III   HANDLE WITH CARE


“SfMR DEMONSTRATES IN WASHINGTON D.C.
The Society for Males Rights, SfMR, gathered in Washington D.C. today for a great demonstration, marching along Constitution Avenue. More than 800.000 males and even many ladies took part and demanded equality of rights for males. The SfMR is very active these days, and the issue is discussed throughout the country. The USA has, together with the Netherlands, the most liberal male rights in the world, and many conservative ladies say thats more than enough.”
Washington Post, April 17th 1936


Apartment of Ladies Bethany and Joan Richmond, Denver, Colorado, 22nd of April 1936,
17.25 hours

Special Agent Tucker eyed the bedroom closely. The beds were disarranged. Here, some water on the carpet. But the glass, still with some water in it, on its place. A fight? No other evidence visible.
Lady Bethany Richmond, a scientist working on plastics at Denver university, had vanished two days ago, together with her female companion. It was the fourth case of a scientist vanishing, probably abducted, since February. All over the states, family members, if living in the house, vanishing too.
Here even the dog, a german sheepdog, was gone.
Why the dog? That was really strange.
Never a ransom, never witnesses, no fingerprints, no broken doors or windows, no signs of a fight.
Special Agent Anne Simmons entered the room. The Blonde looked angry.
“Nothing, Beyonce, not the shlightest clue. Could be a serial killeress.”
Beyonce shook her head.
“I doubt that. A killeress, travelling through the States from LA to New Orleans to Norfolk and than to Denver, killing of scientists and their loved ones? Thats to far off. The scientist thing hints at a foreign agency.”
“Kidnapping brains for their own research? Who would do that? Are the Japs that mad?”
“Or the Germans or the commies, what do I know? Thats not my field. Anyway, counterintelligence is our job too. We need to know what the ladies were working on.”
“This Bethany worked on plastics to be used by the industry. Could better industrial performance. Something like that.”
“Lets go to the university and have a closer look.”
“I will get the car.”
Beyonce nodded and left the room too, going to the kitchen. There was the dogs place. The garbagecan, Beyonce looked into it. Uh, theres a handkerchief or something. Blood on it. Much blood. Nothing on the ground.
“The car is ready.”
Beyonce pocketed the handkerchief.



Airship ROBERTA MOZART, Departuretower XI, New York Aerodrome, April 22nd 1936, 17.48 hours

The clerk eyed the german businesswoman longingly. What a lady. Beautiful was an understatement. And so cool. Great, working on the Aerodrome seeing all these beautiful foreign ladies.
The small brunette approached the blonde, who was at least a head taller.
“Lady Schmidt, everything is arranged, the girls start loading your crates immediately.”
“I see, thank you, Miss.”
Polite, this beauty. And they say these german superfrauleins are all so arrogant bitches. What nonsense. She smiled at the tall beauty. What beatiful long hair, and these eyes... she sighed.
The blonde watched closely as the workeresses started to load the crates into the freight elevator of the tower.
The ROBERTA MOZART, a modern german airship destined for Berlin, filled the sky above  tower XI.
The striking blonde nestled at her jacket. She was injured at the forearm, white gaze was visible.
“Everything okay, Lady Schmidt?”
“Yes, thank you, Miss. An ungrateful dog...”
The blonde gestured with the other hand to the bandage.
HANDLE WITH CARE was printed on the large crates. You could see from the behavior of the working women that they were heavy. Machine part samples for some firm in Germany, the papers said.
Reminding herself of her other duties, the young clerk sighed again, gave the long legs in the high boots of Lady Schmidt a last look, and went about her work.
The german lady ignored her, concentrating on the crates. After they were loaded successfully, and elevated into the airship, she allowed herself a cigarette.
The 2.000 $ per month to the chief of the customs department of New York Aerodrome paid of well indeed. A good investion for the Reich.
Major Ophelia Skorzeny of German Sondereinsatztruppen (Special Mission Forces) smiled wryly and enjoyed her smoke.



CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia, May 2nd 1936, 14.10 hours

“Hello, Marcy. You should try the filet with french fries in the cafeteria today.”
“Oh no, Jill, I am on a diet.”
“Again? Come on, be serious...”
“Arhh... anyway, here is a new report about weird masts of steel on the German coast around their naval bases. Wilhelmshafen, Kiel, Bremen. Look, an agent has made pictures.”
“Hmm... looks like radio masts. But so many... What does our scientific department say?”
“They are not sure. One chick says it could have to do something with our gals are working on in California.”
“So?”
“Yeah, something about detecting far away planes from the ground. They were said to be making good progress, but then, her mistressmind, a scientist out of LA, vanished in February. The FBI says she was probably abducted, but they have no clues.”
“Good goddess on a bicycle, what a coincidence.”
“I thought that too.”
“Do we have a line to FBI?”
“Sure.”
“Can I use it? Or will I have to go to the chief first?”
“Uh, Jill, I think its better you talk with the old dragon first.”
“Great, I am already on the way.”
“Wait, Couzens is in Washington D.C., briefing the Lady President on the Italian-Ethiopian war. The Italians are advancing on Addis-Abbeba, the capital.”
“Yeah, another problem. Wont take long before the country falls. Whos next? Anyway, when will Couzens be back?”
“Tomorrow, if I recall it right.”
“Well, it will have to wait until then. This agent, can she get more information apart from the pictures?”


An office of Hortensa Hughes, Las Vegas, Nevada, May 5th 1936, 15.10 hours

“Oh, hello Squire* Eaton, very nice to meet you guy.”
“I am glad you have time for me, Mam.”
The handsome young man bowed before the famous aviatrix. Hortensa Hughes took his right and vigorously shook it.
“For the most famous male aviator in the world? Are you kidding? Why havent we met sooner, we are colleagues, of sorts.”
Eaton WAS famous, but more as a curiosity than anything else, while Hughes was known worldwide, getting flying record after record and producing airplanes and airships herself.
“Sit down please. A drink? Its said I am making a fairly good Martini...”
“Uh, if I could have some water?”
Hughes grinned jovially.
“Sure, Bill. I will call you Bill, okay? I am Hortensa.”
“Okay Mam, ah, Hortensa.”
“So, what can I do for you?”
“Ma... Hortensa. I am planning a flight. A record, sort of. But no one wants to give me the plane I need for the mission.”
“What flight, son?”
“Errrh... around the world. From Miami to Miami.”
“Ufff... you caught me by surprise. Thats a hell of a flight.”
“Yeah, no male has ever undertaken something like that. I know, you did it twice already, but...”
He eyed the lady apprehensively.
Hortensa starred at him for a long time. Suddenly, she grinned.
“I like it. Yeah, I reall, really like it. I am in. Lets speak about the aircraft you need...”
“You... you will give me a plane? Really?”
“Godessdammit, sure, boy, sure...”
Bill Eaton allowed himself to grin too now...

*Squire = no equivalent on patriarchalic earths, roughly comparable to the female  “Miss”, “Mademoiselle”, “Fraulein”, to address males in a diminuitive way.



Office of chief of staff Mary-Lou Craig, Washington D.C., May 9th 1936, 8.40 hours

“Well, Georgina, Ive read your memo. Interesting thoughts. Really interesting. But you know, the budget. Apart from that, do you really believe these tanks are good for anything? The French use them only in a support role.”
“There is Charline de Gaulle, thinking otherwise. And the Germans and the Commie gals produce them in the hundreds and thousands.”
“Yeah, Georgie, I know. At some time they will shoot each other to shreds on the polish plains, alright. Why bother? Do you see blonde german superfrauleins with supertanks advancing over our Great plains, sometimes in the next 500 years?
Come on, girl. Thats nonsense. So, even if we had the budget, which we surely have not, I wouldnt transform 1st Cav into an “armoured” division as you call it.”
“If you say so, Mam.”
“Yes, Georgina, I say so. Your look is bordering subordination, Major General. I warn you. You have a manouvre to plan. You got 1000 new horses last month. Put them to good use.
Dismissed.”
The blonde Major General left the office.
Outside the building, she crossed the street to a bar.
Georgina Sondra Patton needed a drink, and badly so.


Outside Court Central, stadion Rowenna Garros, French Tennis Open, Paris, May 23rd 1936, 17.02 hours

“Miss Lenglen? Miss Lenglen! Wilma Viper, ABC. An interview for “Queens of Sports”! Just a few words!”
Josefine Lenglen turned, smiled politely. The reportress was a redhead with too much lipstick and a too short skirt, revealing elephantlegs pressed into tight orange boots. Orange, by the goddess of style. She tortured a seemingly innocent chewing gum between her slightly yellow teeth.
ABC, an American. Who else would wear orange boots?
“Miss Lenglen, you have just a few minutes ago lost your 1st round game against an american newcomeress. And that here in Paris, on your own turf as one might say. Are you ashamed?”
Josefine still smiled into the face of the cow and answered with all noblesse she could muster:
“Oh, no, I just had a bad day. That happens in sports. And Mademoiselle Wainright was very good today. She has a great career in front of her.”
Meanwhile she imagined reshaping the reportress face with her racket.
“Oh, really fair of you. Nearly like an englishwoman, eeeh?”
“May I ask you something too?”
“Ah, sure, Miss Lenglen, haha...”
“Were did you get these boots? They are nice.”
“Really? Woolworth. 21.95 bucks.”
“I thought so.”



