February 9, 1942

I crept along the wharf, trying to stick to the shadows, which was really not as hard as it might sound. Twilight was waning, the sun all but gone beyond the horizon over Jersey, and to the east the first stars were rising. Darkness was swiftly surrounding me, more so thanks to the crates and boxes that are always piled high about the Brooklyn Navy Yard.

Still, I edged along as quietly as my feet would carry me. The old wood underfoot was slick with dew and slime and rotting away. The air was thick with the tangy taste of salt as the tide was coming in and dragging a thin fog in its wake. A cool mist swirled about my ankles sending a shiver racing up my spine with each and every step. Somewhere in the harbor a foghorn bellowed, sounding like a lost soul at the gates of Hell.

My thin gray trench coat, though fashionable did little to keep me warm. My entire wardrobe in fact was meant to battle terror more than to battle the common chills. My black jodhpurs were of a thin and stretchy material, tucked neatly into my knee high black leather riding boots; good against rain perhaps, but naught against New York's blustery winters. I wore a long gray belted tunic beneath my coat, and though the material was a little thicker than my trousers, still it did little more than chafe against my nipples with my every movement. My black leather gloves and long muffler were actually the only truly winter garments that I wore. The thick white scarf was wrapped snugly about my lower face, disguising my looks as well as keeping the cold out, the opera gloves pulled all the way up to my elbows and providing some protection. Finally, my wide brim hat of black leather kept most of the mist out of my eyes, and hid my long dark tresses while casting my face in shadows. But it did little to keep my head warm, and I could already feel my head bogging with a case of the sniffles.

I looked good, creeping along the docks like a thief in the night- very mysterious and stylish. Unfortunately, or perhaps luckily, there seemed no one about to appreciate me, however. In the distance I could see the flicker of welding torches, as one of the round-the-clock work crews began a new shift. For the past month the Brooklyn Docks had been a non-stop flurry of activity as men and women alike worked frantically to upgrade the outdated and small American Fleet of ships stationed in the area.

I had learned in my alter ego, my true guise of Lisa Lord; ace radio reporter for a great metropolitan station, of a shipment of weapons that was due to arrive in New York. Of course, said weapons were not to arrive through the usual channels, or even in the light of day. It was an illegal shipment, destined for the greedy, sweating hands of the Third Reich and their American based saboteurs and sympathizers, the Bund. My stoolie gave me the low down; the ship and berth, and a rough estimate of the time. In the dark of night, of course. That's how their kind operates. So I crept along the Cunard Line Docks, slipping from shadow to shadow, watching the steady flow of ships coming and going through New York Harbor and the Hudson River. If my quarry liked to operate in the shadows of night, well, they would find the Lady Shade waiting for them!

Still, I'll be the first to admit that after a few hours of creeping about in the cold, some of the excitement that I had been feeling had worn off. I had been up and down the Cunard Line and the French Line wharves alike several times, almost getting spotted by workers in the process with no luck whatsoever. Every ship that docked seemed on the up and up, and though I was not expecting the smugglers to be flying the Swastika, not a one was even slightly suspicious. I was beginning to think that my 'source' had gotten his wires crossed in the information he had given me.

I settled in among the boxes and crates lining the old docks of the French Line. I was tired, as it was near midnight, three hours past my rendezvous with the Bund smugglers. Boredom was settling in, and I was getting sleepy and colder by the minute. I could not even imagine the temperature, but was not surprised to see flows of ice drifting lazily in the river's current. I turned my collar against the cold and curled up to wait. One more hour…

I woke with a start to a crash and clatter somewhere beyond my line of sight. I looked around blearily, knuckling the sleep from my eyes and shivering, forgetting for the moment where I was and wondering why I was so cold. My mission came back to me in a flash however when I heard the sound of raised voices arguing in barely constrained whispers not so far from my hiding place. Cautiously I raised my head and peered over the top of the crates that I was using for cover.

