Transition Plan Chapter 138 - The Battle of Greystoke Part 3

Rated T for mild swearing and sexual innuendo

… Two days later…

In the dank back rooms of Siegfried's restaurant far after normal operating hours, two very different looking groups of people huddled around a small broken table and a few rickety chairs. The Abwehr were all in ill-fitting business suits and fedoras. The other group looked like a bunch of dock workers or ruffians, in dark colors and heavy boots. Most were wearing ill fitting full body dark brown or charcoal gray coveralls, and their hands were covered by gloves with the fingers cut out. Their heads were covered with black woolen stocking hats, and their collars partially masked their faces. They were quite a variety of shapes and sizes, and not much could be seen of the extent of their fitness.

Siegfried served them dinner and drinks, and left them to their business. If they needed anything, Siegfried had left a small bell. The new local head of the Abwehr Helmut got up from his chair, walked over and locked the door after the proprietor's departure.

The man examined the scruffy-looking group and said tensely, "I don't know what we see in you."

The leader of the group said stiffly after sipping a deep swig of the beer, belched, and noted, "You need to learn this fast, soldier. You're new around here. This isn't our first operation. We do stuff the Abwehr and the Wehrmacht doesn't want their fingerprints on."

A higher voice snapped snidely, "Or are even capable of doing."

The new leader of the local branch of the German military intelligence team was indignant, and leaned on the table into the face of the smaller gang member, "How dare you. You're not Abwehr. You guys are just common thugs from this shithole city that are lucky enough that we hire to do our work. We pay you to work and not to give your opinions. So shut the hell up."

With absolutely no warning, taking great offense to Helmut's insulting behavior toward his smaller colleague, the leader of the unkempt group of ruffians put a sharp blade against Helmut's throat. Everyone froze.

"Say 'thug' nicely, Oberstleutnant Helmut. Or you'll find your ugly Abwehr throat slit open. I prefer the term 'Ops-for-hire'," the group's leader growled. Helmut never said his name or rank, yet the mercenary already knew.

One of the Abwehr surrounding Helmut started to draw a gun, and everyone tensed up. He ordered, "Stand down, Fritz. It's not worth a fight. At least not yet."

"Scheisse. My team needs the practice, Helmut," complained the mercenary leader, but sheathed the knife and sat down.

The Abwehr leader rubbed his neck nervously, and noticed a couple of drops of blood on his fingertips. He swallowed hard. The man's movement was lightning fast. Despite being the victim of the attack, Helmut was impressed.

In a calmer demeanor, Abwehr team leader asked, "Can you follow orders? You guys have a history of… improvisation."

"It depends," the mercenary leader said in an offhand, dismissive, and disrespectful way.

Helmut gritted his teeth and asked, "Depends on what?"

The leader grinned, "On whether your orders suit us or not."

The military man's exasperation returned, and he exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air, "This is ridiculous. You're not mercenaries. You're criminals."

Smugly, the group leader observed, "That may be true, but at least we're criminals who are on your side. Ask us anything about our ops."

So Helmut started to recall his intel on these people, coupled with some unexplained incidents over the past year, "The unexplained British embassy fire two months ago?"

"Us."

Helmut asked again, "The assassination of Scottish trade minister?"

"Us again."

The Abwehr commander inquired another time, "The freighter that unexpectedly sunk in the harbor, blocking access for months?"

"The Clayton ship or the Norwegian freighter?" the mercenary leader asked with a smirk.

"Uhhh, I don't remember."

The darkly clad man leaned in and said with complete conviction to Helmut, "It doesn't matter which one. They were both done by us. We did the Norwegian one for someone else. It was taking supplies to help turn the battle of your Blitzkrieg invasion of them. That battle may have turned out differently without us."

Helmut nearly betrayed himself with a gulp, remembering that the Norwegian freighter sabotage was ordered by the SS, the Abwehr's archrival within the Nazi government. He realized the SS and Abwehr were competing for these mercenaries' services. He couldn't let the SS own them, who might use this team against the Abwehr. His pressure headache doubled in intensity.

Helmut complimented them, "It pains me to say this, but those were all impressive. God, I really hate to do this. But Berlin really wants this to happen."

