XXXV – Connected people

HQ of 127.Infanteriedivision, Spleissheim, near Saarbruecken, Southwestern Germany, October 2nd, 1939, 11.50 hours

Very well indeed. The division was ready by all means. Too bad the weather was that abysmal. The French would be crushed. She even trusted her maidens to get through the Maginot line. With such girls, she could storm the heavens.
Pride flushed through her, as she thought about the Wehrmacht she herself had helped forming during the past years. Pride about the maidens of her homecountry, brave, intelligent, eager young women they all, ready to be bloodied like her comrades in Poland, to storm right through to Paris, avenging the insult of 1919.
A young luitenant Ulrike Burgsmueller had been then – now she held the rank of Major General, commanding one of Germanies well trained and equipped infantry divisions. And it wouldnt end there. With success in the coming battles, and the Wehrmacht still expanding, the command of an Armycorps, a whole Army even, was a realistic goal.
She had been angered at first on reading her orders back in August. Not Poland and fame, but defensive positions at the Westwall opposite the French had awaited her unit. But there would be more to come. The Fuehra would not sit idle, she would launch Wehrmacht against the rotten democracies soon. If only the weather...
She rose from her tidy desk and headed to the window. Rain, rain, yesterday, today, probably tomorrow too. Anyway, the mass of german divisions was still in transit from Poland to the Western front. Two to three weeks probably. But would the weather change by then?
She strolled over to the great mirror. The summer house of a countess of old her division HQ had been, items like the opulently ornamented mirror could be found here in every corner.
Ulrike liked what she saw. At 41, she still looked like in her twenties, not only due to the longevity drug, but because of a certain lucky thing with her genes. Her whole family possessed this luck. A curvaceous body, well adorned by the uniform, from black tie down to shiny black boots, golden hair, falling openly, hold back by a white band of silk in her mane, dark blue eyes, an aristocratic nose, high cheekbones – no wonder she had been photographed for Reichswehr advertisements back in the twenties, recruitment posters and such.
She smiled to herself, then left the office.
At staff everyone was working eagerly, as it should be. She waved dismissively as the saluting started, sending the gals back to work.
Luitenant Kreipe of intelligence approached the General. What a cute young lady, and among her best. She had a real hand with filtering the information division got. A sharp mind, no fear to voice her opinion in front of superiors. The Kreipe wore her lightblonde hair in a neat ponytail, her cheeks were slightly rounded, a real, meaty german maiden.
She showed her General some dispatches, voiced her analysis. Ulrike starred coldly at her, then nodded, smiling now.
“Very well, Leutnant Kreipe. Dismissed.”
The cute young Blonde turned, her cheeks slightly red now. A great career in Wehrmacht lay in front of this one. The Burgsmüller remembered hearing the young one held a junior grade in the priesthood of pleasure and lust. To bad Ulrike was her superior.
The general approached her operations officer, Major Ramona von Ritter, sitting at a map covered table with others.
Von Ritters long brown hair was fastened in a big knot at her neck, she wore small glasses, her uniform and boots close fitting like the generals.
“Von Ritter?“
„Frau General. We are planning some battalion size exercises, assaulting fortified positions in bad weather. Might as well take advantage of the Sauwetter (female pigs weather).”
“Might be a good idea, coming at the French under this conditions in earnest. They would be stark surprised.”
“Sure, Frau General, but our Luftwaffe will give us in good weather even greater advantages.”
The Burgsmueller nodded, offered her maidens at the table cigarettes. The Germans lit up, and the Burgsmueller nodded once again, strolling to the entrance.
A young Ensign with two brunette ponytails above her ears, nearly ran into her general, carrying two armfull of large maps.
“Oh, excuse me, Frau General, I.. oh...”
“Dont mind, Faehnrich. Karin is your name, no?”
“Jawoll, Frau General, Karin von Bock.“
„Colonel General von Bocks daughter, right?”
“Jawoll, Frau General.“
„Your mother must be very proud of you, Faehnrich von Bock.”
“Uhh, yes, Frau General. And I am proud of her. Her forces took Warzaw. She received the Knights Cross from the Fuehras hand.”
“Somewhere in your path, young maid, there is a knights cross for yourself.”
“Ahh, I...”
“Dismissed.”
Grinning, she watched the von Bock making a hastily retreat.
A good staff she had, good brains to lead her brave maidens in the field.
Soon they would crush the French, the Britas would sue for peace, and then, other missons awaited the Wehrmacht, awaited the 127th infantry.

