XXVII – THE STRONG ONE IS STRONGEST ALONE



Palace of the Senora Presidenta, Mexico-City, January 11th, 1939, 18.24 hours

“Some in the movement fear its too strong a move. The Americanas will be really angry about this.”
“So what, Teresa? They will counter with words, debating and lamenting as they always do. They lack the will for a real conflict. America is weak. You hear me, the day will come and we will take revenge for the insults they gave us the last 150 years. Not far in the future this day is...”
“I am looking forward to that, Senora Presidenta. Nonetheless, there is anxiousness in the movement. Is it wise to act so soon after our victory? There is so much still to do in Mexico, the Gringas can wait – so they say.”
“We must make a stand. Show them that we are mistress here in our own land. The movement will follow me in this.”
“Undoubtedly the movement will do as you wish, great leadress.”
Teresa De La Cruz was wise enough to drop the matter now. Presidenta Arranza was determined to confiscate all American property in Mexiko, no matter the consequences. Teresa knew full well who was behind this plan. Last night, the Arranza had had fun in the sheets with the German ambassador, a blonde lady with a voluptous bosom and obviously clear orders directly from Berlin. The fascist silvershirts had won in Mexiko because of German help, and it was time to pay back, even if very soon to do so. 
The assistant to Lady Arranza didnt like this the least, but there was a line in opposing the leadress one didnt cross if interested in ones well being. Hopefully, Arranza was right and the Americanas wouldnt react more than verbally to this grave move.
She changed the subject:
“We have prepared the plans for our army build up. The staff is ready to present it to you tomorrow afternoon.”
“Very well, Teresa. We cant be too ambitious in our plans for a larger army. Equipment is no problem, the Germans will deliver everything we request.”
The leadress lit a cigarette and offered one to her aide. Teresa took the offered stick. While offering a light to her aide, the leadress of Mexico said with a dark smile:
“We will need the army soon enough. And then, the Gringas will get what they deserve.”
Or we get a rope around our neck in a nick of time, Teresa thought, hiding her expressions behind a cloud of blue smoke.


Mellowmouth Castle, Headquarters of The Queens Own Commandos, Scottish Highlands, United Queendom, January 12th, 1939, 10.02 hours

“A nice outfit you have running here, Colonel Mountbatten. Fit and tight gals, ready for action. Would make a good hockey team.”
“Arr, Lady Jones, you know what our mission is?”
“Sure, bloody well I know. Thats why I was sent over to have a look. Your unit was commissioned to evaluate possibilities and train for missions targeting enemy leadresses and specialists without the use of deadly force. Abducting the bitches, to be exact. I am especially impressed with the speed and precision with which your chicks can secure a subject with tape. Outstanding performance. If I imagine those German generals well bound and gagged by your gals and hustled helplessly about on a leash... magnificent.”
“Fine. So you are impressed. Are we now an attraction for government officials? Maybe we should sell tickets? Or go on a tour through the empire?”
“Haha, I love your sarcasm, Lady Mountbatten, I really do. Erhm, no, lets get serious. Your force has a real potential. I am no govenrment official of the kind you clearly dislike. In fact, I am of the Secret Service. Department counterterrorism. We want to employ you on some real missions.”
“Abducting who?”
“Well, terrorists, thats obvious. Throughout the empire, there are various groups doing mischief, from the IRA to Egyptian nationalists or blackafrican ones. In many cases, we have the intel to act and destroy the groups, but the bloodshed is viewed as very messy, especially by our current, arrr, pacifist government. Now YOU are here with your taping wizards. We give you some real work, and you deliver us some nice packages of terrorists. What do you say?”
“Lady Jones, I am soldier of the Empire, my oath is to Queen and Empire. I go where you send me.”
“Fine, thats what I like about soldiers. Okay, lets get down to business. We are working on the IRA bitches responsible for the bombings and killings over the last one and a half year. We have names, safe houses, even a training camp in the Irish landscape located, but our sources say there is only recruit material there. What we want is the leadress of these bitches, one Blodwen Shawnessy.”
“I have heard the name. A real sweetheart. Would feel really good to take her down.”
“Exactly how we feel about it. So, we are waiting for her to show up. Meanwhile, you gals might get accustomed to the locations and so on. We will build models you can train on. The politicians want no bloodshed, so everything must go well.”
“Thats what we have trained for, taking out all the villainesses without killing them.”
“Would make a good comic.”
“You are into comics?”
“Not really. But my daughter is.”
“My daughter is currently into necromancy.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Oh, dont mind, at school, my daughter prefers sinister rituals at night to learning for exams. I am afraid I did something wrong in her education.”
“A good smacking might cure her rather quickly.”
“You have a point there, on the other hand... the government might object to so violent an action.”
Eve Lois Mounbatten looked deadly serious. Bridget Jones of Secret Service grinned widely. A funny gal, this one, the intelligence officress thought.


