XXVIX – THE GREEN, PLEASANT LAND

SPARROW OF PARIS SILENCED!
“Last night, in Paris France, unknown assailants attacked the famous French chasonette Pia Edalette in her wardrobe just before the start of one of her concerts. The petite brunette beauty was tied up with much rope and silenced with a tight pink tapewrap gag, while her own panties were used as mouth stuffing. Stashed in a trunk, she was found only hours later. She declined to comment on the incident, but cancelled all her concerts. Its seems some people were not so found of her like everyone else. Good idea for some stars over here too… Brittney Bears comes to mind first.
CBS comedy radio show “WHATS UP?”, January 15th, 1939

Boston University, Boston, USA, January 16th, 1939, 11.34 hours

“So, German imperial policy before the war, as well as economic and military interests, all led to war, or at least the elites from the Kaisera downward did nothing to avoid it. The assumption of the Versailles treaty that Germany was responsible for the Great War is therefore justified in the end, other nations guilt non withstanding. Yes, Lady Gernsback?”
Jill ended her lecture and was, as usual, open for questions. Millibred Gernsback, a blonde with shoulder length curly hair and a rather cute little nose asked:
“Lady Professor, do you think the German regime and elites of today want a new war?”
“Well, they naturally say otherwise aloud, but if you read “Mein Kampf” by Frau Hitler, the book is about nothing else, and its their holy book. Then look at their rearmament, their policy, especially Austria, the Sudetenland question – where Europe already was very close to war. Hitler and the Fascistas, in my opinion, do want a war, and the elites of industry, military, diplomacy and the like wouldnt mind avenging the defeat of 1918. Only thing is there are reservations about the pace of the whole thing. I spoke with several of their old elite, and they are clearly worried.
But you have me there on actual politics again. The Great War is our theme, and, if reluctantly, we should stay there. Please read through the list of sources my assistantess has written on the board.”
Only as the session ended, Jill noticed the tall, beautiful blonde lady in the last row in her very expensive clothes and with the routine smile which didnt reach the grey eyes.
Rowenna Grayson, the old spider in the centre of the Republicans web, still looked gorgeous at 68, her longevity drugs and other treatments without doubt first class.
Jill was really surprised to see Rowenna at one of her lectures. Obviously, something was afoot.
“Hello, Lady Grayson. I didnt know you need lectures on the Great War. Maybe you should give them instead of a baby chick like me.”
“Jill, I now understand why they say you are a great teacher. It was a pleasure to listen. Lets have a coffee over in your cafeteria. Is it any good?”
“The lady cook is a former Marine Master Sergeant.”
“Ahh, okay, that guarantees quality.”
Both left the room, joined by Rowennas two bodyguards, who had waited outside. Rowenna offered the obligatory cigarettes. Both lit up, and Rowenna eyed Jill Ryan through the smoke.
“You look better than last year. You should have quitted sooner at CIA.”
“Everyone tells me that. Guess everyone is right. Just didnt get along with the Roosevelt, let alone her policy.”
“Franka is about to change this policy. Mainly to counter our moves.”
“I am still surprised we are getting hawkish and interventionist lately. Should make the Democrats more isolationist still, as people still are mainly pacifist and looking inward.”
“Yeah, but Franka and her bunch cant ignore the Mexco situation. This crazy Arranza chick talks about taking back Texas and marching on LA. Maybe only rhetoric, but we see in Europe that rhetoric is these days often followed by actions.”
“So, this rearmament programme is for real?”
“Seems this way.”
“What will we do? Go with it? Oppose it?”
“Well, we will say its not enough and only half hearted, but in the end we will go along, as we really need the rearmament. Pattons First Cav is all between Texas and the Mexican army. Furthermore, you have to start somewhere.”
“Mexico is a mad faint. The Germans are using them to distract us from Europe.”
“Agreed, Jill, but we will have to settle matters down there beforel we can intervene in Europe.”
“Did I get that right, you want to intervene in Europe?”
“If theres a war over there, democracy is in acute danger. We will have to do something decisive.”
“The public will never go along with this.”
“Not yet, Jill, not yet. But the polls change like a 20 year old her lingerie. We need to concentrate more on plans and options for our policy. We want to have a clear concept in the next election. Why dont you come over to Washington to work for the team as a special consultant. You have been in CIA, you are an expert on Germany and military issues. We need you, Jill.”
“Is this a general pardon? Under Landon I was a persona non grata in the end.”
“Miranda was a fool. Still is, to be exact. We were dumb to set on this horse. The next candidatress must be of another calibre. The more so as rumours already have it Roosevelt wants to continue into a third period.”
“Already someone in mind?”
“Perhaps. But we have to wait a bit. My favourite shows talent, but is not ready yet.”
“Do I know her?”
“Sure, Jill. But lets discuss now some of my plans for the team. I would like to hear your suggestions for the members. Which military leadresses appeal to you as chiefs of staff?”
Poor Jill grabbed for the bait, forgetting about the candidatress name...


