SAM's WAR-III by Van ©2017
		BONDAGE FAN FICTION SET IN THE WW-II ENGLAND OF FOYLE'S WAR
		Chapter 2

The Wolseley left Whatlington with Sam's passengers in the back seat.  Neither had brought any luggage.

This was not a typical driving task.  Sam was no stranger to the occasional long, winding journey down the tree and hedge-lined single-lane roads from village to village, and as often as not, crime scenes requiring DSC Foyle's presence were at remote rural locations.  She was even used to getting lost and having to retrace her path, and when such an unfortunate circumstance occurred, Sam was eternally grateful to have such a patient and understanding boss.  What she was not used to, however, was driving for someone who refused to provide an actual destination.

Peggy would name a village or town, Sam would drive there, and only then Peggy would name another village or town.  They were crisscrossing the countryside.  It didn't make any sense.

Finally, Sam decided she'd had enough.  They arrived at an isolated crossroads and Sam pulled off to the side of the road.  "If you would kindly tell me where we're going," she said as tactfully as she could manage, "I might be able to suggest a less circuitous route. We're wasting petrol."

"Security," Peggy answered (as if that explained anything).

Sam looked at her passengers in the rear view mirror.  Joan was smiling, but Peggy was not.

"Oh, very well," Peggy sighed.  "I can't give you a final destination because I don't have one.  What I do have is a list of locations, one of which will be our actual rendezvous."

Sam's eyes popped wide.  "Oh my goodness!" she gasped.  "You are spies."

Peggy's response was a tolerant smirk and and a roll of the eyes.  Joan's was to cover her mouth and giggle.

"If we could get on with it?" Peggy suggested (meaning ordered).

"Of course," Sam answered, and the strange journey continued.

Some miles later, they approached a ford, a low spot where the road crossed a stream.  Apparently, the powers that be had been unwilling or unable to fund a bridge or culvert.  Instead, there was a steep drop of several feet, more or less a ramp, a flat stretch, then a ramp on the far side.  It was probably impassable after heavy rains, but at the moment was only a few inches deep.

Sam eased to a stop before entering the ford.  On the far side a Bedford MW lorry in camouflage colors blocked the road and a pair of women in fatigue uniform coveralls were sorting out a tow cable.  One of them waved at the Wolseley, then gave an apologetic shrug.

Suddenly, a jeep pulled up behind the Wolseley.  Simultaneously, women in the camouflage uniforms of commandos and wearing gas masks emerged from the bushes on both sides of the Wolseley and tossed handfuls of marble-size spheres through the open windows!  With a series of sharp snaps the spheres blossomed into clouds of gray-white smoke that quickly filled the salon car's interior!

Sam, Peggy, and Joan coughed and fumbled for the door handles and Peggy pulled a small automatic pistol from under her jacket... but their actions were increasingly clumsy and unfocused... and in a matter of seconds all three slumped into unconsciousness.

The female commandos opened the doors, one of them pried the handgun from Peggy's hand, then they lifted the limp passengers and their driver from the Wolseley, dragged them to the side, and dropped them in a row on the ground.

The Baroness, in the uniform of a British Army officer (with Polish insignia), climbed from the jeep, joined the commandos, and smiled down at Sam, Peggy, and Joan.

"Excellent," the Baroness purred, then smiled at her commandos.  "Prepare zhem for transport."

With deft efficiency the commandos rolled the unconscious captives onto their stomachs, produced coils of stout hemp, and expertly tied their wrists behind their backs, their ankles and knees together, then looped and tightened rope around their upper arms, torsos, and waists, pinning their arms against their bodies.  They used knotted lengths of sacking to tie thick, wide cleave-gags in the captive's mouths, then popped hoods of more sacking over their heads and tightened and knotted drawstrings around their necks.

Next, three commandos lifted Sam, Peggy, and Joan onto their shoulders, splashed across the ford, dropped them onto the bed of the lorry, then climbed in after them.  The two women in coveralls tied down the canvas back-flap, then climbed into the front seats.