Audrennes, Eastern France, near the German border, roughly the same time

“Well, ladies, lets get started. The first picture please. Ah, yes. This, myladies, is Major General Ulrike Burgsmueller of Wehrmacht, currently commanding their 127th infantry division. A nice piece of Superfrau, what do you say?”
The assembled team chuckled. Lady knight Eve Lois Mounbatten raised an eyebrow in mock anger.
“Please, ladies, will you? As luck would have it, we happen to know exactly the position of her HQ. You dont need to know the source of our information, but trust me, its highly accurate.
Picture two please. This here is Spleissheim, a remote village near the city of Saarbruecken, conveniently placed in the midst of some rather dense forests. You noticed the white arrow here. Thats the HQ, a former knights estate, quite luxurious.
Picture three, my dear. Good, good. The house in detail. The pictures are a bit older, nowadays there is barbed wire here and here, some sentries strolling about and such. Nothing unexpected.
Picture four will show you a plan of the house and the use the Krauts put the several rooms to.”
Lois carried on for a while, then concluding:
“Mission target is to capture General Burgsmueller and as many of the staff ladies as possible, plus some cipher machines and code books. But the ladies are more important. This is our first operation against the Superfrauen, on german soil to boot.
Again, no use of deadly force if at all possible. That brings us to the stunners. These little toys will hopefully stunn german sentries just as well as our test persons. I grant you, there is no reason to believe otherwise, but you can never be sure. So I want every team rehearse their unarmed combat training in the next days.
Remains the question how we get in and out. In is quite easy. Flying in bad weather, even an airship can get across the border unnoticed, and even if the Germans have some radio magic we heard rumors of, their fighters wont get off the ground in rain and storm. We will be dropped about here,” Lois pointed on the map across the wall, “rather distant to Spleissheim. Our ships carry out some otherwise senseless missions in the area for the days to come, so, our trip wont be to unusual in german eyes. We will march about twenty miles through the forest to the village. Beware, there are several german units located in the woods.
Getting back with our packages after the action is the real tricky part. The Germans will move heaven and hell to find us. We must be rather quick, and head directly towards the border. Safely there, we radio in a french artillery bombardment with smoke shells on a certain point about here. During the attack, which the german frontline troops will hopefully mistake for a gas attack, we cross from one side to the other, back to France and safety.
So much for the plan. Questions?”
It was sergeant Linneker:
“The prisoners must march quite well with us to get away from the search parties. How do we achieve that?”
“Oh, some leashs will be issued. You probably all know how to lead a dog on a leash. To get familar with leading a woman or several in a hurry, we will train a bit. I am sure the gals will have fun playing nasty, uncooperating german dames.”
Another laughter.
“What if we are shot at?”
“On short distances, use the stunners, otherwise, you are naturally allowed to open fire with normal weapons in self defense. If everything goes down with flying colors, everyone is free to do as they please to get away. Hopefully, the Germans will be to surprised and confused to react fast enough, but dont count on it.”
“How many will go in?”
“30, not more. I will personally lead the assault, Captain Stones my second in command. We use Leftenants Iceltons, Stockbottoms and Gascoignes sections. Sergeant Linneker will be senior NCO.”
“There is another thing, Mam, I mean, this tape we are using...”
“Yes, Leftenant Gascoigne?“
„Well, its snowwhite and shiny. Really looking good on a bad girl or at a kinky party, but staying out at night and in the woods like a male at a boxing event. Black would be better. Or khaki would be best.”
“You have a point here. I already mentioned that back home. Unfortunately, khaki tape doesnt exist.”
“Then we should better make some real quick.”
“Its been worked on.”
“Excusement, may I say something, myladies?”
Heads turned to the french liaison officress, a small and very cute darkhaired Capitan.
“Such tape surely exists here in France, I remember seeing it on a party last year.”
“A party?”
“An adult party, Mylady Mountbatten, if you understand. There is a firm in Paris, producing bondage tape in every color you can think of. Mostly black, white or red, pink is loved too, but...”
“I see. Anyway, that sounds perfect. Do you think you can get us some in khaki color in time for the mission?”
“To get you safely back to us with a german general and staff as prisoners, I would gladly do anything, including hopping along Champs Elysee mummified in this tape you need.”
“Aarrh... good.”
Those French were so... well. Khaki colored tape, pink tape. No Lois, dont imagine it. On the other hand, this arrogant, cool Burgsmueller taped up in pink was an appealling thought. Too bad pink would stay out in the nightly woods too...



