XVII – DOGS AND OLD LADIES

Dorothea Witherspoon Street 86, Home of Jane Oppenheimer, Chicago, Illinois, March 6th, 1938, 19.05 hours

“I should accompany you if you go out with him.”
“Do you think they will try to catch me on the open street, with the neighborhood looking? Oh, I can imagine them dragging me into a van, overpowering me there, while the car rushes through the streets, police cars following...”
“Well, ah, Miss Oppenheimer, not exactly.”
“Noodles and I are very excited, arent we, Noodles?”
“He doesnt seem impressed, let alone excited.”
“Noodles is very cool, Trish. His ancestry is british, and very noble.”
“Really?”
Trish Randon, police officer of Chicago police department, tall, blonde, and good friend of the long absent Maria Cipoletti, eyed Noodles with visible doubts.
“He looks ordinary enough.”
“Dont say that! Noodles can get really angry on this matter.”
“Can you, Noodles?”
Noodles remained quiet, but seemed a bit restless now.
“We should really go, Trish. By the way, I dont think anymore the Superfrauen will try to get me. Look, they are themselves far more advanced in my field of research.”
Which Trish never bothered to understand.
“Well, Miss Oppenheimer, before Noodles is getting angry with us, or urinates on the carpet, lets go...”

Dorothea Witherspoon Street 87, Home of Bronwyn Breckenridge, Chicago Illinois, March 6th, 1938, 19.08 hours

“Well, they go out with the dog, like every evening. The cop doesnt seem to be too concerned. Might be bad if shes too relaxed.”
Gina vanFleet leaned back in her chair and drank some coffee. Amy leaned over and said:
“Noodles seems to be very relaxed too.”
The vanFleet looked up from her instruments. 
“What? Its a dog, and...”
“Yes and no. Noodles is a secret agent of CIA, assigned to our force.”
Amy looked deadly serious. VanFleet blinked. At this moment Beyonce entered and said:
“Any report from Noodles yet?”
Gina vanFleet looked aghast at the two Deltas. Both burst out into laughter.
“You really bought it, didnt you?”
Before the com specialist could answer, the houseownress entered the room too.
“Well, any germans to be seen yet? Arrogant bitches, these sl*ts, all of them. Met them in battle at the Argonnen, back in 17-18. Bitches, all of them. Anyone some scotch?”
Bronwyn Breckinridge was more than a bit overweight, and the living example that longevity drugs and plastic surgery could take you only so far and not beyond. Her hair was grey, her skin wrinkled, and her dress out of the last century. Amy suspected she witnessed the civil war, probably riding alongside Ulyssa Sherman herself.
Beyonce grinned.
“No, thanks, Lady Breckinridge. And no, no Germans yet.”
“Uh, will help myself to some scotch. Maybe a sandwich? You look skinny, young Bimbo, very skinny. Doesnt your wife feed you enough?”
“I am married to a male, Mam.”
“Really? Well, that cant be helped now. Anyone a sandwich?”
Amy coughed.
“Yes, you like my sandwiches, dont you? By the way, they will come tonight. My scar in the shoulder hurts. Smells the lot. A shell fragment of their 15,2er, back in St.Mihiel. My bataillon was attacking straight up that hill, and the Kraut frauleins had a hot welcome for us. I remember...”
Beyonce remained as calm as possible. Amy grinned and took a sandwich. The black gal fingered for her cigarettes. If the Germans wont kill them all soon, Lady Bronwyn might succeed in it verbally...

Beyonce killed her 10th Pall Mall of the night and tried to concentrate on USA Today. Coachess Dreadwater had nominated the team for the world cup in summer. Beyonce hoped the US chicks would be victorious and show the Fascha girls whos chief. 
It was 2.26 hours. Across the street, the Oppenheimer and the blonde cop were still around, playing chess in the living room. Only Noodles was probably asleep.
Amy played with a dangerous looking knife for quite some time now. Beyonce feared she might start to cut a delta into the furniture. Lady Bronwyn might not take that lightly, and Beyonce had seen the still functional old service rifle down in the hall.
One of the radios crackled.
“Jane Home, this is Jane 6. A truck is coming down the road, slowly, no lights.”
Van Fleet answered:
“Roger that, Jane 6.”
Beyonce and Amy were immediately up and beside the vanFleet.
“That might be it.” Amy said with barely hidden excitement.
“Jane Home, Jane 6. The markings on the side read: Marvel Comics Delivery.”
Beyonce grunted, Amy grinned.
“They park it, not far from X. 5 persons out, female, dark clad, skimasks. Its for real.”
Beyonce suddenly felt hot, red anger coming up in her. Here they were, really DARING to abduct and harm an american citiceness, in the middle of Chicago. Well, this time, they were in for a surprise...