Wai Choi airfield, near Kunming, Free China, January 18th, 1939, 5.11 hours

Miyabi had lived from the countryside for five days. She could have taken a rifle or gun from the Chinese guards dead hands, but she always avoided to even touch firearms. Armed only with a bayonet, she had killed small animals, but mainly ate worms and insects, drinking dirty water filtered through one of the scarfs she had been gagged with, the second one tugged under her belt as a reminder, she stroking it with blazing eyes when resting in daylight.
The Chinese were determined to find her. Search parties littered the area, guard posts everywhere, even a biplane infested the sky above, circling again and again to spot her.
She could have killed several of the parties, but refrained from doing so, as the corpses would have constituted a trail to her.
It took her five nights to avoid all enemies and reach the airfield again. She immediately noticed something was wrong.
No planes along the runway, no sentries visible. She watched on for a time, then went in.
It was a trap, the Chinese were waiting for her. Miyabi killed them all but one, who told her before dying too that the American mercenaries had left for an airfield 600 miles further east a day ago.
Her prey was gone.
She left the airbase, leaving behind a good deal of dead Chinese, and vanished into the wilderness again.


A tennis court, outskirts of Paris, February 10th, 1939, 15.22 hours

“Please light up again, Josefine!”
Josefine Lenglen lit her Marlboro and took the first drag, laying back her head in the process as told, letting out smoke around the stick. She was slightly dizzy, as it was the fifth smoke in 25 minutes. And, as usual, in a fool mood. She hated it to be called Josefine by this American gal in Hawaii blouse and blue jeans, not to mention the red pimples in her face. What a disgusting person.
“No, no, NO! Joan, please. Her lipstick is still not glossy enough. I want more contrast between her lips and the filter of the cigarette.”
Josefine suppressed a growl, tossed the cigarette to one of the numerous gals surrounding her, and waited for the makeup-artist to go to work again.
Her smoking escapade catched by the Viper at the worldcup last year did have an impact, and her managress had been very agitated indeed. But not as the Lenglen had expected. Protests by health advocatresses and the SISTERS AGAINST GREEDY SINS not counted, the world public seemed delighted a star like Josefine indulged in such a cool, if unhealthy, vice. Her managress sensed the money in it, and only two days after the pictures published, the JANET MORRIS INC. had been on the phone, lusting for an advertisement contract.
It made her even richer than before, okay, and she admitted she had missed the vice and quite happily succumbed to it again, but she could clearly have done without the shootings of the advertisements for cinemas around the world.
Her dark hair falling openly on her shoulders, held back from her face by a light blue silk scarf, she wore a rather short silken tennis dress of the same colour. The American team shooting the ad tortured her for several hours now, and the directress let Vilma Viper pale in comparison regarding style and manners.
Another question was her performance on the court. Sure, she limited her smoking as best she could, but her stamina had clearly suffered. She was still the worlds number one tennis lady, winning most tournaments she started in, but it already got harder. Her managress didnt seem to care, but Josefine had on her own adopted a stricter training regime, centered around her fitness. While the Media and her fans called her “The Divine”, for the other gals on the circuit, she was known as “The Machine”. She was determined to hold on to this nickname despite her new/old vice.
“Okay, we are ready again.”
“Fine. Josefine, in position. We start again with some shots of the unlit stick dangling from your lips. I hope the lipstick is right now.”
“We must hurry, Priss, the light is becoming bad.”
“Dont worry, we must continue tomorrow anyway.”
Josefine kept an impassive face at this news. Its easy to reach a decision, the hard part is to live with the consequences, her mother, killed at Verdun by the Boches, had always said.


