Story [Hogan's Heroes] Age of Reason (Marya Parmanova Triathlon for the 2023 Fanfic Olympics)

+earlybird-obi-wan Thanks so much for your interest! The story continues, still aboard the sub ... but earlier ...

*~*~ A/N: WARNING FOR PERIOD-SPECIFIC ATTITUDES AND PREJUDICES~*~*

IOIOIOIOIO


February 28, 1945

As the gramophone borrowed from Captain Okada clicked itself off, Baron Wolfgang Franz Nikolaus Maria von Strucker smiled, he who rarely smiled. The expression skewed his scars and could be called reverent, so he made sure that no one else but Marya saw him today. She was a Slav, so she did not count. It was a pity she was a lowly Slav because of her charming ability to be all in all to him at this stage of his life, but her race was a fact and Aryans faced facts. He removed his gloves before touching the one wall of his shipboard bower that was not gray steel pocked with rivets. The golden gleam gilded his fingers as the single amber panel on display warmed to his touch, and his smile turned dreamy. As a kindergardner, he had sucked his thumb. If she were not here, he might take up the habit once more in pure indulgent ecstasy.

Von Strucker's thoughts drifted to an oxbow on the Upper Rhine, where Großvater placed him as a five year-old on his lap as the two sat upon green spring grass. "My mother remembers well when the Rhine curled like a corkscrew that will open a vintage Mosel for our luncheon today." Then Großvater nodded up at Urgroßmutter. Vater and Großvater had made a chair with their arms to carry her to the riverside picnic grounds from the Daimler Phoenix that led the three-car procession from Bavaria, two for family, one for servants. Urgroßmutter's spine remained straight in great old age, though her legs did not work properly. She transferred to sit on a cushioned chair that servants positioned at Rhine's edge under a linden. She interrupted her son's story about straightening the Rhine without begging pardon after six and a half minutes.

"The twentieth century is only three years old, but I am ninety-five years old. Make your story short."

"Jawohl, Mutti!"

Wolfgang knew better than to expect a wink from Großvater.

Großvater squeezed him harder instead. "And so, Wolfgang, Karlsruhe shows perfect Prussian planning. The palace tower centers the thirty-two streets fanning outward in straight lines from its hub, as I pointed out when we drove through the city this morning. Germany calls it the Fan City since Prussians invented the folding fan, too."

"My tutor says the Japanese invented --- "

"And do you see him picnicking with us today? I dismissed him for telling untruths."

"Yes, Großvater."

Vater left the seated group for the automobiles parked on the roadway above to aid Mutter, who lately had gotten fat. The two of them proceeded slowly through the tall grasses of the slanted embankment that plucked at Mutter's skirts. Wolfgang thought of a question to show he had been listening.

"Großvater, is planning a good thing?"

"Wolfgang, it is the best thing. Orderliness guarantees a perfect life, is that not so, Mutti?"

"If I say yes, will you allow me peace?"

Wolfgang thought harder. "Waters come in here" --- he pointed to the south, where the Rhine flowed towards the picnic grounds from an unseen source --- "to leave there" --- he pointed to the north, where the Rhine disappeared around a curve --- "so why did the straightener leave a twisty part? Why is not all the Rhine nice and straight?"

"Mutti, help me."

"Always, mein Sohn. Wolfgang, Tulla the straightener left in some oxbows to allow Rhinemaidens a place to hide their gold. Run down to the river to look for it."

Wolfgang sped to the river.

IOIOIOIOIO

"You dance divinely, Wolf," purred Marya, interrupting his reverie. She perched beside him, or as beside him as she could get, on the eighteenth century teakwood loveseat unexpectedly crated among Amber Room panels. Its burgundy velvet upholstery mostly contained its horsehair stuffing. Mostly. A bit stuck up through the lush material, just enough to make her squirm most attractively, Wolfgang mused. Although the hair jabbed through his jodhpurs, he prided himself on Prussian stoicism to not wiggle because, well, she may be his friend, yet there existed Prussian pride to uphold. Urgroßmutter would expect no less.

"Wolf," continued Marya, stroking the back of his hand where it rested on the amber, "where is our submarine bound, darling?"

Another fact to be faced as the war drew on was that he lost more faith in the Fuehrer day by day. The man edged into insanity, drew back from the brink, and then surged further down that dark path. Germany bound its fate to his. Whatever respect Wolfgang owed the Austrian burnt away until a dry husk remained, masked with pretenses of agreement to scheme after crazed scheme. There was one scheme Wolfgang thought Adolf might approve: an Alpine redoubt to ensure survival for his own inner circle if all were lost, but in recent days the idiot blindly insisted the war went well. Superior minds knew better, unafraid of the future. Are we not the supermen? Wolfgang mused. Aryan pure supermen? There was only one answer to his friend's question. "We sail from death to life, liebchen."