Koniklijke Palace, Amsterdam, The Netherlands, October 5th, 39, 11.16 hours

“This is a wonderful idea, Peer. I encourage you strongly to follow up on that. You would be first squire of the organisation, guarding its conduct, representing it in public. What do you think, Antje?”
Young Queen Beatrix was as lively as ever. Peer, her handsome, rather quiet husband, exchanged a wide grin with Antje Kamphues, the Queens private secretary.
He had known Beatrix would be excited about a humanitarian order founded by the royal house to help wounded and refugees, victims of the war. The Red Moon, order of the mothergoddess, controlled by the high priestress in Rome, was not on friendly terms with the Netherlands as a whole and Queen Beatrix in particular. The Mother religion of the Roman kind didnt look fondly on the liberal males rights and marriages abundant in Beatrix country.
On Beatrix side, the Queen and her government and people were very unsatisfied with the burocratic and slow ways of help from the Red Moon to war victims. On private terms finally, Beatrix frowned upon the high priestress for her treaty from 1934 with the german fascistas, virtually abandoning the faithfull people of Germany, retreating without fight from the country, which now followed filthy, unhealthy pagan ways.
Peer knew well the high priestresses at Rome motives for the treaty. She and her church were trying to use the pagan Superfrauen to crush the atheist Soviet Union and communism, which the Mother church saw as a much greater threat. But his political realism was starkly opposed by his wifes idealism.
Beatrix carried her heart on her tongue, as several episodes in the past had shown, not the least one the run in with Frau Hitler back at the World Cup in 38. The nations government surely wished their pretty queen to fall of her beloved horse and brake her neck, but he in turn loved her just so.  
Antje Kamphues, contrary to the clishee of the blonde Dutch darkhaired, her mane in a strict plaited tail, wearing a business suit, skirt and kneehigh calvleather boots, finally answered her queens question:
“I think this to be a very good idea of Peer, Your Majesty. If you wish, I can work out the deatils with His Highness.”
“Would you be so kind, Antje? Well, what is next? What did the government say about my wish to join the Allies?”
Peer and Antje changed another glance. Peer sighed.
“Loved one, what do you think they said?”
“Okay, okay, we are neutral, the Germans will respect that, we would only bring their wrath upon us, and so on.”
“Exactly, Your Majesty. And are they wrong, if I may ask?”
“Goddess damnit, yes they are. You two know that, dont you? The Superfrauen and this Hitler bitch will come upon us whenever it suits them. The more so now, with Poland crushed and the Commies their partners in crime.”
Peer answered that one:
“Sure honey, but the government is afraid, the people are afraid. Maybe there will be a negotiative settlement again, now, with Poland gone. Then we would have given up our holy neutrality for nothing.”
“Peer how could you...”
“Honey, I just say what THEY are saying, what the majority of your people say and believe. You are bound by the constitution. Dont meddle with the nations politics. Period. Accept the facts.”
Antje Kamphues just nodded to that.
Beatrix threw up her arms in frustration.
“Antje, may I steal a cigarette from you?”
“Ahh, Your Majesty...”
Peer sternly shook his head.
“No, my little queen, you stopped smoking four years ago for good, and you wont fall back into the habit now. At least if you still want someone to warm your bed at night.”
“You torture master. Only one, and...”
“No.”
“Sometimes I regret my progessive stance on males lib.”
“Why its always when you want to have a smoke or go to a dance temple without body guards or something like that?”
“Antje, what do you say?”
“I have a meeting with the chancelloress first secretary in five minutes, Your Majesty. I am afraid I must leave you know.”
“Traitress...”