IV  ALL THE QUEENS MEN


“ENGLISH QUEEN CONFESSES: I LOVE A MALE!
English queen Mary anounced today that she is not only engaged with a male, an American named Peter Falkland, but is also determined to marry him. Such would not be illegal in England, were heterosexual marriage is quite legal, but unheard of for a british queen. It is tradition over there that the sovereigness marries only another woman, as it is seen as the natural form of relationship. Marys anouncement has raised a storm of outrage in the british public...”
The Boston Globe, June 17th, 1936


“ITALY ANNEXES ETHIOPIA.
After concquering the city of Addis Abbeba a few days ago, the Queendom of Italy has incorporated the former country of Ethiopia into its empire. The practise of militarily driven expansion is clearly on vogue these days, and a cause for alarm. Next, the Mexikans may want Texas back, can you imagine...”
Winona Blockbottom in her comedy show “Whats up?” on CBS radio, June 19th 1936


CIA headquarters building, Langley, Virginia, June 20th 1936, 10.15 hours

“Okay, Lady Tucker, what can you tell us about this disappearances?”
“Well, Lady Ryan, we have up to date seven cases. All scientists, all working on important projects for government or industry. Every project can be called defence-related in one sense or the other.
The ladies in question vanished from their home, probably at night. No real evidence of a crime, no witnesses of something unusual.
Familymembers, even dogs, cats or, for the goddess sake, a canary bird, vanished too from the homes.
Well, and thats pretty much all.”
Jill nodded. This was a professional operation of someone very determined and with all resources one could wish. Specialists of a nationstate. That was her opinion.
“We have reason to believe that the Germans are behind these, lets name it, kidnappings.
They have made progress exactly in the fields our gals worked in before vanishing.”
Beyonce snorted slightly.
“You really think the superfrauleins are kidnapping US citizens over here? Okay, thought that myself already, but... thats crazy. Like in a comic or Jane Bonda movie...”
“Do you know Sheila Holmes?”
“This english detective stories? Sure, but...”
“If you eliminate everything else, the only thing remaining must be the truth.”
“Ah, thats fiction, Lady Ryan, sorry...”
“Okay, than you tell me what happens with our scientists!”
“I honestly dont know. We discussed a serial killeress briefly, but we have no corpses appearing, and the total lack of evidence...”
“So...”
“Okay, okay. If you are right, what to do? There is no evidence, so I guess the politicians over in Washington cant do sh*t about it.”
“Correct.”
“My only idea is a defensive approach. But look, Lady Ryan, we simply lack the assets to guard all possible victims in the US.”
“Whats your normal procedure in such a serial crime?”
“Easy enough. We wait for the villainess to make a mistake. So far there was none.”
“Not very promising. I hate it to wait.”
“Lady Ryan, I wholeheartedly agree to that.”
Both ladies smiled against their will.
It was easier in the comics, Jill thought...


