A TBO Homage: 'Code Name -- Mongoose'

[Nik_SpeakerToCats]

About keeping 'Atom Bombs' a secret ?

Unlike eg Bletchley Park which automated the 'grind' of Enigma-breaking with an inspired mix of hardware and software, the potential for a run-away fission chain's 'one gets you two, gets you four, gets you eight, gets you an avalanche unto hell-fire' had been apparent for some years.

Sorry, the threat of one-bomb city-razing was surprisingly well known.

Heinlein even wrote a terrifying tale about it, with TBO-grade nuke-bomber fleets.
Search for "Solution Unsatisfactory", look at the published date and be very, very afraid...

An atomic 'device' is the very definition of an existential threat. The students need to be aware of such, know why they must 'kill it with fire', literally at any cost...

[Nik_SpeakerToCats]

Chapter #08

Time Line 'B'.

Following brilliant Captain Walker's untimely death, the perilously poised Atlantic balance tipped adversely. Too many convoys were ravaged. Too little food, too few tankers got through. The RAF, unable to fuel, scramble enough aircraft, lost the 'Second Battle of Britain'. Churchill, voted down, perforce resigned. His foul replacement sued for peace. A secret clause required the arrest, extradition of Churchill as a 'War Criminal'.

His loyal driver received a last-minute tip through 'back-channels'. When the snatch-squad arrived, they were met by Sten and pistol fire. Though the ensuing mêlée proved fatal, Churchill and his driver sent a dozen ahead on 'Charon's Barge'.

Up at Hartsfoot Hall, this 'coup' triggered long-set contingency plans. Most of us students promptly 'dispersed' to our home towns and cities. Miss Matlock issued our HMP Parolees with their promised 'Sentence Commuted To Time-Served For Good Behaviour'. The pair each received 'genuine enough' Irish pass-ports plus supporting documents, a wad of cash, a roll of gold bullion sovereigns, and tickets to Holyhead then the Irish ferry.

Also, an admonition: The Irish Garda did not have files on the pair. Provided they embraced quiet retirement, perhaps mending a few clocks, perhaps daubing harmless water-colours, that ignorance would continue. Should the pair become 'news-worthy', though, they'd need more than a 'Four-Leafed Clover'. And, 'In Extremis', should the Germans seize Eire, locate and and conscript them, they must endeavour not to be *too* useful, lest this attract lethal sanction...

A number of girls also went off to Eire. Later returning as 'Irish Neutrals', they would have rather more freedom of movement than us 'anchored' Brits. Our 'Viennese' prial left thus, would continue to the US by means we had no need to know. I could not go back to my aunts. As with our neighbours, they had taken in several families 'bombed out' of the City. So, along with a quorum of other 'youngsters', I stayed at the Hall. During the 'draw down', as our few 'Administrative' staff left, I became Miss Matlock's de-facto Assistant, Aide, Deputy. Our remaining tutors were quietly, progressively replaced by genuine 'convalescents' from several hospitals, accompanied by the necessary nurses, physiotherapists etc.

When Miss Matlock officially handed the Hall over to medical control, she recommended young me to the new Site Manager and Matron as an excellent 'Secretary and Facilitator'. As part of my 'Terms of Service', I requested they allow me to run my 'Morning Mile' which, um, eased memories of the bombing which brought me here, and help out as a maid between administrative work. There was no argument, and I soon settled into my new role. Over the next year or so, as the Germans slowly, inexorably increased their malign influence and control, my adolescent hormones belatedly delivered. I grew from 'Blonde Poppet' to taller than average, though still 'Plain as a Pikestaff'.

[Nik_SpeakerToCats]

Chapter #09

We'd noted how other sites were being 'snapped up' by our Occupiers, so it came as no surprise when two motor-bikes and a staff-car arrived outside. The 'Assessors' took stock of the Hall. A few weeks later, we were given scant notice to leave. All of us. Including us 'Hall' workers. Apparently they didn't trust us...

Within the month, their imported staff proved unable to cope with the Hall's quirks. They advertised for former staff, found few takers. I'd already found a productive position else-where, declined to go back. Mind you, this placing did not last.

