XXVIII – DIE HARD

if it were a movie:
The Japanese empress: Lucy Liu
Miyabi: Jade Xu
(I know they are no Japanese, the eyes would be adjusted by makeup)
Bronwyn Breckinridge: Robin Williams as Mrs.Doubtfire
Music theme Bronwyn: Up is down, Pirates of the Carribean 3 OST, by Hans Zimmer


Chicago Police Department, Chicago, Ilinois, January 13th 1939, 12.56 hours

“Your gals are really good, Lady Tucker. This little Italian with the huge eyes, never seen a better shot in my career.”
“Thanks, Lady Comissioner.”
Beyonce Tucker was very pleased with the day so far. Her A-platoon had clearly won the shootout with the gals from Chicago PD. Chicago was simply a good place for the Deltas. She remembered very fondly the mission here against the German SET, ending the abductions. 
While she was chatting with the Lady Comissioner, A-platoon was having a break. For the afternoon, a long-distance-run against Chicagos finest was planned. Beyonce had no doubt her chicks would be triumphant again. Even if Amy already chewed on another chocolate bar and Maria sucked on a Marlboro as usual.
“Lady Tucker, we should head to the Cafeteria now, the Lady Mayor will arrive soon, and...”
A police officress approached the Comissioner and whispered urgently in her ear. The blonde stirred. A quick glance to Beyonce. There were suddenly worried faces in the background.
The chief of FBIs Delta Force raised an eyebrow. Amy started to stroll over.
The comissioner couldnt hold back:
“Lady Tucker, theres a  report about a strange hostage case right in downtown Chicago. It... looks very strange, I, ... maybe we could need your help.”
Amy reached their side and offered:
“You have arranged some real action for us? How nice of you, Comissioner.”
Beyonce sighed and otherwise ignored Amys comment.
“We would be glad to help. Can you give us details?”
“Well, it looks like some males, calling themselves REAL GUYS, have taken the guests and staff of a restaurant hostage, tying up all female persons. They seem to be armed with submachineguns. Their number is unkown.”
“Terrorism, obviously. I know these REAL GUYS. Usually harmless. Any demands yet?”
“No, but they have called the police themselves.”
“May I give some advice?”
“Sure, cases like that are FBI missions anyway.”
“Ring the place with you forces but do nothing else. We will take matters in hand. A ride to the scene for me and my girls would be nice.”
“Immediately, Special Agent Tucker.”
Beyonce noted the change from “Lady” to “Special Agent” and smiled to herself. 
Amy finished the chocolate bar and waved for her section leadresses. The darkhaired White seemed bored. Probably disappointed the enemies were mere males...


Palace of the Daughter of the Sun, Tokyo, Japan, the same moment

Barona Waltraud Grete von und zu Borkenrinde, the Reichs ambassadoress to Japan, was a bit uneasy about the situation. The Himmler had sent a blonde poison ivy named Ophelia Skorzeny over, an Oberst to boot. This impertinent, arrogant Superfrau in the worst sense had visited some military outfit of the little yellow monkeys, and something had happened there which led the daughter of the sun to believe that she had to see this Skorzeny.
So, Waltraud was here again, in the palace, introducing this tall impertinent girl to this other small, but even more impertinent girl.
To her astonishment, and clearly to the assembled yellow monkeys too, Skorzeny bowed deeply to the empress in the asian way, as if she was one of them even.
Hirohitas eyes were dark and cold as ever. Waltraud always had a cold shiver down the spine when meeting the Japanese empress.
The  empress watched Skorzeny closely, which, at least two heads taller, now met her gaze. Was this deference in the blondes look? Waltraud could hardly believe it. A Superfrau of the SET bowing and showing deference to an Asian teenager? Well, the empress was a twen okay, but...
“You have met my Ninjas.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“You met them in mock battle. They failed.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Where did you learn to fight like this?”
The Skorzeny answered in Japanese, which Waltraud had studied in Marburg at the university in her youth and spoke perfectly, or so she thought. But she didnt catch the meaning of these words. The empress obviously did.
“Did you learn the ways of the sword too?”
“Yes.”
“We will meet with swords. Now.”
Waltraud was alarmed. The assembled Japanese ladies let out a collective gasp of shock and disbelief. One even dared to say:
“You surely mean wooden swords, Your Majesty...”
“No. Katanas. To the first blood.”
“As you wish.”, Skorzeny whispered in Japanese, using exactly the same words as Miyabi a few weeks ago in this very room.