A bar near Wimbledon, outside London, June 20th 1936, 20.18 hours

“Hey, its Maddy White! Hi, Maddy, away from german hockey for a change?”
Oh, no, it was Wilma Viper, the rhinozeros from ABC. Madeline gulped down her drink and ordered another one. The male bartender was quick, and cute to boot.
“Hi Wilma. New boots?”
“Uh, yes, surprised you notice. What do you say about the final?”
“Well, the empire gals are happy. They should be, one of their lot defeating an American. I already see their headlines: Empire strikes back. Colonies shown their place.”
Wilma looked puzzled. Okay, she didnt get the joke. Hardly a surprise.
The readhead changed the subject:
“Will you go back to Germany? Their final is approaching, I take it?”
“Yep, Schalke 05 against Walkuera Berlin. You know, Schalke is something like our Miami Panthresses.”
“Uh-hu. How are they?”
“How are who?”
“Come on Maddy... the superfrauleins. Cool and arrogant and all in uniforms...”
Madeline hated it to be called Maddy. Her older sister called her that.
“Wilma, you were over there yourself. Whats the point?”
“But you live there most of the time, you must know them really well.”
Sure, I know them better than I care to, Madeline thought.
“Uh, squire? Hey, boy, I want a drink too.”
“Sure, Mylady.”
“A Sergeant Pepper, with ice and an umbrella. An ORANGE umbrella, you sweet thing.”
Madeline admired the London boy for his totally impassive face.
“Immediately, Mylady.”
“Wow! Maddy, I will be over there too soon. The Olympic Games, you know. Doing the interviews for “Queens of Sports”.”
“Good for you.”
Madeline finished her drink quicker than planned and rose, putting 5 pounds under the empty glass.
The bartender was quick to collect it. His eyes widened, and he lost his impassiveness and broke out into a “Thank you, Mylady!”
“I like professionals, no matter the profession. Wilma, I am on my way. We surely meet again in Berlin in September.”
“Yeah, greatings to the superfrauleins, Maddy. Bye!”
Outside, Madeline wished for an umbrella. The afternoon had been sunny, for the finals sake, but know it was raining again. That was England for you.
Well, her airship to Berlin flew in 3 hours. She had an appointment with Schalke 05, and a second one with one of her sources.
Madeline White was a professional too, in both her professions, be it sports journalism, or espionage.  It was only that USA TODAY paid far better than CIA...


“CIVIL WAR IN SPAIN; GERMANS AND COMMIES SEND HELP,
The fighting in european Spain continued in the last week, after Italy now Germany and the Soviet Union too intervene in the conflict. Germany anounced to send 5000 soldiers and war materials to General Francisca Francas nationalist forces, while soviet “advisoresses” join the republican cause...”
The International Heraldress Tribune, July 26th 1936


Office of Generalinspekteura der Luftwaffe, Generaloberst Edna Milch, July 27th, 1939, 9.45 hours

Major General Manuela von Richthofen saluted crisply.
“At ease, von Richthofen, at ease.”
Milch, the woman behind Goering, the one doing the real work, former chief of Lufthansa back in the Twenties, and in this function a former employer of Manuela, who learned flying in the commercial Lufthansa like most higher officers of Luftwaffe, smiled amiably at the blonde Freifrau.
“Right to the point, we will send you to Spain. You are to command the Luftwaffe part of LEGION CONDOR. Your assets will be a Stuka Geschwader, a tactical bomber Geschwader, three recon squadrons and 2 fighter squadrons. As the size of the force calls for it, you will be promoted to Luitenant General.
This is quite early, as the Lady Reichsmarshall promoted you to Generals rank back in February. And you are very young for this rank. But as the Fuhra says, anyone as her talents deserve.
So you should not disappoint us. Any questions?”
“My staff?”
“You may take whomever you want to have.”
“Jeschonnek as my chief of staff.”
“I will miss her here, but okay, approved. Work out the details with the staff downstairs. You leave tomorrow. Downstairs you will meet a liason officer, a cute spanish fraulein named Conchita. Fanciful name, what do you say?”
Manuela didnt even blink.
“Well, dismissed, Freifrau.”
Manuela saluted again and turned. Milch spoke again, this time to her back:
“You should wear this long hair of yours open. You would be a real knockout.”
Von Richthofen blinked now, and hard. She turned again.
“Thank you, Frau Generaloberst, I will certainly try it.”
“Good, very good.”
The blonde Luftwaffe general left the office and turned to the stairs, shaking her head. She would look soft and vulnerable with open hair. What a silly idea...


“This is CBS Sports, reporting directly from Denver Colorado, were todays final took place.
We have all lived through a very good final, which saw the Miami Panthresses triumphant 7 to 3 over the Seattle Chicks. No doubt about it, the US hosts the best field hockey league in the whole world.
Star of the game was 19year old strikress Valerie Feathers, a longlegged black gal from Miami suburbs, raised in the youth of the Panthresses. 4 goals and 2 assists, thats what I call a match winneress. CBS presented this event to you with support from Budweiser Beer, in association with Glossy Lipcare and Chevrolet...”
Report on CBS radio, July 25th, 1936





V  DECEPTION


“GERMAN-SWEDISH TRADE AGREEMENT SIGNED,
Germany will receive swedish iron ore for machine-parts and coal. Analysts say...”
Wall Street Journal, August 15th, 1936


Florence Ryans room, house of the Ladies Ryan, Boston, USA, August 24th 1936, 19.07 hours