My evident competence, my sufficient German, that well-read copy of 'Mein Kampf' and, yes, my less-than-attractive yet acceptably blonde looks had got me a nice job with a mid-ranked 'Administrator'. I 'Kept House' for him, his kind Frau, their two pleasant, pre-school daughters, their generous family Cook and her friendly assistant. They thought it delightful that I'd nightly read the Kinder a chunk of 'Mein Kamf', then a scary tale from the 'Brothers Grimm'.

'Herr Administrator' had been denied a military career by a heart murmur after childhood illness. Intelligent, polite, un-blinkered by doctrine, disturbingly efficient, he was clearly destined for a senior role. But, he worked long, long hours, chain-smoked, ate too richly, repeatedly tried for a son to serve the Reich.

I was still wondering how to destroy him yet spare the others when word came that he'd collapsed at work. A few hours later, comatose in local hospital with weeping Frau clutching his hand, he had a second heart attack. Thus widowed, she returned her house-hold to Bavaria. The property transferred to his replacement who, convinced by the excellent reference, kept me on.

'Herr Administrator Zwei' proved a very different character: Rude, vicious, intractably obnoxious, over-fond of schnapps and a truly foul tobacco. Persistently pig-headed, promoted via his 'Party' connections, he was now utterly reliant on his remarkably buxom secretary / mistress. From the start, the pair sneered at me, as did their ill-tempered Cook and both sly Maids. Their pettiness extended to 'shorting' my meagre rations, then displacing me from my previous narrow bed in a cramped box-room to a lumpy cot in the chill garret.

'Herr Administrator Zwei' could have been left to make an utter fool of himself, but his devoted secretary was dangerously competent. She was, in fact, a growing threat both to me and the understandably wary local 'Resistance'. I feared she'd begun to suspect I was perhaps too good to be true.

[jemhouston]

Pity of the Administer and secretary / mistress with too much schnapps in them smoked in bed and burned down the house.

[Belushi TD]

This one is quite fun. I really like how you're exploring various different timelines in one thread. Keeping it straight in your mind must be a bit of a task.

Belushi TD

[Nik_SpeakerToCats]

Chapter #10

The near-by, lethal detonation of an unexploded bomb during belated 'Blitz' debris clearance gave me an idea. From that day onwards, each time I went shopping or fetched coal, fire-wood, perhaps another bottle of Riesling, from the nice property's big cellars, I mentioned a new, persistent smell of gas. Especially on 'still' nights.

'Herr Administrator Zwei', clothes reeking of that pungent tobacco, could not smell anything. Nor could his fugged-out secretary, awash in cheap Cologne. The Cook, briskly boiling yet-another thionic cabbage unto 'spreadable', rudely dismissed such whiff as a dead rat, bid me set traps.

And, yes, a few rodents did succumb. The maids' hysterics and insults when I calmly removed such victims solidified our mutual loathing.

Then came my much-anticipated Saturday afternoon off. I banked my begrudged pay at the Post Office, enjoyed a pint of weak cider and a filling bowl of root stew at a local 'pub'. After a stroll in the near-by park to settle my tum, I headed for the local cinema, watched its bombastic propaganda news-reel plus 'patriotic feature'. Beyond welcome distraction, if you had the wit to 'look for the gaps', the news-reel was surprisingly informative. Given such magnificent progress on the 'Eastern Front', the Panzers should have crested the Urals, be storming towards Siberia. And, if those dread Panzers were indeed all-conquering, why need such magnificent, new, bigger, better tanks ?

Walking back at dusk, I turned the corner to find utter devastation. Fire-men were still hosing down the smouldering crater which had engulfed the residence of 'Herr Administrator Zwei'. Extinguished fires marked where flaming debris fell.

Apparently, there had been a big gas leak in the cellars, an explosion. This plunged the nice house and occupants into the chasm. None survived.

