BONDAGE CATWAR 36
Customs department, Cairo Aerodrome, British Egypt, November 21st 1939, 16.22 hours
“Your passports please. Thank you, Miss, ahh, Larsson. Miss Sjöwall, Miss Kollberg. Swedish you are. Fine. Whats the purpose of your visit in Egypt?”
Odd, this beautiful swedish gal had dark hair. Werent Swedes all blonde, even more so than the damned Krauts? Anyway, a real knockout, and the two others were likewise pretty.
It was the beauty who answered in accented English:
“Ohh, we are anthropologists, on a mission for the Stockholm Scientific Society SSS, you surely heard of it?”
“Uh, no, beg your pardon.”
“No? This cant be...”
“Look, Miss Larsson, theres a war going on in Europe, it can spread here, if the Italians join the Superfrauen and attack us. So, I have hardly time for scientific interests.”
“Oh, this war, yes. A pity. Imagine, we had to use a complicated route to get here. And the flight prices, disgusting. Not to speak of the service on this bulgarian airship. You cant imagine how dirty...”
“Excuse me again. Anything to declare?”
“Oh, Miss Sjöwall has a typewriter, and we have some books. What about our american cigarettes?”
“Let me see. Oh, no thats okay. Fine, Myladies. Here you are. Have a nice stay in Egypt.”
Beautiful this Larsson gal was, but arrogant on the dumb side. The british customs officress didnt like the dumb ones, no matter how pretty. But these legs... anyway.
The three swedish ladies left the department with their luggage, passing a big picture at the wall, which read: BEWARE, GERMAN SPIES ARE EVERYWHERE.
One of the Swedes giggled at that, and the tall Larsson sent her a stern look. The three Europeans vanished into the streets of Cairo, soon forgotten by the customs officress, who studied the headlines of the DAILY MIRROR. The Germans had taken Reims and Sedan.
Dippule-de-Taff, small village at a crossroads, northwestern France, 75 miles east of Paris, November 22nd, 1939, 11.26 hours
The GUDRUN with the big antennas, accompanied by several Kradschützinnen (motorcyclists), suddenly rolled up to Leutnant Seelers own GUDRUN. The blonde leutnant studied a map, quite unsure where to go next. The damned french bitches had repositioned the road signs, misguiding them. Frauke remembered Feldwebel Frings already suspecting that, and that the brunette had proposed another way a few miles back. She should have listened to her NCO back then.
Now she was more than a bit perplexed to find General Ulla von Manstein herself climbing onto her vehicle.
The von Manstein looked angry and cold as always, a sharp mind, an unforgiving commandress, the blue eyes contrasting with the glossy black hair.
“Leutnant! What are you doing here?”
“Ahh, we took the wrong road and...”
“So, did you? Arent you the Seeler? The unlucky fraulein to be bound and gagged by american tourists, together with her entire platoon?”
So cold, these eyes.
“Arrh, jawoll, Frau General.”
“I see. Well, Leutnant Bondage, its THIS way. If your platoon is not underway again in 30 seconds you will command an omnibus in Idar-Oberstein for the rest of your life.”
“Jawoll, Frau General!”
Frauke screamed so loud her face turned a purple red. The episode in Poland had done her career no good. Earmarked to become a Hauptfrau (captain) and command her own company, she still was stuck with the same platoon. How she hated these american sl*ts. Somehow she would get her revenge, must get it.
She shouted orders into the radio, and the four GUDRUNS raced west again shortly later, leaving the village.
The von Manstein stood on the road, lighting a cigarette, accompanied by her inner staff.
Blewing smoke into the cold November air, her face was dark, she obviously in a fool mood.
“We are still ahead”, one of her gals exclaimed.
“With silly cows like this fraulein, we will never make it to Paris before the Guderian.”
On the other hand, its a very good sign thats our only problem, Ulla von Manstein thought. We dont worry about the war, the French, win or loss, we just want to be first in Paris.
A thin smile appeared on her pretty lips. Revenge for Versailles in the Wehrmachts grasp.
“Lets be on our way. Who knows what Panzerregiment 12 is doing. Perhaps picknicking and sisternizing with the frogeatresses.”
“Achetes les livres”, bookshop in Northern Paris, France, November 24th, 1939, 15.35 hours
“Mademoiselle Dugarry, can you imagine, they are burning the papers at Qde Orsay. The Germans, they are really coming! Oh, I thank the goddess my companion died in 37. The shame, the humiliation, she fighting in the grand guerre...”
“Oh, Madame Blanc, how terrible. Is the war really lost?”
“You little sheep, what do you think? We are doomed, doomed!”
“I have the Juliette Verne you requested, do you...”
“Oh no, how can you now think of that. You are a child, really. So young and innocent. Mademoiselle, this is the end of the world, and you want to sell me a book?”
“I just thought...”
Natalie Dugarry, small, sweet and obviously totally naive, made big, round eyes. Maybe she would start crying now. But no, she fought the tears successfully. Madame Blanc shook her head.
“Chery, I must go now. I tell you, hard times are coming. The Boches are the most disgusting people on earth. Even more disgusting than the English, if thats at all possible.”
Natalie nodded emphatically, pressing the Juliette Verne against her bossom, blinking hard behind her thick glasses.
“But your book...”
The Blanc was gone, the small store empty apart from Natalie and her black cat.
When the customress was gone for good, Natalies demeanor changed.
She stroke the cats back and said to him:
“Well, Aristide, did you hear? The fascistas are coming. Bad times ahead. Interesting bad times. Theres much to do, I better start some preparations.”
Aristide jawned and looked unimpressed as always. Natalie put the book back in a shelve behind her counter and started to hum a popular melody.
She had a special gift for the Boches ready and was most eager to show it to them.
Aristides bored look went to some white flowers on the counter. He jawned again.
A flat, suburbs of Cairo, British Egypt, November 29th 1939, 3.08 hours
Westerners could not be trusted. Never. Even not when they want to help you. Especially not when they want to help you. Talking about civilization, democracy, health care, humanity, while at the same time openly robbing the riches of your people, denying you freedom, your soul, your beliefs. Snakes and scorpions they all, to be stomped under ones foot with a prayer to the fevkalade anne, the glorious mother.