Marya laced her fingers through his and reached to enjoy the amber as well, but she stopped within one centimeter after a sharp look from her companion. "And in marvelous style!"

"And with one companion whom you have not yet met. A companion whom you will entertain." He stroked the point of her chin.

Marya leaned into the caress. "All I do, I do for you. It is my way."

Wolfgang mulled over events on this very loveseat. "Your agility is the stuff of legends, as is your wit."

"You speak truth, so it is not flattery." She traced the deepest scar on his cheek. "As you know, it is impossible to flatter me when truth does not threaten honor by lying. For example, it is truth that you and I enjoy friendship with benefits."

"You have confided that you hate truth, so does that mean --- "

"Never! With you? Never!"

"You could hardly answer otherwise."

The loveseat creaked as Marya knelt upon the velvet to lean over the divider. "I could produce an encore."

"Nein. Later."

"You only like me when you are bored."

Wolfgang rose to his feet after delivering a peck to the pouting plush lips. "Puppchen, we sail for the Lao People's Revar. True, that nation is landlocked yet we shall prevail upon the Reich's treaty with our honorary Aryans, the Nipponese, to debark at Haiphong Harbor and trek overland with our treasures" --- a frown marred her flawless brow --- "or perhaps we shall commandeer a cargo plane in Hanoi, which would be easier on you --- I shall ask Okada --- "

Dare she interrupt him when he was being considerate? Curled upon the seat with legs underneath like a cat's, she shifted moods from lusty to curious to threatening. "Lao People's Revar? But I am White Russian! I refuse to mingle with sovietsky. Find somewhere else in Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere to land. I favor Madripoor."

She pushed, so he pushed back and sat down again to dominate with his nearness. "Are you sorry you came? I could have abandoned you to the commandos who howl, and where would you be now?"

"Pfah, I could have exposed you to them with one womanly scream. As it is, they can never reach Madripoor. Sail us to Malay Archipelago instead of Lao and I shall make it worth your while, in any number of ways." She produced a manicure file from somewhere and buffed her nails, squinting this way and that as she shaped them. The poking horsehairs must have bothered her dimpled knees because she shifted her weight back and forth as she continued to kneel.

Even though the idea flowered from a Slavic mind, the scheme deserved some thought. Madripoor could be bought; Madripoor held allies; Madripoor ran rings around Lao People's Revar in terms of sophistication. He and Marya could own Madripoor ... if it were not necessary to defeat local ninjas loyal to the Hand and its jonin. And the Hand's current leader, The Most Honorable Jonin Whatever-Their-Name-Is-Now. This sounded like work, in which a German, an Aryan, glorified ordinarily, but he deserved leisure to savor their golden treasure. It was best to buy some time with her before considering her plan. Taunting proved the best way, as always.

"Afraid?"

"Never! A true Russian fears nothing!" The file arrowed from her hand to pierce the velvet upholstery between his thighs. "It slipped, darling. Forgive me?"

"As much as you forgive me."

He plucked the sharpness out to twiddle it before her bright, bright blue eyes. He could end her with the file or with his bare hands, he knew it, she knew it, so why did she not cower?

She gripped the divider instead with nary a quiver in her taut figure. "Wolf, take the room and me to Madripoor."

"No."

"Kaigoon? Carupa? Karaku?"

She could bend in her desires in the most interesting ways. Delicious.

One way she did not bend in was her resolve not to have anything to do with Soviets and this made the following three days tiresome indeed.

 

Wolfgang and his memories from his youth and now with Marya going where? Love their discussion

 

+earlybird-obi-wan Thanks for following this -- a little bit more tonight as the shoreline of the Marathon Swim looms nearer!

IOIOIOIOIO

January 28, 1945 Gotenhafen 1500 hours

Wrapped in her furs despite being indoors, Marya played with the LORAN-G tracker before brainstorming ways to secret it high upon the Dragon of Death. Such a small box of dulled metal, unmarked by any manufacturer's stamp of pride, engineered to signal location from a land tower. She shook it hard, traced the sealed seam guarding its guts and stroked the minuscule antenna to test its strength. Nimrod trusted her with this amazing bit of technology and glue extracted from barnacles to affix it to a stable point. The fact that "stable point" would be the extremely mobile submarine Dragon of Death shouldn't make a difference to a following vessel or plane, right? If she were caught by the Dragon's crew or by German agents while planting a tracker upon an ally's submarine, she would be tortured, right? If she gave a tidbit of information about the name of the tracker growing from LORAN meaning long range navigation and G meaning a shortened version of British navigation tracker named Gee, they would believe her, right? That ought to satisfy captors until she could finagle her way free, right?

Marya reviewed her policy upon torture: tell everything.

