XXXIX – THE QUEEN, THE VILLAINESS AND A COURAGEOUS MALE


Koniklijke Palace, Amsterdam, The Netherlands, November 12th, 1939, 0.07 hours

“Hello, here is your groceries store. The cheese is ready tonight. Yes. Yes. Very fine, bye.”
Antje Kamphues placed the telephone down and allowed herself a smile. Her fascist sisters, the mighty Reich, would come tonight, to collect this nuisance named Dutch Queen, to incorporate her country into the Greater German Reich. No longer communist agitation, democratic bubbling, capitalist greed. Honesty, order, strength. A deep satisfaction rose within the dutch lady. She lit a cigarette and opened up a bottle of fine german wine.
The Kamphues sat alone in her small, neat office. The Palace was mostly quiet, the lively queen gone to bed with Peer, her husband, and the staff getting well needed rest now.
No one suspected what was to come. The Wehrmacht would cut through the peaceful, unprepared country like a steal knife through cheese.
Antje giggled girlish at the thought. A high position in the new fascist government would be hers, as she was familiar with the countries politics and inner circle of power. Much work lay ahead of her, work and responsibility she was ready for, no, she lusted for.
A pity Peer would be imprisoned. She had taken a certain liking, not to say affection, to the Queens husband. There was somehing about this male, a certain unmanly strength and resolve – really fascinating. Often had she imagined to break this pride, this confidence, to show the attractive squire his place under a woman easily stronger, more intelligent, far ruthless than he could imagine. Maybe one could arrange for him to become her servant. Yes, that sounded nice. From servant to slave was only a small step, a graduation.
She rose and headed to the mirror, eyed herself closely. Antje Kamphues, new ministress of interior to Fascist Netherlands. A beautiful woman to boot. She smiled at the darkhaired gal in the mirror. Only a few hours left...


Cargo area 3,  KLS LEONIE SCHLAGETER, 4000 m above the eastern Netherlands, enroute to Amsterdam Aerodrome, November 12th, 1939, 5.28 hours

Beate Brunner checked her weapons and gear again. Camouflage combat dress, weaponsbelt, the stungun, which used rubberbullets with a mild poison to stun victims, a more classical submachinegun, a combat knife, a small rucksack containing a ration, bondagetape, rubberballs for gags, and a first-aid-kit, then her small mapcase, containing a street map of Amsterdam as well as a plan of the palace, smokegrenades at the belt, cigarettes and matches in her pockets as well as a smaller knife, small pervitin pills to stay alert – everything was okay as the occasions before.
Like her, the other 54 SET of the unit busied themselves with their gear. Anticipation was high among the elite warrioresses. They were the first to go in, the sharp point of the Reichs sword ready to smash into the Benelux countries, first move of the great West offensive shaping the Reichs destiny.
An insult had to be avenged, an insult to the Fuhra herself, and all were most eager to lay hands on this insolent young queen who had dared to anger the Fuhra a few years ago.
Then their leadress, the Skorzeny herself, was among them, looking cool and deadly serious, her hair in a tight knot, her combat dress fitting like made for her alone, her eyes cold as ice.
All listened eagerly to her crisp, short speech. Everyone knew her mission, her place, it was only a last heads up by the blonde for her maidens.
She concluded:
“I will emphasize one point again, girls: As long as there is no real battle, I want no one, repeat, NO ONE, to use deadly force. The rubberbullets and their poison work perfectly well. I want no bloodshed if at all possible. Especially, take the Queen alive. She must not be hurt under any circumstances. Remember, gals wriggling in bonds and gags are a much prettier sight than torn apart in their blood with broken eyes. Are we clear on that?”
They were. Anke Stein patted Beate on the shoulder and rolled her eyes, blew up her cheeks, mimicring a gagged damsel. Beate had to laugh. Several jokes were exchanged.
The airship of LUFTWAFFE churned down the miles to Amsterdam. Behind the ship, which was disguised as cargo transporter of LUFTHANSA, about 15 minutes back, 30 more airships followed, ladden with 6.000 paratroopers of 1.Fallschirmjägerdivision, ready to take Amsterdam from the air. The Wehrmacht showed its claws again.


