"All I want to do," she said huskily, "is to get home and end this living nightmare." Kenneth felt his chest tighten, pushing out at Eva's black-lace bra, which he could now tape himself to fill. He'd spoken a fiction and he knew it. How could he ever hope for a normal existence again particularly when he liked to be sitting here in his women's clothes, tight dress and with his hair long. He felt good being

a woman.

། can give you that I'm sure," Simons was saying, without batting an eyelid, “if you'll do this job for me."

The new civilian file clerk, placed under Master Sergeant Eugene Chaplin's watchful eye, behaved as little as a file clerk as any girl he'd seen. The Colonel had brought her in, announced her as a French refugee who would be temporarily assigned to Gene's office. Even the de- mure way she cast her eyes down couldn't take away her attrac- tiveness. She had blonde, waved hair that must cost a fortune to maintain if it wasn't natural, especially the flaxen color. She had very soft skin and wore to much makeup, too much blue on her lashes and eyelids for an office. Her sexy figure in the tight, black skirt and white, ruffled blouse was bound to cause comment and trouble to the Sergeant's experienced eye. And her soft hands, with the beautiful polished nails showed that she'd done very little hard work in her life.

"Denise," Master Sergeant Chaplin snapped at her as she began to file away sets of re- quisition forms only just received from Stores. He was glad to see her jump nervously.

"Yes, Master Sergeant, sir." Her voice was very sexy, rather

low and controlled. She kept her eyes downcast, her hands beside her back like a G,l, on parade.

"I do not like young wo- men like you in this office," Gene Chaplin spoke precisely. "If the Colonel hadn't brought you in here," he spat out a spray of brown tobacco juice into the spittoon beside his desk, "I'd have you out of here right now."

The blonde flushed and shifted nervously on her black high heels. All over, thought Chaplin sourly, she was a carica- ture of what an office girl should really be. She was clearly the Colonel's "piece," and he didn't intend to treat her in any way

different from the way he

treated any whore.

"Now, you hear this," he rasped on. “You just keep out of my way when you're working here. And if I find you talking up any of my guys I'm gonna have you shipped all the way to Berlin where you can shake your tail for Ivan and his friends." He sneered. “You would like that, wouldn't you?"

Denise bit her lower lip. The darker shade she'd worn for the office tasted differently than her usual scarlet lipstick. She knew that Chaplin could not know of the death, probably a rape-murder, of the Countess Eva Von Esselberg, by a squad of Russian 'victors' in Berlin. Denise had to blink back tears that

Pat Anderso

ករ

Hand-me-downs are all right for you. You've

got brothers."