The mercenary team leader asked, "What's 'this'?"

"Not here. If we hire you, we'll explain later. Tell us about yourselves."

"All of us have years of street fighting and jungle survival and combat skill. We're all good at hand-to-hand and knives. I'm Bernhardt. I specialize in booby traps and explosives, and when we need to get into a place more quietly, I pick locks and break combinations. Engel here does infrastructure exploitation and street navigation. Johann specializes in human intel, bribes, and… and if someone doesn't want to talk, he does… shall we say… very effective persuasive techniques with… um… detained subjects."

Helmut raised an eyebrow, "Torture…"

Bernhardt grinned, "Now, now, Oberstleutnant. Let's not be crass about such refined arts, shall we?"

And me? "I'm Steffen. I like guns. And so does my brother. He doesn't say much."

His nearly twin brother just nodded agreement.

Helmut noted the smallest member of the team and inquired, "What about you, sir? You're kind of small."

The last mercenary pulled off the woolen cap adorning their head like the others. Tightly curled shoulder length hair fell from being tucked up under the stocking cap. It was sort of brownish blond.

The gang member announced, "That's because I'm a girl, not a 'sir'. Name's Yetty."

Despite her femininity being suppressed by being dressed like a man, her looks were striking. She had a dark complexion. Her facial features were a mix of African tribal and German heritage. She was actually beautiful.

"A girl?" the Abwehr leader said with very disgusted tone.

The girl asserted, "Not just any girl. I'm bigger than most girls my age. And a lot stronger."

Helmut complained, "You're a child."

She said flippantly, "I'm old enough to make love with Bernhardt almost every day whether he wants me to or not."

The rest of her team snickered, especially Bernhardt. It was very true, and they were fun to watch.

Helmut was aghast, "16?"

Yetty snapped, "Eighteen. I hold my own against any man. Especially Englishmen. Boys my age join the Heer every day in Germany. I've been feeling kind of left out. You're just prejudiced because I'm a girl that can fight."

He just accepted her insolence, but he probed her intentions, "Why fight the British? You should just marry a soldier and settle down. Let them fight for you. They'll hang girls too if they ever catch you."

"I don't intend to be caught. I have a score to settle. From before I was born. I hate English. Scottish are the worst," Yetty seethed.

Helmut worried about her attitude, "You have so much hatred in one so young. I'll take the rest of you men, but you stay home, girl. You're too young. Too small. Too weak. Men might force themselves on you. I'll have none of that. I respect women."

The girl mercenary instantly leaped over the table feet first and caught the Oberstleutnant squarely in the chest with her boots, taking the wind completely out of him. In so doing, she pinned the man to the back of chair in which he was sitting, and it they toppled over together backwards, landing hard on the tile floor, accelerated by her leap. He cracked the back of his head sharply against the floor, it bounced, and he nearly blacked out in pain. When he recovered, he found himself on his back, smashed against the chair, with the girl astraddle his neck, choking him between her incredibly powerful legs, and saw his own luger in her hands with the barrel pressed between his eyes. The rungs on the back of the chair ground hard into his back, and his shoulders and feet were flailing helplessly in the air. He never saw her move. His luger had been perfectly hidden but the girl disarmed him and now it was aimed right at him. Helmut was gasping for breath, but had his arms pinned by her knees on the concrete floor, as well as being immobilized by her deadly embrace with him. The Abwehr soldiers finally reacted to this instantaneous attack. They pulled their guns and trained them on the girl, but realized the futility of that. The girls' colleagues' weapons were already aimed at the German soldiers. The situation was very, very tense.

The girl slapped Helmut fully awake and she seethed, "Oberstleutnant, every man who ever tried to force me is dead or missing something important on their bodies. I'm no prissy little girl. I'm old and strong enough for any op and I don't go anywhere without my lover."

"Uhh. OK. I… I'm sorry… " Helmut rasped through the choke hold on his throat.

The mercenary leader stood with his gun still trained on the Abwehr commander, and added, "You'd better listen to Yetty. I always do. You'll live longer if you do. She goes with us. Or no op. She's our good luck charm. Every op is a success when she's along. Got it?"