Nimrod. Marya still did not know who this was and she didn't think Hogan did, either. Man? Woman? Group? Comintern escapee? In Marya's youth, cherished Sabbath teacher Matushka Galina claimed all non-biblical tales about Nimrod were mere fables and that Nimrod remained a plain and simple good hunter as described in Genesis, probably someone you could trust to place a succulent bear steak upon your table. Thinking about the lesson as an adult, Marya suspected Matushka painted the best stories herself as she catered the Bible to her young pupils in Pskov.

IOIOIOIOIO

January 28, 1945 2330 hours

How easy it is to lie, reflected Marya, and how easily truth turns to lies and vice versa. For example, boarding the Wilhelm Gustloff as a refugee in order to covertly safeguard the Amber Room worked as a Plan A, fully endorsed by Nimrod who supplied the tracker for the ship relayed through Hogan. Upon meeting an unexpected ally named Wolfgang who lied by presenting himself as a German private too humble to be noticed while on leave, Marya devised Plan B: using Wolfgang's communiques with a Captain Okada to switch the amber cargo to the enormous submarine thirty feet in front of her. As she waited upon the dock, von Strucker gathered their luggage from their room, a stingy single valise on her part but a large satchel on his. Eh, she had peeked inside while he slept to spy a general's uniform, one framed family photo, and a Walther PPK amid toilet articles.

The time to place the tracker was now.

From inside her ushanka came mewls, meows and mrrrrrrrs. Marya stepped near enough to the dock's edge to make an observer queasy for her safety, doffed her ushanka and comforted the tiny orange kitten inside. "All over in an instant, small one, my Kalina. Be brave, darling."

urrrrrreeeeeooooorarRRRRRHHHHEEEEOWWW

And then Marya rolled up Kalina's transport tightly and arced it through the air to land upon the submarine's slippery deck.

"My baby!" shrieked Marya. "I must save my baby!"

Naval personnel in German uniforms pounded along the pier to join her. They looked down into the black waters as if to spot a drowning infant amid chunks of ice, but Marya pointed to the Dragon of Death. "There! There! See her? Help me save her, please! I have reward!"

Kalina streaked from the deck to the shoulders of the Dragon and then up, up, up its gargantuan neck to the crest of the figure as she followed her instincts to climb away from danger. Marya could not hear its terrified mews as it reached the top, but she could imagine its fear.

Marya cried louder. "Such a tiny little girl, oh do not abandon her, meinen Freunden!"

The crane gripped the last crate of Amber Room panels, its hooks cinching the net surrounding the stout wood. As the operator swung it up into the air, Marya screamed again.

"My small one! Nooooooooo!"

An armed Japanese sailor advanced to investigate the commotion, Marya assumed. She cried real tears, wringing her hands and bending to sob in sorrow. The German sailors split up, one backing up to the opposite edge of the pier to see the sub's crest better. "A cat? It is! A cat!"

The German soothing Marya's tense shoulders as she bent down to cry let go of her. "Now? You fuss over a cat now, with the Russian army coming through the front door?"

The Japanese sailor held his Arisaka ready to bayonet the screamer as he spewed questions no one understood until the two Germans indicated the foofaraw involved a kitten. They mewed and petted the air as they pointed to the submarine while Marya wailed. The sailors of two belligerent powers laughed together at Marya's distress until she ducked from their midst.

"I'll save you, Kalina!" she shouted as she clawed her way upon the swinging netted crate that the crane operator aimed towards the open cargo hatch. When the crane's cargo neared the Dragon's neck, Marya jumped. She clung to the scales representing real dragon armor; she climbed joint by joint, rivet by rivet until she reached the top.

Kalina retreated four feet down the dragon's nose and Marya knelt to ease the frightened kitty into her grasp. As she gestured and mumbled real comfort to the creature, she searched the right deep pocket of her coat to extract the glue, crushing its canister against the crest behind the dragon's eye. Still crooning nonsense words to Kalina, Marya dove into the left deep pocket and plucked out the LORAN-G to smear it onto the gluey steel. She pressed the tracker down hard. There, any onlooker from below would take the bump for an ultra realistic scale, and a sniper looking out the eye would look forward to a target and not up and back to the eyelid.

Kalina melted her body to the red steel nose, her tail quivering. She would fall, she would fall.

She could not fall until she played her part to the end.

"Kalina, Kalina ... " said Marya calmly, now that she had completed her immediate mission. "Come here, darling. Come to Mama."

Kalina jumped at Marya, who never knew if the kitten tried to get by her to escape or really wanted to come to her embrace. Kalina clung with all claws to the inside of Marya's fur coat, making Marya wince. The Russian spy waved a triumphant fist at her world: Wolfgang who had fetched the luggage, the two German sailors, the Japanese sailor, and the crane operator. The crane operator finished loading the final crate through the hatch and swung the crane to the Dragon's neck. Marya blew him a kiss that he likely didn't see in the darkness as she scrambled downwards.