“Hi sweetheart!”
“Mum! You are back already!”
“Yeah, late enough. Whats up?”
Jill entered her daughters room. Her new work had her living most of the time down in Virginia, only at weekends she took the airship to Boston. It must be hard on Florence. It was hard on herself too.
“Uh, my math teacheress says  I am really gifted. But in Sports I missed the cut. No place in the hockey team.”
“Are you disappointed?”
“No. You know, Mum, dont like hockey that much.”
Yeah, Florence was a coach potato if Jill had ever saw one. Even getting a bit overweight. What was Beth feeding her with? Pizza or Pasta three times a day?
“What are you reading?”
“Wonderwoman comic. Really great.”
At least Florence liked super heroine comics. Not everything was lost.
“You know, collected them myself, but the fire in grandmas house back then...”
“Yeah, too bad, Mum.”
“Whats going on this time? Still fighting chinese mistressmind Shia Ling Zen?”
“Whos that? No, its Dark Mistress, look, she is abducting ladies for her sinistre plans, brainwashing them in her lair to build a secret army.”
“To conquer the world?”
“Sure.”
“How did I know that?”
“Mum, its a comic. Not reality.”
“Really?”
Both smiled. Jill looked at the pages. Black clad figures womanhandeled helpless ladies, bound and gagged, into large crates.
In the comics, there were nearly no killings. Overpowering and tying up was the game, as it had ever been. Jill eyed the pictures, and thought of disappearing scientists.



Forest north of Magdeburg, Germany, 26th of August 1936, 15.55 hours

Madeline White was more than a bit angry. She had no real love for the german countryside, despite saying otherwise when socialising with the superfrauleins while drinking their beer with them. She cared even less for the risk involved.
She picked her way between trees and bushes carefully. Somewhere around here...
Back in July, a source revealed to her a secret base of the dreaded Sondereinsatztruppen in the forest north of Magdeburg, about 150 kilometers southwest of Berlin.
Some silly beanconteress back at Langley thought it an excellent idea to send good old Madeline out there to have a look and take some pictures.
Happened all the time, the problem was, this time it had been approved by the old dragon herself.
So, Madeline was out here with her camera, struggling through the woods and thinking of guards with submachineguns and nervous fingers, and of mines, the Gestapocellars, well, you name it.
There was a red sign fastened to that tree to the right. It read... great. A deathhead and landmines. She was already in the field. A creepy feeling in the spine, being in such a minefield. Not good for the performance of your longevity drug, you can count on that.
And everything because some idiot wanted pictures of german superfrauleins robbing through the dirt. It would be a training camp, Madeline was sure of that.
She was much less sure that she would get out of this minefield alive.
Perhaps over the trees, like Ariane, Queen of the jungle. Well thats a comic to be sure...
She managed to get on a tree, and climbed further, a small jump, perhaps her last...
Uff, she was on the next tree. Ariane of the jungle, or maybe Jane Bonda... the most silly movies ever made about espionage. Maybe old Couzens watched this sh*t herself too much. There went her trousers. Really, a nice cut in the left leg. If she got out here alive, she would send the bill to Langley. This silly, mad, idiotic... there it was.
The base was surrounded by barbed wire and a high fence, surely under high voltage. Guard towers with machineguns. Guards with sheepdogs, heavily armed, every single one of them tall and prototypes of superfrauleins. About a dozen barracks. A small camp, but heavily guarded. Looked more like a prisoner camp than a training ground. No mud, no sweeting gals robbing on the ground, no screaming sergeant...
Madeline shifted her position slowly and started to make pictures.
There, a door opened, a child ( a child?) appeared, together with another sheepdog. The child, a girl, had a red ball. She through it and the sheepdog ran to collect it. Strange watch dog, this one. And what was a child doing here? It called out to the dog. Strange german dialect. Or was it Dutch? It WAS Dutch.
Very weird. Madeline made a picture of the girl, and than of the dog too, just for good measure.
Time to be on her way. The Jane Bonda stunt again. Goddess, being back in her flat in Berlin, having a good drink...