HMS HEROINE, The Channel, west of dutch coast near Amsterdam, 12th November 39, 6.03 hours

“I find this mission really fascinating. Do you know this Hitchcock movie THE BLACK SWAN? There, the heroine and her gals wait in the pirates lair, in an inn, for the Pirate captains and their leftenants to come in, and one by one they are packaged. What a nice movie. I remember these overkneeboots of the pirate ladies, adorned with white rope,  striking sight. Dont the Superfrauen wear pretty boots too?”
Lois Mountbatten had always thought Lady Captains of the Queens warships were sincere, quiet gals, no word too much and so on, but Lt.Commandress Agatha Maplethorpe was speaking constantly, all the while playing with an unlit cigarette at her lips. Lois wished for her to lit the stick, this way she would be quiet for at least a few seconds.
“And the white, broad gags of silk in the pirates faces. I tell you, a very hot movie this has been. Did you watch it? Anyway, I imagine these Luftwaffe aviatrixes all nicely packaged, ladden aboard my ship. I can hardly wait. Did you know this unit has sunk two of our destroyers and more than 20 merchies already? Time to take them out. The RAF failed misrably in destroying the airfield, most were shot down by Messerschmitts. But the Superfrauen are in for a suprise, with YOU coming to get them, Lady Knight.”
“Sure, but..”
“I am glad my destroyer is used for the mission, not a sub. Subs are so small and crowded. There IS the matter of air attacks, but only on the way in. On the way out... well, without their crews the damned bombers cant get into the air, no? And we will be in dutch waters most of the time. There is this unpleasant trip in the boats for a while, but trust me, my gals won the rowing championship of flotilla this summer, you will be at the beach in no time. And their boats will be in harbor, we have given them a beating the last weeks. The Kriegsmarine is no match for our navy, I always said that. No Lady Nelson back in their history, if you know what I mean.”
Just out of desperation, Lois lit a cigarette of her own, offering the burning match to the Maplethorpe.
“Oh, thanks, but I try to quit. Lady Maplethorpe the Second, my dear wife, says all my uniforms smell of nicotin, you know, and she has SUCH a fine nose. Besides, she is membress of SISTERS AGAINST GREEDY SINS, and did you know the Germans are so fond of smoking? So I decided, no Agatha, you wont indulge in this vice anymore. Have even forbidden it at home. You know, our oldest daughter smokes already, and she...”
Lois catched herself imagining to shove a gag into the Lt.Comandress mouth, a huge one, and...
“Mam, we receive a lot of radio traffic suddenly from the Dutch, and a lot of coded german signals too. Quite near.”
Agatha Maplethorpe suddenly stopped bubbling, her eyes narrowed.
“Content?”
That was sharp and short.
“Questions whats going on, call for help, several read: We are under attack.”
An ensign joined the captain, the leftenant and Lois with a disptach:
“Mam, an urgent message from the Admirality to all ships.”
“Let me see.”
The Maplethorpe read the paper. She showed it to Lois while saying in a clear voice covering the whole bridge, but calm as on the cricket field:
“All hands woman battle stations.”
Lois read:
“FROM ADMIRALITY – HIGHEST PRIORITY – TO ALL SHIPS AND STATIONS:
GERMAN ASSAULT ON NETHERLANDS AND BELGIUM. PREPARE TO RECEIVE NEW ORDERS SHORTLY.”
The Maplethorpe was quiet now, as the ships routine was replaced with frenzied activity. Every station of HMS HEROINE reported combat readiness, and the Maplethorpe started to pace the destroyers bridge.
Lois thoughts were on overdrive. They really tried it in late fall, despite the weather. And naturally by violating neutrality of Belgium again. The Krauts never changed. Would the French be able to stopp them? What a shame, only a single british division was in France, the Empire could hardly do more than watch the battle.
“Mam, new orders from Admirality, Lady Churchill herself.”
While the Maplethorpe scanned the new dispatch, new reports came in, sighting of explosions and fire at the coast. The captain looked up, took a pair of binoculars and trained them in.
“Amsterdam”, she muttered.
She handed Lois the dispatch.
“TO: HMS HEROINE. FROM: MINISTRESS OF THE NAVY.
AMSTERDAM UNDER ATTACK FROM GERMAN PARATROOPERS.
HMS HEROINE IS ORDERED TO TAKE POSITION IN AMSTERDAM HARBOR.
1st COMMANDO IS ORDERED TO ENTER AMSTERDAM AND BRING DUTCH ROYAL FAMILY OUT TO HMS HEROINE. HIGHEST PRIORITY TO GET ROYAL FAMILY OUT SAFELY.
WINONA SARAH CHURCHILL, MINISTRESS OF THE NAVY.
P.S.:THE GODDESS WITH YOU..”
The Maplethorpes sharp, but still calm and steady voice ordered to the helmswoman:
“New course. Come to 1-5-5. All ahead full.”
Lois looked over to the fires at the horizon, straighted up and said:
“I will inform my outfit. Looks like we will all be quite busy shortly.”
The captain nodded and lit her cigarette after all.