Was this woman of the north any different? Standing their, tall and confident, disguised as a native in modest garnments and veils. No, she wasnt, her great fuhra had no interest in the people, no faith in the ANNE, pagans they all were, a walking sin under the ANNES sun. She had been sent here to use the sisters of Mahma, the true daughters of the ANNE, as a weapon, a mere tool in her struggles with the british snakes.
So be it. Two could play this game. The sisters would make good use of this pagan and her knowledge.
“Welcome to the empire of glorious ANNE, strange lady of the north,” Shanaya ach Lesmer said with a smile, accompanying the words with a slight bow.
English she had spoken, as she had learned in Oxford, a grateful she-dog of the generous english empire she had appereared to be all the time there in England, secretly hating every second of it.
“Thank you, my lady. May the ANNE lighten the alleys of your thoughts and feet.”
Shanaya was surprised that the snake knew the correct formula, but was careful not to show it.
Some of her sisters gasped at hearing the holy words. Her leadress didnt even blink.
“Let us sit down. Coffee?”
“That would be generous.”
“We are most grateful the mighty Reich sent a great warrioress to our help. With great joy and satisfaction did we hear of the great victories your armies have achieved against the imperialist bloodsuckresses. May the light of glorious ANNE always shine on your lofty Fuhra, to guide her thoughts to fulfillment of her endeavors.”
“I have to thank you for your kind words. May your own fight be as successfull and glorious, crowned by victory and lasting freedom of foreign oppressors in a not to distant future.”
“To bring that about we are here, ready to shed blood and give our lives in the temple of ANNE, which is everywhere where faithfull women worship her in sincere earnest.”
“It would be improper and an insult to the goddess to pretend, I, our my Fuhra, too, would believe in the ANNE, in whose presence her glorious light turns blind the eyes of human beeings. Her deadly stroke of lightning would strike me down immediately, should I pretend so, and rightly so. But isnt it written in the lectures of Mahma, “your enemys enemy is your friend?”
“You seem wise beyond your years, Lady... uhh.. Larsson.”
A humble sister provided the coffee for Shanaya and her guest. Both sat crosslegged on a mattress on the bare ground. Oil lamps cast a flickering light on the nightly scene. The strangress nipped at the coffee, nodded, than Shanaya drank too. The Egyptian produced a cigarette pack and offered it to the European. As the usual smoking ritual progressed, she had to admit to herself that this german spy was well versed in the way of the people. A glimpse of respect rose up inside the sister of Mahma.
“So, lets put both our wills and our knowledge to use to bring the English down, to end the war with the Reichs victory and to free the egyptian people from english bonds, under the rightfull regency of the sisters of Mahma, true daughters of fevkalade ANNE.”
Shanaya nodded at that, took a drag from her smoke, slowly so, as if to contemplate about the words, the gravity of their meaning. Flies went about their filthy business, one deciding to taste the sweat in the strangress eye winkle. The German didnt wave after the dirty nuisance, didnt even blink. She was dangerous, the sister of Mahma realized. Good. They had need of those.
She finally nodded again, as if something had been settled.
“We are ready to strike anytime. We have the sisters, eager to fight, we have the weapons, the explosives, the plans of locations and schedules, the assets inside the enemies lairs.”
Another pause. The Reich should learn that the sisters didnt necessarily need help in their war.
It was the Germans turn to nodd at that.
“Anyway, the council of mothers has decided that its wise to hear your thoughts on the matter, as you are expert in this kind of things, as they have been told.”
“I will give you everything I may have to offer.”
“I thank you for that. The council thanks you.”
She gestured to the sisters around. A carpet was removed, revealing a secret holdout in the ground. Brown, slim hands produced plans and letters.
The first warrioress of the sisters was curious, as she had to admit, what the German would have to offer.
The Lady “Larsson” studied plans and assets, her face impassive. Cairo around the isle of conspiracy came to live, the sun climbing up into the heavens of ANNE, to shine on the faithfull as well as the unbelieving.
Finally, the guest looked up.
“A big operation you have there. The problem with complicated things like that is, the more detail, the more can go wrong. A simple plan is best in most cases.”
“So you disapprove?”
“As the ANNE sends light as well as shadows, the answer is yes and no. Let me explain. I approve of the targets and your other preparations as such. This is, in itself, a well thought through, detailed plan of attack, which, if successful, should give you control over Egypt and totally disrupt the english grip on the country. But if it fails, even in part, you will jeopardize your organization, maybe destroying it, and to no avail. So, while I dont criticize the execution plans for the operation, which seem very professional to me, I disapprove of the idea as such.”
“I see. But the alternative would be, what? Inactivity? Wait for the Italians to arrive? They wouldnt be any better than the English.”
“All you have worked out will be of use – in the right moment.”
“But you just said, the plan is bad as a whole...”
“Its a military plan for a special forces attack on government and military installations. What you really need for this to work is a revolution of the people.”
“The people would never rise, they are mere sheep, many even not believing in the ANNE as we.”
“Even sheep will bite if hurt enough.”
“What do you mean?”
“What is the most disgusting, brutal, cruel thing the english could possibly do?”
“Pah, they do many such things, robbing our riches, suppressing us, forbidding the schools of ANNE, hunting the mothers of the council...”
“Sure, but they never touched the holyness of the mother church, the great council of seven in this very city.”
“No, it would mean chaos and hatred rising everywhere, electrifying even the lowest of farmers, of garbagemovers, even the males... it would be...”
She stopped cold.
“You... you know of a plan of the snakes to touch the temple of the goddess, the holy mothers of all aspects of deity?”
“Lets assume that. The people would rise against such a crime, wont they? And while english houses burn, servants turning against mistresses, males singing defiant songs in the streets, the army and police fighting for control, the Italians approaching from the West, a determined army of women, the sisters of Mahma, are ready to act. Decapitated by the deadly strike of ANNE herself, the English would collapse, and to whom will the people turn for guidance? Who has acted so determined, so decidedly? You see, theres a place for your preparations and plans. It would do you no good even if your plan succeeds, and the people wont follow you.”
“I now knew why the Reich sent you to us. So, your ABWEHR knows of such a despicable act by the English? I can hardly believe that. Even THEY cant be this stupid.”
“Naturally, I know of no such thing.”
