WW2 Spy Stories:- Operation Eagle Talon (Adlerkralle)

[hshws]

In this companion piece to Operation Foxley, we switch the action to the Nazis. It is the 16th October 1941and SS operative Germano-Brit Gloria Vossler-Stanhope, now Gerdur Fleischer, is preparing to drop into southern England. It is the height of the blitz and under the cover of a dawn bombing raid Gerdur has been ordered to infiltrate London to assassinate British Prime Minister Winston Churchill. Following the failure of the Luftwaffe to break the RAF to pave the way for Operation Sea lion, German high command as decided that a more surgical strike is needed to bring Britain to her knees in one swift stroke. Armed with a prototype weapon and her piano wire garrote, Gerdur is determined to serve the fatherland and erase the last vestiges of her past. This is her story...



Luftwaffe He111, 15,000ft above Kent, South East England, Tuesday 16th October 1941 05:00am



Over the dull drone of the bombers engines, SS Untersturmführer Gerdur Fleischer took out her prototype suppressed luger handgun ejecting the 8 round magazine checking the inside thoroughly before reassembling and carefully holstering the weapon. During her training she was made well aware of the notorious hair trigger of the gun and didn't want to be one of the poor fools who had accidently killed themselves with their own firearm. Why they couldn't suppress the Walther P38 is anyone's guess? It's a much superior gun. During her briefing, Gerdur had been told that the gun was unique based off the captured British Welrod pistol that had been supplied to the french resistance. Herr Himmler thought it would be fitting to use it to kill Churchill with. At 24, Gerdur Fleischer was once Gloria Vossler-Stanhope the daughter of a German noblewoman, Helga, who had been a supporter of the party since it's inception and her father, Paul a British diplomat. Gloria was born in Berlin and had never been to the British Isles and as soon as the Führer had risen to power, her parents marriage soured. Gloria's insipid father begged his family to come with him back to England, but her mother and she were ardent supporters of the new fatherland and steadfastly refused. Paul went back to England and her mother married a senior party member as a show of loyalty to the new regime. Gloria herself, threw off her mongrel name and fully Germanicised her identity then she joined the SS. But even it still wasn't enough, she had been passed over for promotion by her rival Yuliya Von Krieger, Herr Himmler's favourite. "Enschuldidung Untersturmführer , but we are nearing the drop zone." Came the voice of a young Unteroffizier, dressed in a beige flight suit and flight cap who had appeared in front of her.


Flashing the man a smile, Gerdur gently got to her feet steadying herself against the planes fuselage as it rocked from turbulence and the roar of British AA outside. As she did so she caught her reflection in the planes perspex window, liking what she saw. While not a blonde haired, blue haired Aryan Gerdur was still an attractive heart shaped brunette with piercing green eyes and her light brown locks tied into the sensible bun under her bowled helmet. Her athletic toned figure hugged by SS battledress and Fallschirmjäeger coat. "Apologies for the chop tonight, meine daim . The englanders are spitting up fire at us. I haven't seen this bad in a while." The man shouted of the din pressing open the bomb bay doors. Gerdur shook her head, feeling the cool morning breeze on her face. "So much for Herr Meyer's assurances that the RAF would be wiped out in a month." The crew of the bomber laughed. "Yes well, with all due respect to the reichsmarshall. He talks out his arse sometimes. Ah, it's gone green. Good luck Untersturmführer . Bring glory to the fatherland, Heil Hitler!" The man snapped off a quick party salute which Gerdur returned. "Heil Hitler! She cried before leaping into the cool British morning.


3km West of the Village of Coxheath, Kent, South-East England 05:15am


20 year old Philippa Gregory leaned low on her bike, hiding from the fleet of German bombers as they flew overhead the loud drone of their engines getting lower and lower in pitch. Looks like their going to hit London again, the bastards. I hope the ack ack gets some of them. As a former student turned land girl, Philippa's rounded attractive features, shallow features and brown almond shaped eyes drew many admirers particularly from the young men of the village and to her surprise even other women. Her short dark brown curls bunched around the shoulders. Philippa's youthful toned figure, honed by hard graft on the farm was hugged by a black long sleeve buttoned shirt, bottle green dungarees and matching wellington boots just below her knee. She sighed. Well the shows over, I better get to the farm. I don't want to be late again, my knuckles are still raw after the rapping i got from old farmer Giles yesterday. Wait? What's that a parachutist? Phillipa watched as a lone figure descended from the dawn sky on a cream coloured parachute, coming to land in a nearby clearing. They could be one theirs or maybe one of ours. Either way they might need help. Straddling her bike, Phillipa peddled quickly to the scene.