Wai Choi Airfield, near Kunming, Free China, the same moment

Bill Eaton took the kings tower for a routine move as several things happened at once. The door to the sleeping quarters opened and Aviatrix Cora van Fleet, a cute blonde, entered in her underwear. Second, the cat hissed and jumped on the cupboard, causing some Chinese cups to fall down and burst on the ground. Third, a dark clad female opened the door and jumped into the room, swinging a very sharp looking sword.
Jess, turning to the cat and the cups, had risen up in the process, now looking paralyzed on the steel coming down to end her life. Cora van Fleet let out a surprised gasp. Then the cat flew through the air, hissing shrill. Its claws targeted the intruders eyes. In the last moment, the sword changed its course, slicing the poor cat virtually in half in a rain of blood and tissue. In the same movement, the attackress shot out a kick at Jess, hitting her in the bosom and sending her into the air.
At last, a small dagger left the intruders other hand, meeting Coras throat in an instant and immediately killing the blonde, who died without a sound.
Bill took cover behind the table, which Jess Sumers now hit hard, thrown onto it by the vicious kick.
Nevertheless, Jess reacted very quickly, darting to the left, sending the chessboard and the pieces to the ground. As the van Fleet, the parts of the cat, and the chess game all hit the ground, the sword cut deeply into the table. Bill couldnt follow the fight in full, everything was happening much too fast. Somehow Jess had managed to throw her chair on the hooded killress, buying time. In the sleeping quarters, the aviatrixes started to awake. Surely a development the killress didnt plan for. 
But too late for Jess, which again faced the now bloody sword.
Although a mere male, Bill was no coward, and he had the reflexes of a fighter pilot. He had the advantage that the intrudress completely ignored him – for once his gender was benefitting him. The first thing in reach was the heavy, oldfashioned coffeecauldron.
Bill seized it and acted, quite sure he would be sliced in half like the cat. But the killress, as quick and deadly as she might be, gravely underestimated him. His attack came in unopposed – and hit hard. The black clad hooded gal only sighed once and stumbled, enough time for Jess to jump forward, bringing her knee into the enemies stomach, than, for good measure, her fist into the masked face.
The Ninja went down for good. Jess stood over the body, breathing heavily. Bill couldnt believe they were still alive. Jess said:
“Nice move, Mister Eaton. Get some rope to secure this beast.”
Bill just nodded. The first gals as well as Chinese sentries started to appear...


Restaurant “Parisian Memories”, Chicago, the same moment

Richard watched the about thirty ladies in their expensive clothing, hairstyles, makeup, shoes and boots, all wriggling on the floor in their tight bonds and mewing wide eyed in their gags. A very satisfying sight. A very fitting sight, he felt. 
Well, the police had arrived. The show had to begin. He may end this day in custody, but he would send out a sign, a performance to remember. 
The GUY looked out for his men, the waiter now among them. He stopped short. Where was Owen? Richard carefully stepped over a blonde in tighhigh red boots, her face nearly as red as the leather, and approached Arthur.
“Have you seen Owen?”
“No, Richard. You send him to check the toilets, remember?”
Richard laid a hand to his head, let out a sigh and murmured:
“Must I always think for us all?”
“Well, if you ask me this way, I...”
“Silence. Pleeeease.”
Arthur made a very stern face and bowed down to the wriggling and mewing blonde:
“Silence, girl, Richard has to think!”
Richard struggled for an impassive face. Breath, just breath, keep calm. Everything will be okay. 
“Arthur, go and look out for Owen, will you, please? – Arthur... take the submachine gun  with you, please.”
Arthur stopped in his tracks.
“Oh, yes, sure, Richard, sure.”
As Arthur left for the backrooms, Richard said to the booted blonde on the ground:
“Sometimes, I am so tired...”
“Mmmmpppff!”