The streets of Chicago, Illinois, USA, Friday, the 13th of January, 1939, 11.37 hours local time

Bronwyn Breckinridge wasnt in a good mood, to say the least. The snow on the streets reminded her of the winter 17/18 in the Argonnes, where she had lost more than a few good gals to the German sluts. Furthermore, her arthritis had won today against her longevity drug, as it had the last 5 days in a row. On top of that, her breakfast hadnt been right, or at least her stomach thought so, sending alarming signals to her old brain. A visit on a toilet would be necessary, and it would be a fight like back in the Argonnes, Bronwyn knew full well.
Exactly on this day her youngest granddaughter Sabrina had decided to visit old grandma and go shopping with her. 
Well Sabrina was her granddaughter after all, but...
The chick was no good at all, in Bronwyns oldfashioned eyes. To much makeup, these highheeled overknee boots of shiny red leather a bit to extravagant, the girl smoking constantly it seemed, even while walking in the streets, and speaking, speaking, speaking. Bronwyn had understood she had a new lover, a latina girl at her university, and she was visiting all the important parties and having great fun. But was she learning for her exams? No word about that.
And on what young Sabrina spent her money on. Bronwyn could hardly imagine for what purpose even a young, active chick like her granddaughter needed so much lingerie – silken, of leather, rubber, in all colours, you name it. Lady Breckinridge was really objecting to her granddaughters ways, but if there was a person on mother earth speaking faster than she herself, it was selfcentered Sabrina.
All in all it was not one of Lady Bronwyns best days.
She was more than a bit grateful, when Sabrina entered a restaurant with her for dinner before continuing the shopping tour. While eating, Sabrina would be quiet, and surely this house had a decent toilet. Bronwyn settled on her chair, grunted and ordered a French wine by the smart young squire who emerged quickly at their table. Her granddaughter lit another Marlboro, blowing smoke in the young males face.
“Urrh, Sabrina, honey, I am on my way to the toilet. Some problems with my breakfast.”
“Sure, grandma.”
A few moments later, Bronwyn settled down, breathing lighter. What was this ringing tone in her ears? Was Sabrinas voice really this remarkable? Hopefully, her breakfast would leave her now alone. In the past, all this didnt happen to her. She was getting old, she had to admit. What a pity...


Wai Choi airfield, near Kunming, Free China, at the same time, 0.14 hours local time

“The day will come, Bill, I will beat you in chess.”
“Thats a possibility, Jess.”
Bill grinned and placed the pieces on the board again. Jess looked darkly at him, clearly not amused by her repeated defeats. The base cat jumped in Jess lap, and the aviatrix started to stroke the grey beast.
It was getting boring here, the Japanese bombers coming to Kunming no more. Jess conferred daily with the Chinese high command, even Lady Tschiang herself, to move the Tigresses further east to the front. But this seemed easier said than done. The pilot gals were getting restless. Only Bill remained calm, showing his gender for once, as the cliche says, accepting everything coming in a docile male way.
He leaned back and took a sip of coffee. Jess starred at the board, planning her strategy for the fifth game of the night.
Most other gals were asleep, as were the ground crews. Only the Chinese sentries were patrolling in the cold night outside.
Jess made her first move. Bill hid a smile. He was ready for his next victory.
The cat left Jess and hurried away. Jess and Bill didnt care...