Dorothea Witherspoon Street, Chicago, Ilinois, March 7th, 1938, 2.32 hours

Dagmar Kleikamp eyed the house. It was unfortunate that the Oppenheimer and her bodyguard were still awake, as the lights in the living room showed, but on the other hand...
She signalled to her team in SET-sign language:
“Change of plans. Will take them awake.”
No one objected, the SET had a stern discipline, and Dagmar ruled her unit with an iron fist. 
The five german gals made her way without a sound to the garden. The back door posed no problem for Unteroffizier Ulla Becker.
Inside, they heard Jazz music. Dagmar smiled. This decadent negro music fit the scientist well. Lady Beethoven would shudder in her grave. Becker and Reinwald remained in the back, the standard procedure. Dagmar advanced with the two others to the living room.
The Oppenheimer with her long black curls played chess with a tall blonde. The scientist puffed on a pipe. How extravagant. The dog looked up. It hadnt barked yet, not a very good watchdog. Well, what to expect from a poodle?
“Good evening, Ladies! No, dont touch that gun, sweetheart. I am here to invite you to a little journey.”
Dagmar didnt bother drawing her gun, which her two team members did instead.
The Oppenheimer looked down at the poodle.
“Noodles, why didnt you warn us? Who are you, and how dare you break in and...”
“Will you PLEASE shut up? Well, the gags will take care of that. Blondie, toss your gun here. Be careful. Annegret, gags!”
One of her SET produced the makings of two gags.
The blonde cop tossed the gun across and hissed:
“You will never get away with this!”
“You think so? Trust me, we will.”
The german Major really enjoyed herself. She produced a pack of german Juno Filter cigarettes and placed one between her lips.
“So, if you two would be so kind to put on these gags please?”
Dagmar didnt see it coming. Everything happened real fast. Doors opened, gals with submachine guns entered in the blink of an eye, an outcry at the backddor, a shot, another one. Her two soldiers on the ground, weapons at their heads.
The German looked about, totally aghast. She looked more than a bit silly with the cigarette still in her face, her eyes wide.
A Negro bitch approached her, looking grim.
“Good evening, I am Beyonce Tucker of FBI. You are under arrest. Would you care to tell us your name, Mylady?”
“What... you... I demand a lawyer!”
“I am not surprised. Well, for starters, you and your gals will get a taste of your own medicine.”
A gal with blue eyes and short dark hair took up one of the gags from the ground. 
“Is this yours, Mylady?”
“You... you cant tie up and gag us! I know my rights! Thats inhuman and totally unnecessary!”
“If we were cops, you were right. But we arent. So... please put on that gag, will you?”
“You will never get away with this!”
“Heard that a short while ago. Come on, I am tired, you made us wait rather long. Or should I help you?”
“No, no, I will do it.”
Dagmar watched in horror, as her two SET were rudely bound and gagged with the ropes and scarfs planned to be used on Jane Oppenheimer and her bodyguard. She gulped and started to gag herself. The enormity of the disaster hit her suddenly, and she moaned into the packing, binding a scarf above her mouth in a kind of trance.
The poodle barked. The Oppenheimer said:
“Now its too late, Noodles!”


XVIII – FALLOUT


Diary of GFM Luise Beck, Chief of German OKW, March 20th, 1938

What a disaster! I still cant believe we really did this. Going out and abducting foreign nationals to boost our own research, blackmailing the victims with the wellbeing of their loved ones. Thats Himmlers handwriting, the prisoners in USA surely being SET troopers. What madness to believe one can get away with this. And now the Reich is in jeopardy. 
The whole international community is demanding release of prisoners, compensation and an apology. The trade embargo widens by the day, only Japan and Italy and, astonishing enough, the Sovietas, have not yet joined the others.
We must row back, and quick. I see caving in as the only option. The Reich is not strong enough yet to ignore this. Its too early. Wehrmacht is simply not ready for a showdown.
Rumors have it the Fuehra had a run in with Himmler, and that Himmler might be sacked. Not that I would mind seeing nasty Hermine gone for good, but I doubt it will happen. This is a sham, cause the Fuehra surely authorized the whole operation.
As if we needed this now! German scientists are among the best ladies in the world, Wehrmacht will be superior without this comicbook methods, if we only take our time. I need one or better two more years. But the Fuehra is restless. Planning for an operation against the Czechas has already started. With this abduction sh*t going on, the Allies and even the USA might oppose us in earnest when we attack the Czechas.
There is even talk about banning the Reichs hockey team from the upcoming world cup. As trivial as this may be, it never happened before, even as the Japanese occupied Manchuria back in 31. Its a clear sign we are in trouble.
The Fuehra loves hockey and our team. If nothing else, the threat of a ban might convince her that we must cave. Yes, there is nothing else we can do now. I hope the Fuehra sees this too, or the consequences might be grave indeed, far graver than to be banned from sports events.