Castle Wolfenstein, SET HQ, XXX, Germany, exactly the same moment

So this was the traitress. One Antje Kamphues, private secretary of Queen Beatrix, secretly a membress of the Dutch fascist movement for several years. A darkhaired, pretty lady, looking stern and competent, trustworthy, reliable. Very good. Her reports were detailed, but crisply so, no chatting about, straight to the point.
Ophelia Skorzena dropped the picture on the table and leaned back in her chair. Her fingers creeped toward her cigarettes, but she stopped herself. The room was nearly poisoned with blue smoke. Instead she rose and left the room, heading outside to the castles restaurated walls.
There, on the wall, she looked out into the rainy day, over the wide forests. The rain pured down on her open hair, into her face. She welcomed the sensations, breathed deeply. It had rained in Osaka that day, as... no, this was the past. She hated people who only lived in memories.
Back to Queen Beatrix. Operation Kaeseschnitte was on the list again, now a top priority of SET, as the Fuehra had decided to attack in the West, and naturally the Low countries would be mopped up in the process. The Fuehra still wanted to get her hands on dutch queen Beatrix. A personal matter. The Fuehra was a bit touchy with her pride, everyone knew that. That was a weakness, but no one was perfect. Pride was for fools, as well as honor and – again she thought of a rainy day in Osaka.
Her beautiful face darkened and she turned, now heading for the exercise halls in the castles cellars. Some oldfashioned violence might be in order, to clear her head,  wash away the useless memories.
She reached the cellars in a very fool mood, as everyone could see. But the two exercising corporals could hardly say no as the goddess of them all, for whose flatly spoken “Done well” everyone was ready to die,  asked them for a fight.
The two SET hardly had a chance, but they gave their best.
The Skorzena was to fast to be human, it seemed, her mind meanwhile on other matters.
Concentrate you lazy bitch! The security in Amsterdam is nearly non existent. Childsplay to collect the queen and her husband. If they were present when the invasion started. This was a crucial point. But the traitress would inform them, simply by phone.
What about the entry? There were several options. Disguised as civilians, in small groups coming through other neutral countries, smuggling the weapons and the like in the luggage or through well established pipelines. Option One.
The Palace lay near the water. Going in by U-boat, likewise going out with their royal prisoners. Option Two.
Option Three, boarding a cargo airship, enroute to Amsterdam aerodrome, naturally in reality a combat transporter of LUFTWAFFE, changing course at last moment and hovering over the park of the Palace. Going out with the airship, letting the Dutch know their queen was on board, lest they want to send some fighters after the airship.
Each option had plusses and minusses. She favored the third one. Too much could go wrong with assembling the team in small groups, thereby multiplying the margin for failure. Option two set them all on an U-boat in the channel, and there still was the Royal Navy with its numerous destroyers. Would be of no use if they were all killed in the compressed hull of a hit sub.
No, the airship it must be. She had to contact LUFTWAFFE about that. They would be delighted to be of help. Surely the Goering would afterwards claim all glory for her Luftwaffe. By the goddess of revenge and death, nothing could mean less to Ophelia.
The group needed had not to be a big one. 40, 50 maidens, naturally the best of the best. This was no problem. She would get a division of Panzers from the Himmler if she only asked for it.
Yes, a telephone call, 50 maidens, the airship of LUFTWAFFE, a precise assault on the palace, no bloodshed needed, a qick retreat with their prey. Thats the plan, Skorzena, was this so difficult, no, damn it, no!
Her kick send one corporal through the air, a fist approached the others middle, aiming to kill. In the last moment, Ophelia hold back, the thrust only stunning the other SET.
She had nearly killed a comrade in a mere exercise.
Ophelia bit her lip, a drop of blood appeared. Never again, she had sworn, back then in the rain, in Osaka...



Office of Aerodrome Officress of Securitate, Bukarest Aerodrome, Romania, October 7th, 1939, 18.22 hours