Marya held to the cable with all her strength while Kalina rowred against her bosom.

"Wolf! I saved her!" she crowed as the three sailors returned to duty, the Japanese to a shouted order from an unseen officer aboard the Dragon of Death and the two German sailors to resume patrol at the gangplank of the Wilhelm Gustloff. Marya had glimpsed hundreds of hopefuls waiting in line since they lacked Marya's forged ticket; the throngs appeared to have taken shelter from the cold wherever they could away from the frigid pier.

Wolfgang stepped close when Marya debarked. "It was foolish to risk yourself for a cat, Marya. What would happen to" --- he lowered his voice --- "your precious Amber Room?"

The nervous reaction set in at his harsh words and the realization of their truth. Marya sniffled and it was not simply the minus fifteen C of a January night. She shivered until he clasped her to his chest, his breath steaming into her ear. "Marya --- "

"Not so rough, Wolf --- oh! Kalina!"

Kalina had had enough excitement for this night. She squirted like a watermelon seed up through Marya's lapels and then downwards to the dock, where she disappeared amid other, less important, crates.

"Kalina!" Marya twisted in von Strucker's grip. "Let me go!"

"Kalina is gone. Face facts, schatzi."

The Japanese sailor approached again and gestured curtly with his Arisaka to follow.

Wolfgang ushered his friend onto the gangplank of the Dragon of Death for a witching hour departure.

Marya wedged her forged ticket to the Gustloff in a crack between pier planks for some lucky soul to discover.

 

Great use of a cat to distract and get the tracker where it will alert Hogan.

 

+ earlybird-obi-wan Glad you liked the kittycat! Here's the end of the Marathon Swim at 11k words and a bit more, but not the end of the story.

IOIOIOIOIO

January 15, 1945 Gotenhafen 0800 hours

Nothing got a Howler down in the dumps quicker than boredom.

"Sarge, how long did Cap say we gotta stay incognito?"

Fury lowered his field glasses and rubbed his eyes. "As long as it takes to capture Parmanova for Cap after we figure out her plan. Dry up, Dum Dum, we've only been cooped up three stinking days. That's a walk in the park."

Dugan shrugged. "She's easy on the eyes, which is why you hog the binocs. Am I right, yez maroons?" He swung his arm around to include the squad nestled in various stages of repose in the small room above the tobacco shop. Everyone kept his kit in a particular way in a particular spot in the room, settling in like a flock of geese to nests they had built themselves. Gabe polished his horn, Izzy read the worn out Popular Mechanics he carried around with him, and Reb regarded the icicles spiking downwards outside the windowsill gloomily.

"This purely ain't like anyplace below the Mason-Dixon line, fellas. Cold 'n me don't get along."

Manelli lay on his belly atop three boxes he'd shoved together. "I'm sick of hearing about you and cold, Reb."

Pinky plucked at the yellow tassel on his Carlist beret before twirling his non-reg headgear on one finger. "Chaps, I have generally got patience but --- "

"She's opened the ratty curtains in her room. She's awake and dressed, prolly heading downstairs to the café for chow." Fury laid the field glasses in his personal nest and stretched, spine popping.

Gabe removed the mouthpiece from his horn; he held it up to a sunbeam breaking through their camouflaged observation window. "You and Cap cooked up a story yet about how come I'm with you, Sarge? I want to hear it. It must be a beaut."

Manelli laughed. "You are our captive, of course. We six bring your valuable person with valuable information about Ethiopian defenses. I speak German and look swell in disguise as a Kraut, so I'll do all the talking if Cap radios us to go public for the grab."

"Come again? I seen Ethiopians in a TravelTalk movie right before a double feature and I do not look Ethiopian, or talk Ethiopian, or anything Ethiopian. You guys are talking through your --- hats."

Manelli sat up so he could slap Gabe on the back. "We love you, too."

Fury answered the question put to him some time back as if he'd not heard the chatter among his squad. "She's fair in the looks department, yeah. I like 'em dark-haired, though."

"We know," chorused Fury's Howlers. "We know."

"Keep quiet! Tobacco in Gotenhafen may be scarce like the tobacco guy said, but that don't mean a Kraut soldier or civvie mightn't try to scare some up in the shop ten feet below. Cap said that the tobacco guy is top notch loyal to the Allies. He's done all right by us so far."

Izzy spoke up. "I wanted a hamburger last night and I got cabbage what he brung us. He ain't that wonderful."