Beyonce Tuckers home, New Orleans, Louisiana, USA, September 7th 1936, 20.14 hours

“Jamie Lee Owens is in front, the others clearly behind, she is going, she, yes, its the gold medal. Oh, I see the look on Lady Hitlers face. Doesnt fit in with your racial theories, Miss, eh? Owens is triumphant, for USA. Between, Chiquita bananas...”
Beyonce took a sip of her Jenny Walker and shook the glass slightly. The ice made a small sound. So, Owens had won. Yes, the superfrauen wont like that. Too bad.
Do these Germans really abduct our scientists over here? Do they really dare? The case count was now up to eleven. Directress Hoover was talking about bodyguards for scientists in earnest, but where to take all the women needed for that? Regular cops?
Deep in thought, she closed her lips around the filter of a cigarette.
“Didnt you want to quit, my beauty?”
“Uh, what?”
Puzzled, Beyonce looke up to her husband. Tom smiled at her. He lit her Pall Mall with a match.
“You said last week you want to quit, remember?”
“Yeah, Tom, but the work... I am a bit stressed, and...
“Its okay, sweetheart. Enjoy your smoke. Looks like Owens showed it to the Germans.”
Beyonce nodded.
“Good to see a black gal winning. Hows work at school?”
Tom sighed.
“Boring, honey, just boring. Nothing like chasing white slaveresses and bank roberesses...”
“You know, its mostly office work...”
“OKAY, HERE WE GO, high jump is next. Theres this soviet chick, Natalia Evanikova, but our Cindy Alfstroke has a good chance too. The qualifyings are already over, and...”
“Interested in this?”
Tom still smiled at her.
“Not if theres something more interesting afoot.”
“I can think of a thing or two,” Tom said, looking over to the bedroom...


Cafeteria, CIA headquarters, Langley, Virginia, September 13th 1936, 13.09 hours

Jill snorted. Who wrote this article? She took a sip of her water und looked it up again.
One Madeline White. This could have been directly out of Frau Goebbels office. Disgusting.
“Germany has shown the world its peacefulness and its beauty. The propaganda lies back in the States about the sinister plans of Germany cant be maintained any longer. I advice everyone to see for herself how its really like. Foreigners are welcome here, the german ladies are most friendly, and their politness is something still to be learned in America.”
Should stick to sports, this lady. Was she paid by Goebbels? Or having sex with the bitch?
She took a cigarette and lit it.
The Germans were even winning the medal race. At least Owens snatched three golds away from their greedy hands. But they won in hockey, against England, which in turn had defeated the US chicks in the semifinal. Jill had listened to the game in the waiting hall of Richmond aerodrome, after a machine breakdown had postponed her flight home to Boston. A tight match, decided in penalty-shots. Young Valerie Feathers had missed her shot, to the dismay of nearly every American on Earth. Well, thats sports. The girl was what, nineteen?
This Whites report in the paper on the semifinal had been excellent. The gal should really stay at sports and leave politics to the Washington Post.
“Hi, Jill. How are things going?”
“Lady directress. Please, take a seat.”
“May I steal a cigarette from you, Jill?”
“Sure, Mam.”
“A light? Uh, thanks. What do you say about the Neutrality act?”
“Ah, to be honest, not what I would have done.”
“It was a tactical move. Most Americans are strongly isolationist, and Lady Roosevelt needed to boost her polls on foreign policy. The race with Landon is close.”
“Yes.”
Jill said nothing more. Before the silence got to long, Couzens got to the meat.
“Ive heard Landon attacked you sharply because of your job here.”
“Well, she did, but she can hardly do something about it. Many older gals of my party see it as good opportunity to look into things. I mean, for me, not that any information I gather leaves this house.”
“Some say you are the coming woman of the Reps.”
Jill coughed.
“Take a sip of water. Perhaps you should change to Lights? These lung torpedoes...”
“Who in hell said that?”
“Well, Lights taste not really bad, I have changed to them many years ago, and...”
“Mam, who said that I am the coming woman of the Reps? Thats pure nonsense. I even have no time to attend party meetings. I never had a mandat, and I dont plan on having one.”
“Sure, Jill, sure. Watch your cigarette, you ashed on your blouse.”
“Mam, please.”
“Trust me, there are some of your ladies behind the scenes who are planning for the time after Miranda.”
“The polls say she can win.”
“Its September. The polls can change. Well, must be on my way. Thanks for the smoke. USA TODAY? Disgusting, this White gal, isnt she? A traitress, if you ask me... see you, Jill!”
Jill starred after Couzens. Then she killed her Lucky and lit another one.
What the hell?