I dropped to my knees, wept and wailed. I cried that if it hadn't been my half-day, I might have smelled the gas, called alarm. My tears and distress were genuine, but not for 'Herr Zwei'. Like a girl's first 'Monthly' or a Flirt's first f**k, some-things cannot be un-done. I was now a 'Killer'. I had crossed the line. My cause was just, but hadn't so many 'Crusaders' of so many flavours claimed such in the past ? I wept yet more.

I'd lost everything but the clothes I wore. Of course, I carried my official German identity papers, with work permit and nice 'reference' tucked inside. I'd just been paid, so had some money in my pocket plus the rest safely banked. I had my theatre stub book-marking my much-thumbed 'Mein Kampf'.

As an authorised worker at a designated 'Residence', local officialdom was some-what responsible for my welfare. Which, incidentally, was why 'Herr Administrator Zwei' could not 'short' my pay. I was driven around, several shops having to open up, to furnish me with cheap clothing and a weary case. A very, very cheap hotel was found.

The next day, the local police collated, confirmed my many reports of a gas leak. They agreed the catastrophe was surely due to a pipe fatally fractured by that belated 'Blitz' bomb. I was clearly innocent but, off the record, too much of a jinx for their comfort. Hadn't my previous 'Herr Administrator' succumbed, albeit to over-work, a hazard 'Herr Zwei' could never face ? So, I was issued travel documents and a ticket to my second choice of destination, bundled onto the shabby end of a train...

Happens there had been a gas leak, albeit very, very minor until I was out. Do not ask how: You have no need to know. Then, after enough time and volume to deliver oblivion, the gas cloud had been triggered by 'arcing' from those cellars' big telephone repeater bell. Conveniently, the 'staff' car pool always rang 'Herr Administrator Zwei' at 20:30 each Saturday to ask if he wanted his usual Sunday morning ride 'early or late'...

[kdahm]

Such a tragic accident to befall such an capable group of workers. I mean, a cook who can convert cabbage into thionic slurry? Maids who actually clean instead of gathering outside the staff door to smoke? Oh, and a German administrator and his intelligent genitalia sidekick. Do you know how hard it is to find one smart enough to hold a grudge, and mean-spirited enough to do so?

Truly a terrible tragedy.

Although I do wonder how often there's a secret agent pileup and one gets taken out by another. A mean-spirited mistress spouting jargon is an excellent cover to get close to 'Herr Administrator Zwei'. Like the movie clip of the robbery where the clerk, the customers, and both robbers were from different Fed law enforcement.

[Nik_SpeakerToCats]

Chapter #11 of 11

Thus began my remarkably lethal career. I'm not proud of my work. I sought to spare innocents, to limit retribution. Sadly, even when the cause was 'obviously' not 'Resistance' work, the Gestapo and SS often delivered casual atrocity, 'To Encourage The Others'. Those units and their officers went onto my 'Naughty List'.

When circumstances permit, I struck back. That elite SS unit whose ergot-crazed troopers ran amok in the barracks ? Their bad flour was traced to a 'trusted' local suppler, interrogation finding his out-spoken 'Sympathiser' views masked covert 'Resistance' credentials. Mind you, by the time those interrogators were done, he would similarly admit to being Mexican, or a pentacular purple cephalopod from 'Planet Zanussi'. As with any such 'Witch Trial', it is very, very hard to prove your innocence...

I did terrible, terrible things. Like the other 'Actives', most of my many carefully arranged 'Accidents' and, yes, the mere existence of 'Dour Hall', were deemed much too awful for the 'Settlement Report'. Happily, my serendipitous rescue of downed 'Nuke Bomber' Captain Eastwood from that 'Naughty List' SS squad earned 'Code-name: Mongoose' an honourable retirement. He was a really nice guy. And, as he said, there were scant few people on this planet who'd impress his 'Pistol Packin' Momma'. After seeing me in action, he knew he had to take me home...


The 'Settlement Report' did mention that, when Irish neutrality was brutally subsumed, a couple of elderly gents walked into the 'Free English' legation in Casablanca, offered their services. Scant few months later, beset by a flood of 'fair' fakes, the regional value and influence of the Reichsmark collapsed, never to fully recover. Yes, our 'Freddy Forger' and 'Peter Cracksman' had come to town...