“Did you want to mock me? What is the meaning of this game?”
Behind the cool, calm mask of gravity Shanaya was more hotblooded than she admitted to herself. The strangress, on the other hand, remained calm, lighting another cigarette.
“The answer to the mystery is simple. If the English dont do such a thing, just let the people believe it were the english who did it.”
“And? Who will do it?”
“Isnt it obvious? We will do it ourselves.”
Shanaya had been right from the start. Snakes and scorpions they all were. But how deadly the scorpions sting.
PANAM airship LAURA HAMILTON, 8.000 feet above western Sahara, enroute Cairo, British Egypt, roughly the same time
“You see, the situation there is very complicated. Back in the 19th century, the British took Egypt from the turkish empire, to which it belonged for several centuries. The rulresses of Turkey had been very eager to spread their religion of Fevkalade ANNE there, one of the aspects of the MOTHER in the muselwomans world. For most Egyptians, its only one aspect of the goddess, you see, they believing in some kind of semipagan version of the holy mother. Religious matters are very delicate there. Took me a while to get to the bones under all these fleshy goddesses, haha...”
Bronwyn Breckinridge nodded to all this wisdom with the politness her mothers, which had fought in the war of secession, had passed on to her. She had decided a few hours ago that this young chick here, 54 she was, not?, didnt need to know that the young Lady Breckinridge in her time had had a humanist education in the best sense, which included history lessons by sister Sabrina of Holy St.Mathildes. In short, she probably knew more about 19th century Egypt than this girl had ever cared to learn. After all, she had been RAISED in the 19th century, and remembered very well reading in the papers about Lady Kitchener taking Egypt from the Turkas grasp. Furthermore, she always studied the country she intended to visit.
With the war in Europe, ready to spread to North Africa any time, it might have been a bad idea to visit Egypt, but it was next on her list, and more than a little war had to happen to disturb a Breckinridges schedule.
Every year since her retirement from active service in the Army she visited a country on the goddess wonderful planet. And Egypt had been due. Some interesting battles had happened here, for example Lady Kitcheners against the Turkas. For a limey, the Kitchener had done quite well back then.
[.....]
A balcony, building of Her Majesties Governess for Egypt, Cairo, British Egypt, December 1st, 1939, 9.24 hours
It wasnt the same anymore. Eager Stockbottom was quite a bit missed by Lady Knight Eve Lois Mountbatten, likewise Sergeant Linneker.
Linneker was in the hospital back home, gravely wounded, young Stockbottom MIA. Probably drowned in Amsterdam harbor during the Stuka attack.
As officress in the Queens Army Eve Lois should have been accustomed to casualties in the ranks. Should... well, that was war for you.
The overall situation was more grim still. France out, the Krauts at the channel, ready to invade anytime, the Italians here just waiting for the right moment to assault, the Soviets helping out the damned Superfrauen with raw materials, and not to forget the Japanese. The yellow little ladies conducted a naval exercise only 300 miles east of Singapore, a more than clear signal. It could hardly get any worse.
At least Churchill was in charge now. And the old, fat dragon had made Eves old friend, Jennifer AlanBrooke her special military advisor.
It had been Jennifer who brought the commandos and their potential to Churchills attention.
Old Winona was a woman of adventure and action. She immediately approved the daring plan Jennifer explained to her, a plan, Eve Lois and Jennifer had created in a long night in a pub last spring, after too many beers, one might mention.
And so she was here. She had served in Egypt before, during the Great War, a young ensign at the Suez Channel, fighting in Lady Allenbys army, conquering Jerusalem and Damascus. She had met James here, he serving as a nurse in a hospital.
The Mountbatten sighed. James – another problem. In her breast pocket was his letter, the letter in which he demanded a divorce, no matter the scandal. He said he had fallen in love with another woman.
It was long ago that Eve had felt love, let alone desire for her husband, he fleeing his boring life by engaging himself in animal or indian rights and the like. But understanding and affection – she had thought this still was between them. She was not angry, or jealeous, just sad. But did it matter in times like these?
She had betrayed him herself, these nights in Brighton with a certain dutch prince. Come on, Lois, all this is irrelevant. Concentrate on the matter at hand.
Cairo was as hot in December as in Mid July. The city seemed very alive to the Mountbatten, full of males, women and children in their typical, mostly white, garnments. The big domes of the numerous temples reached like female bossoms over the labyrinth of flatroofed houses. British troops patrolled the streets in their Khaki uniforms, the gals in the typical miniskirts of Middle East Command felt visibly uneasy in the wide sea of white clad brownskinned people, who made them way just like the sea a ship. Like a ship, the Britas could sink anytime in this sea, if a storm would come up.
Another problem. Bloody Machma-sisters. They planned something, so much the governess knew, as Eve Lois had learned yesterday in her first briefing. A well placed agent inside the terrorist organization had revealed no details, but a warning. Secret Service was waiting for a new report.
But though part of her briefing, it was not strictly Eve Lois business. The Italians were her business. Daring the plan was, to say the least. They would go in by sub, and by sub they would get out. With nicely packaged company, if everything went well. They had a well placed agent there too. Thank the goddess for the Secret Service.
Eve Lois thought again of the egyptian terrorists. Even there Secret Service could place an agent. Jennifer had told her, in the already mentioned pub, there were even agents in German high command. She had to put this Machma bitches out of her mind. The governess and her security forces would take care of them. After all, they had a source in their very midst.
She turned and left the balcony, heading for the canteen. Some tea and biscuits would be nice now.
James had baked so fine biscuits...
Eve Lois sighed again.
A cellar, suburbs of Cairo, same time
“Mmmpphh!!”
“Your whimpers are to no avail, traitress. We knew everything. Shame you have brought on Fevkalade ANNE and the Machmas. A blade is too good for you. You will be put in a sack and drowned in the river when the sun sets. You have the day to contemplate about your destiny in ANNES queendom in the heavens.”
Shanaya ach Lesmer spat in the face of the traitress, who had been stripped of her garnments. Only in her underwear, the treacherous Machma was cruelly bound with thin cord and gagged with a filthy rag and a broad scarf. Her face and body were red and broken out, heavily beaten had she been.
After a last vicious kick in the stomach, which let the helpless traitress groan in pain, Shanaya turned too the Skorzeny, who had witnessed the traitresses treatment without visible emotion.
