Friday, November 1st, 1935: Liverpool Street station, London

The group of them had received telegrams at their place of work, telling them to meet at the entrance to Platforms 16 & 17. Mrs. Taylor would have their third-class tickets ready for them.

The location was easy enough to find.

One of the major London stations owned by the London and North Eastern Railway, Liverpool Street was split into three sections separated by walls and an access road in one case.

Platforms 11 to 18 were home to the services for trains to Essex, Suffolk and Norfolk. It was 4pm and various trains of teak panelled carriages were being prepared for the evening rush hour, shunting locomotives billowing steam into the soot-tinged ceiling as they brought carriages down from the sidings.

The concourse wasn’t yet heaving with people – while some of the stockbrokers and other workers in the City would soon be heading for their trains out to the towns surrounding London, they hadn’t arrived yet.

A boy of 15 was standing, selling newspapers and yelling the headlines that were handily written on a board next to him.

"Evening Standard! Get your Evening Standards! Anti-British riots in Rome! Read all about it!"

There was a slight chill in the air – it was early November and wind was coming from a different direction than normal. Outside the station, rain clouds were beginning to form.

Taylor herself was standing at the entrance next to the boards that were updated to show the destination and time of the next trains. The metal gates were currently closed, a member of railway staff waiting for the signal to open them and admit passengers onto the platform for the 4.12pm to Romford, calling at Stratford, Ilford, Seven Kings, Goodmayes and Chadwell Heath for Becontree.

She was dressed in a black pin-striped suit with trousers underneath a blue double-breasted trench coat, her short black hair under a fedora of the later colour complete with black band. She had a red handbag in one hand and a cotton shopping bag in the other.

She didn’t say anything, just waited for the others to join her.

Andrei is dressed in a suit, but missing a tie which he finds too constricting.  He moves easily through the crowd despite the fact that many of them don't look down to notice him.  His height has always given him an advantage in stealth, although he wishes that someone would just move out of his damn way once in a while.

His black hair is combed well and slicked back in a style he'd gotten used to from the circus.  He's clean shaven as well, but his face has a dour look that speaks of too many performances of having to smile and grin whether he felt like it or not.

He steps out of the crowd in front of Georgia, bowing slightly.

"Mrs. Taylor," he says formally, "it is a pleasure to see you again."

Daniel stepped onto the platform and took a paper from the boy, handing him the money for it, along with a tip. He tucked the paper under his arm and headed up the platform. He pulled his coat around him at the feel of the chill air and frowned. The frown changed to a smile when he spotted Georgia waiting at the platform. Her companion looked familiar but Daniel couldn't quite place him.

"Hey, Mrs Taylor", he began. His voice was a weird mix of Welsh and Cockney. "Long time, no see. How are you?"

A young woman walked determinedly onto the platform, her coat buttoned against the November chill and a beret part covering her dark, bobbed hair. She was tall and willowy, and her clothes were plain yet well made and clearly expensive. Not normally someone seen travelling third class, but these days many people had to be frugal.

She noticed Georgia Taylor, together with some men she didn't recognise, and hurried over.

"It's good to see you again. I hope this proves as interesting as the last time."

She seemed calm, but her smile and her eyes betrayed her excitement. Then she remembered she hadn't introduced herself.

"Sorry," she said to the two men, "Charlotte Silk."

She held out a kid-gloved hand.

Dixon trots along toward the gates, his overcoat flapping and his tie flying back over his shoulder, tangled with his scarf. He sneers audibly at the Evening Standard boy hawking his fish-wrap broadsheet. In his right hand he carries a well-scuffed and bulging leather valise, the other occupied with a sausage roll that drips mustard over his fingers. Spotting Georgia, he pulls up at her and her group, panting and wheezing.

"Ah... Miss Taylor... is this.. our merry band... then?"