Back at the Wolseley, commandos gathered Sam's cap and Joan's hat, tossed them in the back, then climbed into the front.

The Baroness and remaining commandos climbed into the jeep, she gave a wave of the hand, and the three vehicles pulled away.  Obviously, the Bedford hadn't run off the road at all, but had been positioned to block the ford as part of the ambush.

The convoy took a right turn at the next crossroads, then dwindled into the distance.  Back at the ford, there was absolutely no sign that anything out of the ordinary had occurred.

Sam regained consciousness in close, vibrating, bouncing darkness with the roar of a powerful engine in her ears.  "Mrrrpfh!"  She was gagged... also bound hand and foot with stout rope!  Something was covering her head, some sort of sack, and she was bouncing on a hard surface.  The shock of her situation served to clarify her mind.  I'm in the back of a lorry, she thought, probably the Bedford that blocked the ford!

Unfortunately, this was not Sam's first experience as a helpless captive.  There had been the "incident" at the D'Arcy mansion, and her "adventure" in London with Wonder Woman.  She twisted and squirmed and tested her bonds.  Her fluttering, groping fingers encountered nothing other than thin air or the hard boards of the lorry's cargo bed.  Then, the lorry took a serious bounce and Sam rolled up against something she quickly realized was another person.  She could feel cloth and strands of rope.  Also bound and gagged!  Peggy?  Joan?

"Mehr bewegen, Engländer!" a female voice barked, accompanied by a firm kick to Sam's rump.

"Mrrm!" Sam complained, but stopped moving.  German! she thought. That was German!  I've been captured by Nazi spies!

"Mrrrf!"

The other captive had added her complaints to Sam's.

We've been captured by Nazi spies! Sam amended her earlier thought.

The journey continued with unrelenting road-rattle and an occasional left or right turn.  Whoever was driving was having minor difficulty shifting gears.  Obviously, they were unfamiliar with driving lorries.  Sam tugged on her bonds, twisted and squirmed her bound body, and endured.  What else could she do?

Several hot, stuffy, helpless minutes passed... and then the lorry made a series of abrupt turns, lurched to a halt, and the engine stopped.  Sam was manhandled from the cargo bed and onto the shoulder of... someone, a strong someone.  And then, she was carried away.  Sam decided not to squirm and struggle.  It was pointless.  She was bound, gagged, hooded, and helpless.  The best thing to do was to bide her time and wait for a chance to free herself and her companions so they could escape.. not that any of that seemed terribly likely at the moment.

Sam was carried into some sort of building and deposited on her bound feet, then hands began untying the ropes lashing her arms to her upper body.  Her heart was hammering and she was panting through her nose and the knotted cloth filling her mouth.  She could see nothing through the hood still covering her head.  "Mmf!"  She felt a rope pass between her bound wrists, and then—"Nrrrk!"—the rope tightened and her hands were pulled upwards until she was forced to lean forward.  The rope tightened again, her hands rose even higher, and she had no choice but to bend forward at the waist and go up on her toes!  "Mrrrrrf!"  Sam heard other gagged complaints from her left and surmised Peggy and Joan had their own problems.

Suddenly, the hood was snatched from Sam's head.  She shook her tousled hair from her face and blinked in the sudden light.  Her eyes adjusted and she found herself in a rustic barn.  Peggy and Joan were, indeed, present, and like Sam they were up on their toes, bent forward at the waist, and with their arms raised behind their backs.  All of this was distressing, to say the least, but Sam was also... incredulous.

Back at the ford in the road, the site of the ambush, Sam and her passengers had encountered Allied vehicles in familiar camouflage colors.  The two women at the truck had been in olive-drab coveralls, a uniform Sam herself had worn while working at the Hasting MTC depot.  And during the actual attack, Sam remembered at least a glimpse of soldiers in green, olive-drab, and khaki in a camouflage scheme she'd seen before, on rare occasions, but now their female captors were in uniforms like nothing Sam had never seen: tall black boots, black trousers, camouflaged smocks, black mask-like hoods, goggles, and black helmets—black German helmets!  She recognized them from the newsreels.  And the camouflage was unlike that worn by British commandos and paratroopers.  Instead of irregular swaths of forest colors, it was a motley mix of small dots and splotches.  The soldiers were armed with submachine guns, German arms Sam also recognized from newsreels.