About a dozen feet away on the other side of the dock I saw a group of five people nestled in and about a stacking of boxes not unlike my own. Like myself they were dressed in fairly dark colors, though not nearly so fashionably as I. There were four men, all big and burly dressed in black work slacks and dark sweaters or thick coats and wearing knit caps that looked to be deliciously warm. Apparently in charge, much to my surprise, was a woman. She was perhaps the tallest woman I had ever seen, towering over all of her subordinates, and I would best describe her as statuesque I suppose. Even from my distance I could see her tight black leather trench coat straining to hold her bosom in check, all buttoned up and tightly belted. She had an exaggerated hourglass figure, amplified by the confines of her coat, and dwarfed me in every measurement. Worse, she had a striking beauty about her face as well. I could see that she wore no facial make-up of any sort, and the chill night air gave her skin a pale shining quality that was enhanced by a faint rosy blush in her cheeks. Her hair was jet black and glistening with a sheen of dew reflecting the flickering lights that were scattered along the docks. She looked almost cruel the way she had it pulled back into a tight bun.

Perhaps I was still sleepy, or maybe I am just a little slow on the uptake, but I slowly put the clues together; The trench coat, the high-heeled jackboots, the arrogant domineering look about her. These had to be the Bund smugglers. As if I needed anymore hints, the clincher came when the amazon reared back and slapped one of her flunkies, the one who had dropped the smashed box lying at their feet I imagined. She snarled something that was most definitely not English, and the poor man's head snapped back from the force of her blow before he went sprawling to the slick and dirty wood.

I blinked, watching in awe as the woman strode over to where the man lay moaning and massaging his jaw. I gasped as she twisted a leather-gloved fist into the lapel of his pea coat and effortlessly hoisted him to his feet, and beyond. He dangled before her, kicking his legs uselessly at the end of her outstretched arm and she just smirked at his futile struggles. She shook him until the man hung still, then brought his face up close to her own.

Deutsche was not a prerequisite for journalism at university, but perhaps it should have been. Had we known that history was going to repeat itself some twenty years after Germany tried to once conquer the world, perhaps we would all have learned the tongue with a little Japanese and Italian thrown in for good measure. As it were I recognized a few of the words she was 'sprechen-ing' learned from news reels and bad movies, and even an idiot could tell that she was berating her underling. She was a real piece of work, all right.

Her ranting however gave me a chance to move closer, and before long I was within earshot, and striking distance as well. I was not really sure if I was ready to take on a group of saboteurs yet, and better instinct was telling me that I should high tail it out of there and find a cop, or at least a burly group of men of my own. I would feel a little better with a few dockworkers at my back, but my nose for news would not let me move away, and my curiosity was getting the better of me. I suspected then and there that while these were indeed a group of Nazi sympathizers of some sort, they were not gunrunners as I originally thought. The contents of the shattered box on the ground was not weapons, but rather a bundle of sticks and wires that looked curiously like a bomb. I swallowed, wondering just what they were up to.

At that point, the amazon let the man drop to the ground, giving him a kick in the rumble seat as he bent over to pick up what he had dropped. They were definitely up to no good, and as I watched they gathered their sneaky composure and began creeping along again heading towards a gangway in the misty distance. I inched after them, glancing up as I went and realized that we were all in the shadow of the ocean liner, the Normandie. It was a huge passenger ship that had been docked at the Brooklyn Navy Yard since the fall of France in 1940 and was currently undergoing a transformation, being refitted as a much needed air craft carrier to take the war back to Hitler and Tojo. Putting two and two together, it was not hard to realize what my German friends were up to then. I had to act fast!

The odds were against me, I knew, but one thing in my favor was my little bag of tricks. I was a far cry from Felix the Cat, but I had a small arsenal of toys in my repertoire courtesy of my dear old granddad. Grandpa Jake was a tinkerer at heart, and he loved to putz around in his basement workshop trying to invent the next great American luxury. Most of his inventions were disasters, but he has created a few things that have helped me out in the past. Not the least of which is his patented 'Shade Grenades'. Well, he called them smoke bombs, but that was hardly a worthy name for my purposes. More compact than a regulation military grenade, they work on the same principal releasing a blinding smoke to confuse the enemy. Unfortunately, the smoke would most often befuddle the attacker as well, unless they had a pair of red-lensed goggles like myself. Another of Granddad's inventions, the goggles allows one to see the world as glowing blobs of heat. Myself, I do not understand the science of it all, but it works.

I slipped the goggles into place from where they were hidden beneath the folds of my thick muffler then reached into one of the many pockets lining the inside of my long coat where my array of weapons are stored. I produced one of the Shade Grenades and gave the head a twist, priming it before letting it fly. It clattered across the dock, causing my enemies to pause and stare trying to see what had caused the commotion. They were all staring wide-eyed at my little present when it sparked and started spewing out billowing clouds of noxious smoke. I took my cue and sprang into action.