He sets his valise at his feet, takes a voracious bite of his sandwich, wipes his hand on his overcoat and extends it to Andrei, speaking around a mouthful of bread and mustard and sausage, "Saw you with Circus Gleich at Brighton a few seasons ago, Herr Ionescu. George Dixon, but they call me Dicksy, Daily Mirror.

"And this young woman, unless I miss my guess, is Miss Charlotte Silk," he says, swallowing, "I've admired your mother since before you were born--from afar, of course."

"And you--" he stops and peers quizzically into Daniel's face, extending his hand to the younger man, "I don't know you at all. Dixon's my name, reporting is my game, what?" He grins and tries to dislodge a bit of sausage from his canine tooth at the same time.

"So, what's the ruckus, Georgia old darling?"
This message was last edited by the player at 03:48, Tue 02 Apr 2019.

Georgia reached into her handbag and hand each of them a small cardboard ticket for a single Third Class railway journey to Romford, stamped for that day's date.

"I'll tell you on the train? Don't want anyone overhearing out here. Just going to tell you that it involves overseas travel."

The gate to the train on Platform 16 was opened.

"Follow me, please."

The train sitting on the platform, once you walked past the tank engine that had pulled the carriages in from the sidings, was ten carriages long. Once you walked past the guard's van and the First Class section (there was no Second Class), most of the train was made up of Third Class Compartments, consisting of two red-upholstered benches each sitting five people, eight per carriage.

There was no ability to move between compartments unless you got out of the train.

"We'll be in the first carriage from the engine", Georgia said as they walked along, past someone who was loading newspapers into the guard's van, "Andrei, if you see someone try to get in that I don't want in, you have my permission to snarl at them."
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:34, Wed 03 Apr 2019.

Andrei takes Charlotte's hand, bowing slightly and introducing himself.

Andrei smiles at Dixon's comment about the Circus, clearly enjoying being recognized.



Andrei nods and positions himself just inside the entrance to the car, but where he can hear and participate in the general conversation.

"I can snarl most convincingly, if needed," he agrees.

Dixon glances back at the First Class carriages as they approach third.

"But, ah, wouldn't our conversation be just as secure in First Class? And much more comfortable?"

He settles himself on the red-upholstered bench, his valise beside him. His sausage roll has disappeared by now and he pulls a handkerchief from his overcoat pocket, opening it to reveal a somewhat battered scone oozing clotted cream. He takes a bite.

Daniel took Charlotte's hand and gave it a firm but gentle shake. He met the excitement in her eyes with a fiendly style and an inquisitive but lively look. "I'm Daniel, he began. "It's a pleasure to meet you Ms Silk. Are you a close friend of Georgia's?"

He turned to Andrei "I've seen you sonewhere before, haven't I?", he asked as he shook the man's hand.

When the other gentleman arrived and mentioned Andrei's name Daniel's face showed an 'aha' moment. He was mildly taken aback when the guy waved a finger at him, but introduced himself with a smile and a hanshake all the same.

Daniel was used to travelling in third so when Georgia handed out tickets he made ni fuss. He took a seat on the train next to Charlotte. It was uncertain weather his choice of seating was by accident or on purpose.

As they were about to board, a voice boomed out behind them with a strong Scottish accent:

"Hold that train! You weren't thinking of going without me, were you, Georgia?"

A large, broad-shouldered man strode along the platform, a wide, toothy grin on his face.

Andrei pulls himself up to his full four foot height as Jock approaches the train car, preparing to repel this boarder.  At the mention of Georgia's name, Andrei looks over to her.

"Is he one of us?" he asks, not moving out of the way just yet.

Jock looked down at the little man in his path. He was more than half as high again and possibly twice as broad. Either the smaller man had a vastly inflated ego, or there was more to him than met the eye. Or possibly both.

Jock had met a number of small but wiry men in the forces, and quite often they could give a surprisingly good account of themselves. He wasn't about to underestimate any friend of Georgia's, and in any case it looked like they were all on the same team.