Sam wasn't all that familiar with the details of the various Wehrmacht uniforms, but she could see neither the expected eagle-and-swastika insignia nor the sinister twin lightning bolt of the SS.  The only emblem she could see on their captors' uniforms was an octopus with a skull for a head!  It was... perplexing.  Equally perplexing was Sam focusing on a trivial matter like the details of the uniforms worn by their captors.  She realized she might be in some form of shock, but not panic, at least not yet.

Sam watched as one of the uniformed women unrolled a dark-gray canvas pouch atop a wooden crate.  It held a series of tools the woman pulled from pockets, one by one, and laid atop the pouch.  They included large and small pairs of shears with curved blades, large and small pairs of scissors, a knife with a hooked blade, and another knife with a long, narrow blade.

To describe the situation as disturbing and distressing was the very height of understatement, and it became even more so when the female soldier selected a pair of shears, strolled to Joan's stretched and helpless body, held the curved blades before Joan's gagged, wide-eyed face... clicked them together a few times... the took a step to the side and began slicing through the left sleeve of Joan's jacket!

Needless to say, Joan was not happy about any of what was happening, their capture, uncomfortable positions, or the forcible removal of her clothing.  She mewled through her gag and twisted and wiggled in place, fighting her bonds.  The soldier sliced through both jacket sleeves and the underlying blouse, baring Joan's arms, then a second soldier stepped forward and tied Joan's elbows tightly together.  Changing tools as she deemed appropriate, the first soldier continued removing Joan's clothing and the prisoner continued expressing her alarm and displeasure.

Sam noted that Peggy was watching the stripping of Joan not with fear, but with anger!  She growled through her gag and jerked on her bonds.  Sam was impressed, as well as a little ashamed of her own barely controlled fear... not that she could do anything about their plight... and not that Peggy could do anything about their plight.

Meanwhile, Joan's clothing was now reduced to her underwear, and the female soldier had selected a pair of bandage scissors and was stepping forward to complete her villainous task.  The removal of the slip took three snips and one long tear, the bra three snips, and the knickers two additional snips.  The second soldier stooped and removed Joan's shoes, and now she was completely nude, except for the rope binding her wrists, elbows, knees, and ankles, and the thick, coarse, knotted gag stifling her frightened whimpers.  Tears streamed down her cheeks and were either absorbed by her gag or dropped to the barn floor.

The second soldier gathered Joan's shoes and ruined clothing and dropped them in a burlap sack while the first soldier moved on to her next task, the stripping of Peggy.

Peggy continued her gagged stare as the soldiers, anonymous behind their masks and goggles, sliced through her uniform; first the jacket... then the blouse... then her skirt.  They removed her shoes... destroyed her slip, knickers and bra, and she was as nude as Joan.  As before, the second soldier tied the prisoner's elbows.  Peggy endured this ordeal with stoic bravery, her angry defiance never wavering.  Peggy's shoes and the ruin of her uniform and underwear joined Joan's clothes in the burlap bag.

Sam's heart pounded and her stomach felt like a lump of ice.  She was next!

Sam resolved to follow Peggy's example.  She might not be able to match her show of defiance, but at least she could continue masking her fear... she hoped.  Both Peggy and Joan were watching.

And then, without delay, it happened.

The shears and scissors snipped—Sam's elbows were tied—and her ruined uniform parts were stripped away, followed by her underwear, followed by her shoes.  They all joined her fellow captive's clothing in the bag and the deed was done.  Sam was as naked and helpless as Peggy and Joan.

And then, something totally unexpected happened: the Nazi woman-soldiers with the octopus/skull insignia left the barn... all of them!  Sam, Peggy, and Joan were alone, naked, bound at the ankles, knees, elbows, and wrists, gagged, bent forward at the waist with their hands raised high behind their backs, and up on their toes.