The toilets, the restaurant, just a few moments later

Arthur finally found Owen, who sat, still unconscious, on a toilet, the door to the cabin suspiciously slightly ajar. The GUY was neatly packaged with unspectacular brown tape. His mate Arthur, clearly not the brightest male in Richards team, starred at Owen with obvious surprise. Slowly, thoughts emerged visibly on his face. Although he had time to finish his thoughts and reach the decision that a loud scream of alarm might be the right response to the situation at hand, he couldnt act on this decision, as a frying pan, which the late Lady Breckinridge had found in the kitchen alongside with the tape, hit him on the base of his skull, killing all thoughts, as few as there were, until further notice.
Bronwyn eyed Arthurs sbmachine gun with interest. These babies would have been a good tool back in the Argonnes, but probably the reliability in mud and snow was doubtful. Well, now there were two of the boys. That left four, including the treacherous waiter. Lady Breckinridge, DSO, nestled the frying pan into Owens lap and went to work with the tape on the other GUY.
Time to change the strategy. When she was finished with Arthur, who now occupied a second toilet, Lady Bronwyn raised her voice to let out a scream for help, obviously agitated and showing an old womans fear.
Deception is a legitimate move in combat, as a very much younger Bronwyn had learned at West Point long ago...


“Parisian Memories”, the very same moment

Richard was on the phone to the police, reading a rather long prepared statement, trying to ignore the slightly dumb faces of his small army as well as the whimpering of the gagged ladies littering the floor, as the scream startled the GUYS. Something was clearly going wrong in the back, probably Owen and Arthur faced with a situation beyond their limited brain capacities. Richard interrupted his speech on the phone and said to the police lady on the other end:
“I beg your pardon, mylady, we have a small problem here, which will surely be solved in a nick of time. Would you be so kind to stand by, thank you.”
By default he had fallen back into his experience as a telephone receptionist, a students job at the Chicago Hilton some years into his past. Then, with steel in his voice, or so he would have described it himself, he ordered John, the waiter, and William, his second in command, to settle matters back there. The two left, with determined faces and white knuckles as they grabbed their guns tighter.
Back on the phone, Richard asked:
“Well, at which point did I stop? Ah, I have it know. Attention please, I will continue the statement...”


The toilets again, shortly later

John and William were clearly brighter than the first two, but it was to no avail, as Bronwyn had anticipated that. As they found the two others on the toilets, the old lady emerged behind them, the submachine gun at the ready.
“Freeze or die”, she growled.
The two males thought of themselves as armed and dangerous, ready to overthrow womans rule on the planet. But a situation like this they knew only from watching movies. Being addressed like out of such a movie, and a very bad one to boot, didnt exactly help. Before they could think of any course of action, the old dragon added:
“Drop the guns. And be quiet.”
Their male conditioning kicked in, causing both to obey automatically. Unarmed, they were gone for good. Bronwyn let one tape up the other, then finished the job on the second one herself.
Her strong grip while applying the tape to John convinced the young male to remain docile until it was too late.
The Breckinridge patted both guys on the taped cheeks and left. Now it was time to change strategy again. If you have the advantage, press it to the utmost. A thing the bloody Germans always did so dammed well...


Wai Choi Airfield, China, same moment

As shocked and rapidly getting furious AAmerican aviatrixes and likewise very agitated Chinese lady soldiers swarmed the room, Bill tried to come to terms with the action just survived.
Meanwhile, only Jess seemed to be rather cool. A cut in her shoulder, previously unnoticed by Bill, let out some blood, will the leadress of the Tigresses calmy but thoroughly worked with the ropes someone had organized, using very much of it on the killress body and limbs. Jess had torn the strangers hood, revealing a very beautiful, and very Japanese face of a rather young lady.
Finally satisfied, Jess leaned back, the Japanese ninja now practically clad in thick white rope. Jess demanded and got two aviatrix scarfs and rolled one into a ball, shoving it into the slack mouth of the attacker, than securing it with the second one.
Meanwhile, the rage grew, and lynching was clearly an issue. The Japanese had killed not only a sentry, and poor Cora van Fleet, no, she had torn in half the CAT, for the goddess sake. An action destining her for eternal hell in both American and Chinese gals views.
Jess ignored the uproar and let Bill tend her rather harmless wound in the shoulder. From her heavy breathing, Bill suspected the kick into her bosom to be the more painful attack.
Bill busied himself a while, offering Jess Jane Beam, a cigarette, giving her a light. Jess, usually smoking only occasionally, inhaled deeply.
“Okay. Would you all please stop this chitchat. No one will be lynched or shot right now, even this little beast.”
While Jess fought with the crowd, Bill noticed the Japanese girl had regained consciousness. Other than in the movies, were bound and gagged heroines and villainesses alike immediately started wriggling and mewing uselessly, the Japanese remained totally calm, her dark eyes scanning the room. Bill had a slight chill in the spine watching those eyes.
Jess was discussing matters with the Chinese captain, a moonfaced gal with bad teeth and very bad English. As Bill remained in the background, Jess fought her corner, finally succeeding. Kunming would be alarmed by phone, and an intelligence officress of the Kuomintang would pick the prisoner up for interrogation. If shot, she would be shot after a correct trial.
That settled, Jess sent the Chinese out of the barracks, as maybe even more Japs were around, and the Americans back to bed, naturally only after the bodies of Cora and the cat had been taken care of. The aviatrixes wouldnt sleep, but discuss the happenings over and over, Bill knew.
He stayed with Jess in the room, by the bound prisoner. Jess took up the bloody sword.
“You saved my life, Mr.Eaton. Thank you.”
Not Bill, not squire, Mister, a honour males seldom found granted to them. Jess seemed serious. Bill knew he was accepted in the end by this hard, strong chick. This felt good. Yes, it really did.
As if somehow reading his thoughts, the Japanese let out a single snort through her gag. As if mocking him. He met her gaze. She wouldnt underestimate him a second time. Bill was very glad she would never get another chance...