When she arrived, Phillipa found the line figure crouched with her back to her rolling up their parachute. She was surprised that the figure was small and had a feminine shape. Getting off her bicycle she approached the helmeted woman. "Um, Hello? Are you one of ours or one of theirs. Do you need help?" She spoke slowly and deliberately the crouched figure freezing at the sound of her voice. Suddenly the woman, wearing a German uniform whipped around drawing a strange looking gun aiming it at her head. Phillipa gasped in shock. The young German smiled. "Theirs, my dear." She replied with a smile squeezing the trigger. Before Phillipa Gregory could scream for help, she felt a brief pain her head snapping back then she felt nothing at all. Her corpse falling to the grass without a sound.


Looking at the still smoking gun, Gerdur nodded impressed. So it really does work, I half expected it to blow up in my face. Still, the stupid girl didn't know what hit her. Although had I the chance I would have garroted her, but no matter it was a clean death and her clothing is unsullied. Let's have a closer look. Rushing to the dead girls side, Gerdur caressing the lapel of her shirt. Hmm? She's just my size. Her clothes will make for a good disguise to blend in until I find another that will get me to London. While the bicycle will make for convenient transportation. Searching the girls pockets, she found her ID papers. "Phillipa Gregory, 20, and a land girl. Perfect." She looked at the girls pretty face, somewhat marred by the neat hole drilled into the centre of her forehead by the Luger. She gently stroked the girls cheek, closing her open accusing eyes." Come my dear Phillipa, time to make yourself useful to me." Taking the dead girl by her ankles, Gerdur dragged her into the ditch.


After shedding her coat and SS uniform, Gerdur now dressed in only her cream cotton slip and high waisted briefs began to strip the dead Philippa Gregory. Starting first with the wellington boots, Gerdur pulled them off her feet along with her white socks before unfastening her dungarees at her shoulders peeling the garment down Phillipa's slim toned athletic legs, exposing a pair of low cut white cotton briefs protecting her modesty. Then she unbuttoned the dead girls shirt revealing young c-cup breasts enveloped by a matching bra. Leaning the girls body next to her, Gerdur slipped off the shirt from her shoulders admiring the girls toned athletic body. Farming seems to have agreed with her. Phillipa's body is well honed, she's taken good care of it. Still, she had what I needed. Collateral damage, nothing more. She's the first but by no means the last. Letting the scantily clad dead girl flop back into the ditch, Gerdur quickly got dressed in her stolen clothes then switched the photos in their ID papers.


When she was finished, Gerdur cocooned the dead British girl in her parachute along with her German uniform lashing them with the cords. Then using a shovel she has found in a pack on the girl's bicycle, dug a shallow grave in the ditch burying Phillipa's corpse and concealing the evidence of her crime. Climbing out, Gerdur straddled the girls bike and seeing a village further down the path in a small valley she peddled towards it.



The Village of Coxheath, Kent, 06:15am


Entering the sleepy village of Coxheath, Gerdur found the place to be almost deserted which didn't bode well for the next phase of her operation. Cycling to the village square, Gerdur stopped across the road from a public house named rather quaintly The Dog and Trumpet, the sign; a spaniel playing a brass trumpet blew in the morning breeze. She then pondered her next move I will need a change of clothes and some faster transportation, if I'am to reach London. According to intelligence he likes to tour the bomb sights... The sound of two motorcycles from her right, broke Gerdur from her thoughts. Looking up she noticed two young women's auxillary park in front of the pub. They were both dressed in green field jackets, with their insignia on their lapels and ranks on their sleeves, matching trousers with brown leather riding boots, gloves and caps. Underneath which was a light green shirt with ties. The woman on the left, the single inverted chevrons on her sleeves removed the Google's from her eyes turned her friend, corporal. "Right, Imogen. I'am going to pop into the pub to the little girl's room before I drive up to London. Those latest raids have hit London hard." Imogen nodded. "No worries, Beth. I have to be in Maidstone in the hour to deliver these messages to the radar station there. We can meet up later here for a drink?" Beth smiled. "Alright, love. Have a good one, see you later." She revving up her engine, disappearing down the road. Switching off her bike, Beth took off her riding cap revealing honey blonde hair done up in bunches as she walked into the pub.