The romanian lady was pretty, no, even beautiful, one had to grant her that. Dark complexion, dark glossy hair, lively, huge black eyes under long lashes, a mouth demanding to be kissed right away, a body leaving no one untouched.
She was a bitch nonetheless, Maria Cipoletti thought. Cornelia Taburescu was the bitchs name, captain of the romanian secret service, the Securitate, she was. And responsible for controlling the travellers coming to Bukarest aerodrome.
It was the third time Amy and Maria visited this office, this beautiful lady, their passports and visas okay, the papers of the Komorski family, even the dogs, completely in order. But this false little snake refrained the third time from signing the last documents they needed, simply not putting her Securitate “Stempel” on the papers.
She was not grim, not threatening, always smiling, her voice matching her beauty. She chatted about this and that, offered coffee and even biscuits, smoked Marlboros with the same greed and lust as Maria, and was unmovable as the Rocky Mountains.
This evening was no exception. Unfortunately, the workday ended now, you see, maybe the Americans returned tomorrow. If they would care to join Cornelia in the dance club nearby, for some fun. The prices were fair there, the ladies pretty, the music modern, french, british, american songs. Some dancing would surely loosen the pressure they seemingly felt.
No need to be alarmed. Some more biscuits? You like them, Lady Wilder, dont you. Mmmh, can I have a light, Miss Cipoletti, quick please. Ohh, Marlboros are just the best sticks on earth, dont you think?
And so on and so forth.
Not for the first time, while giving the Romanian lady a light, Maria thought about overpowering her and simply “stempel” the papers themselves.
After all they had been through, the adventures in Poland, the endless train journey to Bukarest, the grim police controls, the lost child back in Ploesti, the old grandma of the family seriously ill, affording a stop at the hospital in Bukarest, they finally were here, in this very office opposite this, this... to hell with her.
If the Germans had a hand in this? If they knew the Americans identity, searching for them here in Romania? The Romanians were close knit with the Superfrauen, but neutral, thank the Goddess. It all depended on the brunette german sergeant they had left behind with the other packaged Germans. She alone had seen their names on the passport. Had she recalled them when finally freed? And if so, had she spoken out? Maria was sure she had welcomed developments, not wanting the Americans and the innocent polish boy tortured for mere perverted pleasure. Or did her sense of duty kick in? They couldnt know.
But Maria knew too well they would miss their third flight out to New York via Lisbon tonight.
It was to no avail. They finally left Lady Cornelia to return another day, having wasted more money on the tickets for themselves and the polish family.
Down in the hall, Valery and the Poles waited, the families dog charming his way to another sausage from an italian businesswoman.
They saw it all in Amys and Marias faces.
What was behind the Securitates behavior? They needed to know...


Arlene Jacksons office, CIA HQ, Langley, Virginia, USA, in the morning, roughly the same time

“Whats this, Marcy?”
“A report a source in british secret service fetched in London. Quite disturbing.”
“Lets see. I see. Hardly surprising. Their economy depends totally on the Germans. And strategically they are afraid of the Stalinas appetite to their East. For the Superfrauen, securing the oil there is crucial too. They must control the Balkans to have a cleared flank there. The country is a cornerstone in the building.”
“So you think the report is correct?”
“Probably. I predict Romania joining the Germans in the war in a few days.”
“Too bad, another country in the Hitlers clutches, without a fight.”
“Yeah, some day they will regret that in Bukarest, no matter which way. Anything else today?”
“Analyse of german press reports on their armored troops. Quite worrisome.”
Arlene just grunted.


Forests west of Luxembourg, position of 26th tank regiment (french designation), Eastern France, October 8th, 1939, 15.31 hours