SET Headquarters, Castle Wolfsheim, Thueringen, March 22nd 1938, 11.20 hours

“I had great reservations against Major Kleikamp from the start. But... Reichsfuehra...you know how it is... you dont critize a comradess only out of antipathy and a certain feeling.”
“I see, Oberstleutnant Skorzeny. Well, we dont know for sure the disaster happened because of Kleikamps mistakes. Sooner or later, the Americanas or Britas had to find a way.”
“I concur, Reichsfuehra. We all know it was a dangerous operation. I hope the benefits outweigh the resulting fallout.”
Hermine Himmler, Reichsfuehra of SET, Chief of German Police and ministress of Interior of the German Reich eyed Skorzeny with a certain affection.
“The fallout, as you call it, is most unfortunate. The Fuehra wont forget the humiliation. But we know have no other option than to give in. We will apologize and pay compensation. We probably will even let the Schmetterlinge* go.”
“To bad. There is talking about heads to roll.”
“Is this fear, Oberstleutnant?”
“Hardly so, Reichsfuehra. I will serve the Reich in every capacity you or the Fuehra see fit.”
“You are my best woman, Ophelia. The Fuehra is very fond of you too. Under your leadership, SCHMETTERLINGSFAENGERIN was running smoothly without incident. It wont be your head to fall. But you wont visit the USA in the near future.”
“I can live with that. A new assignment?”
“Not yet. As we know have the pleasure to witness, your little mission in Prague proved to be very successful indeed. I didnt believe it at first, but the Stalina is really killing off her whole officer corps. It came rarely better than that.”
Himmler laughed. Skorzeny allowed herself a wolfish grin.
“I dont know what we have in store for you, but be assured, it will be a worthwhile mission again. No abductions though – for the time being.”
“Well, Reichsfuehra, I took a certain liking to this kind of mission, but espionage and deception have their merits too.”
“No complaining? I thought you want to go out and do real combat?”
“I gather the time for this will come soon enough.”
“You might be right, Oberstleutnant, you might be right.”
“So, SCHMETTERLINGSFAENGERIN is closed for good?”
“Yes, other considerations aside, the Fuehra wants to see us triumphant in the Hockey World Cup, and a ban would be contraproductive, obviously.”
Himmler grinned like a shark. Skorzeny smiled dryly and said:
“Good to know the Fuehra has priorities...”

* Schmetterling = Butterfly, Schmetterlingsfaengerin = Butterflycatchress


Site B 5, forests south of Nuremberg, Bavaria, Germany, March 27th, 1938, 8.40 hours

“Okay, ladies. We are going on a little trip know. All your belongings are to come with you. And dont forget toothbrush and hairshampoo, will you.”
The SET Hauptfrau was getting a bit sarcastic about it, but Maria Cipoletti and Joan Smythe were hardly in the mood for jokes.
“What is this all about Maria? You dont think there gonna do something... ah bad to us?”
“You mean like shooting us in the woods and putting us all in an unmarked grave? Thats an option, I am afraid.”
“No, it must be something else. Something is going on outside. We received no papers for two weeks. Maybe Hitler is gone and a democratic government in place, and...”
“Dont count on it, Joan. Well, we have not much options other than to wait and see.”
An hour later, the 120 prisoners of B 5 boarded military trucks, guarded by grim looking 
 and heavily armed SET sentries. Dogs were barking, the Hauptfrau barked too, and the mood of the assembled ladies darkened.
Maria thought of a bullett in the neck and shuddered. Joan looked very frightened in the truck beside her on a bench. A child started crying. Maria took Joans hand and pressed it, smiling bravely at her. Joan fought obviously with tears. 
Damn the Superfrauen, Maria thought for the thousandth time in the past one and a half years.

Two hours later they were all on a sealed train going west. The passenger compartments were quite comfortable, young, polite german males in pretty uniforms had distributed coffee and sandwiches, and the mood had lightened considerably. It was only that the windows were darkened, and that in the gangway there were still sentries.
In their compartment, Maria and Joan tried to relax, they and the four other gals, two Britas, a Dutch and a Greek one, smoked, and because of the sealing the room was filled with blue smoke. No one complained.
Joan asked what must be for the tenth time:
“Where are they taking us?”
“Another camp?” One of the Britas opinioned.
Maria shook her head. 
“No, something other is afoot. These polite stewards... I dont know what, but...”
“We are stopping.”
“GET OUT; QUICK! Everyone out, quick, please.”
They were hustled out of the train by the guards, but gently so.
Maria looked about. A railway station, and there... reportresses? Flashlights! The sign over there... STRASSBOURG!
Joan asked:
“Where are we?”
“Looks like France.”
“Then... then they released us!”
Maria couldnt believe it. Then the reportresses were on them. Maria blinked in the flashlights and tried to come to terms with her sudden freedom...