“We have interrogated her thoroughly. The English know nothing. We should continue with our plan.”
The blonde lit a cigarette and nodded.
“I agree. Our swiss contact will deliver the british uniforms and papers tomorrow. I propose we move our base.”
“We have a secure house in the north. A faithfull followress, secretly on our side. Gladly she will house us.”
“Good. My maidens and I will move there too. We should prepare the mission together.”
“You and your warrioresses are welcome, Lady Larrson.”
Skorzeny eyed the tortured woman on the ground.
“Too bad for her, she is rather pretty.”
German were the words, and Shanaya didnt react to them, having accepted the blondes perfect egyptian language matter of factly.
The terrorist leadress lit a cigarette too, inhaling greedily. Ophelia imagined HER bound and gagged. But without the blood. No, she could really do without blood on human bodies for the rest of her life.
She sighed, exactly in the same moment as the Mountbatten a few miles away.
Suite 204, The Hilton Hotel, Cairo, British Egypt, December 1st, 1939, 16.51 hours
“The Oberst seems a bit angry with us.”
“Ohh, Beate, stop worrying. You are always so concerned. If she was angry with us because of Amsterdam, why by the goddess of prudence did she take us two with her here, on a very important mission?
If anything, she seems amused to me. Amused about your concerns, I might mention. Didnt she say, taping up and getting taped up, thats normal in the business?”
“But Anke, we were overpowered by a MALE! I hardly can stand the shame.”
Anke Stein giggled. Beate Brunner eyed the brunette, who rested at ease on one of the beds toying with a roll of tape, by the goddess of revenge and death, with barely hidden anger.
She fingered for her Marlboro pack in her trousers pockets. Damn! It was empty.
“Do you have ciggis?”
“No. We need new ones. You are smoking too much, sweet Beate.”
Beate growled and headed for the door.
“I will get us new packs in the lobby.”
“Why dont you phone the staff?”
“I must get out of here.”
Anke giggled again. The Brunner left the suite, slamming the door in the process.
Suite 206, The Hilton Hotel, a few moments earlier
She should have come here in the first place. This other hotel had been a nightmare. Anyway, Bronwyn Breckinridge knew that you have to change your plans when problems arise. Situation – options – decision, they had said at West Point.
So, the old american lady had moved to the Hilton. Two muscled, dumb looking males carrying her luggage, she marched into her suite like on Lady Shermans big march to the Coast, where one of her mothers had been among Shermans gals.
A rather pretty egyptian girl in the Hiltons livree showed her around. The luggage was stored away, Bronwyn tossed a full dollar into the silken gloved hand of the pretty child, and then she was alone in the luxurious suite.
Well, what next? A strong drink at the bar would be a good idea. Situation, options, decision – Bronwyn headed for the door immediately.
Outside in the corridor, a young gal stumbled into her.
“Scheiße... ohh, excuse me, mylady. Everything okay with you? I beg your pardon.”
Most polite the blonde, blue eyed girl was, wearing wide trousers and a sports jackett.
“Oh, no problem, everything okay, young lady. You are most kind.”
The Breckinridges voice was weak and a bit shaky. The young blonde smiled down on her.
“Just be on your way, young Miss, will you? It was not your fault.”
The blonde smiled and headed for the lift, the old lady heading in another direction.
As the lift closed with the young lady in it, the Breckinridge suddenly turned and headed for the staircase with an agility most people dont expect in such a grumpy old gal.
The blondes english had had a swedish accent alright. But her first exclamation Bronwyn knew all to well.
“Scheiße” meant “Sh*t” – in German.
Part 4
The Backyard, The Hilton Hotel, Cairo, British Egypt, 10 minutes later
Elshya took a deep drag at her cigarette, blewing out smoke into the hot afternoon air. Her job at the Hilton wasnt easy, but the tip usually made it worth it. This old lady from America, a full dollar.
The young egyptian girl was more than a bit surprised to see just this very old dragon open the door to the backyard and approaching her with a stern face.
Elshya tried to hide the cigarette, unsure how such an old lady would react to her smoking.
“Mylady? May I help you?”
“You are the one I was looking for. Interested in some extra tip? Say, 20 dollars?”
The girls eyes went wide at that, she coughed heavily.
“You are too young to smoke, girl, heed my advice.”
The Breckinridge patted Elshya on the small shoulders, causing the girl to cough even more.
“Uhh, yes, Mylady, what... what shall I do for you?”
“Do you have sisters and brothers, interested in some money for a small service too?”
“Ahh, yes, I have 4 sisters and three brothers, all younger than me.”
“Good. Its a bit dangerous maybe, but adventurous too.”
“What is it, mylady?”
The Breckinridge started to explain...
House of Gulyaha abn Traskash, Northern Cairo, British Egypt, December 2nd, 1939, 19.25 hours
The three german SET were disguised as natives, the Skorzeny had even insisted that they all wore brown make up in face and at the hands, sunglasses hiding their blue or grey eyes.
The SET had left their luggage in the Hilton, it would be collected by sisters of Mahma in disguise and brought to this location later.
The Skorzeny knocked at the back door in a certain rhythm, the door opened quickly, and the three ladies entered.
None of them, not even the blond masterbitch, had noticed the eleven year old boy in greyish-white rags following them to the house. He watched the house a short while, hidden by a parked horsecart full of vegetables. The boy signalled to a seven year old girl, already veiled like older gals with his hand and then left, starting to run as soon as out of sight of anyone possibly looking out from the house.
Lady Breckinridges, DSO, very own surveillance team was functioning quite well, thank you very much.
A cafe at a marketplace, Central Cairo, near Hilton Hotel, an hour later
“The house is big?”
“Yes, Mylady, and its evil. The sisters of Mahma, cruel, dangerous women, live there, many of them.”
“How many, girl?”
“The garbageboy says about thirty. They have weapons and sentries. It had cost me a kiss to obtain this knowledge. The boys mouth smelled of onion.”
“Here, buy yourself some cigarettes or chewing gum against the taste, will you.”
“Thank you, Mylady.”
“You might have to kiss him again.”
“No! Uhh, I mean, okay, no problem.”
“I need more details. A plan of the house and position of the sentries. Where are the Germans located?”
