Gold And Silver

Alexander felt Zoltan lean above him, dark as a brooding autumn storm; his eyes burning into him and the scent of his flesh close enough to taste.
But the sound of clod-hopping footsteps galloping down the corridor snapped Alexander from his light, early-hours snooze. ‘Corporal! Corporal Strauss!’ a youth called even before he drew near.
Alexander slung his feet off the bureau and swung round to see the excited private, ‘Well, Sikorski, why wake the dead at this unearthly hour?’
‘News, Corp!’ Private Sikorski arrived with a slide and a smart salute.

Alexander returned the formality then put his hand out to receive the latest cabled events from the Turkish war. Sikorski handed him two deciphered telegrams, but held a few others back. The excited waves he gave to the first two that he proffered indicated their supposed importance. ‘OK, explain,’ Alexander sighed, rubbing his eyes.
‘It’s amazing!’ Sikorski enthused. ‘Well, one is. The other’s just to say the Greek Army of Thessaly has pushed on from their victory at Sarantoporo,’ Sikorski rushed over to a map of the Balkans on the wall, ‘they’ll probably be on what remains of the Turks at Giannista in three to four days at this rate.’

Alexander rose and stood behind Sikorski. Looking closely at the map over the slim shoulders of the very bright and enthusiastic lad, he cautioned him, ‘So much for von der Glotz saying the hills of Sarantoporo would be the graveyard of the Greek army.’

Sikorski glanced over his shoulder at Alexander and beamed a captivating smile. ‘Well, Corp, give him his due he did give the Turks their big victory in back ‘97.’
Alexander met Sikorski’s glacial blue eyes, and gave him a rewarding nod. Standing close to the young Galician Pole, Alexander breathed in the warm rise of his barber’s pomade. Soft, feminine even, but totally male as it tried yet failed to control the chunk of wayward blond hair plonked on top of his head.
Sikorski looked at Alexander and waited for his corporal to say something. Alexander just coughed lightly and move away from him.
Back at his desk Alexander read the reports. The second one was interesting, important even. ‘When did this come in, Hans?’
Private Sikorski left the map to its puzzled pins, ‘That’s just in, Corp. Date and time at the top right, as always.’
‘There you are then!’ Alexander laughed.
‘Just like you said, Corp.’ Sikorski straightened up as Alexander cast him a glare. ‘Er, Corporal. But it is!’ Hans Sikorski relaxed again and folded over Alexander’s chair as they looked at the astonishing news confirmed over the wires.
‘Aerial warfare had to be the future,’ Alexander said, leaning back just to feel Hans near to him. ‘The Italians showed that reconnaissance from the air is practicable and even useful in last year’s Tripoli campaign.’
‘But to bomb the Turkish headquarters! And like that! Stunning!’
‘And the rest?’ Alexander took the remaining reports from the private’s hand.
‘The Servians and Montenegrins are harassing the Turks in the Sanjak of Novi Passar, but Shkodra is obviously still the main target.’
‘Anything on the Servian advance toward Stip?’
‘Nothing.’ Sikorski pouted. ‘But they do have the Turks cut in two.’
‘Now this is interesting,’ Alexander flicked a roughly drafted message tapped from the Bulgarian wires at Sophia. ‘Do you have the original?’
Sikorski nodded.
‘Fetch it,’ Alexander snapped. ‘Now!’

A loud rap echoed at Sergeant Nemeth’s door. ‘Sergeant?’ Alexander called as he rapped again. ‘It’s Corporal Strauss.’
‘Come!’ Ferenc Nemeth rasped in a drowsy state. ‘Well?’ He asked shielding his eyes from the shaft of light piercing into the murk of his room.
‘Sorry to disturb you, Sergeant,’ Alexander sympathised and closed the door on Ferenc’ bloodshot eyes. ‘There’s news on the wire from Sophia. Given the General Orders to keep the Chief informed immediately of important developments..’
Ferenc reached to his army issue beside lamp and again shaded his eyes, even from its dim light. With a flick of his fingers he motioned Alexander to come forward, but rather than just taking the message he took hold of Alexander’s wrist.
‘You look tired, Ferenc,’ Alexander said trying to release the grip, but finally giving in to the pressure he sat on the unkempt bed.
Lazily Ferenc scanned the note, then he read it again this time his lips moving silently as though to confirm what he was reading. He shot up like a bolt, almost crashing his head against Alexander’s. ‘Bloody hell, Ally,’ Ferenc whispered. ‘This is a political high explosive; Nobel’s dynamite is nothing to this!’
‘Shouldn’t we report it to Sergeant-Major Weissenthal?’