PETRA GEIGER ASKS FOR REFUGE IN USA, WILL JOIN THE MIAMI PANTHERS,
“The German hockey playeress and best playeress of the World Cup last year, Petra Geiger, has taken the opportunity during a visit of the German National Team in USA to flee and asking for political asylum, which was granted. Germans are outraged, but the American public is delighted, mainly to see the girl playing in the National Hockey League from now on. The Geiger will give an interview to us too, which will be broadcasted next Tuesday, 20 hours Eastern Time.
By the way, ever tried a latex full-body suit of RUBBERDOLL? It is specially impregnated to water your love tubes, Myladies, and is available in all sizes and every colour. Naturally with zippers over scrotch and butt, you know. It costs only…”
CBS, Queens of Sports, February 18th, 1939, 20.02 hours


Hockey Stadion, New Orleans, March 2nd, 1939, 18.04 hours

“Oh my, this Geiger gal is unbelievable. Our strikress on her side had not a single shot!”, Tom Tucker exclaimed.
“Yeah, The Panthresses are more overwhelming than ever because of her. Feathers in the offense, Geiger in the back, they will win the championship with flying colours, not to mention this game.” Beyonce added.
“New Orleans won against the Panthresses the last time... uh... seven years ago. Natalia Kurkova was our goalie back then. Gal, the saves!”
Beyonce smiled warmly at her husband.
“Do you still remember every game of the Blizzards?”
“Sure, honey, since my mother took me to my first game as I was five.”
Tom watched the home games of the New Orleans Blizzards every two weeks, leaving none out, at least since Beyonce had married him. Memories of this marriage came to her mind. Her mothers had been furious back then. Her sweet Beyonce, marrying a sweating, hairy male, a student at that! It had taken her six years to repair relations with her lesbian parents.
At last they had accepted Tom, mainly because he was a decent, caring, sensitive person and the one person on earth their daughter loved deeply and truly.
What was that, she getting sentimental. Tom still watched the game, shouting out repeatedly like the other, mostly female, fans around them.
Beyonce thoughts wandered off to other matters. The Deltas had been quite busy the last weeks, hunting down the REAL GUYS across the country. Mainly childs play, the GUYS usually didnt live up to their own expectations, but in New York it got hairy. A GUY named Jonathan, armed and for once really dangerous, had put up a firefight in his apartment, taking the somewhat lax Deltas by surprise. One gal of A- platoon had been injured badly, before Maria Cipoletti settled things with two bullets into Jonathans brain.
Cool as ice, the small Italian. She looked so cute and sweet, but was a real warrioress. Beyonce no longer had doubts about her. Amy had been right.
Amy and her team, including Maria, were currently down at the Mexican border, employed in a mission against smuggleresses, which FBI expected to smuggle agents across too, given the new situation in Mexico.
Yes, Mexico. Things were getting worse down there. This Arranza gal was completely mad. Revenge for the insults of the past! How could Mexico ever hope to fight the USA successfully? Amy saw the Germans behind it all. Okay, Amy saw the Germans behind pizzas vanishing from the refrigerator, but for once Beyonce thought her right.
Maybe Amy was right in other things too. What if the Germans really wanted to conquer the world? What if they really had to fight them? Suddenly, she remembered the Skorzeny, back in Miami aerodrome. What an arrogant slut. But dangerous. Very dangerous. Maria would be glad to meet her again, and ...
“NOOOO! DAMNIT!”
Toms outburst and the ones of thousands others startled Beyonce. Miami had scored again, transforming the Blizzards defeat slowly but inevitably into a humiliation.
She grinned at Tom and thought of the night ahead...