Helmut issued orders in a hoarse whisper, still mostly strangled by the young woman's neck lock on him, "I'm going to regret this. You're all hired. You will be accompanied by an Abwehr infiltration squad. My squad. Just to make sure this goes right. Now… please, young woman… If you wouldn't mind getting off my neck."

Yetty gave the man a vile grin, and shrugged, "Too bad. That's Bernhardt's favorite position in our bed. Your loss, Oberstleutnant."

Her lover faked a complaint and chuckled, "Enough, woman. Save that for me, liebchen."

"Of course lover, but Oberstleutnant, I'm not moving until you have your men stand down."

"Enough of this, men. Lower your weapons. We're a team, now."

The girl got up reluctantly, and kicked him in the ribs, "Oops… I slipped."

Helmut grimaced and staggered to his feet, rubbing his back, arms, and neck, as he retorted, "Sure. I bet."

He ached everywhere from her attack.

Everyone's guns were stowed, but the two groups eyed each other suspiciously.

The Abwehr Leader tried to calm his people, "We're allies now. Knock this bullshit off."

"But boss…" complained one of them.

"But nothing. We better start being friends and trusting each other. The English are our real enemy. We're all Germans."

Bernhardt tried to help Helmut, "Agreed. You guys too. Loosen up."

Johann complained, "We don't need them. They're just soldiers. They're too slow. They'll make too much noise. They'll blow the op. We better work alone. Take their money and let's just do this by ourselves."

Helmut gave them an ultimatum, "We go with you or you don't get the money. Accept it."

Bernhardt chuckled, "Well folks. I guess we have a shotgun marriage here."

"I have a bad feeling boss," one of the Abwehr agents complained.

Helmut started to redirect the anger by moving forward, "So let's determine what happens next by…"

Yetty interjected tersely, "You rudely interrupted me before I told you what I do. I specialize in disappearing and showing up when people least suspect it. This is why you need me. My specialty in getting in and out of tight places unannounced and undiscovered. And leaving bodies behind. I'm an assassin. I did the trade minister all by myself. You should have heard him whimper."

Helmut answered sincerely, rubbing his still-sore throat, "I believe that."

"So what do we do next?" Bernhardt asked.

"I'm glad you asked that question," smirked Helmut.

…

A few days later both teams quietly arrived in the worst run down torn down decaying part of Dar es Salaam. At the edge of their gathering place was a broken and rusted sign outside the ruins that barely said: 'Siegfried's Burlesque'. The two groups of combatants were still a great contrast – the mercenaries' scruffy, torn, dirty outfits vs. the Abwehr's coveralls.

Helmut noted, "Here's our training area."

Bernhardt was skeptical, "In an abandoned burlesque?"

The Abwehr team leader stated, "Looks can be deceiving. It's the perfect cover. Who would ever come here? Were not as inept as we seem, Bernhardt."

Inside there was new construction that workers were finishing. It was a replica of large portions of a house that fit inside the hall, but was open on a couple of sides. It was otherwise quite complete, and the architecture looked vaguely familiar. The kitchen was actually at floor level in the hall, but the structure rose up at least three stories from there, all the way to the broken down hall's very high ceiling. There was a '10' on the simulated dark-stained wooden front door. That street level door was actually a floor above the kitchen. It was obvious the kitchen was actually below ground.

The Abwehr commander quipped to the somewhat puzzled group, "You can see that we aren't planning on coming in the real front door of this place."

The girl retorted, "Oh so we're going to be in a cooking class together, Oberstleutnant? Remember, I'm a girl. I can outcook you too. I bet you make a great quiche."

"Shut up and follow me," said Helmut angrily. Yetty had a very sharp wit, but was really irritating.

The rest of the Abwehr team was already there working out with various forms of weapons, some of which the Tanganyikan mercenaries had never seen before, while the construction continued. The Abwehr team was dressed in black, form-fitting outfits. They had face hugging masks that you could only see the eyes. The German agents were magnificent physical specimens, and their outfits were a huge contrast to the scruffy, baggy outfits the mercenaries wore, even though they were in no less great shape.