Ferenc shook his head, then lay back on his lumpy pillow and set the note aside. ‘Given him another hour to rest, it’ll keep for sixty minutes.’ He pulled Alexander toward him. ‘I can think of something that won’t wait, though.’
Alexander allowed his face to be drawn close to Ferenc, and to have one of his hands rub the tense bulge in the sergeant’s unbuttoned uniform trousers.
Ferenc shifted slightly so he could run a hand into Alexander’s tunic. Moving closer to him Ferenc forced his hand onto Alexander’s chest, circling around his hard nipples with his fingers. Their faces were close enough to breath into a kiss, but as Ferenc tried to approach his lips Alexander turned away from him slightly.

Ferenc took Alexander’s head in his hands and forced it toward him. ‘Do you miss him that much?’ he asked. Alexander tried to shake his head but Ferenc held is fast.
‘I may never see him again,’ Alexander finally replied, having fought back against Ferenc’ hold and freed himself.
Taking a firm grip on Alexander’s shirt beneath his tunic, Ferenc growled. ‘That’s unlikely,’ he snapped, letting go of Alexander. ‘We shan’t be stuck in this hellhole forever.’ The two exchanged a momentary glance that spoke more of hope than of expectation. ‘We’ll be back in the Imperial Chancellery before the year’s out.’
‘We said that last year, Ferenc,’ Alexander sighed in exasperation.

‘And we did get back, didn’t we!’
‘For how long, eh? For how long?’
Alexander leaned across Ferenc and stared out of his narrow window at the dark Bosnian sky beyond. ‘It’s always darkest before dawn, I guess.’
‘So they say,’ Ferenc gave Alexander’s hand a friendly pat. ‘Forget about yesterday and tomorrow, Ally. Let’s just share this tiny little piece of now.’
Alexander sighed again, but turned from the ink-black gloom above him and looked into Ferenc’ gentle, longing gaze. With a smile he took Ferenc’ hand and rubbed his face into its palm. ‘I can’t do it,’ he moaned.
Ferenc traced the line of his jaw with his index finger. ‘Do you think, one day, you’ll ever really..’ he nearly said love, but shied from so serious a word. ‘That you’ll ever want somebody else?’ Since Alexander said nothing but turned his eyes to the window once more, Ferenc added, ‘I’m not saying it would ever be me.’
‘How the hell should I know!’ Alexander whispered to the night. ‘I don’t know,’ he said as a reply to Ferenc. With a brave effort at a smile he encouraged Ferenc to smile too, ‘You'll find someone, Fanny. A big, strong, butch private.’ He stroked Ferenc’ nose. ‘One of these Bosniac Turks. You know, he’s all priapus, with a whole world that’s narrowed down to getting pleasure for his cock.’
Ferenc laughed. ‘I say Ally, do you think he’ll have a bushy moustache too?’
‘Fanny, dear chap,’ Alexander waggled his head, ‘but of course.’

Ferenc relaxed back on his bed and patted the empty space beside him. With a shrug Alexander undid his boots and kicked them off with a clatter, then he slid down beside Ferenc. ‘Why do you feel you’ll not see Zoltan again?’ Ferenc asked, toying with Alexander’s tunic buttons. ‘I mean he’s just getting married, not a transfer.’
Alexander couldn’t answer, or wouldn’t; he just nuzzled into Ferenc’ cheek.
They slid back into the silence of night for few minutes, dozing in a drowsy sleeplessness, and then suddenly Ferenc rolled over and spoke to Alexander. ‘You know what I think’ he said, not waiting for an answer. ‘I think your great at sex,’ he leaned in and kissed Alexander full on the lips. ‘You’re far too good at it to waste you. Moping around this place, longing for a man who's on the brink of marriage. And who's probably too nervous to think of anything other than his booze up!’
‘You’re daft, Fanny!’ Alexander protested, but didn’t pull his lips from Ferenc’ kiss as once more he eased forward in a mouth-to-mouth embrace.