French restaurant “Parisian Memories”, Chicago, USA, Friday, 13th January 1939, 12.29 hours local time

Sabrina Breckinridge definitely liked French wines and dinner, but she clearly didnt like to wait for it. In a Kentucky Fried Chicken everything was real fast, but here...
And then her grandma. What was it with the old fart? She just went to the toilet the third time in 30 minutes. Her longevity drug failing at last, it seemed. A miracle she was alive after all. On the other hand, she was rich, and Sabrina didnt mind taking her money.
The blonde young lady crossed her booted legs, sighed theatralically and put another cigarette between her cute lips.
The restaurant was “in” at present. Nearly every table had guests sitting there, drinking, eating, smoking. Mostly ladies, only a few squires. It was expensive here, and the gals showed their money in their clothes, hair style and jewellry. Sabrina was a bit ashamed to be here with grandma, who wore an old dress clearly bought at Woolworth about 20 years ago.
Uhh... what was that? A group of five young males had entered, wearing long trench coats and hats, carrying big bags. Very strange, a group of males without female guidance. They looked ... disturbing.
One of the waiters made a hand sign to the one in front. The guy nodded, and they opened their bags. By the goddess, that were guns, even submachineguns gangstresses used back in the Twenties.
The female guests starred disbelievingly at the guys. Their leader pointed a gun at a lady starting to rise and raised his voice:
“Hello, myladies and gentlemen. My name is Richard, and these men here are members of the REAL GUYS. We are determined to overthrow the female rule on this planet, giving males their rightful place in nature. Please, dont fear, no one will be hurt if you behave and follow instructions. You all have the honour to be part of our great show today. 
Let me explain in detail. As we believe, you females all want to be dominated by us males, and to symbolically show your weak nature to all the world, we will arrange you all in a manner making this obvious. Please, take these rubberballs from the gentleman approaching you and put it in your mouths.”
The female guests were clearly stunned, but even if not, a look at the guns and the stern male faces persuaded every lady to obey the outrageous orders. Sabrina couldnt believe this. She received a rubberball, and in a kind of trance she replaced her cigarette with the ball, shoving it into her mouth. One  by one, the elegant ladies in the room gagged themselves.
The guy named Richard looked very pleased. His men produced now white silkscarfs.
“Fine, myladies. If you would now be so kind to secure your gags.”
Sabrina let out a moan and looked wildeyed about. Clearly no lady in the room had foreseen such a development of a pleasant dinner.
Richard turned to one of his men:
“Look in the kitchen, Dean. You, Owen, check the toilets.”
After every lady had secured the gags, they were hustled to one side, and the guys started to tie them up with rope. Sabrina watched with growing horror, until it was her own turn. 
The male named Richard produced a camera and said thoughtfully:
“We need better light for the pictures...”

Wai Choi airfield, China, at the same time, 0.40 hours local time

Miyabi had gone a long way to reach this place. She was alone, as was her custom. She approached the base through the wilderness, observing it for three days. Now she felt ready.
The black clad, hooded Japanese slipped in between two sentries, barely awake even if patrolling around.
There were two ways. Killing the sleeping ones first or the ones still awake. She had decided to start with the ones awake. No American mercenary would live through this night, she would see to that. 
She reached the baracks. Suddenly, a sentrie appeared, only five meters to her left. The Chinese woman was dead in an instant. Miyabi dropped the body without sound, cleared her knife of blood on the Chinese uniform.
A look into the window. Two whites playing chess. She was surprised shortly, one was a male. The decadent Americanas had brought with them a pleasure boy. Disgusting. Should she kill him too? Miyabi killed without thought everyone the empress named worthy of it, but she hadnt anticipated a male here, a mere pleasure boy. Her warrior tradition was opposed to killing males and children. She hesitated. No, she would not kill the male. Securing him would be sufficient.
That decided, she simply approached the door, drawing her katana. The brownhaired American woman opposite the male would probably not even know what killed her.
It was time. Her gloved hand reached for the door knob.


The toilets, “Parisian Memories”, Chicago, 12.44 local time

Owen found two young ladies in the washroom, emphasizing their makeup. Grinning, he waved with his gun and guided them away. He watched with delight as both chicks had to gag themselves like the rest before they were bound. Richard sent him back.
The male checked every toilet. He was eager to find another lady, preferable a young, pretty one. What fun to see them all nicely packaged. He thought of his female teacher back in high school, an arrogant gal with very good looks and a sharp tongue. She had made hell out of his life back then. He imagined her among the ladies here.
The member of the GUYS opened the last toilet cabin. An iron fist hit him exactly under his chin. He fell like a sack of grain.
Bronwyn Breckinridge looked down on the unconscious guy and eyed especially the gun.
She murmured:
“Males shouldnt play with guns, especially not this model. Czech garbage. No, males and guns, thats like Germans and peace. Dont go together.”