Captured by Nazis! Sam thought in her humiliation and misery, in Sussex!

Mary Tuppen was slightly miffed.  She'd made repeated attempts to meet and greet the Polish "Lady Commandos" that had moved into Thom Winborn's farm, but each time she'd been politely (if rather coldly) rebuffed.

The Winborns were the Tuppen's nearest neighbors, and while he was away with the 8th Army and his wife and daughter, Millie and Molly, were living up north, two of Thom's pastures and his sheep were now her dad's responsibility.  The Army and Navy needed wool and mutton to win the war, so neither Mary nor her dad and mum begrudged the extra work.  Mary regularly drove the Tuppen/Winborn flock to pasture, then drove them home before dark.  It wasn't every day that Mary brought them to crop the grass in the pasture next to the Winborn house—but it so happened that today was one such day.

Sheep are notoriously stupid animals, but they can grasp the concept of an open gate or a down fence and had enough curiosity to explore and get themselves into mischief, so Mary made it her habit to walk the stone wall directly adjacent to the farmhouse and barns to make sure the gates were intact.  The Winborn's house guests might have gotten sloppy while doing whatever "military training" it was they were up to.

Mary sighed as she shooed the last of the woolly stragglers through the gate, secured it behind her, then crossed the pasture to begin her inspection.  She was working harder than she'd ever worked in her young life, but wanted to do even more for the war effort.  The problem was, she didn't have the education or other qualifications required to join one of the services open to women, and if she volunteered for the Women's Land Army, she'd be doing the exact same labor she was doing now, only on some stranger's land, and with her brothers Peter and William serving in the RN and RAF, respectively, Dad and Mum needed her help.

An ancient hedgerow ran on the far side of the rubble-stone wall separating the pasture from the Winborn compound.  It was an adequate windscreen for the house and barns, but an imperfect visual screen, and as she rattled the gate directly opposite the house she had an excellent view of the road leading to the big hay barn.  Turning to leave, Mary heard the sound of engines, turned back, and watched as a lorry, a black motorcar, and one of those Yank "jeeps" pulled up to the big barn and stopped.  Well-armed women in uniform emerged from the vehicles.

The barn door rolled open, and three other women appeared.  They were also in uniforms, but very different uniforms from the others, and their helmets looked... German?

Mary had been in the process of raising an arm to wave another friendly greeting, but froze in place.  Are some of them wearing Nazi uniforms as part of their training? she wondered.  That must be it.  She fully extended her arm and began to wave, then froze, again.  The "Nazi" women were lifting three women from the back of the lorry and onto their shoulders, and were carrying them into the barn—and the three women were bound hand and foot with bags over their heads!  Mary lowered her hand, then took a slow step to the side and ducked down until she was hidden by the stone wall.  More training?  Maybe, but... it don't look right.  The distance was great, but two of the tied up women had been in uniforms, meaning British Army women's uniforms, and the third was in civilian clothes, a dress and jacket traveling outfit.  No, this ain't right.  I'll tell Dad.  He'll know what to do.

Mary turned to sprint across the pasture for home.

"Halt!" a voice shouted from Mary's left, and she heard a loud click-click.

Mary stopped, turned, and found a female soldier pointing a Sten gun at her.  She heard a second click-click, this time behind her, and turned back to find a second female soldier, also armed with a Sten.  They were wearing British camouflage, the kind worn by some of the women who had just arrived in the vehicles, not the strange camouflage worn by the "Germans" from the barn.

"Hands up!" the second soldier ordered, and Mary complied.

"I-I'm just checkin' the gate," Mary said, then pointed across the pasture at the grazing flock, "for the sheep."

"Silence!" the first soldier barked, then stepped forward, grabbed Mary's hands, and pulled them behind her back.

"What are you... no!"  Before Mary fully realized what was happening, the soldier had bound her crossed wrists behind her back with a length of rope!  "Mrrrpfh!"  And now, the soldier had shoved a knotted cloth in her mouth and was tying it at the nape of her neck!  "Mmmf!"  She was bound and gagged!