I ran forward as the clogging cloud of smoke swirled and thickened about my confused enemies. I could hear the men babbling and shocked, but the woman was shouting a steady stream of curses and orders, trying her best to control the situation. I had to take her out quickly, and was reaching for another weapon even as I plunged into the darkness.

I pulled out my Gyro Pistol, which did not shoot Greek sandwiches, but rather little mini-torpedoes of various design. Granddad's original idea was a labor saving device that would shoot out small spirals of cord to be used in places like the docks, coincidentally. The cord, another invention of his, was a blend of copper wire, cotton and nylon compressed into a capsule that was released and expanded when fired from the gun, operating like a South American Goucho's bola to wrap about its target. He had envisioned the cord securely binding boxes and crates for transport. I use it to bind my enemies. I call it a Bola Bullet.

I fired the pistol at the first blurry heat source I saw, already reloading as the cord wrapped about my target and firing again as he cursed and slumped to the docks. A second string of curses set me to smiling as I charged through the dark fog, giving my first target a healthy kick upside the head to send him to La-La Land. I literally stumbled over my other victim and dropped a quick knee between his legs, shutting him up with a high pitched squeal. I had quickly increased my odds within the space of a few seconds, now facing a three to one deficit. I was loading another Bola Bullet into my gun when I felt an anvil come crashing down on the back of my head.

My arms and legs went numb as I crumbled to the docks, my gun clattering away into the darkness. My head was spinning, and I could not quite focus as a blurry red image filled my field of vision. From my knees however I could make out the lines of the Nazi woman's legs just inches from my face. I looked up to see her standing over me, a fuzzy giant mass of swirling reds and orange. I could not move as I saw her hand come into focus, felt it snag my collar and draw it tight as it had her flunky just minutes before. I felt myself hauled roughly to my feet, and then into the air, her grip almost strangling me as my coat gathered about my throat. I kicked and struggled, but she simply laughed at my efforts.

The woman's fingers slipped beneath the strap of my goggles and a second later I felt them ripped from my head, sending my wide-brimmed hat sailing away in the process. Instantly my eyes clouded and started to water even though the smoke was thinning in the chilly breeze. I tried to focus as I struggled and saw evil incarnate staring back at me, leering at me with a devious glee. She chuckled, her gaze almost raping me as she gave me the once over.

"What have we here then?" she sneered, her voice deep and gruff, her English thick. "A little bird fluttering amongst the eagles. Who are you, Mädchen?"

I gasped in her grip, and the amazon laughed apparently not really expecting me to answer. I could not draw a decent breath, and she knew it. My vision was graying; little dots of light exploding as I struggled for air. Futilely I kicked out and beat my puny fists against her massive chest. It was like hitting stone and just made her laugh all the harder. I saw her arm draw back, her hand curling into a fist. Then suddenly every thing went black…

February 10, 1942

Waking was a struggle. My head felt as though someone had been pounding on it with a sledgehammer, and my right eye was throbbing in rhythm to my heartbeat. I tried to open my eyes, but at first it hurt too much, the light of wherever I was making me squint and cry. My right eye was swollen shut I soon discovered.

I shook my head, trying to clear it of the cobwebs it had gathered while I slept. I tried to focus on my surroundings, but it was bright and strange and hard to do. I was sitting up, almost bolt upright, an odd position for sleep, in what felt to be a rickety wooden, ladder back chair. My arms were stretched behind me, again an odd sensation, and I quickly discovered that they were locked into place, held fast by coils of rope that were also wrapped about my body from my chest all the way to my ankles. I moaned, more in frustration than pain, and quickly surmised that I had been gagged as well.

My moaning had attracted the attention of one of my captors and I felt the Nazi's slimy fingers grip my chin. He turned my head from side to side as he peered at me intently, then nodded, shouting out something in German. A moment later I was surrounded by three of my assailants, the big woman towering over the two men as they hunkered and leered at my helpless body. I felt as though I was on display as the woman barked some order that sent the men scurrying away, one rushing out the door, leaving us alone.

"So, Fräulein…" she sneered, "It appears that the hunter has become the hunted. You have fallen before the might of the Valkyrie, as will all of your fool countrymen and any that dare oppose the glorious Third Reich!"