“Maybe he wants more than a kiss for that.”
“Is that a problem?”
“No, not really mylady. I can order him to bath in the nile before we start.”
“Uhh, well, girl, okay. Did you get what I asked for?”
“Yes, Mylady. It was expensive. And heavy. A wooden club, a small leathersack filled with sand, 20 meter silkrope, 12 rolls of white tape, 40 extralarge white silk veils.”
“Crumble the veils together and make a knot in them.”
“What do you need them for, Mylady?”
“Gags, girl, gags.”
“You... Mylady! You want to go in all alone and... and overpower them all?”
“Have done that before, trust me, girl. Cant trust the British, security is paramount.”
“We... we will help you. Everyone hates the Mahmas.”
“Under no circumstances. Its too dangerous.”
“Mylady, you dont even have a gun!”
“I will take one of the terrorists, but wont shoot with it, hopefully.”
“You must be a great warrioress.”
“I once was, thats for sure. Tonight we will find out how much warrior is left in old Bronwyn... and how much warrior is in these terrorists.”
Elshya starred wideeyed at the old lady, sitting there in the sun in her oldfashioned dress and with huge sunglasses on the nose, sweating like an ox.
The Breckinridge smiled grimly.
House of Gulyaha abn Traskash, Northern Cairo, December 3rd, 1939, 0.16 hours
The two Mahma sisters patrolling the eastern corridores of the big estate were relatively relaxed, hardly expecting the british snakes to assault this hideout. Nonetheless, they took their duty seriously, cause one had to be careful in their business. Heavily armed they were, with long knifes in their belts, as well as revolvers, and submachineguns slung over their slender shoulders.
They carried themselves with pride, which came quite natural to their people, add to that they being destined to fulfill Fevkalade ANNES will on earth. White garnments, the veils like scarfs around their necks, their long, dark manes strictly tied back with red cord – the same thin cord which had been used to truss the traitress into a ball yesterday, after which she, still alive, had been dropped into the nile. The corpse would by now have fed the crocodiles of the river, which came even into the city waters, lured in by the masses of garbage and food residues shrown into the brown, muddy water.
Pretty both were, were it not for the cruel look in their eyes and their small, grimly pressed together lips.
As was the case with most sentries on duty after several hours, their minds were on a smoke, which both lusted for. Marlboro was their favored brand, they betraying their principles for once, because the impregnation of the filter as well as the tobacco of these sticks just tasted too good. Strange, that an american infideless, a shame in ANNES eyes, could have invented something so wonderful.
Thoughts like these wandered through the minds of the slightly bored terroristas, when everything changed real fast.
Something hit them in short succession on the base of the skull from behind. There had been no warning. With soft, weak sighs both sank to the ground unsconscious.
Time had obviously passed, as both Mahmas slowly regained consciousness. To their horror, their garnments were gone, they in their white underwear, sitting back to back, tied together at waist and shoulders by stout white ropes. The old dragon tugged both revolvers as well as one knife under her belt, shouldered her rucksack again, and left the small storage room, leaving a very helpless, and very perplex, doublepackage behind.
The two thoroughly bound and gagged Mahmas were not alone for long. After ten minutes of muffled screams of anger and disbelief , futile struggles with rope and tape, and rolling, widened dark eyes, the door opened again and the old fairskinned daemona was back, dragging behind her on two neck leashs two more sentries, they too in underwear, they two mewing in thick, strict triple gags, and all taped up.
Both pairs of terroristas changed disbelieving, aghast looks, while the Breckinridge made the second pair into another doublepackage, seated beside the first.
All four young Egyptians couldnt believe the happenings. And it was only the beginning. The small storage room, already crowded with the two pairs sitting back to back, soon became more crowded still...
British Police Station Five, Cairo, British Egypt, 0.55 hours
“What can the empire do for you, young lady?”
“Its the Mylady Bronwyn. She is assaulting the Mahma terroristas. In their hideout, all alone. Shes so brave. But you must help her.”
Elysha had long fought with herself, but finally had reached a decision.
The redhaired, greeneyed police corporal of the Queens own police force starred amused down on the young egyptian lady in the Hilton livree.
“Well... keep cool, young girl. One thing after the other. By Lady Hitlers ridiculous hairstyle and Churchills fat ass, ups, sorry, I mean, who IS this Lady Bronwyn?”
House of Gulyaha abn Traskash, Northern Cairo, 1.37 hours
Five pairs of sentries it had been, all five now bound, gagged and doubled, stored in the storage room for good.
Bronwyn was a bit exhausted now, and decided a pause would be in order. She sat down in the kitchen and drank scotch from the bottle in her rucksack. On the kitchens big table, ten submachineguns, several revolvers and knifes, and the prisoners garnments were heaved upon another. A yellow cat sat at one of the windows, having witnessed more than one taping and gagging of before confident and pride Mahma sisters, obviously unimpressed as was the custom in her race.
The Breckinridge wiped sweat away from her forehead with a big handerkerchief showing the US colors. She had to admit she was no longer 25. Maybe this was a bigger adventure than she thought. And as of yet, she hadnt confronted the three Krauts.
Well, she could rest when all enemies were nicely packaged and helpless.
Grunting, she rose, grabbed for the rucksack again, and headed for the sleeping quarters of the Mahmas. About twenty of the bitches were sleeping there. She planned to package them in their sleep. This part should be easy, at least she hoped so. She grunted again and put a hand at her hurting back. A fart escaped her huge backside. Oh no, not that problem again. Not now please. She sent a prayer to the goddess and continued with her mission, leaving a smell in the room which finally drew a reaction from the egyptian cat.
It hissed and left its place. Humans, barbarians they all...
Part 5
Palazzo de Duca, Rome, Italy, December 3rd, 1939, about same time
“So, before I finally leave for battle, I thought to visit you one last time, great duca.”
“I am glad to see you again, Gabriella. Any changes to your plans?”
“No. Our forces are ready to cross the egyptian border anytime. Two more divisions reached the border, disembarked at Tobruk last week. We now outnumber the British Western Desert Force 3 to 1. That should be more than enough. Count to that our air force, further strengthened by the german Stuka Air Corps, I guarantee you we will be in Cairo and at the Suez Channel before New Years Eve.”