Koniklijke Palace, Sleeping quarters of the Queen and the Royal Prince, same moment

“Hmmm, no, it cant be morning again. I dont want to...”
“Beatrix, honey, get up, quick. The Germans, they are coming...”
“WHAT?”
Queen Beatrix sat upright in bed like hit by a lightning. Peer was hastily putting on his cloths. Now Beatrix heard the explosions, the shouts, the staccato of weapons. The door to the corridor was open, their bodyguards visible, weapons at the ready.
“Quick, Bea, they are in the palace.”
The queen jumped out of bed and scrambled into her dessous, her dress, searched for her shoes, all the while exclaiming “I knew it, the bitches, the goddessdamned bitches, I knew it!” Suddenly, outside the shooting started. The handguns of the guards were defeaning, other the somehow wet sounds of enemy guns. Bea saw a guard drop to the ground.
Peer and she changed a quick look. It was too late. Their guards were all down in a matter of moments, and soldieresses in green-brown combat suits and barrets entered the quarters, led by a tall blonde with cold blue eyes.
Beatrix jumped forward and threw herself at the tall blonde, ready to put her fist right under her chin, fear obviously unknown to her. The blonde, the silvern deathheads of SET on barrett and dress, didnt even raise her gun. Without knowing how, Beatrix found herself on her stomach on the bed, her arms high in her back, a knee pressing her down.
“Please cease any resistance, Your Majesty. You are prisoner of the German Reich. I would prefer not to hurt you.”
Beatrix let out a cry of anger and hatred. Ceasing any resistance, she would show this fascist sl*t where she could put her politeness, and...
The German pressed with her fingers into her neck, and Beatrix felt all strength sapping from her. She groaned.
Out of a sudden, glass broke, the german guns made their strange wet, deep sounds. Beatrix tried with weak muscels to look up. The window was shattered, Peer gone from the room. Obviously no one of the germans had expected a male to take the initiative, let alone jump through a closed window.
The tall blondes voice from behind Beatrix was casual but cold as winter:
“Privates Brunner, Stein, please bring the Royal Prince back inside.”
Two Germans rushed to the window, a blonde and a brownhaired, and jumped out into the garden.
“Now to us, Your Majesty.”


Maastricht, Netherlands, hard west of the German border, same time

The german tanks, armoured personnel carriers, motorcycles and trucks streamed over the bridge, taken by a SET commando an hour ago,  and rolled through the streets of the dutch town, the inhabitants looking out their windows into the still dark morning, seeing their country invaded by dark green steel monsters and swarms of disciplined soldieresses in elegant uniforms and boots. There had been nearly no resistance. The Dutch were unprepared, in sight of the german warmachine across the border having acted like a child putting the bed sheet above its head. The monster had seen them nonetheless, and now it had come to eat their innocent flesh.
It was like a bad dream, but it didnt go away, no matter how hard dutch ladies and squires at their windows blinked.
Berna Üncel didnt care for the Dutch and the city, as long as they posed no problems for her Panzer and her platoon. The day had come for action, to show what she was worth, to make a fortune, for her mothers, her grandmothers, for all ethnic Turkas in the Reich.
The young Turko-German lit a new cigarette, the old one just flipped into the street still wet from nightly rain and scanned her surroundings. 7th Panzerdivision was on the march, their unit not the first to enter the town, so action was not to be expected immediately. But Berna was ready nonetheless.
Stukas roared overhead into the west. To the german gals from the front to headquarters astonishment, the rain had stopped during the night as if Frigasha, goddess of nature and weather, was with the Fuhra and her undertaking. Berna knew some in the unit really believed that. The young luitenant didnt care for the new religion, just the same as she didnt care for the old. Women were alone in this world, only their determination, intelligence and courage standing between them and the big nothingness.
There was a traffic jam ahead, a panzer had broken down. Berna eyed her wrist watch. Speed was essential to the plan. The Dutch and Belgians couldnt be allowed to mobilize, the french reinforcemnts expected shortly to arrive had to be engaged as far west as possible.
Luitenant Üncel bit her lips, tortured her Marlboro, her other hands fingers tipping on the steel of the panzer like a machine gun.
Finally, the column continued the march. Some people were out in the streets now, looking stunned, but some showed anger. An old woman threated to use her umbrella on an infantry luitenants head. The panzer rolled past and Berna dismissed the scene from her mind.
7th Panzerdivision spearheaded the Wehrmacht into the Netherlands, followed by more than forty more divisions. Berna knew the distance to Paris, but she didnt knew that between her and the french capital only a single french division was positioned.
Had she knew it, she would have been angry. She hated incompetence out of principle, even in the enemies ranks...