmth, and they coiled about my prong and they brought it to life! Henri soon had me standing at full attention (and I was lying down!) and he kissed my cheek, not flinching at the harsh stubble that lined my cheek (I hadn't shaved in about four days). "To the victor belongs the spoils of battle, do they not?" He murmured in my ear. "So I belong to you."

Damn, but that DID make me hard! I could only control myself by venting a groan as Henri's hand plied upon my dong. But that wasn't a patch on the moan that escaped my lips when I felt Henri's body shift and he moved under the covers, and I knew his lips were heading toward my manhood!

"Oh, God, oh, God damn!" I said prayerfully as Henri's smooth velvet lips enclosed upon my prong. "Kid, you don't owe me...nothing...oh, God!" My protestations died in my throat as the warmth and wetness of his mouth enveloped me. He managed a startlingly deep plunge down upon me, and held it there, then pulled up with a milking, sucking motion that hadn't been matched by anyone I'd been to bed with so far, female or male (about a dozen of the former, and three of the latter), Henri was young but he was a master of his art.

I fumbled and found his young dong again, this time I clenched it and Henri murmured approval about my cock, and I pulled at it gently (the best I could manage in his bent-over position) while he nursed me more ardently. I couldn't imagine a night like this, the calm after a battle when everything is quiet, the soldiers tired and willing to sleep, the fire keeping us warm despite the bitter night, the stone walls forming a cup to keep the winds off, the warmth of the covers added to by the warm, small body cuddled around and on top of mine, chest resting on my ribs and stomach, the head enclosing my cock, bathing it in moisture. I could have lain like this for a long time, not wishing to move, or to think, or to plan or to dream, to merely lie here, my world dissolved into the pleasure of this grateful young French boy.

An audible pop signified Henri's release of my cockhead, and I was surprised only a moment, for his body shifted up, his face came up to mine and his legs let in a good deal of the colder outside air as he got straddle of my stomach, and I kissed that face, all smeared with his spit and tasting of my rather funky cock (my last bath had been four days ago, too), and Henri's tender lips were savory to a jaded, dispirited soldier like myself; I had decided some time ago I'd never live to make it back to America, my only question was where and how I'd die, not if. But that night, as Henri's body lay atop mine and as he scooted downwards and his hand caught and guided my cock to his slender anus. I felt his thin buttocks like cupped hands on either side, and then a fumble as he missed, then found the indentation between that was his entrance to his bowels, and I looked into his young face softened and sensualized by his joy as he pressed my hard tool deeper into his soft insides.

"Now." he said to me with a sigh. "Now we shall wash the last of the Boches away, you and I, and I shall feel truly free once again." And he began to move upon me. How could I deny this lad anything at this point, he said I owned him, but he was my master now, I could not have denied him anything so long as he kept himself impaled upon me. I would have loved to strap him to my body, enclose him within my uniform, and walk about like that if I could have. As it was, I let the covers over us be that for us, within these covers, he and I were combined, I cupped his buttocks with my hands and aided him in moving up and down as I could, his own hands grasped my breasts and he clenched them open-handed to squeeze them lightly with his spread-out fingertips. "My American." Henri gasped. "My strong American. Cleanse me with your fluids, wash me with your sighs, let me feel free once more! Ah, ah, ah!" And Henri gave me his boyish climax, and I felt a small amount of fluid gush from his dong. Henri was older than I'd thought, his small size had made me think him younger than he was. This still made him a most remarkable boy, intelligent and sensible in excess of his years, but not the bewildering degree I had thought of him before. He didn't come like a man did, but he had some seminal fluid in him that adorned my stomach. Like a gift he gave to me.

Looking at his face in the firelight, his mouth open, eyes closed, the epitome of youthful passion, I felt my own climax claw its way up my body from my cock, and it sprawled over my brain and clutched it like Henri's hands clutched my breasts.

"Oh, God, kid, I'm coming, I'm coming!" I gasped out. "Ah-hunn-kuh-hunn-kuh-HUKUHHHHKKKK!" I blasted up into Henri's body and he stiffened like he was stricken by lightning or shot by a bullet, he let out a howl even though his own orgasm had concluded, and he howled along with me as I drenched him with spunk, and it dribbled out over my balls and soaked my shorts and pants, and made a mess of the both of us.

When I was done, he was done as well and he fell over on top of me. His lips hungrily sought mine, and his kiss was everything a man would expect from a loving wife.

"Now I am clean again." Henri sighed. "Now I can build again."

"You can come with us, kid." I said to him. Pleading with him, in a way. Come with me!

Henri responded with a kiss. Well, that was better than an answer, no. The soldier comes, he does his duty, he takes his reward, he goes on. I'd seen that time and again as we had moved across France. We were liberators, we were welcomed. Hurrah, good man, now go on and do it for the rest of France!

That was good enough, as I said. I went to sleep with Henri still balanced on my stomach, but the next morning, he was not around. I got up, cleaned myself some, and went to gather my troops.

But Henri was there to see us as we left. He stood, along with several of the villagers who had arrived as quick as word had gotten to them of the American advance and they had seen us retake their village. Now the German tents held French families. A ruined village...but I could see it would live once again.

We went on down the hill toward the Meuse, toward the Ardenne. We were moving against the Hun. We'd be in Berlin by Christmas. Wish we had more gasoline to do it with, though, hard to fight a proper battle with our supply lines as erratic as they were.

I thought fondly of Henri, how wonderfully adept he had been in my bed, how lithe and experienced. It was only that afternoon that I began to wonder about how Henri had really gotten to know what he knew about the Germans. How he had kept alive in an occupied town. Had he graced German beds all those months between his brother's death and his appearance at our fires? Had he teased the Germans for details of what they were doing, made his loving an excuse to spy upon them, and then to deliver it to us?

Well, if so, he wasn't the first to do it for his country. Like so many resistance fighters had before him, he had done what he could, had won his home back again, and could rebuild his life there as a free man.

That would have to do.

THE END
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