“Rain and mud. The Boches wont come in this weather, I am sure of that. The war is postponed, praise the goddess. What do you think, Madame Lenglen?”
“We should use the time to get company in shape, Madame Capitan. The crews hardly know were to put the shells when ordered to load the Somuas main guns. Not to speak of some of them to weak to even raise a shell from the ground. A fitness programme might be a good idea. A have prepared a plan, so we...”
“Madame Lenglen, this is not tennis. By the way, why did you ever give up your career? You were the best, the DIVINE. Was it really because of this little embarassment with these bondage pictures? You looked delicious all tied up and gagged. A friend of mine has still a wallpaper of one of the pictures in her sleeping quarters back in Caen, and...”
“Please, Madam Capitan, the exercises.”
“Ohhh, yes. I think this is unnecessary. Let the mademoiselles rest for the time being. War will come soon enough. War is no match on Wimbledon center court, you know? I was a young ensign in tank troops in 1918, it was no fun back then.”
If you ever knew how to fight, you surely have forgotten it. Maybe in the sheets, struggling in some pink bondage tape, as you seem so fond of this kinky games. The Lenglen hid her thoughts under an impassive face, putting the unwanted exercise plan back into her breast pocket.
Company HQ was in a quite luxurious hunting hut, Capitan Sandrine Platini and the Lenglen sitting at the wooden table beside two other officers, who busied themselves with a round of cards. A huge, dusty bear head at the wall watched the scene with dead, dumb and surprised looking glass eyes. Probably a male, the Lenglen thought.
The Platini gathered her cards from the table and resumed the game with her two other luitenants.
Calm, Josefine, stay calm. Count to ten, slowly so. The french beauty rose and headed for the door. Outside, it was raining, the forests ground muddy, the troops tents in miserable condition. Instead of using them, the soldieresses had hidden in their Somua S-35 tanks.
Only a miserable, fairskinned little private was visible, standing in front of the improvised toilet, hesitating.
Josefine snorted, turned back from the door and returned to the table. She grabbed her cigarettes and lit one.
“I saw your ads in cinema, Madame Lenglen. Whats with this Janet Morris contract?”
“They had me fired as I quit the tennis circuit.”
Josefine couldnt care less about that.
“Every day I say to myself, what an honor, the great Divine commanding one of my platoons. Before I forget it again, you have to sign some letters for my daughters and sons back in
Caen, they ADORE you.”
“Sure, Madam Capitan.”
“Speaking of tennis again. On seeing this weather outside, I remember a game in ROWENNA GARROS in, 34?. Anyway, you were only 22 or 23 in worldranking than, a young sweet gal, and it was the second or third round, raining heavily. The game wasnt aborted, and you were fighting in the rain like a lioness. Never forgot that. Really, a shame you quit tennis. Maybe after this unpleasant war, you will return, yes?”
“We will see, Madame Capitan.”
This was definitly worse than the night spent helpless, struggling on her bed in summer. Much worse. There, she was freed in the morning. Here, only a german bullett might save her from this officress of hers. And the Germans wont come in this weather, in this the Capitan was correct. Was this good or bad? Time to bring the french army into shape, or time for it to rott away beyond repair?
Josefine feared it would be the latter.


Cargo Train Station Aachen, Western Germany, about the same time

“What a sh*t weather, Berna.”
“Its October, what do you expect? These hills, looks like the city is buried into an old vulcano or something.”
“You dont now? Thats exactly the case.”
“Really? Well, as long as it wont break out while our division assembles...”
“Your platoon is next.”
Berna Üncel, luitenant of panzer troops, her grandparents born in Ankara, Turkey, a long time ago, she herself raised in Dortmund, Ruhr valley,  nodded and sent a loving look at her four Panzer III tanks on the train waggons.
What beautiful, deadly beasts they were, with their 50mm main gun, ready to take on every other tank in the world.
Female Workers of the Reichsbahn, together with soldieresses of 7th Panzer Division, were busy around the two german luitenants, one a shorthaired blonde, the other a beautiful turko-german gal.
Berna was a stunning beauty with a long mane of curly dark hair and big dark eyes, carrying herself with the pride her people was famous for. The more so, as she, at 21, had mastered the Kriegsakademie at Berlin, had fulfilled her dream to become a panzer commandress in the Reichs Wehrmacht, fully accepted by her fairskinned comrades, something her mothers and grandmas had only dreamed of.
Though looking so southern, Fraulein Üncel was every inch a german girl in manner, speech and attitude. Her turkish would shame a four year old in the streets of Istanbul.
“Do you think we will attack soon?” the blonde asked.
“In this weather? Are you kidding? Without the stukas, our concept is only worth half.”
“I think we can take on the French without the LUFTWAFFE bitches.”
“Its war, not a hockey match. We need every advantage we can get.”
“You sound like a general, Berna sweetie.”
“Some day, I will be one.”
“You might be right. Well, Frau General, would you be so kind as to supervise the off loading of your platoon – arrh, your  Panzerdivison?”
“I will consider it. Dismissed.”
Both laughed. Berna brought out her pervitin-drugs, taking one of the pills.
The blonde eyed her with concern.
“You shouldnt take this stuff so often, Liebling (honey, loved one, most liked).”
“They help me stay sharp.”
On top of  the drug, Berna put a Marlboro between her lips, hastily lighting it.
“I am 21. A bit early to think of health risks, dont you think? Its war, I can be dead tomorrow.”
“You must be careful, sweetie. The pills, the chainsmoking... beware.”
“You have a point there. Would you care to give me a cig too?”
“Sure. There we go. Lets look after the first one.”
One after the other, the four Pz IIIs left the train and rumbled aside. When the process was finished, Berna tosed her butt away and climbed on to Number 173, her own vehicle.
She waved down to the blonde comrade, whose platoon was next.
Poland had been a good training ground for their unit, and Berna had at last seen action. It had been exciting, but she didnt feel as if it was the real thing. Everything had been so easy, like childsplay. Hopefully, the French would put up a better fight. An iron or even the knights cross would fit well in Bernas plans.
She didnt lust for fame and glory, but decorations and awards would accelerate her career considerably. She really wanted to become a general. She owed nothing less to her family, second class citizens for so long, her mothers spending all available money on Bernas education, to give at least her a chance.
Berna would take on the French, would take on the world, to pay her debt. Restless, she lit the next cigarette, as the four panzers rolled into the streets of Aachen, towards their nearby assembly area.