Onboard KLM Airship MAJA VAN GOGH, on route to Dublin International Aerodrome, March 14th, 1939, 13.19 hours

The beautiful, tall blonde crossed her long shapely legs in the skin tight white overknee boots and opened the newest issue of LASCIVIOUSNESS AND BEAUTY, a shiny magazine from the States.
More than one of the other passengers eyed the blonde, who was a real knockout, her boots and fine dress, the perfect makeup and the open blonde mane only adding to it.
The male flight attendant of KML approached the beauty with deference, although he could barely hide his interest. In the Netherlands, rules for males were among the most liberal in the world, but the boy knew better than to flirt with an international flight guest. She could be a German, and the rules for males were very strict in Fascist Germany, or so he had heard.
“May I be of service, Mylady?”
She looked up. Though not smiling, she was polite, her English accent sounding American, east coast.
“An apple juice, and matches, please.”
“Sure, immediately, Mylady.”
Ophelia Skorzeny looked down on the magazine again, eyeing an ad for Marlboros showing tennis star Josefine Lenglen. Gorgeous gal, this one. Arrogant ladies were all around like lackeys in the Fuhras wake, but most were arrogant and dumb. This maiden was arrogant and dangerous. Ophelia had seen “the Divine” live in Paris once and admired her for her stamina and determination.
The German propaganda loathed her for boycotting German tournaments and had serious problems with her “German” virtues, so much better suited for a blonde Superfrau than a decadent French gal. Naturally, this was all crap. Ophelia didnt believe the Superfrauen-chanting for a single moment, although pretending otherwise. She believed in strength, and brains and fun. Take what you want, the winnress gets it all, no matter if German, French or a cannibal girl from Papua- Newguinea.
Okay, she liked to insult people on racist grounds, like this Tucker gal of FBI back then, but only because it was mean, and she liked to be mean. It suited her well, she thought.
The attendant reappeared, with apple juice and matches.
She took a sip, lit a Marlboro and skimmed through the magazine. Tomorrow was the day. The Reich would move on Czechoslovakia, and as far as her intel got, there were no problems to be expected from the Czechs. The Allies were another matter. Ophelia sensed it had been enough. They wont swallow this pill like the others before. Resistance was mounting.
There would be war within the year. She sensed danger and action ahead, drugs she lusted for far more than for nicotine and sex.
While Wehrmacht and SET busied themselves with swallowing the Czechs, she herself had another mission. She remembered Blodwen Shawnessy fondly. A bit bloodthirsty, but a real grenade in the sheets. To have a look at IRAs secret training camp in the Irish countryside was a good opportunity to collect some new scars on her back from Blodwens fingernails.
She smiled to herself, instantly capturing the hearts of two young ladies, an Irish and a Belgian one, who watched her with barely hidden interest, and started to read an article about a pleasure holiday tour in Rio de Janeiro, which was more than a bit spicy in nature.
Two hours to Dublin...