He slowed as he approached, and waited for Georgia to make the introductions.

"Yes, he's one of us. Glad to see you, Jock", Mrs. Taylor said and handed him the ticket, "We've still got about ten minutes to the off."

Those boarding could see this was a non-smoking compartment; Taylor hated tobacco.

"I haven't got the money for First Class at the moment", Georgia said as she placed her bags in the luggage rack above the seats and then sat down by the left-side door opposite where they'd boarded, "I'll need it for the mission".

She then pulled a book out of the shopping bag, placing it on her lap face down, so the title wasn't visible.

Once the five of them had taken their seats, she turned to Andrei.

"Close the door please". Once this was done, Taylor looked around them.

"I've received word of a rather amazing and incredible discovery in Germany. This is going to sound frankly preposterous, but you'll need to hear me out."

She paused and opened the book, which was hollow and concealed some photographs and paperwork.

"One of my friends is a woman named Rebekka Winter. She's a mathematician from Germany and as she's a Jewess, she's not exactly popular with Mr. Hitler at the moment. She is trying to emigrate to Palestine or the United States.

What is of more immediate concern is her uncle, Jakob. Jakob is an electrical engineer by trade... and involved in the trade union movement. He was arrested a while back and disappeared into the concentration camp system. Now he's managed to get a message out to his niece."

She pulled out the letter.

"He's telling me that he's been shipped to somewhere near Breslau - that's in Silesia near the Polish and Czecho-Slovak border - where he's working to reverse engineer a death ray found on a crashed flying saucer."

Dixon looks at the No Smoking sign, sighs, and puts away his cigarettes.

He takes out a rather battered flask and sips at it as he listens to Georgia's spiel, offering it to the others. (It's full of gin.)

"Hah! Pull the other one, dearie. It's got bells on," he grins.

Andrei moves aside to allow Jock in the train car, bowing slightly to the man.



Andrei looks uncomfortable.  He wouldn't have been surprised to hear of something supernatural, but he wasn't certain he believed the notion of a flying saucer.

After shaking hands with everyone and settling in the compartment, Charlotte listened to Georgia's tale.

"Death rays? Sounds like something Mr Burroughs would dream up."

She spoke quickly, giving away her excitement.

Jock returned the polite gesture with a nod of his own.

"Sorry ah'm late, caught some sleekit wee jobbie wi' his fingers in a lassie's purse. He'll no be dippin' purses wi his fingers in splints, nor fae some time after, I'll be bound.

"Dougal Tavish. Friends call me Jock." He offered his hand to anyone who would take it.

"Flyin' saucers? Well, that's one step up from rockets. We'll need tae check it oot, whether it's true or nae. We cannae have that Hitler loon gettin' the drop on us wi a death ray."

Daniel cast a sideways glance at Charlotte. She was quite the excitable type. Pretty and excitable. A lethal combination under the right circumstances. He shared Dick's view on the subject but life on the streets had taught him not to judge a book by its cover. He was forming alternate theories as to the origin of the 'death ray' himself.

"Or Wells", he said, adding to Charlotte's literary comment. "But science fiction tends to have a basis in fact. Aint that right, Mrs T? I'm guessin' that even though you've got no evidence of little green men you've got good reason to believe there's some truth in this tale?"

Georgia declined the gin, as she was a teetotaller. She'd seen what alcohol had done to her father. Well, he'd already been a bigot.

"I've got good reason in that there are some sketches of what these death rays supposedly look like."

She pulled out some more paper and passed it around. On it was a reasonably well done drawing of what looked like a dark green small machine gun with a rounded box for a clip, with some unearthly writing on it.

Dixon caps his flask and shoves it down into his valise.

"Ah, well, Georgia luv," he says as he rummages through his bag, "Literary references aside, what is it exactly that you mean us to do?

"Ohoh! Got it!" He brandishes his British passport for the others to see.