IOIOIOIOIO

Despite Marya Parmanova's cramped room above a café and even more cramped funds, Gotenhafen held one magnet for a loyal Russian: the Amber Room. Crated, degraded and slated for transport to Germany, probably Kiel, though Marya considered it too soon to know for certain. No matter. She attached herself to it metaphorically since it left Konigsberg; it was her lodestone. Every so often she would wake, shiver and peer through the threadbare curtains of her room towards the blacked-out pier with its precious pile of crates. Soon her countrymen marched here on their way to Berlin, but what damage would faithful, vengeful soldiers of the Motherland inflict on ancient, fragile amber crated with German markings?

This is what spoiled her nights, not the murmur of bitter ersatz coffee drinkers downstairs, not the tinkle of dishwashing in the café sink and not fearful conversations in the hallway regarding which set of relatives to flee to before the Russians reached Gotenhafen. Neighbors up and down the hallway burdened their lives with families, elders, babies and newlyweds jammed into one room. She remained the lone single tenant until she met him.

"A simple-minded private with великолепный muscles and a well-shaped skull shining like beacon," thought Marya this bleak January morning. "I can use him."

He was a tall private with the closest Prussian haircut she had ever seen. He loaded his coffee with sugar and cream, how decadent of him. He looked old to be a private, but his scarred face roused her admiration: this was a fighter.

Marya made her move.

She swayed through the café tables, brushing against patrons as she murmured, "Pardon me, please" to gain attention while sashaying her hips in the fashion that always worked. He looked her way once and returned to his newspaper, idly stirring the brew that passed for coffee in these times.

"Good morning," she said without asking if the other seat at his bistro-sized table was taken. "I see you read English newspaper. May I practice English with you?"

He looked up when she sat down. For what seemed hours he did not speak. "Why?"

She shrugged as she bit deeply at her lower lip to make it flush. She knew it made her appear mischievous because both men and women had said so. "Good conversation is hard to find. I need to know truth."

"And you do not find it from a German source?"

This was the first test. Marya took a deep breath. "Not lately."

"Bring your coffee from your table. We shall talk."

Marya rose slowly, as if she had all the time in the world to fetch her black coffee from her table. Her lapis lazuli knit suit snugged in all the right places while she made her way there and back. "I am called Marya, a Russian name but do not hold it against me."

"Wolfgang von Strucker, at your service." He rose to click his heels and bow over her hand. This was no private. Intriguing.

The next hour passed quickly as they flipped through the newspaper. Marya discussed English cricket scores, English sales on gabardine outerwear, and the latest English battlefield triumphs touted on the front page. Wolfgang surprised her by dispassionately critiquing Germany's maneuvers, though never its armed forces.

At the end of the hour she knew he had been invalided into an extended leave, he was unmarried, and he was ambitious. She had let slip that she, too, was unattached, and that she awaited transport to "anywhere away from Gotenhafen" when the Wilhelm Gustloff sailed.

"Why that ship?"

She was ready with the answer. "Just look at it!" She waved her arm towards the pier that neither could see from the café. "Glassed in decks, guest capacity of fifteen hundred, gorgeous paint of white with green stripe --- "

"I saw it when I arrived yesterday. It is battleship gray."

"Use imagination, meinen Herr! I am psychic and I see boat as it used to be --- "

"You are frivolous."

"Guilty, I admit freely."

He looked ready to leave upon hearing the word psychic, so Marya thought hard. Hmmmm, a second test was in order. "How goes it with English poetry by you?"

"I memorized Goethe's Faust at Heidelberg University."

"You are marvelous! Such German intellect!" Marya slapped his forearm. "And someday I would love to hear Faust in entirety, but today I write for amusement a limerick to practice English."

"Then I insist you read it to me." He appeared bordering on a smile. Marya yearned to break the grave demeanor to see which way his scars would slant.

At least he chose to sit still to listen where moments ago his bottom was nearly out of the seat. Marya dredged a small piece of paper from her sleeve and cleared her throat.

"There was a young girl from Pskov

charming, yet no regal Romanov.

Born late in July

(she grew up a fine spy)

when Julian dates there was no more of."

He remained sober. "I thought it would be dirty."

"Please, darling, in public? I am proper lady."

"So I see." He rose to bow once more. "I take your limerick to be only whimsy since you are no spy. Goodbye, Fraulein."

Opportunity demanded boldness. "My name is Parmanova and I am spy." She replaced the paper into her sleeve before leaving coins to cover her coffee along with his. "And so are you, because you are no private."

Hooked oh yes, hooked good and solid. He offered his arm and she stood to take it. "My room or yours for tête-à-tête, Wolfgang?"

Now he did smile. "Yours. I fear my four roommates would crowd us."

"I lead way."

IOIOIOIOIO

"Aw, no, shut the curtains, toots. I don't want to see --- good. You heard me. Mebbe you are a psychic like Cap says you claim to be." Fury plopped into his nest, leaning back into his pack. He extracted a can of C rations from it. "Yum, I can hardly wait to taste mystery meat. The label fell off."

Dum Dum plotzed beside him. "Don't want to see what?" He rested his derby on his bent knees.