Across the street from “Parisian Memories”, same time

The Deltas had arrived on the scene, and Beyonce immediately took matters in hand. Maria Cipoletti remained with the other Delta chicks in the background. Male terrorists in Chicago! She had already dinned in this restaurant herself. And tying up and gagging the female guests – villains, no matter if male or female, had clearly taken a liking to this sport in recent years. 
Although tied up again and again by her Japanese sensei, the one real thing for Maria had been the bondage done to her by the Skorzeny bitch. Quite naturally, the actual situation reminded her of her own experience, and of the blonde bitch. 
What are you doing now, bitch? Probably doing mischief somewhere...


Palace of the daughter of the sun, Tokyo, Japan, only seconds later

Waltrauds brain simply denied acknowledgement of developments. It couldnt be that the Skorzeny was going to fight with a sharp sword the Japanese empress – to the first blood!
The empress was mean and nasty, and beheading a german Oberst would surely harm relations with the Reich. Worse, if Skorzeny managed to wound the little beast, the daughter of the sun might easily have them both beheaded and declare war on Germany. 
A catastrophe, no matter which way you saw it. All objections by her as well as the assembled Japanese lackeys were to no avail.
Now, the empress and Skorzeny faced each other, Skorzeny in her grey uniform with black boots and gloves, the Japanese girl in a white gown like cloth. Waltraud wanted to avert her eyes, but they were glued to the scene.
Both bowed deeply. Then, suddenly, the empress katana thrust forward like a biting snake. A crash of steel, Skorzeny parried. The following fight was too fast for someone like Waltraud to follow. Three, four times the swords met, then, both parted, looking grimly at each other. 
Red appeared on the white of the empress garment, on her left forearm.
By the goddess! What would happen now?
Waltraud saw her precious life in acute danger, as well as the relations between the empire of Japan and the German Reich damaged beyond repair. The assembled Japanese watched in total silence, their faces impassive. The ambassadoress knew full well what they were thinking: Never, anyone had dared to injure the daughter of the sun, spill her precious blood. The tall blonde foreign devil would be boiled in oil, something that happened here before.
Skorzeny again bowed deeply, than stand at easy, blood dripping from her katana.
Hirohita stared at her, then at her bleeding forearm. Slowly, she raised the injured arm, her little pink tongue coming out and starting to lick up blood, her eyes blazing.
“You will visit my sleeping quarters tonight. I will take sweet revenge for this defeat.”
Waltraud and the assembly let out a collective sigh. What was that?
Skorzeny bowed once more.
“As you wish.”
A few minutes later, Waltraud and the Skorzeny left the palace, still alive.
“I couldnt believe this. You injure the empress, and she wants to have sex with you as a consequence. For all the years here, I never learned to really understand the yellow monkeys.”
Skorzeny smiled dryly.