'The Valkyrie!' I thought. Was that what she was calling herself? A silly name I thought at first, but then I figured that I was hardly in a position to compare apples and oranges. I tried to stare daggers of hatred at the woman, but With only one eye working I assumed that it must look pretty pathetic as she did not seem impressed.

She gestured behind her and I saw my coat and muffler tossed casually over a box in the corner. She, or more likely one of her lackeys, had stripped me of my costume, and thus my weapons. I mmmphed into my gag, telling her that I was quite annoyed, but she just chuckled.

"An impressive set of toys." She sniggered, ignoring my complaints. "Truly. I suspect that many of der Führer's scientists will be quite interested in seeing them when I return to the Fatherland."

I writhed in my bonds, grunting in anger and frustration as the ropes held fast despite my struggles. My fingers stretched and probed at the knots binding the cords that held my crossed wrists bound behind my back. They were tight, and tantalizingly within reach. Not enough it seemed to get a solid grip, however, and my fingers were tingling with numbness from their tightness making escape all the more difficult. My arms hurt from being immobile and pulled back behind the chair. I could feel the tautness of another line connecting my wrists to one of the struts attached to the legs beneath me, actually wrapped about it and then tied off to another set of ropes binding my ankles. Pulling on my wrists seemed to draw my feet under the chair, and vice-versa. I was in a sort of loose hog-tie wrapped about the ladder back chair. My legs were bound together above my knees, though not too tightly, and a ridiculous amount of rope was intertwined about my chest, above and below my breasts, and around my upper arms and the back of the chair. The result was that I was forced to sit upright and face my captor. I was stripped to my tunic and jodhpurs, though oddly my boots and gloves had been left on. Their mistake…

The woman grabbed a handful of my hair and jerked my head roughly back. Against my better judgement I let out a muffled whimper of pain. It hurt!

"There is no escape, Mädchen!" she said, giving my head a shake before letting me go. "When this scow sinks, you will be its first casualty." I stared wide-eyed at her words, and took my first real look at my dim surroundings. I was in a small room with dingy walls that appeared to be made of metal and painted in a dull green. There was light seeping in a small round window set in one wall, and I immediately recognized it for a porthole. The one door in the room was standing ajar, and I could see that it too was metal and thick with a wheel crank set about in the middle and locking clamps along the edges. There were boxes piled up in the far corner where one of her flunkies was fiddling with a big alarm clock strung with a thick wad of wires that were attached to a bundle of sticks. Dynamite! A bomb!

I screamed into my gag, feeling the cloth clogging my mouth and pressing my tongue down, the packing held in place by a scarf tied tightly behind my head and prying my lips apart. My loudest protests were little more than muffled grunts of anguish. The Valkyrie slapped me and I shut up quick enough.

"That is right. Fritz is setting a bomb, identical in every respect to three others being placed about the ship. Soon, within the hour, the Normandie will be little more than a sunken hulk in New York's harbor, a crippling blow to the laughable American war effort. When it explodes and sinks, I expect it will take a goodly number of people along with it, as the docks are filling with patriots as we speak. Many of your most famous citizens gathering for a war bond rally to honor a fallen movie star. Foolish, but it serves my needs."

It took me a moment, but finally I realized just what she was talking about. I recalled that indeed a rally had been scheduled in the Navy Yard to honor Carole Lombard who had died in a plane crash just a few weeks before. Celebrities from all over were scheduled to appear, including Abbot and Costello, Cary Grant, and Clark Gable who had been Lombard's husband, and most importantly- at least in New York terms- Fiorello LaGuardia, the Mayor of New York City. If he were to die, well, God knows what might be the result. I just had to stop this. I had to get free!

The Valkyrie turned back issuing orders to her lackey, and I took the opportunity to work on my bonds. They were tight, but not so tight that I could not maneuver a bit. It would take some doing, a little strain on my part, but I was sure that I would be able to get at the ropes on my wrists, if I had the time and privacy to do so. When the Nazi turned her attention on me again I gave her the best hang dog look that I could muster, hoping that she would think that I had accepted my fate and was giving up the good fight. It was all an act of course, but I was hoping she was too arrogant to realize that.

I sighed, letting my body sag in the chair as she gloated, then quickly became bored. I thought she might get her jollies by smacking me around for awhile, but luckily Fritz sauntered up and informed her that his bit was done. The bombs were set and counting down, set to go off at noon. I glanced at the clock ticking away on the far side of the room and saw that I barely had thirty minutes to live.