"Her and von Strucker sealing the deal." Fury leaned away from Dum Dum's flailing elbow. "Hey! Watch those meat hooks! You'll make me spill it!"

"Von Strucker? Our Baron Bad Breath? That one?"

Fury took his first bite. "Pork and beans, my favorite. Yeah, that Baron. Pinky, crank up the unit, I'll radio Cap when I'm done."

Dum Dum knelt before the window, ogling through the spy hole. "How come we didn't spot him, how come, huh?"

Fury burped. "'Cause he's now a private. I won't believe he got busted from general since we ran into him last so he's just slinkin' away ahead of the Russkies, in disguise, you know."

Manelli joined Dum Dum at the window. "Give me the binoculars, caporale."

"Nothin' to see, lover boy." Dugan passed the field glasses to Manelli, who looked once and grunted.

Reb sounded sleepy, like the cold lulled him into hibernation. "Y'all think we can capture 'em both, Sarge?"

Fury scraped the bottom of the can, smacking his lips at the final spoonful. "Depends on orders. Cap said, and I quote his mellifluous tones, Think, Fury, of after the war ends. America will need women of her caliber to liaise with Russia and it's gosh awful important to secure her loyalty."

"By kidnapping her away from whatever her mission is? That'll put the Ewe Ess of Ay in right with her, that will," Dum Dum snorted.

Fury crumpled the can in one meaty fist and cocked an arm as if to toss it until Dum Dum blocked the throw with an exaggerated shhhhhhh. "Yeah, men, I dunno what she wants with those crates, neither," Fury said. "She's went to the docks every day, hangs out for an hour, and then tippytoes back to her room. It's like she cases 'em to steal 'em, but she can't take them anyplace without a ship or C-47."

Izzy stayed put in his nest as he joined in. "And it's gotta be a ship since we're on the edge of East Prussia and the deep blue Baltic and no C-47s within eighty miles. I place her on the fancy Wilhelm Gustloff myself." He went back to reading.

"I say, did you spy the glassed in decks on the W.G.? I'd fancy that comfortable a ship in January, too." Pinky adjusted the radio frequency before passing the mic to his sergeant. "Steady on, Sergeant, ready to transmit."

crcklespitwhzzzzeeeee deeeditditdit deeeeeeeeeditditditdit "Formica to Arborite, Formica to Arborite, come in Arborite." Fury drummed his fingers because he did not wait well without a stogie, but an answer came swiftly.

zzzzpppttttttrrrreeee --- "Arborite here."

Gabe whispered, "That's Bucky's voice."

"Yeah, what's goin' on?" Reb whispered back.

Fury plowed ahead, but delicately. "Arborite, where is ... Arborite Senior?"

"He's securing a B.S. from Fleet Admiral K."

"A B.S.? Arborite Junior, you're not allowed to use that language."

The young voice whispered until Fury had to lean in. "That's code for Big Ship so we can follow You-Know-Who."

"What's the rush?"

Now there was pride in the young voice. "Northern Horde will reach your position in approximately ten days. Intelligence predicts You-Know-Who will flee."

Northern Horde was the Russian army. "Yeah, we figure her to head for the hills before then with the crates on a fancy liner called Wilhelm Gustloff. Did Nimrod come up with a reason she's scared of her own people --- "

"Arborite Senior here. Nimrod hunted down clues from Papa Bear to what she is after and it's a national treasure she wants back from the Nazis. Papa Bear doesn't know the details but he contributed a huge dossier on her character. The treasure is big enough to fill twenty-seven crates."

"Bingo! Sorry, sir. I mean, we've seen them on the pier. We've also seen Baron von Strucker in Gotenhafen disguised as a private and this very minute he's hooking up with You-Know-Who you know how."

"Blast."

"Yeah, we were surprised, too."

A moment passed as Fury assumed Cap's super-soldiered brain formed a plan. "Formica, the two of them together spell dynamite. You-Know-Who is clever enough to escape us in a panicked crowd. I'm not interested in capturing the Baron."

"We could do it, sir. There are seven of us and one of him."

"No. I want to concentrate forces on her. He flees his country in disguise with nothing but the shirt on his back. He knows Germany faces defeat and as a nobleman, his spirit will be crushed."

Speaking of spirits, Fury felt it his duty to point out inconsistencies to one spirit more pure than his own. "Er, sir, if he gets a woman on his side personally, they can be really, really inspiring --- and a woman like her, well --- "

"Those are my orders. I want her."

"Sir?"

"Formica, the Northern Horde must remain our allies and her talents are key. When this war ends, and God knows I want it to as much as you do, we'll have her. Saving the national treasure is secondary. She is Russia's treasure."

Fury knew the end of a discussion with the brass when he heard it. "Understood."