“Parisian Memories”, same time

Richard and Greg, the last remaining GUYS, surely didnt expect an old woman in very oldfashioned, conservative clothes to enter the restaurant from the back, carrying one of their submachineguns, and Owens gun tucked under her belt.
The old dragon looked stern, like a teacher back in their school days. Greg gulped and made three steps back, until stopped by the wriggling body of a black gal in yellow garments and boots on the ground.
Richard suppressed the urge to wipe his eyes.
“Look, boy, I had a very bad day so far. I usually refrain from harming males, children and pet animals, but I am tempted to pull the trigger and blast you to hell right now. So be a good boy and drop that gun, will you?”
“What, who, why....?”
Richards eloquence was failing him at last. That couldnt be happening, this was not real. He didnt move, just starred at the old lady. Greg eyed the weapon in the clawlike hands of Bronwyn. The muzzle of the gun looked like a meter wide, pointed directly at him alone. Gred pissed his pants and dropped his gun.
Bronwyn growled, with all the authority of someone who had led personally her brave chicks into German machinegun fire more than once:
“Drop that gun. NOW!”
In a kind of trance, Richard obeyed. His believes and ideology had taken a heavy beating in the last seconds. For males to overthrow womans rule, the time was clearly not right, as long as women like these dragon existed.
Bronwyn allowed herself a smile. Well, that was easy. Nothing like the Krauts back then...


Wai Choi Airfield, China, about the same time

The intelligence officress from Kunming arrived quickly, together with a dozen fierce looking armed guards. Bill remained silent, while Jess spoke with the Chinese gal, whose English was excellent.
In the end, two Chinese grabbed the packaged Japanese and carried her outside to the waiting truck, and the gals left.
Jess allowed herself another Jane Beam and said:
“The Japanese seem determined to take us out. But they should have sent more than one gal. Perhaps next time. Our guard force here will be doubled. And I will order all gals to carry a personal sidearm with them all the times. Ever shot with a gun?”
“No, Jess, but I learn quickly.”
Bill didnt say that he abhorred of guns. He still thought about the japanese killress. The look in her eyes as she was carried out like a sack of grain...
No, she wasnt dangerous any more. He must get her out of his mind.

Outside “Parisian Memories”, Chicago, a few moments later, 13.42 hours local time, January 13th, 1939

“So we go in from the roof, section 1 will...”
Amy was amidst her briefing for the mission, and Maria listened intently, as this would be her very first real delta mission after all the endless training.
Suddenly, heads turned all around to the restaurant across the street.
In the door, a very old lady appeared, the sun of the clear winter day reflecting from her huge glasses. She called out to police, Deltas and the crowd behind the perimeter:
“Okay, girls, everything settled, you can come in now.”
“What the hell...”, Amy blurted.
Maria shook her head. What was that? 
“Come on in, will you? I cant untie 30 gals myself. My back is killing me, and some of the ladies might need a visit to the toilet. Looking at their red faces, its about time the get rid of their gags too.”
Slowly, police and Deltas started to approach the restaurant, clearly a bit stunned. Maria took a last drag of her Marlboro, killed it under her boot and followed the others. Amys eyes were going wide and she said:
“I dont believe it. Its the Breckinridge!”
Maria let out:
“Who is the Breckinridge? What is going on?”
Three minutes later, Maria knew who “the Breckinridge” was, and she and others were inside the restaurant. While some gals took care of the six male terrorists, others, including Maria, started to free the guests and staff.
Beyonce and Amy were at the bar, chatting with the old lady, who seemed very pleased with herself. Amy grinned widely, while Beyonce looked a bit overwhelmed.
Maria settled down near a pretty young blonde in extravagant shiny red overknee boots and went to work on her. Altough relief was ahead, the blonde still struggled and mewed heavily into her gag. Maria loosened the scarf and started to pull the rubberball from the girls gaping mouth. Suddenly, at the bar, the Breckinridge was getting agitated, shouting out to Maria in clear alarm, if not horror:
“No, not her gag!”
But it was too late...

EPILOGUE

Wai Choi Airfield, near Kunming, Free China, January 14th, 1939, 10.08 hours

To his own astonishment, Bill had slept very well, and rather long. His was, as the only male, a small cabin for his own, a luxury apart from him only Jess Sumers indulged in. 
Still half asleep as usual, he stumbled to the rest room, looking for humans fuel – morning coffee. About ten aviatrixes were assembled there, including Jess. All looked rather grim, Jess even seemed worried.
Bill stopped in his tracks and asked:
“Whats the matter? Dont say theres no more coffee...”
No one laughed. Jess broke the gals silence:
“The truck bringing the killress to Kunming was found at dawn, parked on the street. The intelligence officress, the twelve guards and the drivress all killed with bare hands, the prisoners ropes in uncut toils on the ground, the bitch gone.”
Bill felt an icy hand grip his heart. Suddenly he remembered the Japanese chick gaze on him as she was carried outside.
He managed to clear his throat:
“She will be coming back for us.”
Jess just nodded.