“I know you are the right woman for the job, brave Gabriella.”
“I am honored by your trust, great Duca.”
Duca Greta Mussolini smiled amiably at Marshalla Gabriella Balbo. The two italian ladies were standing at a large window in one of Mussolinis pompous offices, looking over the nightly city. Both wore uniforms and black boots, the Balbo in green, the Duca in a shiny white with a red scarf.
The Duca took the other Beauty by the shoulders and hugged her impulsively.
“Take Egypt for me, Gabriella, let us make the Roman Empire great again.”
“I will, my Duca, I promise.”
The Mussolini cut the other of with a passionate, hot kiss. For some moments, only their deep sighs and their squeaking boots, as their legs moved inadvertently, were audible, then they parted again.
“Too bad you have to hurry now, my sweet Air Marshalla.”
“Glory and fame are calling me, o Duca!”
“So quick, dont hesitate. Italys eyes are on you. The honor of Italy rests on your slender shoulders.”
“I will be mentioned together with Pompeja and Caesaria once victorious.”
“So be it. Go out and fight glorious.”
Another kiss, short now, then both shook hands, and the Balbo left.
The Mussolini was standing there at the window, her cheeks red, her eyes blazing. She through back her dark hair, visibly proud of her Marshalla, of Italy.
Her demeanor changed as the Balbo was gone.
Her pretty face darkened suddenly, her eyes narrowed. She let out a snort and turned, leaving the office through a sideway. She hurried through her palace, ignoring her male servants as well as female bodyguards.
In her luxurious bath, she threw away her boots and clothes. Her naked body was well curved, naturally her longevity drugs were very first class.
Without further delay, she took a hot shower.
This bitch! This treacherous, dirty... this sl*t!
Glory and fame? Mentioned together with Pompeja and Caesaria? By the darkest parts of hell!
Planning to overthrow the Ducas rule the Balbo was. Building her own little turf, her own army in Libya she was. The Duca knew everything,EVERYTHING!
So, fame and glory for you, bitch?
Oh no, NO!
She left the shower, wrapping a white towel around her torso, another one around her head, covering the silken mass of her wet dark mane.
The stone floor was cold at her feet, so she donned the boots again. So, in towels and boots, legs, arms and shoulders bare, she marched out of the bath, into another of the numerous rooms, two servants following her, ready for her orders.
She stopped at a big mirror, eyeing herself.
“Cigarette, quick!” the Duca hissed to no one particular, knowing SOME slave would carry out the order.
The Britas had placed an agent in the Commando Supremo, the italian general staff. She had been unmasked last week. The Duca herself had witnessed the secret interrogation. It had been a pleasure, the sex interrogation, so much sweeter and so much more effective than simple torture. How the spy had begged for mercy, for relief, how her body, covered in sweat, had moved in the ropes. Finally, the spy had told her everything.
So, the Britas were planning a great abduction with their commandos, the Balbo and her staff at Tobruk their target.
Greta Mussolinis decision had been an easy one. Release the captured and broken spy, let her continue to work for the Britas.
A servant reached her a pack of cigarettes.
The Mussolini put a filtered stick between her lips, still starring at herself in the mirror.
The Britas would take care of the traitress. Mussolini imagined the Balbo packaged, her terrified, big eyes, her body struggling, her mouth gagged. Too bad there would be no pictures. The Britas could use them for propaganda purposes.
Well, you couldnt have everything. But the Balbo would be taken care of, and then, she herself would get fame and glory for conquering Egypt.
She smiled to herself in the mirror, finally lighting the cigarette.
Never mess with the Duca, even the Balbo would soon learn this fact.
The bar, residence of the Queens Governoress to Egypt, roughly same time at night
“So, the Secret Service has an own department for propaganda pictures. I am impressed. Did they hire you at wars start?”
“Yes, they did. I worked in Spain and China before as war photographress. Have seen my share of combat, blood and death. So, dont worry I might get agitated when there happen to be some unpleasantries.”
“Very well, Miss Collingwood. Another scotch?”
“I think I can use another one. You have a mighty good pace.”
“Have a good reason to drink tonight, rest assured. Squire, please, two new ones, will you?”
“Sure, Mylady.”
Lady Knight Mountbatten settled back into her leather seat and nestled a cigarette out of her pack. She had restarted smoking in earnest since – no, not since James letter, but since Amsterdam, since the first casualties of her unit.
The blonde Meredith Collingwood of Secret Services propaganda department filtered herself too and lit both their smokes, leaving the burning stick dangling cooly at a corner of her full lips.
Eve Lois realized her last sex with a woman dated back a few years. A party with Jennifer AlanBrooke and others. The photographress was pretty and cool, if a bit proletarian.
Their scotchs, the fifth for Lois, came rather quickly to the table.
Deep in the night, the bar was nearly empty, apart from a drunken Royal Air Force chick in a corner and two overweight civil servants drinking ale and chatting pompously about their own importance for the war effort. The music box played a sad melody, a male voice sang of a lost love and loneliness.
The Commando eyed the Collingwood in her civilian clothes, a loose white blouse, a short brown skirt, a red silken scarf, a red barret on the blonde hair, a bit too much lipstick and eyeshadow in red and green respectively. An ample bossom, strong hips, long fingers, the nails a glossy green, one nail broken.
The Blonde let the redheads view inspect her, showing a slow, knowing smile.
Eve Lois took another drag of the cigarette and raised her glass.
“For the empire! And our mission!”
“Foremost the mission. I will deliver good pics for the papers and magazins at home. Might even drop leaflets over italian cities showing the packaged pasta bitches. Speaking of pasta, is it the truth you named the operation “PASTA PACKAGE”?”
Eve Lois coughed.
“Not really. That was big Winonas idea. We had a more ... ah... simpler name.”
“Churchill remains a child in the toy store doing mischief, no matter how old or fat she gets. Even smokes cigars, can you imagine. Not very aesthetic, if you ask me. Not nearly as aestethic as your slender face with a cigarette, Lady Knight.”
Oh, taking the initiative, are we. How amusing. Eve Lois ignored the compliment. But she took another long drag at her filtered stick, slowly so, playing with it at her lips.