Gerdur smiled as the young women's auxillary got off her back. She's definitely my size and that is very nice triumph motorcycle. That woman's uniform and motorcycle will get me to London without much fuss. Feeling the reassuring weight of her garrote in her pocket and savouring the anticipation of the kill, Gerdur followed the woman inside.


The Dog and Trumpet Womens Toilet, 06:22am


24 year old Lance Corporal Elizabeth Langdon let out a long sigh of relief as she emptied the contents of her full bladder into the toilet bowl, her black satin shorts down around her ankles with her uniform trousers, exposing a full clitoris crowned with a trimmed triangle of golden pubic hair. It would be good to get back home to London, I hope the bloody Nazis haven't made too much of a mess. And that George hasn't got himself shot down. Pulling her diamond shaped features into a smile, Elizabeth blinked her big brown eyes hearing the sound of the bathroom door open. "It's okay. I will be right out." She said to the pair of feet who went into the cubicle next door. Shrugging, Elizabeth felt the last of her piss leave her vagina leant across to snatch a scrap of toilet paper. Suddenly she felt a wire loop around her slender neck drawing her up to the right hand side. Struggling Elizabeth desperately tried to pull the cord away but her attacker was much stronger then she, the corporal's legs weakly kicking, the wire digging into the flesh of her throat. Looking up into her attackers eyes, Elizabeth saw the cold dead eyes of the woman full of hatred. And this was the final thing she saw, the young woman felt the sharp crack of her windpipe crushing. Weakly twitching hanging by Gerdur's wire, Elizabeth's half naked body was lowered back onto the bowl unceremoniously with her legs spread wide.



Winding up her wire garrote, Gerdur smiled hopping over the cubicle landing by the half naked body of Elizabeth Langdon. Stripping off her land girl disguise, she admired the clean red cut across the woman's neck left behind by her garrote, with just the barest minimum of blood. We may say many things about the Bolsheviks but they were certainly on to something with the garrote. A clean death not a crude violent end like a gunshot. Closing the dead woman's lifeless eyes, Gerdur got to work stripping the corpse. First she worked loose the trousers from around Elizabeths ankles, removed the boots then pulled up her underwear, to give her a little dignity in death, then unfastened her jacket slipping the garment from her shoulders. Loosening the tie, Gerdur then unbuttoned the woman's shirt revealing a matching black satin bullet bra enveloping well formed C-cup breasts and tight toned athletic body. Admiring Elizabeth's scantily form sitting prostrate on the toilet bowl, Gerdur quickly dressed in the woman's uniform. When she was finished, the SS assassin climbed up over the cubicle landing on the other side. Finding the dispatch riders riding cap and gloves, Gerdur pulled them on concealing her luger in Elizabeth's handbag before looping it over her shoulder and sweeping from the bathroom, pulling the goggles over eyes.


The Dog & Trumpet Bar 06:30am


"Morning Corporal. Fancy a drink before you shoot off? I have opened the bar early on account of the war and offer a discount to all our fighting men and women." Called the elderly bartender who was the only one in the bar cleaning his glasses, as Gerdur made her way to the entrance. Turning around she flashed a warm to the mine. " I would love to mate. But I have to get these dispatches off to London immediately or else the Prime Minister won't get his morning post over his cuppa." She said over her her. The elderly barkeep nodded. "Well, alright then. It's a three hour drive up the road and I won't keep you. But look us up next time you're in the area?" Gerdur winked falsely. "I might just do that. Thank you. Take care." Walking out of the pub, the German agent straddled Elizabeth's bank switching on the ignition grinning as she felt the soft purr of the Triumph motorcycle between her legs. While I may despise everything about my British identity, there is no denying they make better bikes than us. Throttling the engine, Gerdur pulled out of the main road following the signs to London.