Frontline north of republican held Madrid, September 24th 1936, 11.15 hours

Amy Wilder of the Annabell Lincoln brigade raised the binoculars and looked over to the nationalist lines. Something going on there, probably a new assault. Would be the fifth in 48 hours. The ground ahead of the trenches was littered with dead fascist gals.
The fascist chicas really wanted this hill, as it overlooked the mainroad into Madrid from the north.
The american volunteress gave the binoculars back to Capitan Maria Flores. The small spanish lady sighed.
“Losses high, munition low, no food this morning. Amy, I fear for Madrid, I fear for our cause.”
Amy smiled defiantly.
“Signora Capitan, as you say: Ne pasaran! They will not get through!”
“Yes, you are right. Whats that?”
“Airplanes! Dammit, its their Stukas.”
“They are coming to us, I fear. ATTENTION! AIR ATTACK!”
Amy cursed the bloody Germans and their most feared weapon.
They arrived quickly, and delivered their load with the deadly accurency the Germans were known for.
Amy stumbled to her feet, her ears ringing, blood running across her face, blurring her sight. Capitan Flores was only a torn apart corps a few meters to the right. Dead and wounded everywhere, smoke rising. Amy looked out to the enemy line.
Fascists soldieresses approached rapidly uphill. Amy searched in the dirt for her rifle. She couldnt find it. She must find it...


“MADRID FALLEN TO NATIONALISTS
In the spanish civil war, the nationalist scored a major victory yesterday by conquering the capital Madrid. Our analysts say, german airplanes of LEGION CONDOR, a formation of german volunteeresses, were crucial to the fascist success. It is believed that the victory of Madrid was a decicive one, and that the end of the civil war is in sight...”
International Heraldress Tribune, September 30th 1936



VI  AN UNPLANNED JOURNEY

A party of the Republicans, New York, October 13th 1936, 20.08 hours

“Ah, Jill Ryan, YOU here? I thought youve gone democratic.”
The conversation died, as Lady Miranda Landon, republican candidatress for president, spoke the words in a voice full of acid.
Jill turned slowly.
“Well, Miranda, I am working for the government, not the Democrats, dear.”
“In case no one have told you, DEAR, the Democrats ARE the government. But rest assured, not for much longer.”
“So you are sure we will win, Miranda?”
Ladies and their male companions shifted uneasily as the two women starred at each other.
“We? I dont know if you have anything to win by my victory. How is it, counting german tanks and japaneses battleships, and... ah, italian whatever? Must be boring... And such a wasted time. You should better count the jobless in the streets or the communists laws this Roosevelt bitch has placed upon the diminishing freedom of our great nation.”
“Thats no radio speech, Miranda, cool down. These japanese battleships may bombard the coast of California sometimes in the future. Ive heard you have a nice house there too...”
“Nonsense... what can any european or asian dictatress win by attacking the States? Thats Science Fiction. When I will be president, no chick of ours will be sent overseas to fight silly samuraias or superfrauleins...”
“Its “if”, dear, “if”...”
“What?”
“IF you win the election...”
“Thats enough, Ryan. I assure you, your days in our party are numbered. You will be back at your university studying dusty books in a matter of weeks, I will see to that.”
“Is this a threat?”
“You have been warned. By the way, you should change your hairstyle. Some updoing would be nice. You look so... ah, democratic with this ponytail.”
“As president, you will surely bring into congress a law against ponytails...”
Landon lost her temper. For a moment or two it looked like she would physically attack Jill, and two older ladies positioned themselves near the Blonde to stop her, just in case.
Jill gave the candidatress a sweet smile and left.
Outside, in the fresh air of the night, she catched herself thinking for the first time that she wished Lady Roosevelt would win...


“ROOSEVELT REELECTED IN LANDSLIDE VICTORY”
Headlines of The Washington Post, November 5th 1936


CIA headquarters, Langley, Virginia, November 6th 1936, 9.11 hours

“Morning, Marcy...”
“Hi, Jill. Whats this smile? Your Miranda has lost, and big time...”
“Indeed she has. What a pity...”
“You dont tell me you have seen the light!”
“No, I wont become a commie, uh, sorry, a democrat.”
Both ladies grinned.
“Okay, lets get to work. Whats up?”
“Heres a report from this black gal, Beyonce Tucker. The old dragon and Eve Hoover decided she should keep us informed. No new trail, but the case count is now at 17.”
“Dammit. Any decision reached?”
“Yep, they will employ bodyguards for all scientists working on defence related projects. Will use regular cops even. Short on womanpower.”
“Better than nothing. Japan?”
“There are rumors about a japanese-german treaty, but nothing official. A source in the german foreign office says there will be a treaty within the month.”
“Dont like that.”
“Do you think it will be a full alliance?”
“No, but its the wrong direction anyway. If the Germans share their technological advantage with the samuraias...”
“I hear you...”