Yes, a hot night with this proletarian blonde from Manchester suburbs might be in order. Their mothers would shudder at that, their Eve Lois and a commie chick from the dirt.
She grinned. She was getting drunk, the Commando realized.
She decided it didnt matter.
The sleeping quarters, house of Gulyaha abn Traskash, the moment Eve Lois blew out smoke
It were 28, alright. All sleeping like brave, little children. Bronwyn had used the sleep grip first in 1881 at Westpoint, showing a group of young bitches from San Francisco what it meant to anger the Breckinridge by terrorizing young first grades at the academy. The ladies in question had been nice packages struggling suspended in the entry hall of the academy. Bronwyn had learned it from one of her mothers, who, after marching with Lady Sherman, had served in the West and had in turn learned it from the Sioux ladies.
Be that as it may, she still knew what to do, and so, not a single Mahma, which all looked young and innocent like nurse pupils in their sleep and with open hair, woke up and offered resistance. Even when using tape and going fast, it was quite a task to package 28 sleeping ladies. Bronwyns face was red, her body bathed in sweat, her glasses getting wet by her own body heat. She worked hard, sitting up sleeping gals, wounding tape around bodies, faces and limbs, stuffing slack mouths with silk, roping a ready package loosely, but with secure knots, to her bed, all the while farting and grunting, the smell of her farts, her sweat and the glue of the tape mounting in the big room.
When finished, she sat down on a bed and took another deep drag from the bottle, applying her USA-handkerchief again. The first Mahmas woke up, starting to struggle and grunt into their tight gags. Lady Breckinridge allowed herself a smile, accentuated by a fart which changed the tone three times before ending.
The packages faces became soon very red. Was it because of the gags or because of certain smells?
Bronwyn didnt care.
Entrance to a backyard, a slum of Cairo, near the east bank of the nile, after the three tone fart
Meshya was tired as every night. Her hands had cuts and bruises, reaching all the way up to her elbows, her garnment was bloody and dirty, her hair an ugly, sweatsoaked knot at her aching neck.
The work in the meat factory, killing and dismembering sheep and oxes all day was hard, bloody and exhausting. But she had a job after all, as most in her neighborhood had not. At 19, Meshya had a family of twelve hungry mouths to look after, she the oldest daughter, her mothers ill and weak, sitting home all day and dreaming of their gone youth.
She reached the rotten door to her homes backyard, only then seeing the tall lady in white, fine garnments and veil leaning at the corner. Her face was brown like every egyptians, but she was too tall, and she wore a westerners sunglasses.
A shiver ran down the young ladies spine, a glimpse of a nightly dream emerged from her forgotten memories, it was, she had been...
The strangress took away the sunglasses. Her eyes were a startling blue in the night.
A cursed Brita, here? No, this was, was...
The young workress starred at the blue eyed westerner, those eyes, so intense, so knowing, so old. Meshya moved, like in a trance approaching the woman. A pack of american Marlboros in a slender, strong hand. The woman filtered herself, offered the sticks to the egyptian.
So good, so expensive sticks, but...
No word was spoken, Meshya took the cigarette, the tall lady lit both smokes.
Oh, tasted that good. To have enough money to smoke them daily, as much as one would like.
The strangress egyptian language was perfect, if a bit outdated.
“Look after yourself and your loved ones, Meshya. Dangerous times ahead.”
“Who... what? How come you know my name mylady?”
“You dont remember, I know. Maybe in your dreams. The Sharijat of the Twelve Towers, Cairo one of them. A young lady, a warrioress and a poeta both, beautiful, elegant, proud and strong, with a caring heart for the weak and a voice against hatred and crime of the rich. And a foreign mercenary, tall, blond and old, from the forrests of the german Reich, attracted by the glory and beauty of the Sharijat. A love affair, sweat and other fluids in silken sheets, kisses and bites...”
Meshya lay under a spell by the soft words of the blue eyed woman. She inhaled smoke again, starring at the strangress, at her fine lips, wanting to hear more. Memories, dreams, small pictures in her head in the dark, dancing, showing herself in silken garnments in a wide hall, speaking to an assembly of beautiful women, she herself with soft hair like a river of black silk, her face in fine make up, a beauty like few others. She with a sword in her fists, training with a tall blonde woman, they both wearing only silvern silken scarfs around hips and bossoms. She standing on a tall tower, looking over a beautiful city, a blue, clear river like a snake inmidst the white houses with colored roofs, trumpets blazing, ships with red, blue and silvern sails and banners on the river. There were more pictures, more scenes, they were all there, in her head, hidden all the time behind her cruel reality of life in the slums. Or was it a spell, a miracle send by the goddesses?
“But there were other times too. The enemy, the cursed ones, the cruel, destroying the world, enslaving the maidens all over the earth, from the icy realms of the Wikingas to the dschungles of the black princesses of Bantu, from the dusty plains of the red huntresses to the pittoresque countryside of the empire of Chosun far in the East. The enemy came to the Twelve Towers too, killing, raping, enslaving. We took up arms and fought. You were so brave, so vicious among their ranks of steel and leather, like a daemona of the underworld you maimed and killed them, until your arms and garnments were covered in their cursed, filthy blood. I did my share too. We lost nonetheless. Too numerous the enemy, too strong, too mighty. Cairo burned, women screamed until a knife or a gag cut of their screams. You decided you couldnt stand it all any longer. You killed yourself with your sword, not to be taken alive by the monsters.”
The young lady gulped.
“I have to go now. Here, take the cigarettes. Smoke if you can afford it. It is fun and helps coming through a dutifull day. And stay with Marlboros, if nothing else. Heed this advice. The enemy doesnt like these sticks, trust me. He doesnt like the spell they lay on your mind. Someday you will understand.”
The woman turned and left without further word, Meshya standing there as if paralyzed. Then the words came out between her quivering lips:
“And you? What happened to you after I was dead and Cairo destroyed?”
The woman stopped and turned again. She smiled, a sad smile.
“I still fight on.”
Meshya nodded.
Ophelia Skorzeny left.
Quarters of Gulyaha abn Traskash, her house, as Meshya nodded in the slums
The three beautiful egyptian women were sitting crosslegged on soft cushions, coffee, black and strong between them, as well as a crystaline ashtray and their western style cigarettes. Candles behind glass lit the scene in the calm, hot night.