Southwark Docks, South London, 09:35am


It had taken Gerdur over three hours to drive from Coxheath to South London. Using Elizabeth's ID which she had doctored and her orders, she had passed through several checkpoints on the road up from Kent into the capital city. Each of them manned not by professional soldiers but by the boys and old men of the so called "Home Guard". Bah! How does Churchill expect this rabble to hold against a platoon of Fallschirmjäegers? Or a battalion of SS panzer grenadiers? I know the British Expeditionary Force survived Dunkirk but I haven't seen a single soldier. Just these toy soldiers, playing at war. All it took was a wink and a smile, a casual flirt or two and she was through in no time at all. And all need is the right woman's uniform. Once she had arrived in Southwark, Gerdur entered a tavern on the docks called The Dockers Rest deciding if their was any news about Churchill then this would be the best place to hear it. "What can I get you, love? Something hard or something soft?" Asked the portly, moustachioed middle aged barkeep a white apton tied around his bulging belly. Gerdur smiled placing herself on her barstool taking off her cap and gloves. "I will have a pint of Carlsberg, please." The man nodded getting to work pulling the pint. "One Carlsberg coming right up, lass."


"So you're in the Womens Auxiliary? A dispatch rider?" He asked setting the full pint of sparkling amber liquid onto the bar, Gerdur impressed by the heavy frothy head slipped the man two and sixpence from Elizabeth's purse. Taking the cool glass, she took a mouthful savouring the crisp taste before replying. "That's right. I have only just got my uniform and they're sending me into London." The man nodded genially. "Then you might have met my daughter, Elizabeth Langdon? I'am her father, Martin. She's a Lance Corporal like yourself." Gerdur blinked taking another sip of the cool alcohol I thought there was a little family resemblance. Well I might just keep the fact I'am wearing her uniform to my self. "No we've never met. We each run separate roots." She lied over her pint of beer. The bartender shrugged slightly deflated. "Well it doesn't matter. We are all proud of her. So you're heading to London? Did you hear about the latest raid?"


Gerdur leaned against the bar. "I saw the bomber fleet heading towards London, while I was riding to Coxheath. How bad's the damage?" Martin took an empty pint glass rinsing it out. "The Hun hit Smithfield's in Whitechapel on the East End. Damn near leveled an entire street, the poor bastards. Word is that the Prime Minister himself is to tour the bomb sight in the hour and offer some moral support. Yeah right? It's alright for some hiding in a fortified bunker below Downing Street while the rest of us are dying." He added cynically. Gerdur took a measure of her ale, setting it down on the wooden bar. "You don't say. If you ask me leaders should be seen among their people, it makes us all stronger." The barkeep nodded. "Aye, truer words we never spoken. Anyway, he's also going to be rewarding a young woman ARP with pulling a family from the rubble face to face in a photo opportunity." That caught the agents attention, eyebrows raised in surprise. Well, that's a perfect disguise opportunity if I ever heard one. Killing her and taken her uniform will get me close to Churchill to strike. "Sounds like a brave woman, just doing her bit." She replied finishing her ale. "Well I better be off then. I have letters to deliver." Getting off her stool she walked towards the door. "Hold a moment, lass. If you do see my girl then tell her her mum and dad love her and wish her well." Gerdur suppressed a grin. "Of course. You have my world, Martin. Farewell." She said over her shoulder before leaving the pub. Smirking as she passed a propaganda poster entitled Keep mum, she's not so dumb. .


Smithfield's Street, Whitechapel, East End 10:05am


Arriving at the impact sight astride Elizabeth's bike, Gerdur came to a scene of utter devastation. The spires of ruined buildings reaching into the overcast sky like gnarled fingers, bricks and glass strewn about the craters. The square was guarded by British soldiers carrying Mark IV SMLE rifles and Sten sub machine guns, supplemented by black uniformed constables, wearing tin saucer helmets. While emergency workers and civilians worked to pull the dead or dying from the rubble. She was impressed by the resilience of the British people. They have spirit I will gave them that but alone that's not enough. They are still alone in this war and they cannot hope to challenge the might of Adolf Hitler. Once I kill Churchill, they will see that there is only truth and that's the cause of national socialism and they will join us in fighting the international Jewish Bolshevik conspiracy or be crushed under heel. Parking up the bike, she scanned the area for a female ARP Warden.