MGM Studios, Hollywood, LA, USA, October 10th, 1939, 16.14 hours

“Okay, thats it. A short break until we continue. Well done, ladies! Trudy, fetch a juice for Lady Wayne.”
Lady Jane Ford, directress of THE BLACK FALCONESS, a western movie destined to become the blockbuster of the winter season, beamed at all around.
Mathilde Wayne snorted und nestled for her cigarettes. The muscled blonde with the ponytail and the big stetson hat stepped out of the faked indian tent, leaving her partner in the scene, Kathrin Kaskas, behind. The Kaskas couldnt follow.
Charline Lindbergh grinned at the Wayne and came forward, approaching her lover, which kneeled inside the “tent” in the studio. The Kaskas eyes blazed.
She had the title role, playing the Black Falconess, but was the villainess nonetheless, the heroines role reserved for the Wayne. The Black Falconess was an indian princess full of hatred against the white women. She waged a cruel war against white settlers, and , the Wayne, playing cowgirl Priss Thwaite, had come to settle matters. In this scene here, the Thwaite finally captured the Falconess in her own lair. Following movie tradition, the showdown wasnt a bloody fight, but an overpowering scene with the Kaskas ending in ropes and gag.
So, Kathrin Kaskas now kneeled there, hands tied at her back and her whole body und limbs in plentifully applied ropes, a big white cloth gag contrasting nicely with her dark skin.
Charline did secretly enjoy Kathrins sight, the ropes adorned the Indian well, and the gag set off those intense dark eyes most fine. But nothing of this showed on her face, as her lover surely would direct her wrath upon her, should she know about Charlines thoughts.
“Hello, sweetheart. Hard work, this acting. Is this gag for real?”
“Gmmpff!” was all the Kaskas managed to say.
“You can bet on it. I put a nice big packing into this mouth under the scarf, okay?”
The Wayne put on a cruel smile. It was no secret the Wayne and the Kaskas didnt like each other the least.
Charline turned to the directress:
“May I remove her gag?”
“Not yet, it took us a while to get it this perfect. It must look real tight, as this indian chick is a real bitch, and in the movie at this point the audience will be lusting for revenge on this bitch, you see?”
“But I would like to talk to her.”
“Wait a few minutes. One more scene, and we are done here. Our heroine will carry the Falconess outside to get away with her.”
Outside the tent, near a fire in the studio, two other actresses of indian origin, bound and gagged too, were placed on the ground. The sentries the great heroine had already overpowered.
Charline made an excusing gesture to the Kaskas and decided to inform her about developments nonetheless.
“Well, honey, it looks like we have really something going there. I met this morning with several important people here in LA. The movement is strong, large part of entertainment, the media, big business, the church are with us. We just have to organize the protest. I thought about a committee. Need a fitting name for it.”
“Mmmppff.”
“Do you have an idea?”
The Kaskas nodded, chewing on her gag.
“Well, tell me later about it. Its about time something is done. The Republicans going interventionist, and the Roosevelt trying to catch up. I tell you, I wont stand at the sideline idle when these bitches want to send our brave gals into wars no one gives a damn for. We must be quick. I know that people are with us. We Americans dont need to meddle in overseas affairs. Am I right or am I right?”
“Mmmpfff.”
The indian actress mewed approvingly.
“Okay, here we go again. Lady Lindbergh, would you please leave the scene?”
Charline did so. After several tries, Lady Ford was finally satisfied with the way the Wayne carried the helpless Kaskas out of the tent. Next shot was of the two packaged sentries, whose horror and disbelief as her princess was caried past them had to be recorded on celluloite.
So, the Kaskas was freed at last. The gag finally gone, Kathrin suppressed an outburst and just hissed, still bound:
“A cigarette, quick.”
Charline stood near her lover and watched, as a helpress lit the Kaskas a cigarette, while another one loosened the ropes around the Indians body.
Blewing out smoke, Kathrin grunted, understandably in a fool mood:
“About this name of the movement. How does AMERICA FIRST COMITEE grabb you?”
“Ohh, thats good, honey. Yeah, I like it. Great! AMERICA FIRST COMITEE...”