"I need to get me one of those," the German/African girl noted.

Helmut noted, secretly wishing to see her female form in one of the tight uniforms to see what was really under those frumpy coveralls, "We'll fit you all for them. You will have much more freedom of movement with a uniform that stretches as far as you can. We've learned a lot from our Japanese allies about hand to hand combat. The samurai made it a science."

"Impressive," reflected Bernhardt.

"The uniforms come out of your pay, though," noted the Abwehr leader.

"Scheisse…" cursed the young woman.

"What is this op exactly?" inquired Bernhardt.

"Come with me. And learn," directed the German leader.

The all entered a smaller room beside the great hall, and the Oberstleutnant locked the door to what long ago had been a dressing room. He turned on a broadcast radio to cover their conversation.

He stood and grimly explained his plans, "We're going to assassinate the new Prime Minister Winston Churchill in his residence at Number 10 Downing Street."

Everyone sat completely stunned. Someone let loose a low whistle.

"God Lord, man? How? Why?" Bernhardt asked, genuinely shocked.

Helmut answered, "Chamberlin was a pansy. He foolishly declared 'peace in our own time' between England and Germany a deal with our supreme leader in Munich. The Fuhrer played Chamberlin and placated him, and now all of Europe belongs to us except England. Churchill is dangerous. The man is far too charismatic, far too inspiring. He's got the English population stirred to fight back after the humiliation at Dunkirk. I swear he knows about the coming Battle of Britain. We're going to take him down before he can inspire his people to win. Or get the Americans involved."

Bernhardt grimly stated the obvious, "Number 10 Downing Street most heavily guarded place on the earth besides the bunker in Berlin. This is a suicide mission."

Helmut retorted, "No it's not, or I assure you that I would not have volunteered my team. We're not going to knock. That's where you come in. You guys pride yourselves in living with the animals in Africa. Well that's what we want you to do. Live like rats in the sewers. Find the way for us in from London's underground tunnels and sewers into Number 10's basement and kitchen, help us get to the third floor, and we take Churchill quietly out in his sleep. And anyone else gets in your way. Then all of us disappear back down the rathole. Any questions?"

"This just might actually work. OK. We're interested," Bernhardt smiled.

His whole team gave him a serious nod of acceptance.

"As long as you pay us enough," snapped Yetty.

"Serving the Reich should be its own reward," chided Helmut.

The girl responded angrily, "Don't you understand yet that we're mercenaries? I have a poor, aging widowed mother. The Fuhrer hasn't helped us one little bit."

"You'll be paid 3 million Deutschmarks. That makes you the best paid assassins in the entire Reich," Helmut offered and then mocked her, "Especially a girl assassin."

She squirmed, "More than just assassins. I still think we're being underpaid to pick off the leader of England."

"And I'm still not sure you're able to do what you say. So that makes us even."

Bernhardt kept everyone calm, "Let's not go through that again. We've done this before. The Dar es Salaam sewers are a lot worse and the crawl spaces are a lot smaller under 10 Downing. How do you think we got into the British Embassy to burn it down?"

Helmut replied, "I'll leave the details of how to get it done to you once we get there. Just get it done."

Bernhardt answered, "Agreed. Shall we get started?"

"Show us more. You have the replica of the residence here. What about the way in?" Engel inquired, eager to figure out the best way to infiltrate the building, which was his specialty.

"Here's the plans. Knock yourself out," Helmut grinned, handing the man a thick roll of aging blueprints, and seeing the look of determination on the mercenary group's navigator.

The blueprints revealed a vast expanse of sewers, access doors, a passage up to the residence kitchen from the basement, which was the subject of the full scale model built in the former burlesque hall.

The mercenaries were impressed that the Abwehr had gotten such detailed layout of London's underbelly. Only someone in the Lord High Mayor's facilities department would have that kind of information. Someone who was on Germany's side.

The hired team went to work like a precision clock. Led by Engel, Bernhardt's team was focused on a discussion over the plans looking for the most effective means to infiltrate, blind spots to aware of, how to defend each other. The Abwehr team was thoroughly impressed, and they didn't have much to add to the discussion.