The Valkyrie barked a few more orders in her native tongue and Fritz swiftly gathered up their gear and bustled out of the room. With a smirk she gave me a final condescending look and without another word, turned on her heel and left. The great iron door slammed shut, and I saw the wheel spin tight, heard the squeal of metal as the locking pins were set in place. I was locked in, bound and gagged, and apparently doomed. My future looked bleak as the clock clicked away, ticking off the remaining seconds of my life...

When the door slammed shut I noticed right off that the Nazi woman had forgotten my coat with all its hidden weapons. Not that they could do me any good as they were all resting on a box on the far side of the room, well away from the chair that I was securely bound to. Still, I was not worried just yet. The ropes binding me in place were tight, but not constricting. I had my movement, to a point, and I had a trick or two up my sleeve.

Or, rather, down my boot. It took a few tries, as a strut for support blocked the area below the chair and my bonds were wrapped about said strut to better hold me in place, but in the end this worked out in my favor. It was a strain, and hurt like the dickens, but I edged my bound ankles back, swinging them over and over, catching the toes on the rough floor with each return arch. Each time my feet rested a little further beneath the chair until finally my legs were limber enough to try and make a real move. Gritting my teeth, straining my muscles, I forced my legs even further back, folding them beneath the seat of the chair as I pulled back on my wrists. This kept the rope taut and helped me to pull my feet back and over the strut that ran beneath the chair helping to keep the chair legs solidly standing. I hooked my toes over the strut, wincing at the sudden pressure but elated at the sudden slack that developed in the cord connecting my wrists to my ankles.

I sagged in the chair then, slumping down as far as the ropes holding me to the back would let me. My arms hung low, and I could scratch the surface of the floor had I wished, but that was not my intent. I twisted my arms back, my fingers inching along the rope connecting my wrists and ankles, dragging my hands beneath the chair and holding the rope to keep them there. It was an odd angle to be in, and it hurt, but I struggled on. My fingertips brushed the leather of my heels and I knew that I was almost there. I squirmed, cursing in my gag as I forced my body into an even more convoluted shape, my fingers inching along the leather of my boots. I looped my finger through the hitching strap sewn into the side of my boot and rested for a moment, glancing at the clock. Ten minutes had almost passed since I had been left alone.

I sighed, sweat beading on my brow and trickling down my back. Strange to think that not too long before I had been freezing. Now I was burning up, and I even feared that I had a fever. I gritted my teeth around my stifling gag and began my efforts anew.

I inched up the leg of my leather riding boot, finally feeling the top and grabbing hold. My whole body seemed to cramp up as I relaxed, my grip pulling on arms and leg alike as I unclenched my straining muscles. I breathed deeply, slowly as I probed for what I hoped was still hidden within the slim pocket on the inside of the leg of the boot. And it was. My fingers brushed the hilt of the small knife secreted there, all but forgotten and apparently hidden from those that would do me harm. I slipped the slim blade from its sheathe and let go of my boot, letting my strained arms and legs snap back into a more relaxed and natural position. It was both agony and ecstasy as my muscles screamed in delight. I did not care, focusing all of my attention on hanging onto the blade that I had fought so hard to retrieve.

I rested as long as I thought I was able as time allowed, waiting for my muscles to stop throbbing and cramping. I repositioned the knife in my hand, angling it as best as I could. I say knife, but it was really little more than a glorified nail file sharpened to a fine point with a dull flat surface that I called a hilt. Still, I had secreted it away for just such a contingency, after my first fiasco of a case against the Madison Square Hangman. I deemed that it would be wise to have a knife or blade handy should I ever find myself bound again, and oddly, that seemed a regular part of all my cases since.

I put the blade to the rope, sawing away at the cord that first connected my wrists to my ankles. I was delighted when after only three quick thrusts, the rope fell away and I was able to lower my feet to the floor once more. I moaned in pleasure as the muscles in my legs uncoiled and I was able to sit up in the chair again. With my limbs no longer connected, it was a simple matter to reverse the angle of the blade and apply it to the cords encircling my wrists. I was thankful that the Valkyrie had not thought to use my own Bola Bullets to bind me, as my poor knife would never have cut through that copper-laced cord.

I nicked my skin several times, as I am no 'Miss Houdini', but after a few minutes of diligent work I managed to saw away enough of the rope that my strength and perpetual tugging snapped the line. With some manipulation I managed to unwind the coils from my crossed wrists and was soon a fraction closer to freedom.