"I said silence, Engländer!" the soldier growled.  Her companion opened the gate, then shoved Mary through and towards the Winborn compound.

Mary's heart was pounding and her eyes wide with fear.  What the devil is happening? she wondered.  Her captors led her into the small barn, not the big barn where the others had taken the three prisoners from the back of the lorry.

One of the soldiers left, but the other remained, continuing to cover Mary with her Sten gun.  Mary stared at her captor and the woman stared back, a sinister sneer curling her lips.  She was about Mary's age, maybe a few years older, and her face was streaked with black paint, or possibly bootblack.

About a minute passed... then the barn door flew open and an attractive blond woman in a British Army female officer's uniform entered, accompanied by two female soldiers in the same "German" uniforms as those in the big barn, including German helmets, black face-masks, and goggles, and they were armed with German submachine guns, not Sten guns.

The blond officer dismissed the camouflaged "British" soldier with a wave of the hand, then stepped forward and cupped Mary's chin.  Mary recognized her as the beautiful blond "Polish" officer who had visited the Tuppen farm when the "Poles" first arrived and had just arrived in the jeep.

"Zhe farmer's daughter," the blond officer chuckled.

"Yawohl, Frau Baroness," one of the masked soldiers barked.

"English, please," the blond officer admonished, continuing to inspect Mary's gagged, frightened face.

"She is, indeed, Baroness," the soldier said.  "Mary Tuppen."

"Mary Tuppen," the blond officer purred, then spun Mary around and quickly untied her wrists.  "Strip, Mary Tuppen," she ordered, "und don't touch your gag or I vill haff you vhipped."

"Mrrrk?"

"Strip," the Baroness confirmed with a sinister smile.

With trembling fingers Mary removed her jacket, then unbuttoned and removed her blouse.  Her bra was next, followed by her work-boots, socks, her work pants, and finally, her knickers.  Except for the rough, knotted cloth of her gag, Mary was now completely nude.

"M'mpfh!"  The Baroness—apparently the blond officer was some sort of "Baroness"—spun Mary around, again, and with swift, deft fingers tied her crossed wrists together as they'd been before.

The Baroness spun Mary back around, continuing to smile her sinister smile.  "A rustic English Rose," she chuckled.  "Notice her tan skin.  Obviously, Mary Tuppen is no stranger to zhe sun."

"Our scouts haff seen her swimming in zhe local duck pond, Baroness," one of soldiers volunteered.

"In zhe nude," the Baroness suggested.

"Indeed, Baroness," the soldier confirmed.

The Baroness took a step back and together with her masked soldiers continued leering at Mary's tan, firm, young body.

Mary panted through her gag, her breasts heaving.  Her blushing and flushed cheeks were rose pink, thanks to her crushing embarrassment, terrorized shock, and the pressure of her tight gag.  One moment she was tending sheep, and the next she was the naked prisoner of German spies and jackbooted soldiers—in one of Thom Winborn's barns!

"Zhe timing of her capture is unfortunate for poor Mary," the Baroness said, "but fortunate for us.  By the time she is missed, we will almost certainly already be on our vay back to zhe Reich.  And if her father or mother come looking for her before ve depart..."

"Zheir bodies von't be found," one of the soldiers intoned.

Mary's eyes popped wide and she tugged on her bound wrists.  "Mrrrf!"

"Yes, I think ve vill take zhis one with us," the Baroness announced.  "Transporting five captives von't be any more difficult zhan four, und zhe Hydra barracks can always use another sex-slave."

"Thank you, Baroness," the soldiers responded in unison.

Mary blinked in distress.

"In zhe meanvhile," the Baroness continued, "burn her clothes vith zhe others, then introduce her to Professor Doctor Vogel.  Und to keep zhem both occupied, do something... creative."

"Indeed, Baroness!" one of the soldiers answered, then grabbed Mary by the hair and dragged her from the barn.

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Chapter 1

Chapter 3

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VAN's FiCTiON

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