A Hughes Airfield, Nevada, April 4th, 1938, 14.35 hours

Bill Eaton climbed out of the cockpit and jumped to the ground. The female mechanics swarmed the plane. Hughes approached the male aviator, grinning broadly.
“What do you say, Bill?”
“A marvellous bird, Hortensa. Fast, agile, easy to handle. The ideal fighter plane. I wonder why the Army Air Corps didnt order it.”
“The jarheads prefer the Curtiss P.40 now under development. Intrigues, you know. Anyway, I will produce the bird on my own. I have designated it the P.IX Tigress. Great plans I have with the Tigresses.”
“So?”
“Well, Bill, you know the sh*t going on in China, with the Japanese massacring the brave people there. We cant stand idle by. The government might sit on its hands, but a private venture will alter the balance.”
“A private venture? You want to sell the Tigress to China? Noble, mam, real noble, but, frankly said, I doubt there is a chinese chick able to pilot it.”
“You are so right, Bill.”
Hortensa grinned again.
“Sorry, Hortensa, but I dont get it.”
“Isnt it obvious? I will send the pilots with the birds. All volunteresses, naturally, but they will go over there and shoot down some freaking jap bombers, yeah!”
“But, I mean, what will the government say?”
“What can they say, Bill? You remember the business in Spain, right? The Lincoln Brigade was over there, and State department did nothing to stop them. Believe me, I have thought it all through. Only need the gals to fly the birds. The payment will be first class, naturally.”
“Well, count me in.”
“You, Bill? Come on, you are a boy, remember?”
“Ah, Mam...”
“Dont give me the Mam again, Bill. Whats the matter?”
“I am a  pilot as good as any gal you might find for the job. And I know how to squeeze the triggers of machine-guns in a plane. Why shouldnt I go? Is it because you think I am not woman enough?”
“Bill, I dont doubt you braveness, but males dont fight. If you are killed...”
“I could have been killed on the record flight last year. The risk is the same.”
“I see. Well, I will think about it.”
“I really want it. Fighting fascism is the mission of our time. I need to get my share of the burden.”
“You are still the most unusual guy I ever had the pleasure to meet. Okay, there are more tests coming up. I will be to Detroit this evening, have to organize the guns for the birds. Much work ahead.”
“Any date yet?”
“We will need about four more months for preparation. But then, the Tigresses will go hunting.”
“Dont forget I want to be among them, Hortensa.”
“We will see, Bill, we will see.”


Delta Force barracks, Atlanta, Georgia, April 9th, 1938, 10.08 hours

“Please take a seat, Lady Cipoletti. Coffee? Cigarette?”
“Coffee would be nice.”
Beyonce eyed the young cop as Cipoletti produce her own cigarettes and lit one. A soft looking sweet girl at first sight, but determined, it seems. The Germans had obviously treated their prisoners well.
“So, you want to be part of the team.”
“Yes, Mam. I know you started out as a special unit countering airship hijacking, but you have developed into a combat force for all kinds of special missions, among them the capture of the thugsesses abducting Americanas.”
“You were a victim of them yourself. Try to get even?”
“Thats part of my motivation, as you can easily guess, Mam. Trussed up like a turkey, stuffed in a crate and imprisoned in the bavarian forest for one and a half years can rise your lust for vengeance quite a bit. Especially with this Skorzeny bitch.”
Amy and Beyonce starred at her.
“Do you say Skorzeny?”
“Yeah, the lady kidnapped me back then. I will never forget her face.”
“Lookie here. Miss Skorzeny was part of the operation. This bitch...”
“You know her?”
“All to well, Lady Cipoletti, all to well. Anyway. Maybe we never meet any Germans again. If you are so singleminded, this might be the wrong place for you.”
Amy, working on an extra large chocolate bar over at the window, grunted at that.
Beyonce smiled.
“Well, Lady Wilder has a special relationship to the Superfrauen too. Its her scar. Stukas back in Spain. She is convinced the Germans will try to conquer the world and that the US has to come to the rescue like the cavalry in the Western movies.”
“Lady Wilder might be right. The Germans are clearly up to something. They abducted us not out of kinky motives.”
“You have a point there, Lady Cipoletti. Okay, you are a good shot, your fitness is not up to standard, but once was before your german adventure, so I guess it can be restored. You HAVE a strong motivation.”
Beyonce paused. The Cipoletti eyed her, determined as hell.
Amy grunted:
“I say lets see what the gal can accomplish. I will have a look at her myself. What do you say, Beyonce?”
“Okay, okay, resistance is futile, I see. I have my reservations, but we will give it a try. Lady Cipoletti, welcome to the Deltas.”
Maria Cipoletti smiled for the first time.