The rest was child's play for me. With my hands free I was able to force the ropes about my bosom up and over my head, finally slumping down and out of the coils in the end. The Valkyrie's biggest mistake was letting her men do the binding. Deep down, I think they considered me a mere helpless woman, so the ropes were not quite as tight as they would have been had the Nazi amazon done the tying herself. Also, the men I think were more intent on fondling my breasts than binding them. Their mistake, but I was not complaining.

It was a simple matter then to slit first the ropes binding my thighs, and then the ropes about my ankles. It was done far swifter than it takes to tell of it, and within moments I had removed my gag and was gathering my belongings and staring at the clock on the far side of the room. I barely had two minutes before noon and the explosions would start.

I donned my scarf and coat and ran for the door. It was locked of course, and far too thick and strong for anything in my arsenal to open. It would take a blowtorch to crack the metal of the door or the walls even, and more time than I had to spare.

My only other out was the porthole, and I could see with a casual glance that it was far too small for me to squirm out of. I opened it anyway and looked out, hoping that there might be someone on the far side to somehow rescue me. The docks were packed with people; all attending the special war bond drive in honor of Carole Lombard. Above the drone of the crowd I could hear the distinctive voice of Jimmy Durante doing a song, and somewhere in the distance a brass band was keeping time. I could try to scream and shout, but I feared that no one would even hear me, or worse, if they did, would not reach me in time and be caught in the explosions. I was on my own…

I turned back, and saw the clock tick a minute closer to doom when it donned on me. I could not fit through the porthole, but there was easily enough room to fit the clock and dynamite. I had to work fast! In a heartbeat I was across the room, the bomb in hand and running back to the porthole. I felt that I could feel the explosives burning through the leather of my gloves. I was afraid that my movements would set off the bomb prematurely. With my heart in my throat I was almost crying with anticipation, waiting for the alarm to sound my death knell…

I glanced out the window once more, judging the distance to the water and the angle that I would have to throw the bomb. It was a ways, but not beyond my abilities. I hoped that I would succeed, knowing that there were three more bombs on the ship. Knowing that they would all detonate in seconds, and that the Normandie would probably not survive. I just hoped that I would be able to stop a bit of the damage, the catastrophe to come…

I felt the clock tick as I heaved it out and away into space. I heard the alarm start to chime, the small clacker beating madly from bell to bell as the bomb spiraled off towards the river over the heads of the oblivious people gathered on the docks below. I jerked my hand back just as the ship rocked. Far and away the first of the bombs exploded and I was sent stumbling towards the door.

I heard the crowd scream as the bomb I had thrown exploded over their heads. Fire swarmed up the side of the ship, enveloping my view through the porthole. The third bomb exploded and I was sent flying across the room. I vaguely remember seeing the far wall rushing to meet me…

Episode 3: Ente Suppe

The freezing water of the Hudson River woke me to screaming. I stood faster than I should have, I suppose, as my head began to throb and I was quickly reeling. I staggered, trying to get my bearings. My senses were askew as I stared confused at the room about me. It seemed to be on its side, listing even as I pondered my fate. I blinked, feeling my stomach churn with vertigo as I stumbled towards the door. Luck was with me, as the explosions had torn the thick door from its hinges, leaving me an easy exit.

I ran into the tight corridors of the tilting ship. Smoke was billowing madly, and I could see flames in the distance, but I had only one direction that I could go, and that was directly into the thick of things. I surged forward as the great ship shifted, sending me staggering with every step.

I could hear the claxon of bells echoing, reverberating through the hull of the ocean liner, and I knew that there were people outside trying to contain the blaze. In the corridor, the electric lights were flickering, adding to my confusion. Blood stung my eyes, and I could feel a goose egg growing over my already swollen eye. It was hard to see, and harder to breathe, but I struggled forward.

I came to a stairway at the end of the corridor. Water was pouring in through a gaping hole in the side of the ship, but above I could see the light of day, and knew that I was above the water line. For how long I did not know, but I did not need much time. With the flames licking at my heels and smoke clogging my lungs, I dove into the icy waters without hesitation, swimming for all I was worth towards the great wound in the ship, and freedom.