Theodora Roosevelt Building, Washington D.C., Republican Party headquarters, USA, same time

“Hello, Jill, I would like you to meet Nicole J. Drake of State Department.”
“Hi, Jill, Rowenna told me a lot about you.”
Jill Ryan shook hands with the pretty blonde lady, who could have easily been a german superfrau or a swedish gal.
“Nicole was special assistentess to our ambassadoress in London the last years. Quite astonishing the Roosevelt didnt get rid of her.”
“I knew how to behave.”
The blonde had a ready smile and good manners. Probably old money from New York, by her accent. Only the best schools and such. Her dress was first class, likewise shoes and make up.
But behind these mask one could sense intelligence and a strong will.
Rowenna said flatly:
“Nicole is one of the gals I have an eye on. Her assignment over, I persuaded her to join our team over here.”
Jill sipped from her champagne and jumped at the possibility to escape the usual party chit-chat by asking the blonde:
“Hows the mood over there? Any determination in the Brits?”
“Uh, I think people here underestimate british resolve. It might not look this way, but the Britas are determined to go through with this war until victory. The French are another matter entirely.”
“And if the French are beaten? Will the Queendom continue the war all alone, with german panzers across the channel, the dreaded Luftwaffe in easy reach of London? Lady Chamberlain never appeared like a real fightress to me.”
“Lady Chamberlain might not be there forever.”
“Who else could take up the glove?”
“You know Lady Churchill?”
“Met her briefly a few years ago at Boston university. Naturally I know her history. Including the Dardanelles story. She is Naval ministress alright, but a woman of the past.”
“You are wrong here. She is in, and might be more in the center of things ones it gets hairy. Trust me, we will hear more of her.”
Jill changed a look with Rowenna. The old spiders grey eyes gave nothing away.
Blonde Nicole had a question too:
“Whats going on over here? I see we try to win the next election by going interventionist?”
“To my surprise and delight, it seems so.”
Both younger gals starred at Rowenna, who busied herself with lighting a cigarette.
Nicole grinned at Jill.
“I heard you will play a prominent role in our team for the election.”
“Yeah,  I wouldnt mind beeing chief of staff for foreign policy under our candidatress.”
“Never thought of going for the office yourself?”
“Uh... what?”
Rowenna said mildly:
“Jill doesnt like to much public attention.”
Nicole and the old spider traded looks which this time Jill couldnt overlook. She dismissed the matter and came back to England and the war.
“Even with resolve and the right leadership, the Queendom alone will be harded pressed by a Germany controlling Europe, count to that the Italians and the Japanese lurking in the background. They will need help.”
“Sure, Jill, our help. I would be glad to go over again and tell them if WE win the elections, we will join and show the Superfrauen what US-chicks do with scum and the like.”
“Well said. I am still surprised things like hat can be said in the Republican HQ aloud.”
Rowenna smiled.
“Times are changing, Jill.”
“But the polls not. Most gals are still opposed to any involvement. The Roosevelt counts on that. Furthermore, there is resistance mounting even against her moderate measures. Rumours have it they will be organized soon.”
“Yeah Jill, I heard the radio speech by the Lindbergh myself. A shame a heroine like her to be such a cowardess.”
“I wouldnt go that far, but I am surprised too by her vigouros stance. Didnt thought she is THAT opposed to any involvement.”
“This movement is, I fear, widespread. Maybe the Lindbergh is even more dangerous than the Roosevelt next year.”
Rowenna spoke matter-of-factly, and Jill knew full well that in this respect, the Grayson was second to none.