After a few days of practicing their operation together, they felt like they could actually trust each other, and respected each others' techniques. They practiced a dozen different ways to get inside 10 Downing, and discarded most of them until they found one or two they liked, and together they honed to perfection that approach and an alternate or two.

Taking a moments respite after many grueling hours of practice, Steffen asked, "We can practice till we're blue in the face here in Dar es Salaam. How do we get there?"

Helmut went to the chalkboard, and drew a representation of Europe and the English isles, "Pay attention, people. We're going from occupied Netherlands by sea. Near the new sub pens."

Engel scoffed, "The Royal Navy will pick us off like flies. The Cliffs of Dover will be a like a shooting gallery. Any boat coming from Fortress Europe is considered a target for the Brits. Or strafed by the RAF. They shoot and ask questions later. There's no defense."

Helmut got a self-righteous look and responded smugly, "Not if we go by U boat."

The young woman cursed, "Oh, scheisse!"

Helmut picked up her discomfort and retorted, "What? Are you claustrophobic, Yetty?"

He enjoyed the insult, having for once the upper hand in their bickering.

She brushed off the comment and quipped, "No, not a bit. The smaller the tube the better. Except when it belongs to my lover."

Bernhardt ignored her sexual innuendo about his size and was already putting the pieces together, "So… While big battle rages overhead and all British eyes are looking up…"

Helmut completed the thought, "…We'll go around and under all the chaos. No one will pay attention to us."

The operation commander dragged the chalk line down the length of the English Channel and curved it around into the Irish Sea.

"We will go up around the Isle of Man, and land here."

He laid out a real topographic map. They all stood around it, which clearly showed the infiltration point.

Helmut explained the plan further, "For a few days we'll live in the forests. It's all private land. No one patrols here. In Greystoke village is a train line. We'll dress like we're tourists from London and take the train right into Piccadilly. From there we go underground and on to victory."

He was about to explain the escape route, but for nearly the first time since they met, a huge grin formed on the girl's mouth, "Oh, I like this already."

Helmut was confused, "How do you know? I'm not done yet. I haven't shown you the way out."

She ignored the commander and pointed, "Do you see that Castle there?"

Helmut was even more confused, "Castle Greystoke? That's not the target."

The girl insisted, "Oh, but you are so wrong, Oberstleutnant. The Castle is our first target after going ashore. I have revenge to extract here. We slit everyone's throats there before we go on to London."

Helmut couldn't follow her, "I don't understand your fascination with this family. Count Clayton is just a civilian businessman. A shipping magnate.

The head of their intel Johann added, "Who just so happens to also be a big arms supplier to their War Department."

The girl appreciated her colleague's intentional help, "So… why then is Count Clayton not a target? He manufactures and transports stuff to kill our fellow Germans."

Helmut warned, "Any attention and activity further away from the main target will ruin the op. Do you want them to chase us all the way from Scotland into the sewers of London?"

The young woman explained, "I assure you we'll attract no attention. No one lives within miles of the Castle, and when their bodies are found, we'll already be in London. I told you our specialty is to do things that never get found out. We can even make it look like an accident, or foul play from within the family. The Clayton's still have plenty of enemies."

"How do you know that?" asked the Abwehr team leader.

The woman stated seriously, "Because I make it my business to know about the Clayton's."

"How are you going to do this? It's a castle with dozens of rooms. You don't know anything about Castle Greystoke, and I am not going to waste time – or money - on getting the plans for that. This is not one of our objectives. Accept it."

"Oh but I know every room in that castle, because when I was a little girl, I visited the Castle with my mother. I know Greystoke. I played with the Clayton children."

"Why kill them? You sound like you're family. Or at least friends."

The girl shouted, "Never! I always hated them even though I pretended to be friends with them. It was all a ruse to gain their trust. They had everything in life. Family. Friends. Money. A big place to live. Riches beyond measure. I have had nothing, and one of them caused me to have nothing. Every day of my life has been to someday take revenge. This is that 'someday'."

"I don't understand," puzzled Helmut.

Yetty stated with a cold admission, "Count Jack Clayton murdered my father, Karl-Heinz."