[Hogan's Heroes] Enfilade: Room Two (PG) A WW2 crossover with the Howling Commandos (WIP)

 March 3, 1945

"It's not over yet," Marya told von Strucker. She made a face at the wave soaking her puce suede pumps.

Von Strucker's jackboots lost their precisely buffed shine in the same wave. He, too, made a face. "I fear it is, Puppchen. The Howlers have tracked us fair and square."

Marya screeched hot denial in Russian too fast for von Strucker to follow. She meant him to catch only three words: "not" and "fair" and "fool." She slapped at his chest with her bedraggled feather boa and he trapped her hands in his. She gathered spit to thrust at his impassive face, thought better of it and spat into the Pacific Ocean instead. Why was this morning so sunny in mid-winter Pacific, why was it not stormy to match her mood? Why, why, why? With all her might, she twisted from his grip and faced her prospective captors, seven soldiers with three day's stubble bobbing in an eighteen-foot rubber raft.

Only the breeze displayed changeability, now brisk, now wispy. The Rising Sun flag rose and fell, its halyard snapping against its pole without rhythm.

She turned back to von Strucker, who had distanced himself from her to stand tight against the submarine's conning tower rail, next to the two sailors. From below him, she could see his knuckles whiten against the gray steel. She used the tone of voice she'd used on him to great effect, low and sultry and penetrating.

"You coward. Defend me."

The knuckles tightened. "I know the Howlers. They'll not harm you. Can you ask more?"

Marya could. "Bind me, for your honor's sake and mine, Wolfgang." The lower lip he liked so well jutted forth. She riveted her gaze on von Strucker's, who did not flinch.

A rising breeze brought the murmured question by the corporal to her ears. "Orders, Sarge?"

"Orders stand: we only pick up her."

"But Sarge, he's right here --- "

"And so are 75 Imperial Japanese Empire sailors! And two Type 96 AA guns! And us in a dinky rubber raft! Cap knows what he's doing. Do you doubt Captain America? Do you doubt Bucky?"

"Nah, guess not. Us corporals leave that to sarges."

"I'll tell Sergeant Bull McGiveney that you approve and we'll dance the Dipsy Doodle, me leading. Come on, lady."

Marya pressed her wrists together to hold them up to von Strucker. "You'll have the amber treasure you stole from Russia. Would you steal my honor, too?"

She had to admit that another would have laughed in her face, ordered the two sailors to open fire and descended through the hatch to safety.

The senior sailor prodded von Strucker in the gut with his rifle. Did the sailor divine that honor, Japanese, Prussian, and Russian, was the subject here? Marya didn't know. Only Captain Okada had spoken directly to her in their shared language, which was English. All others aboard the Dragon of Death just uttered Hai! in her presence.

The Baron ignored the jab into chiseled abs that she liked to strum in better times. He slipped a jackknife from his jackboots, sliced the halyard supporting the Rising Sun flag and vaulted over the railing to clomp beside her. The sailors trained both weapons on him, and then the senior sailor barked an order. The junior sailor gathered up the dishonored flag on one arm before aiming at Fury's heart.

The Dragon of Death reared its horned head pridefully above the tense group, Howlers in their rubber raft with six weapons pointed at the four people on the enormous Japanese submarine's deck. Sunshine glinted from the anti-artillery guns fore and aft. The two sailors' determined faces and even more determined bolt-action Arisakas guarded the standoff between two giant powers.

An outsider would have sworn that sparks flew between nobleman and commoner, Russian and German, man and woman. Fury was closest to them and lived to tell the tale of a proven enemy and an unproven friend battling for who would prevail between whatever-they-were-to-each-other.

Von Strucker bound Marya's wrists tightly with five feet of halyard, lifted her like the Romanov princess she was not and tossed her down into Fury's arms.

"Hey!" Fury dropped his carbine as he lost his footing while the raft slewed with the impact and added weight. He plotzed onto the raft's front seat with an armful of furious femininity.

Von Strucker appeared to ignore the surging submarine as it lifted and fell to some undersea upheaval. He clasped his hands behind him and planted his feet. "Auf wiedersehen." 

"Nein, schatzi, niemals," replied Marya. A heel click and her friend disappeared down the hatch.

Fury shifted Marya away from his chest, where she had been leaning. "Away all boats, you swabbies, in case the dragon submerges."

"Not bloody likely," avowed Pinky. "I blinded it." He turned to rowing with his oar paired with Gabe's as the raft headed back to the last recorded position of the beleaguered Adamant and Captain America.

"So you did, but there's still sonar." Fury cursed and slid Marya from his lap to sit beside him. "Stop that."

Marya considered it good manners to establish a beach head of camaraderie. "You did well, gentlemen. Without periscope, the Dragon must heave to at friendly port for repairs, possibly Madripoor, and that is long ways from here. It will cost the enemy time, but I say we cannot waste time but only spend it."

"Hoo, listen to the philosopher why doncha!" Izzy said in an American accent she did not recognize.

"Pipe down and row. Lady, your honor is satisfied as of right now because I'm cutting you free. There. Now pick up that oar and row. It's about two nautical miles and ain't it a bee-yootiful day for rowing?"

Marya shrugged as she scanned the raft's occupants. Briefings had described each Howler: first Dino Manelli, who'd manned the tiller as he steered the craft to nudge the scaled sides of the sub with the skill of a gondolier and who now guided them to where Marya could establish a base for further travels. Romantic Italian-American, he'd be simple to shape. She smiled in his direction at the tiller as she sized up the rest: Dum Dum Dugan? married Nicholas Fury? committed to some lucky lady Pinky Pinkerton? I don't think so Reb Ralston? too stalwart and also too young I will not have the time to teach him anything worthwhile Gabe Jones? unlikely. That left Manelli likeliest and Izzy Cohen possible if I play my Preferans cards right.

Distaste oozing from every pore, Marya hefted the oar. She glanced at the horizon, ever alluring, ever receding. A homily from dear Matushka Galina surfaced from Marya's Sunday School attending past: "Are you going to stand or are you going to crumble? In the face of everything, stand still."

I'll sweet talk them into transporting me to Germany, thought Marya. I'll reach out to the only one who can help.

Marya picked up the rhythm and rowed to match Fury.