Sure enough she found her mark after five minutes of searching. There atop a pile of rubble, shifting a pile of rubble to get at a buried figure was a single young ARP Warden. She was a pretty little thing with slightly squared freckled features, high cheekbones and sparkling emerald eyes, her ginger hair tied into a shirt ponytail under the white saucer helmet she wore. A large black W stencilled in the middle. The rest of her uniform that hugged her petite frame consisted of a dark navy blue jacket, black armband on the left sleeve stencilled ARP in white, and matching trousers with black laced ankle combat boots. Underneath which was a light blue buttoned shirt. Hmm? A close enough fit. Her uniform should get me close enough to Churchill. If all goes well then I should be well away and get a change of clothes in the process. I just need to get her alone. From her position, Gerdur noticed a young constable assist the Warden with her work. She noticed the girl sigh as the constable shook his head as he removed a pile of loose rubber. "Damn it, she didn't make it. Must only be about 10 or 11 poor kid." The young constable said as the Warden stormed away. "I don't think I can take much more of this. And I only managed to save that one family. I-i need a smoke." The young woman cried running into a ruined alley, clutching a pack of cigarettes. Gerdur smiled. A opportunity if there ever was one. Making her way across the impact point following the ARP Warden.


Ruined Alley

23 year old ARP Warden and shop assistant Sylvia Farrell sighed as she lent against the ruined wall of number 62, desperately trying to light her cigarette, after what she had seen; the broken body of little Tessa Bennet a girl who she saw skipping on the street corner only yesterday. If I only could save just one more family, I got lucky pulling out the Fishers from number 48 but after pulling out poor Tessa, I don't know if I can do this anymore. And if that isn't enough the PM is coming around on another photo opportunity. Just what everybody needs right now. I know I can't face him right him now, I'am tired and a complete wreck. What I need is a bed. Putting the white stick in her mouth, Sylvia took a long drag, trying to chase Tessa's cold eyes from her mind, looking up to see a pretty brunette women's auxillary approach her.


"Hello there, love. Could I bum a fag from you?" She asked standing opposite her, Sylvia looked her up and down as she took out her packet of camel lights offering her a stick. She doesn't look local that's for sure and what's with the accent? She sounds posh, definitely not from around here. " Sure, in fact I could use the company. My name's Sylvia. " She said lighting the auxiliaries cigarette with a match. The brunette nodded taking a long drag. "Pleased to meet you, Sylvia. I'am Lance Corporal Elizabeth Langdon, women's auxillary. Forgive me for saying so but you look a little harried." She replied blowing out a stream of blue smoke. Sighing Sylvia tapped ash from her cigarette. " You try pulling out kids buried by masonry and brick for five minutes. I'am sure you would feel pretty fucking harried." She answered darkly, taking another long drag. "And to top it all off, the PM could be here any minute. I'am sorry, you're just being polite and you don't need to here me rant. It's just been a long morning. So what brings a member of the women's auxiliary here? Shouldn't you be off delivering dispatches?" Elizabeth grinned a strange look on her face as she regarded the young Warden. "As a matter of fact, I'am here to deliver a message to Mr Churchill. And you're going to help me." Sylvia blinked, a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach. "What do you mean by that? I don't understand."


Sylvia wasn't expecting Gerdur's sudden violent assault. She clamped a hand around the young woman's mouth, stifling her screams of betrayal. "Forgive me Sylvia but you die for a higher cause. Don't struggle, it will be over soon, liebschen ." The young Warden tried to throw Gerdur off but the SS assassin was too well trained and far stronger than she. Placing her hand on the brim of Sylvia's helmet, Gerdur pulled back hard hearing the girl's vertebrae crack with a violent sickening crack her helmets chin strap breaking bone and crushing her trachea. Sylvia suddenly went limp in Gerdur's arms letting out a low muffled rattle. "Shh! It's all over now, Sylvia. You can rest now." Gerdur hissed softly into the dead girls ear dragging her into the ruins of a bombed out house.