Jill and Bethany Ryans home, Boston, USA, March 16th, 1939, 6.40 hours

Jill wasnt surprised by the news that Germany had annexed the Czechs after installing a puppet state in Slovakia.
Maybe it had been the right thing to get more engaged again with the party.
While she scanned the pages of her three newspapers, her thoughts wandered to the work in the team the Republicans had put together. Even if she really believed the Fascists had to be stopped, and that in the end it was Americas mission, the whole thing was quite unreal to her. Discussing persons for government and military positions, planning the transformation of the economy to a war footing, war plans, production plans, everything reminded Jill of the strategy board games she played as a student. She had usually won these games. But this wasnt a game.
She wasnt aware of the fact that the other membresses of the team listened to her, asked her for guidance, grouped themselves around her. Jill was by no means dumb, but as she only voiced what was reasonable and logical, and, experience to the contrary, believed other people to be reasonable and logical too, it seemed quite natural to her that her arguments more often than not won in the discussions.
There was this one drawback. Bethany didnt like this teamwork  the least bit, Jill knew that. But when talking to her wife about it, Beth always avoided the discussion, putting a weird, sad smile on her face.
Jill shook her head and helped herself to another marmalade toast. She had 36 home works on the German Elite before the Great War to read. Time to get started...


Dorothea Kitchener Barracks, Belfast, Northern Ireland, April 2nd, 1939, 21.18 hours

“It will take us on foot about three hours from the assembly area to the target. We plan to arrive at 3.00 AM, clearly before dawn, when everyone minus the guards should be asleep, and human reaction time is lowest. We will employ our groups here, here and here, with myself added to Leftenant Stockbottoms group, to take out the Shawnessy personally.”
“What about this blonde at the camp?”
“Didnt your sources say shes a German spy? An SET chick? She will get the special treatment like the Shawnessy, dont fear.”
“Will be a real ace up the sleeve to capture her too. If the cabinet hears about that, they might really follow through with their new policy.”
“Well, we offered the guarantee to Poland, for all practical purposes that allied them with us. No way Lady Chamberlain can row back now.”
Louis Mountbatten looked really forward to the mission. These bomb throwers of IRA had it coming, and her commandos were eager to end their machinations once and for all.
Bridget Jones of Secret Service said:
“Well, as we told you, there are more than eighty of the bloody bitches at the camp, all armed.”
“They well be asleep, and all taped up in a moment. We have enough tape for all of them. Serious, we have planned it well. In combat, always something goes wrong, but when everything should go wrong, we can still employ our weapons, and our training as well as our firepower is clearly superior, ad to this the surprise effect. It will work.”
“Better not to shed blood, we dont want to heat up the Irish situation even more.”
“We will avoid it at all circumstances, trust me.”
“Your words in the Mother goddess beautiful ears.”
“So, do we have the go for tomorrow night?”
“Okay, Lady Mountbatten, the mission is a Go.”


Camp Just, Irish countryside, Republic of Ireland, April 4th, 1939, 2.52 hours

The bodies of the blonde and the readhead were covered in sweat, both were breathing heavily.
Blodwen Shawnessy reached over Ophelias bosom for the cigarettes, putting one between the still quivering lips of the blonde, than supplied her own lips. She lit the sticks, both inhaled deeply.
“I take it you will leave us soon, O.”
“I think so. After two weeks watching your gals, giving the odd advice here and there, theres hardly anything I can do now. Your gals are ready to act as instructors themselves. You should proceed to the next step.”
The Shawnessy nodded.
“Are you growing tired of me?”
“Jealousy? What an antiquated emotion.”
“Perhaps for you and your pagan goddesses.”
“Goddesses are for fouls. Just Mumbo-Jumbo.”
“You swear quite often by your pagan goddesses.”
“Its fun to do so. The Mother Goddess is so boring. To answer your question, wildcat, one of my faults is restlessness, and after two weeks, I am getting bored around here. You are a pleasure, your gals are eager and fit, and the countryside is lovely, but...”
“You need something new.”
“You name it.”
“Well, I will survive that, hopefully. I will miss our special training at night, thats for sure.”
Blodwen rose.
“I am heading for the shower.”
Ophelia just nodded. The Shawnessy put on a blouse and trousers and left the barrack.
The blonde SET rose, still naked, after her departure. Strolling over to the window, she looked into the night. A really nice country. But it was time to leave, it... her eyes narrowed. Something... no, there was nothing. A moment she had sensed danger, but it was gone.
She headed back to the bed, her long fingers nestled a fresh cigarette out of the pack...