Hi to all of you enthousiastic readers & writers! I've been out for a while due to an accident and some other daily life business, but I hope you're still going to read me and follow my story. I definitedly enjoyed receiving reviews and — especially — useful & encouraging comments. So let's get on with it!
VIII. Risky business
Etta Candy is a miracle, Sameer thought. She must be. Otherwise she never could have organised everything so neatly in such an amazingly short time. He had briefed all of them about his adventures on the Amazon Island and his promise to their Queen. Etta had rolled her eyes, sighted deeply, and set out to work. Red cross diplomatic documents, identifying the three remaining companions as well as five tall women in nurses' attire as members of a Red Cross mission, had been distributed to them. Sameer acted offically as interpreter to the delegation — a classic disguise for uncover intelligence operations. Charlie, in his new capacity of lieutenant of the Gordon Highlanders regiment, was assigned as its guard and was in charge of the military command of the operation, while Napi held the status of the delegation's scout. Etta had safeguarded a passage for them from London, where they had reunited after their disastrously succesful mission behind the German frontlines, back into the war zone, with a mandate to negotiate the exchange of prisoners of war. It was the perfect cover for moving, in this phase of the war, more or less freely behind the lines of both friend and foe, while being able to cross them rather easily. But their real mission was to rescue a mysterious intelligence agent by name of Diana Prince, who gone missing in action behind the German lines.
This Diana Prince had caused a stirr at HQ. The news of the death of captain Trevor was met with distress, but it stood out to reason that he was a war hero whose sacrifice had saved thousands of lives. He would certainly be awarded a high military distinction soon, recognising that fact. His surviving companions on the ultra-secret mission, apparently commisioned by the Chancellor of the Exchequer in person, would equally be rewarded in due time. High Command was, however, far less willing to admit the seemingly crucial part played by an unknown young woman named Diana Prince, who had been spotted only once in Sir Patrick's and Steve Trevor's company at the War Council, but who had been making headlines in the German press while being court martialled for sabotage and espionnage, destroying a huge arms factory, as well as, unbelievingly as it may sound, for the slaughter of the German army's second in command. Her existence could therefore hardly be denied. Mss. Candy had been adament on her inclusion in the statement issued by HQ, claiming that it was her powerful contribution that made the mission into a success in the first place. The hectic, tense atmosphere at HQ and the offices of the War Council after the sudden death of Sir Patrick Morgan didn't help to clarify the issue. Sir Patrick had been found death a week ago in his garden; his heart had exploded in his chest, the doctors said, like if he had been struck by a bold of lightning.
Sameer and his travel companions had disembarked at Nieuwpoort, a small Belgian fisher port in the unoccupied part of the country, that had been tranformed into a strategic asset in the provisioning of the allied armies. It played a crucial rôle in the large-scale inundation that had, by direct order of the Belgian King, in 1914 flooded the area between the final stronghold of the beleaguered Belgian army and the advancing Germans, succesfully stopping them in their tracks. Since four years the Belgians held this part of the frontline, supported by their British and French allies to the South and East.
The small fellowship had halted in Ypres, a medieval town sitting on a ridge in between the inundated plains and the frontline to the South-East, and only recently the scenery for a series of battles só grue some that they might well have been the most horrible thing ever to have been enacted by men's own hand. Poisoned gaz had been used by the Germans to mass murder enemy soldiers in the trenches before even firing one shot. British High Command had thrown in massive numbers of troops from the colonies, hardly blinking an eye at the slaughter of hundres of thousands of youngsters in an attempt to take a strategical ridge near a village called Passchendaele. The British and German armies had been trying to destroy each other for months in the devastated land, with the Allies gaining hardly a mile at the end of the carnage. It was an utterly senseless, boundless, mindless slaughterhouse.
Leaving dumbstruck by the sight of the utter devastation that unfolded before their eyes, the fellowship went mute when they waded through eery mudpits and passed over small passerelles in the fields bordering the city. The old city itself was like a dead corpse, its skeleton arms the remnants of its belltower and its proud hall sticking out empty against the lead-grey sky the squashed helmed head of some gigantic soldier sticking out above the trenches. A deadly silence hung like an invisble cover stiffling every sound.