The first was a beauty in the midst of her twenties, educated in England at Oxford, now first warrioress of the sisters of Mahma, the weapon of FEVKALADE ANNE on earth.
Shanaya was discussing matters with the house ownress, which was the second lady.
Gulyaha abn Traskash was in her forties, a still beautiful, voloptuous lady of fine manners and cool, arrogant behavior, stern to the lesser women in her family and cruel to her male servants.
Both Egyptians hair fell openly on their shoulders, they in private, among close friends and sisters, relaxed.
The third gal was younger, 22, slender than the others too, and her hair was not traditionally long, but cut in a modern, cool style at chinlength, even one stroke of her raven hair dyed a spacy shiny blue. She was the most beautiful of the three, with lips to kill and die for, big eyes behind long eyelashes and high cheekbones, and even an ample bossom compared to her slender, slim body.
All three were barefoot and wore soft, wide, silken gowns with long sleeves.
They were drinking the dark coffee and smoking with greed and lust, but slowly so, bathing in the pleasure of inhaling and sucking.
Their words were not loud, nor hasty, their tone mild and soft. But the issues at hand were neither mild, nor soft.
They spoke about people they would kill soon, hated Britas as well as treacherous egyptians. They were weighing plans, options, searching the best sisters for different dark, cruel missions.
Gulyaha was among the council of the Mahmas, the thirteen mothers. Shanaya was the one and foremost sword and leadress in battle of the organization, and the third beauty was one of Gulyahas daughters, educated at Los Angeles business university, possessing not only a beautiful body and face, but a very sharp and analytical mind too, which led her mother to tolerate her western ways, her blue stroke of hair, the tatooed snake on her bizeps, the latex corsage under her gown, the wild, ungodly music she heard with her american grammophon, and much more.
Gulyaha and Shanaya nodded to the young ones, her name was Ashilya, words, a point had been settled, they would do as the sharp brain proposed.
Leaning back a bit, Gulyaha took her cigarettes, american Marlboros naturally, and filtered herself. The two others did likewise. As was the custom, no one lit up until all had a stick between their painted lips. Now it was Ashilyas, the youngest woman, task, to light all three cigarettes, her own last.
The young, elflike beauty lit a match with long, slender fingers, both Gulyaha and Shanaya sucking lightly at the filters of their cigarettes in anticipation, leaning forward to the flame.
Anticipation, yes, but no egyptian beauty had anticipated the old, smelling white lady opening the door and entering, two revolvers in the clawlike hands, the eyes behind the huge glasses stern and determined, she saying, no, growling like a predator:
“No move and no sound. Obey and live. Fight and die.”
Three pairs of eyes went wide, three Marlboros dangled from slack lips, three faces looked dumb and perplexed.
The Breckinridge belted one revolver and nestled the rucksack from her back to the ground, shoving it with one foot over to the sitting Mahmas.
“You there, with the chinlength hair, take three silk packings out. You will all gag yourself now.”
The mother blurted: “No!”
Ashilya just starred, sucking inadvertently at her unlit tobacco stick.
Only Shanayas eyes narrowed, her face darkened. She was unarmed, sitting crosslegged on the ground, the revolver pointed directly at her, the old bitch sensing like a real warrioress in her the most dangerous of the three.
“We dont have all night, girl. Hurry now.”
The young lady obeyed, producing three big balls of folded and knotted white silk from the rucksack, reaching two over to the others, who took them, her mother with shaking hand, Shanaya with a deep growl in her thoat. Three cigarettes were layn aside, three soft mouths opened, slender brown hands stuffed shiny silk in small oral orifices. Mother and daughter let out horrified groans into the mouthfilling silk, their cheeks already bulging out. Shanaya kept quiet, all the while eyeing the old monster, searching for a weak spot.
The white woman let out a fart, drawing another heavy mewing of the other Mahmas.
“Sorry, gals, I am really sorry. Anyway, lets get back to business, shall we. Now the tape. Take a roll and wind it about your friends mouths and so on. Around the head, about six times each. You might consider holding your manes up, myladies, this tape in your hair would be a real mess, you see?”
Finally, Shanaya too made a groan into her gag, not believing the details of the scene. By ANNE, was this reality or a Laurel and Hardy movie in a London cinema?
Ashilya taped up her mothers face, than Shanayas, both Mahmas heeding the advice and holding their hair away from the tape. The shiny white stuff contrasted nicely with their brown skin and the black eyes, which started to bulge under the tightness of the gags.
Gulyaha had to service her daughter likewise, both mewing into their gags in the meantime, while Shanaya sat there gagged and clenched her fists.
“Okay, well, well. Nice and quiet, you three. No you will raise one after the other and drop your gowns. Must see if there are knifes under this stuff.”
Shanaya let out an angry “ggmmphh” into silk and tape, the reason becoming apparent as it was her turn to strip. Her white underwear was unremarkable, likewise her finely muscled, trained body. More attention drew the two knifes fastened with leather bands to her left forearm and her right calve. No surprise she had to remove these.
Gulyaha and Ashilya too stepped out of the long gowns, the young ones shiny, tight blue latex corsage as well as the black cobra on her left bizeps letting the old nemesis grunt disapprovingly.
Bronwyn was all business again. Accentuated by another fart and a gesture with the revolver, Ashilya had to tape up the two others arms, hands and legs. When both her mother and Shanaya were reduced to helpless packages, she had to tape up her own legs. Then the sweating old dragon approached her sitting on the ground, and quickly secured her arms to her sides and her wrists crossed under her swelling bossom.
Now all three Mahmas were helpless for good. But the Breckinridge was not ready yet. She sat all three together, mother and daughter back to back and Shanaya with her back against the others shoulders, and fastened them together with several coils of rope around their stomachs and shoulders.
Finally, she cut one of the gowns, making three long strips, and further strengthened the three Egyptians gags. Ready at last, she searched in her rucksack for the whiskey bottle, producing the mightiest fart so far in the process.
The three packages mewed in their gags, mother and daughter because of the smell, Shanaya in impotent anger and humiliation.
The Breckinridge murmured to herself:
“Now for the Krauts. Maybe I can gass them, have probably no gasmasks in attendance...”
Very funny, Shanaya thought darkly and started to work on her bonds.