Feeling an odd sense of shame, Gerdur draped Sylvia's body over a pile of rubble before shedding Elizabeth's clothes. Dressed only in her underwear, the assassin got to work stripping the young Warden. First unstrapping her helmet, Gerdur noted the bruising around the girls neck that marred her otherwise attractive complexion. After closing Sylvia's cold dead accusing eyes, she unlaced the girls boots pulling them off her small feet along with her white socks. Unfastening Sylvia's jacket Gerdur slipped it from the warden's shoulder then unbuttoned her shirt revealing a hint of small B-cup breasts hidden underneath a blue cotton white lace trim cotton slip, nipples peaking through the thin fabric. Unzipping Sylvia's trousers, Gerdur worked the garment off her slender hips whipping them down her long slender legs in one quick motion, revealing matching high waisted knickers under her slip covering her modesty. Admiring Sylvia's petite scantily clad form, Gerdur quickly dressed herself in the woman's uniform. Once she was finished, the young assassin buried Sylvia's corpse in the rubble concealing her body. Strapping on the stolen helmet, Gerdur chambered a round in her luger then holstered it in her stolen trousers. Steeling herself, she walked from ruined alley leaving Sylvia's corpse to her rest.


Smithfield's Impact Site, 10:20am


As soon as Gerdur had walked back into the ruined street, she noticed two black cars pull up. Emerging from the second car, surrounded by reporters with a single soldier recording the event with a cine-camera was the unmistakeable stout baby faced form of Winston Churchill. A bowler hat perched on his head, the British Prime minister was chomping on a thick cigar as he greeted the crowds, with his iconic "V for victory" gesture. Gerdur was surprised that many weren't cheering, in fact the crowd was quite silent. Next to him was a British army major and an imposing hawk like man, clad in a long black trenchcoat and matching fedora. His eyes were cold scanning the crowd and her for any sign of movement against Churchill. Gerdur's blood ran cold when she saw him. He looks professional and well trained. From the bulge in his pocket I can tell he's armed. I will need to take him out too or I won't survive. Taking her position by the rim of of the crater next to two other emergency workers, Gerdur pulled her stolen helmet low gripping her suppressed luger feeling the reassuring weight in her hand. With a beaming smile, Churchill approached the group with the enthusiasm of a child in a sweet shop.


With a smile, Churchill held out his pudgy hand which Gerdur shook. "So you're the one they are calling the Saint of Smithfields? Pulling people from the rubble in the wake of Herr Hitler's latest gift to the people of this fine city." The assassin gently squeezed his hand just as she was pulling out her luger with the other. "Not exactly, Herr Churchill. I'am here to deliver another message from the führer. Long live the fatherland!" She cried drawing her pistol and pulling the trigger...hearing a hard dry click. What?! A jam?! Scheisser, stupid piece of junk! Working hard to clear the jam amongst panicked cries of "She's got a gun!" Gerdur heard two shots ring out then two stabs of pain in her chest, looking down at her chest she gasped seeing two red holes in her stolen uniform. She looked up in time to see Churchill being bundled into his car, and the dark hawk like figure pointing a smoking nickel plated colt .45 M1911 right at her chest. He fired again. Gerdur screamed in pain as another round hit her again in the chest, sending her tumbling into the crater.



Churchill's bodyguard slid down the rubble strewn crater to where the Nazi assassin lay her blood pooling around her, remarkably she was still alive clutching the suppressed luger that had been her doom. She probably murdered a girl for that disguise. Resourceful I will give her that, but still the enemy. Looking down dispassionately at the pitiful German assassin, the bodyguard raised his Colt .45 to her forehead. The girl coughed up blood, voice wracked with pain. "Long live Adolf Hitler! Long live the Fatherland!" She cried in English. The bodyguard shook his head. "You sound British? It doesn't matter. We don't suffer traitors to live." He replied squeezing the trigger, ending her young life with a loud bang! The girl died without a sound, slumping dead in the centre of the crater, a red hole drilled between her cold dead eyes. Crouching he took the prototype gun, looking it over. "Hmm? Never did rate the luger, jams too often. If you really wanted to kill Churchill, you should have brought British or American, girl." Holstering his sidearm, the bodyguard turned from Gerdur's cooling corpse clambering out of the crater. His duty done.