The small fellowship were now well on their way to the frontline, which still held out but was slowly moving toward the East. The occasional thunder of mortars and machine-gun fire in the distance reminded the companions of the ongoing hostilities. The armistice negotiations had been dragging on while there were rumours about the crumbling of the Eastern front — a massive popular uprising in Russia seemed to have forced the Czarist armies to retreat, giving the Germans some breathing space. It was probably only a matter of days right now, but still many could die within a few days.
Their campfire in a ruined farmhouse gave only limited warmth. A few meager rabbits hung roasting in the fire while the Amazons tried to warm their hands above it. They were battle-hardened, but not used to cold — and not used to the images of utter devastation they had witnessed that day.
"What kind of a war is this?! — the blond-haired, muscled woman's voice was unmistakenly shaking. Her name was Penthesilea, and she was of the royal line. Her voice shuddered with shock and anger. "Are you people totally insane, ridden by Ares's madness to an extend even he could not fathom?" While sitting in the middle of the devastation, it was still said with utter disbelief. The three men watched each other in silence, shrugging embarrassedly. It was utter madness indeed — what else was there to say?
"Explain me again what exactly it is that Princess Diana destroyed?" — The question came from a tall, dark skinned woman who went by the name of Philippus. Sameer had met her already at the Amazon Island. She was one of Themyscira's top military commanders, and he knew what she was capable of.
"An chemical production plant and arms factory, used to make bombs filled with poisoned gaz, honey" Charlie offered patiently. "You have seen by now what such bombs can do."
Sameer cringed. The dark Amazon slowly rose to her feet, her eyes blazing. Charlie stepped back, his hands before him in a wavering gesture.
"Hey, I'm sorry, it was just a joke, right?"
Philippus glared at him for a long while, and sat down finally without a word. It was tiring to travel with these women, Charlie thought. Not that they were not trustworthy companions, or not beautiful to look at, not at all, they truly were a sight for sore eyes. But they were intimidating, too: Stoic, tall, and deadly serious. Irony seemed to be lost on them entirely. Even Sameer's charm had hardly an influence on them. They never complained about the circumstances, on the contrary; they were hard as nails. And they could speak even more languages than the Sultan did, adding a lot to the credibility of the delegation. But they were so, — so weird: totally committed on one moment; curious and easely excited, or angered, like little children, on the next. Only the Chief seemed to have the power to exert some control over them.
Getting through the lines in order to negotiate the exchange of prisoners of war was risky, all be it not impossible, especially not since they carried a formal mandate to do so, courtesy of the British War Council, another trick up Etta Candy's large sleeve.
The chaos at the front was total, while the will to continue fighting this utterly senseless, dreadfully devastating war had drained out of the men on both sides. The armies basically wanted to go home, and who could blame them? So when the small delegation presented itself around noon on that misty day at the gates of Morbecque Castle, the seat of German High Command, they were allowed in on the basis of their credentials without too much difficulty, and assigned to a middle ranking officer, a talkative and helpful young captain, to go through the practicalities of upcoming prisoner-of-war transfer procedures.
The place was in uproar, so much was certain. Preparations for abondoning the Castle were clearly on their way, but something else was going on as well. Orders were yelled, soldiers were running in all directions; they were organising an emergency squad of some sorts, consisting of a platoon of horsemen and a small armoured vehicle.
"What is going on?" Io's deep voice sounded anxious. The sturdy Amazon blacksmith felt uneasy. She was aware of Diana's presence somehow close-by.
"Do not worry about that, nurse," the German captain charged with looking after them told her reassuringly. "It's a manhunt, they go after an escaped prisoner, a war criminal condemned by court martial who shall face ultimate punishement once we've captured her back — and deservedly so."
It was not visible to outsiders, but the three men in the fellowhsip could feel how their female company suddenly froze. Under her nurse's robes, Io's hand glided swiftly towards the sword in the scabbard at her side. A heavy hand gently stopped her movement and she watched into the Chief's friendly face.
"Patience" — his lips hardly moved. She gave in reluctantly.
"A woman?" Charlie spoke with masterfully played incredulity. "What did she do? How did she escape?"
"She's a saboteur and a spy, and not to be underestimated; she killed many in battle. She fled on horseback to the West, but they'll capture her soon enough — I heard she's seriously wounded. But all of that is none of your concern. Let's see you to the mess for lunch, and then start our work on organising the prisoners exchange. Come on now, we have a lot of work before us!"