"Junior and I can reach a recently liberated port in days and we'll wait for you. Our ship will be synchronized with Nimrod's tracker. I expect you to deliver more intelligence on her methods and as for the Baron, I need you all to keep out of his sight. Permission granted to stretch your legs out of the room, two of you at a time. The tobacconist will supply civvies."

"Understood, Arborite. Formica out."

IOIOIOIOIO

"Dum Dum, you fit right into this crowd in those lederhosen."

"So did you until you just had to fix that overloaded family car."

"What could I do? They looked so sad and it was a easy adjustment to the carburetor --- "

"And then kaboom! A backfire that made everybody jump nine yards straight up. I thought I was back in the circus watching the Flying Wallendas."

"Do you think Herr Baron saw us?"

"Depends. If he was alive and in this crowd waiting to get a ship ticket to safety, then he saw us."

"What'll you think he'll do? If Sarge is right, he's got nobody to call for backup minions. He'd for sure want to, though. He hates our guts."

"Likewise. Besides, his goons are long gone, but you know what?"

"What?"

"If he can get to a radio, he could call in some favors with --- "

"Who?"

"Well, now, I dunno. Allies of Germany, mebbe."

"Italy is out of it since '43 and Japan don't hang out around here. Hungary and those other little countries don't count."

"I gotta tell Sarge about what you done, Izzy."

"Yeah. I know. Some leg stretching exercise this was. I wish I done isometrics instead."

"What songs you want at your funeral?"

 

Congrats on ending the swim with this intriguing beginning of Marya meeting Von Strucker

 

+earlybird-obi-wan Many thanks for reading; they are a prickly couple, to be sure. I'm floating on an innertube for a day and shall persevere to finish the story before Monday!

 

July 4, 1942 over Hamburg, Nazi Germany

As soon as his bird ceased dancing the hula, Colonel Robert E. Hogan, code named Goldilocks, adjusted the franistan supraorbital valve, which was a new instrument he didn't fully understand. It was notoriously sensitive to jiggling, juking and jinking. In his B-25B Mitchell, such erratic flight movements outside of battle meant today's weather report neglected to add "higher than normal stratospheric winds dipping down to the troposphere" to its July 4, 1942, prediction of "clear skies at 10,000 feet, wear your summer regs, chaps."

Hogan did not appreciate humor on a mission. Humor belonged back at base, relaxing with pilots, joshing the mechanics, laughing at Fibber McGee and Molly on the radio because what would the world be without friends? He adjusted the headphones more snugly over his ears since the tips of the props spun a mere foot outside the pilot's canopy. Hand signals to his co-pilot to take over produced a nod; O'Donoghue could guide their airship back home to England's fair green fields after this successful extended mission with all eggs dropped to targets. In mid-summer, preparing for harvest played its usual role in securing food for the sceptered isle, only these years many doughty Land Girls worked the fields. At least in July, these ladies could rest up for August and September's intense labors. He looked ahead and down at Hamburg's immense urbanity, far from country calm.

Harvest in the States probably meant a similar deployment of female resources, Hogan mused as he slid deeper into his seat. Dance partners drenched with Mystikum perfume might prove scarce at his favorite ballroom, so maybe he'd get the chance to sit on the bandstand to pound a kettledrum or two. He jolted back to the present. Eggs dropped, no bogeys in sight on this clear summer day; he let himself plan as innocently as Goldilocks entering a bear's home filled with goodies. He was smart and he knew it; at 10,000 feet, he hadn't run into anyone smarter and he doubted if someone smarter than he existed at ground level, either. He was smart with people, if not the intricacies of a franistan supraorbital valve.

The B-25B Mitchell's range topped at 1200 miles. Today's mission to bomb the hell out of Kassel's Henschel Factories, swing north to Hamburg for a final fillip of firepower flaming a U-Boat pen, and then scoot homeward totaled 1342 miles. Hogan swelled his chest and bet the wings upon it that the experimental franistan supraorbital valve could make up the 100-odd mile difference. He double checked his panel. The interlocking granistan joint held steady as it regulated the valve.

Goldilocks could rest easy on his fluffy bed.

The valve indicator remained steady. The high winds departed.

April's Doolittle raid on Tokyo in B-25Bs hadn't the valve or joint; he did on this endurance test flight with the RAF. The inspiration value to American pilots would prove invaluable when they arrived in force soon and he'd be part of that. After losses in the Pacific and the Aleutians just last month, the Allies needed men of his caliber to plan strategies, offer tactics and support new ideas.

Hogan pulled his cap low after double checking their fighter escort a football field away and side eyeing O'Donoghue, who flashed him a thumbs up. Some downtime couldn't hurt. Sunshine filled the cockpit and his soul as he let go the yoke and crossed his arms to think. A deluge of colors flashed red yellow blue while the engines of intellect whirrrred.