Another great story! I must say, I did expect the ending to be like this. I mean, a german secret operation succeeding? Completely unheard of. Also, I caught that Göring joke, pretty funny.

The Luger jamming is a bit odd though, I thought they were relatively durable... but either way it was a neat read!

Thanks, I'am glad you enjoyed the story. Yep, I know what you mean, the success of Secret German operations during WW2 was not even 10%. Largely because of the Abwehr working for the British, since Canaris was an ardent anti nazi. Hence the classic joke, the Abwehr being Britain's 4th Intelligence Service. And the Goring boast was a classic, but he always did have that habit of putting his foot in his mouth.


Actually, Luger's had a very bad reputation amongst German Staff Officers. It was plagued by frequent jamming issues, too many moving parts and a hair trigger that killed many officers and allied soldiers alike. Like Gerdur referenced many German officers preferred the Walther P38, far more reliable, sturdy and dependable. The luger was more liked by SS officers.

Intriguing. Well if there's one thing I have in common with them, it's that I prefer the P38 as well, I like the aesthetics of it a bit more than the Luger.

[Stormtrooper1990]

Me too, the P38 has a more elegant design then compared with the Luger. The luger looks like it was welded together, I never really understood why allied soldiers desired it as a war trophy. It's an ugly looking gun and more liable to kill its wielder than the enemy. I actually based the suppressed luger on a real prototype developed by the Abwehr but never saw full scale production, because of the various design flaws.

[hshws]

Me too, the P38 has a more elegant design then compared with the Luger. The luger looks like it was welded together, I never really understood why allied soldiers desired it as a war trophy. It's an ugly looking gun and more liable to kill its wielder than the enemy. I actually based the suppressed luger on a real prototype developed by the Abwehr but never saw full scale production, because of the various design flaws.

If only they had focused more on researching silenced weaponry like Skorzeny suggested. Oh well, probably wouldn’t have made much difference, the allies were lightyears ahead of them.

On a different note, and sorry to bombard you with this again, but since the national holiday for the 1956 revolution will be held on the 23rd of october, I thought I would bring it up:

A while back I suggested an idea in which a former freedom fighter would be recruited by the americans and sent on a mission back to Hungary, where she would eliminate the Ghost of Budapest, killing soviet and knocking out hungarian girls along the way. I was wondering if you would like to write a story based on this or any other '56 related idea, as sort of honoring them. Of course I understand if you have different plans and decide not to do it, but I would most certainly appreciate it.

[Stormtrooper1990]

Me too, the P38 has a more elegant design then compared with the Luger. The luger looks like it was welded together, I never really understood why allied soldiers desired it as a war trophy. It's an ugly looking gun and more liable to kill its wielder than the enemy. I actually based the suppressed luger on a real prototype developed by the Abwehr but never saw full scale production, because of the various design flaws.

If only they had focused more on researching silenced weaponry like Skorzeny suggested. Oh well, probably wouldn’t have made much difference, the allies were lightyears ahead of them.

On a different note, and sorry to bombard you with this again, but since the national holiday for the 1956 revolution will be held on the 23rd of october, I thought I would bring it up:

A while back I suggested an idea in which a former freedom fighter would be recruited by the americans and sent on a mission back to Hungary, where she would eliminate the Ghost of Budapest, killing soviet and knocking out hungarian girls along the way. I was wondering if you would like to write a story based on this or any other '56 related idea, as sort of honoring them. Of course I understand if you have different plans and decide not to do it, but I would most certainly appreciate it.

Instead, it was the British and the Soviets ( more the British) who made the first inroads with suppressed weapons. The Soviets with the Nagant revolver and the British with the Welrod and Sten guns.


I do remember our discussion about the sequel to Ghost of Budapest and it's alright I appreciate you bringing it up.


I have been thinking on this concept in-between my other projects and I have come up with an idea. I was thinking of keeping with the young Hungarian agent as we envisaged, trained by the CIA then dropped back into Hungary, to hunt the Ghost. But to add a little more of a personal stake, she is the younger sister of the resistance fighter that the Ghost killed, so it's part revenge, part justice. She knocks out Hungarians and kills Soviets, for disguises.