The ship lurched as I swam struggling through the hole, and I screamed as the wall slammed into my back, dragging me under the water as the liner began to settle and sink. I fought with all my might against the tow, trying to force myself through the hole lest I be sucked under when the ship finally sank fully beneath the waves. Ice bobbed in the water above me, and I could still see the glow of the flames as the great bulk of the ship dragged me under the surface of the Hudson. I pushed and kicked, panic rising in my breast when I felt a hand wrap around my arm, tugging me towards the surface.

I gasped as hands drug me into the open air. Spitting water, I tried to look about and gather my wits, but the world was awhirl, everything happening too fast. There was a man with me in the water, I knew, and he helped me towards a dinghy filled with others that had been floundering in the frigid waters after the disaster. I never saw him again, nor learned his name as I was hauled into the boat, half-delirious, a thick, woolen blanket quickly draped over my shoulders to offer some warmth. The next few minutes were a blur as the boat was steered towards the docks, picking two more survivors from the water in its journey. I saw fire boats hosing down the great ship as it floundered on its side, brave men valiantly trying to douse the fires that raged on board the liner.

Strong arms helped me up a ladder and onto the docks, and once there a doctor looked into my eyes briefly, a calm smile on his lips, before he was called away to tend to a burned sea man. I was left alone, shivering beneath my blanket, watching quietly as pandemonium erupted about me. Bells were clanging in the distance and people were shouting and crying in every direction that I looked. In the harbor, the Normandie still belched smoke and settled a bit more onto the muddy bottom of the Hudson. I wondered briefly if it would fully vanish, as I had no real idea as to just how deep the river really was. It is strange what you think about when the world is going to hell around you.

Someone slammed into my back and I was spun around losing my blanket. I staggered to keep my balance, stumbling in a daze, and when I finally regained my footing I looked up and saw her. She was on the far side of the rushing crowd, but I had no doubt that it was the Valkyrie. She was staring directly at me, a knowing smile playing about her lips. Rage boiled up within me, looking at her conceited smiling face. I did not know how many had died in the sinking of the Normandie, but the destruction itself was enough to set my blood to boiling, and she did not seem to care.

I stumbled forward on wobbly legs that would barely support my weight. I could barely walk, but step by step my pace increased as I shoved my way through the panicked crowd. My hat and scarf were gone, and my identity was evident for all to see but at that point I did not care a fig. There was murder in my heart, revenge driving me forward.

She saw me coming and laughed, and I screamed my rage. I reached into my coat, searching for the gun that had been lost on the docks the night before. The holster was empty, as were most of the pockets lining my coat. My weapons were gone but I pressed forward.

The crowd shifted and I was swept aside in its wake. I heard the hiss of steam behind me as the fiery hulk in the river finally settled, its fires slowly dying in the frigid waters. When I regained control and looked up, the Valkyrie was gone. She had no reason to stay any longer. Her mission was a success. I had failed. In a wave of despair I felt my legs fold beneath me and I collapsed, the world fading gray…black…

February 11, 1942

I folded the Times and set it aside on the stack of papers that Stubby my aide had brought to my hospital room that morning. It had said nothing that I had not already known; the Normandie had sunk after a series of mysterious explosions. Luckily no one had died, and only a few had suffered injuries because of the catastrophe, mostly smoke inhalation and something the doctor called hypothermia from being in the chilly water too long. Frost bite I call it. And shock…

I had told my story to my news director the night before, after I had awakened in a bed in Bellevue Hospital. And though I knew he had believed me, he said I did not have enough credible proof to actually name names and accuse the Nazis of sinking the Normandie. Still, he said that he would follow it up, and as it was, later, it was generally accepted that the catastrophe was a genuine act of sabotage by the Axis. I got little satisfaction from that.

If I had acted faster…

If I had been just a little less cocky…

If I had gone to the police instead of wading into the fray like some radio mystery man, perhaps the whole thing might have been averted and the Normandie would still be afloat.

If, if, if…

The little consolation I had was that the police now wanted the Valkyrie and her henchmen for questioning at least. I had given my descriptions of the group, and we all realized that a woman of her stature could not hope to stay hidden for long. Her time in America was done. Her days were numbered. I only hoped that I would be there in the end, to bring her down myself.

Of one thing I was sure. We would meet again.

With a weary sigh and a slight smile at Stubby who was dozing in a chair by the window I tried to put my anger aside and concentrate on getting better. My soup was getting cold, and there would be time enough for vengeance. Later…