After a timeless time, the real and metaphorical sunshine grew monotonous. It was the curse of a creative mind. It was on a day like this that he'd conceived the idea of forwarding annoying paperwork to John Smith.

Summer sunshine couldn't last forever. He'd heard pilots swear that bombing and even finding Kassel in winter played havoc because of the fog. RAF mechanics swore it was like the great fogs of London their grandparents told stories about, a thick yellow-gray peasouper that defied piercing. Well, he had an answer for that because nobody less than Hercules was on the Allies' side.

He couldn't wait to debrief this mission. He'd wow his superiors about the Wilhelmshöhe Bergpark above Kassel, its copper demigod statue cast in seventeen-hundred-whatever gazing protectively down upon the large city. He calculated, approximated and awaited HQ's precise measurements to aid the grand battle plan of the winter of 1942 through 1943: using the Krauts' own grandiose Hercules statue against them. About 1100 feet above the town, right? Unmistakable outline poking up through the fog, right? Facing the town, right? Only the top of the head and outstretched arm could be spotted from above, and he'd spotted it. He patted his inside pocket, where precise coordinates rested in his notebook. Through fog, rain or dark of night, the coordinates spelled destruction for Kassel's armaments factories.

He'd leave the final calculation to the cartographers. "Save one for Kassel" would be his new motto in his future flights, for every pilot's flight in B-25B, B-17 or the warbird coming attraction, the Douglas A-26 Invader.

Hogan twitched to full alertness and looked around. Where did their fighter support get to? A fine sweat beaded O'Donoghue's brow. It wasn't like him to be this quiet. Shadows drowned the clear sunshine in Hogan's soul.

Hogan adjusted the mic to his lips even though O'Donoghue's seat was only 24 inches away. He toggled the switch to address the three crew members behind him through the roar of the props as well. "Where are the P-51s?"

"Skipper, they've --- "

"Bogey at nine o'clock!"

Uh oh.

IOIOIOIOIO

The End.

IOIOIOIOIO

A/N Dedicated to Spouse, Step-Dad and Dad, soldiers in various conflicts. Thank you for protecting me.

 

Hogan and his musings after returning from a bombing. A great ending to your marathon swim

 

+earlybird-obi-wan First and foremost, thanks for staying with me to the end, swimming buddy! Next, I'll be glad to trot around the Olympics track with you as we acknowledge the grand closing ceremonies, and last, have a perfect summer.

 

I'm sorry for falling behind on reviews as you posted (I got sidetracked by my vacation preparations ) but now I'm here and, having re-read your entire marathon swim story from the beginning, I was able to doubly enjoy it because other than the humour and the snark and the incredible Marya, this is an incredibly well-crafted reverse narrative story!

I'm resuming my review from the chapter where Okada interrogates Von Strucker and Marya in his ready room, but first I want to note how appropriate and relevant this narrative structure is for a character whose true intentions are unclear. With every new chapter you peeled of another layer of her scheme, and it was just a blast.

Oh my freaking goodness. She has this way of dropping absolute bombshells in the middle of a conversation and driving her interlocutors so crazy that they can't figure out if they should laugh or kill her on the spot.

Von Strucker got taken along for a ride, and he still doesn't get it.

So sneaky! I love how she uses every single aspect of her feminine wiles, including the time's prejudice against women, to worm her way out of every situation.

And this, ladies and gentlemen, is how Okada and Von Strucker were tricked into taking the Amber Room to Madripoor.

The scene where she places the tracker on the submarine in Gotenhafen with a little unwilling help from Kalina the cat was pure gold. I kinda felt for the kitty, but Marya's stratagem here did lend a level of truth to her statement that she hadn't placed the tracker alone

One titbit that appeared here and later reappeared in the dialogue between "Arborite" and "Formica" was the reference to "Nimrod". Marya is quite the spy, even when she's freelancing, and she has the contacts she needs to get the tools for the job.

The seduction of Von Strucker was positively priceless:

And just like that, by speaking broken English, she wrapped him around her little finger and began manipulating him to take the Amber Room where she wants it...

I love the Howling Commandos' puzzlement as to what she's up to and Captain America's rationale for wanting to capture her. I doubt he really knew what he was getting himself into with that sort of future ally!

And, finally, Hogan flying over Germany. I loved his characterisation here as a pilot, with all the traits that he'll display as a spy-POW later. That ending was a bit chilling, but also the beginning of a great adventure.

Congrats on completing this epic story and the triathlon, and thank you so much for introducing me to this fandom. We were able to procure the DVD set before we left on holiday and we're now watching an episode or two in the evenings and having the time of our lives!

 

*clutches review in expansive embrace* Thanks a lot for the kind review! This quoted bit sums up Marya's take on life, to live large and drag others along with you.

Aw, I'm so glad the series plays well with the family.