Home of Brit Keithen and Joan Smythe, Chicago, Illinois, November 16th 1936, 0.06 hours

Officress Maria Cipoletti of Chicago Police Department, currently on special duty for the FBI, made another round through the house.
The darkhaired lady with italian ancestry looked first after door and windows, than into Lady Keithens office. The small blonde scientist was still at work. She was lecturing theoretical science at university, some things about radioactivity Maria didnt bother to try to understand.
Keithen didnt even look up as Maria entered the room. The young cop left silently and looked into the bedroom. Lady Keithens female companion, a cute musician named Joan Smythe with long, curly brown hair, was already asleep.
Maria reentered the livingroom and settled down again. She checked her weapon, as every 15 minutes, without even thinking about it.
It was the first night of her new duty. Guarding a scientist... there were rumors of abductions. It sounded like out of a movie or even a comic. Maria didnt believe that anything would happen, but duty was duty, and the nightshifts were paid extra.
She sipped her coffee and lit another cigarette. Would be a long night, good she bought a fresh pack of Marlboros.
One hour later Lady Keithen left the office and joined her companion in bed.
Maria wished the blonde a good night and opened another hockey magazine. The Chicago Bullets had now lost four games in a row. Coach Rachel Summers was dead meat. Her mother was still a fan of Juventa Torino, back in Italy. There would be the world chamionships in 1938 over there in Italy. Wouldnt it be nice to be there, watching the games and visiting the place her mothers were born?
Time passed. Maria looked at her watch again. 2.36 hours.
She reached for a new cigarette and placed it between her cute lips. Where are the matches?
Then she heard it. A small sound in the house, around the bedroom. It could be the scientist and her companion, having some fun, but... Maria had this feeling in the neck.
Slowly she put down the Marlboro and drew her weapon, rose to her feet.
Yes, there were sounds. A brief moment she imagined herself storming into the bedroom, causing a very embarassing situation. No, there IS something wrong.
The door was okay. Windows too. There was still the backdoor to the garden, it... was slightly ajar.
Marias blood turned icecold. She approached the bedroom, very carefully, weapon ready. The door to the sleeping quarter was wide open. Someone, more than one, was moving in there.
Sweet ran into her left eye. She blinked. Calm, you must stay calm and cool, Maria.
She reached the door and looked into the room.
Brit Keithen and Joan Smythe were lying above the sheets on the bed, on their stomachs. The blonde scientist was strictly bound with ropes, the lower portion of her face covered by a broad white silk gag. Joan was gagged likewise, and a darkclad, masked figure hoovered over here, tying her up as well.
A second shadow stood left of the bed and watched. The intrudresses seemed to be cool and at ease doing their business.
Maria was determined to change that.
“FREEZE! Hands up!”
The two dark ones looked up, the ski masks hiding their expressions. They slowly raised their hands. Maria now saw that the two victims were unconscious.
There was the feint scant of chloroform.
“Over there!”
Maria gestured with her weapon.
The villainesses obeyed, still making no sound. They were still calm, even at ease. Thats bad, Maria thought.
A voice behind her said with arrogant coolness:
“Hello, sweetheart.”
Something hit Maria at the neck. Hard. She saw the ground approaching her, than everything went black.

The young cop slowly regained consciousness. She leaned against the front of the bed. Ropes cut into her ankles, arms and wrists, something filled her mouth, silk pressed against her lips and cheeks.
There were now three of them. The newcomeress had lifted her mask. The face of an angel, but a dark one. High cheekbones, cool, cold blue eyes, the blonde hair bound back by a black scarf.
“Hello again, Miss. I take it you are the watchdog. Well, we didnt plan for you, but its said anyway that no plan survives contact with the enemy. Ever visited Germany?”
“Mmpphh!”
“I knew you would say something like that. Its a nice country. Do you like beer? No, probably you are into wine. We have good wines too. You will like it, you really will.
Please excuse these security measures, I hope ropes and gag arent too tight? Dont mind, you will sleep most of the journey.”
Another villainess said something in a foreign, hard sounding language. The cool blonde nodded.
“Its time, cute cop. Relax, everything will be okay.”
Maria tried to escape the gloved hand, but fingers hard as steel gripped her neck and pressed into her flesh. Maria groaned again into her huge gag and lost consciousness again...