Her mission is to kill Sofia before she leaves on a train bound for Moscow, to recieve a medal for her actions during the rising. I could send you a Private Message with the concept and disguise paths, you could look it over and see what you think.

If i start work on the story say 5 days before the 23rd October, than I should have it posted to mark your nations national holiday, or the next day at the latest.

[hshws]

Me too, the P38 has a more elegant design then compared with the Luger. The luger looks like it was welded together, I never really understood why allied soldiers desired it as a war trophy. It's an ugly looking gun and more liable to kill its wielder than the enemy. I actually based the suppressed luger on a real prototype developed by the Abwehr but never saw full scale production, because of the various design flaws.

If only they had focused more on researching silenced weaponry like Skorzeny suggested. Oh well, probably wouldn’t have made much difference, the allies were lightyears ahead of them.

On a different note, and sorry to bombard you with this again, but since the national holiday for the 1956 revolution will be held on the 23rd of october, I thought I would bring it up:

A while back I suggested an idea in which a former freedom fighter would be recruited by the americans and sent on a mission back to Hungary, where she would eliminate the Ghost of Budapest, killing soviet and knocking out hungarian girls along the way. I was wondering if you would like to write a story based on this or any other '56 related idea, as sort of honoring them. Of course I understand if you have different plans and decide not to do it, but I would most certainly appreciate it.

Instead, it was the British and the Soviets ( more the British) who made the first inroads with suppressed weapons. The Soviets with the Nagant revolver and the British with the Welrod and Sten guns.


I do remember our discussion about the sequel to Ghost of Budapest and it's alright I appreciate you bringing it up.


I have been thinking on this concept in-between my other projects and I have come up with an idea. I was thinking of keeping with the young Hungarian agent as we envisaged, trained by the CIA then dropped back into Hungary, to hunt the Ghost. But to add a little more of a personal stake, she is the younger sister of the resistance fighter that the Ghost killed, so it's part revenge, part justice. She knocks out Hungarians and kills Soviets, for disguises.


Her mission is to kill Sofia before she leaves on a train bound for Moscow, to recieve a medal for her actions during the rising. I could send you a Private Message with the concept and disguise paths, you could look it over and see what you think.

If i start work on the story say 5 days before the 23rd October, than I should have it posted to mark your nations national holiday, or the next day at the latest.

Sorry for the late reply, It was getting late and I had to go to sleep. Yes, that sounds perfect, and thanks in advance!

[Stormtrooper1990]

If only they had focused more on researching silenced weaponry like Skorzeny suggested. Oh well, probably wouldn’t have made much difference, the allies were lightyears ahead of them.

On a different note, and sorry to bombard you with this again, but since the national holiday for the 1956 revolution will be held on the 23rd of october, I thought I would bring it up:

A while back I suggested an idea in which a former freedom fighter would be recruited by the americans and sent on a mission back to Hungary, where she would eliminate the Ghost of Budapest, killing soviet and knocking out hungarian girls along the way. I was wondering if you would like to write a story based on this or any other '56 related idea, as sort of honoring them. Of course I understand if you have different plans and decide not to do it, but I would most certainly appreciate it.

Instead, it was the British and the Soviets ( more the British) who made the first inroads with suppressed weapons. The Soviets with the Nagant revolver and the British with the Welrod and Sten guns.


I do remember our discussion about the sequel to Ghost of Budapest and it's alright I appreciate you bringing it up.


I have been thinking on this concept in-between my other projects and I have come up with an idea. I was thinking of keeping with the young Hungarian agent as we envisaged, trained by the CIA then dropped back into Hungary, to hunt the Ghost. But to add a little more of a personal stake, she is the younger sister of the resistance fighter that the Ghost killed, so it's part revenge, part justice. She knocks out Hungarians and kills Soviets, for disguises.


Her mission is to kill Sofia before she leaves on a train bound for Moscow, to recieve a medal for her actions during the rising. I could send you a Private Message with the concept and disguise paths, you could look it over and see what you think.

If i start work on the story say 5 days before the 23rd October, than I should have it posted to mark your nations national holiday, or the next day at the latest.

Sorry for the late reply, It was getting late and I had to go to sleep. Yes, that sounds perfect, and thanks in advance!

No worries, my friend. Your quite welcome. I will message you, soon as possible.