"I'm guessing she wants us to steal that gun", said Daniel. He was no stranger to crime, even though he found it distasteful and tried to keep his nose clean. In this case he guessed they would be stealing it from someone bad who wanted to use it for something bad so morally at least he was in the right place.

"But to me it looks like a well drawn machine gun in tasteful green with some wierd symbols on it. How do you know its a death ray? Even if it belongs to little green men, it could be their version of a water pistol."

Jock shrugged his large shoulders. "We still have tae go, whatever it turns oot to be.

"I'll mention the elephant in the room, too - do we bring the lassie's uncle out wi us? And what aboot his fellow prisoners? Or are we just stealing the gun?"

"No", Georgia said, "She wants them destroyed. The SS who run this place have been testing the weapons on some of their prisoners. It basically turns you into smoking ash, apparently. She doesn't want any nation to get their hands on them, or work out how to make their own copies."

There was a series of whistles, a cry of "All aboard". A few more seconds passed and then there was a further whistle, before the train started to move out of the station.

"We'll try to get as many out as we can, but I'm not sure how easy it would be to sneak over the border into Poland."

Jock seemed surprised, but covered it with a toothy grin. "Destroying things is a lot easier than stealing them, but I'm not sure how patriotic that is. Glad to hear we'll be doing our bit for the prisoners, though."

Daniel went pale at the description of what the weapon could do.

"Definately not a water pistol then", he remarked. "We might also wanna think about looking for any plans they may have drawn up too. Destroy sketches and design notes and reverse engineering stuff. Won't want them trying to build another one after we've destroyed the original."

Andrei passes the sketches of the gun along without doing more than glancing at them.  Engineering wasn't his area of expertise.

"If there is a flying saucer," he says, "then we must destroy it as well.  There may be other devices in it we also do not wish the Nazis to obtain."

"So, Miss Taylor, are we bound for the Romford Aerodrome now and is Poland our intermediate destination? Whereabouts is this camp anyway?

"And how the bloody hell (excuse me, Miss Silk) does one destroy a death ray gun?"

"If you mean Stapleford, not immediately. The next flight isn't until the morning for Paris and with the weather forecast as is, there's a decent chance it will be rained off... if we can even get seats on board their aircraft. Only ten passengers, you see.

I'll give it a go, but we may have to get the train and ferry instead. Train to Harwich, probably Monday morning. Boat across to Flushing. Overnight train to Berlin, then another service from there. I can get us through tickets for that."

She looked through the letter.

"As for the place. It's apparently some factory near Breslau, but he wasn't able to pin it down precisely. We'll have to look around."

The train clattered its way at a decent speed through Coborn Road station, as an express train went past them in the opposite direction on the fast lines to their south.
This message was last edited by the GM at 13:17, Sat 06 Apr 2019.

"Explosives, perhaps," Andrei offers.  "Or perhaps acid? I am not a scientist.  Would a research facility have some quantity of either?"

"If we could get to a phone or telegram office I could make some calls to see if I can get us some chemicals or explosives", Daniel offered. "Wouldn't strictly be legal, though", he added.

"I have a telephone in my office", Georgia said, "As for telegrams, the Post Office in Romford handles them all the time."

She looked and then remembered something.

"Of course, it's market day today! There's a stall there that sells black powder and various things like that."

"A big enough hammer can wreck most things." offered Jock. It wasn't immediately obvious whether he was joking.

"Er... Aren't explosives illegal to own? Ten years hard labour, if I remember correctly.

"Hammers are probably better."

"We are infiltrating Germany to destroy possibly alien weapons," Andrei says, "and you are worried about whether it is illegal or not to own explosives?"

He raises his eyebrows just a bit.  "I suspect that before we are finished, that will be the least of our concerns."
This message was last edited by the player at 21:33, Sat 06 Apr 2019.

"Yes, that is true. We've got a few logistics things to take care of first in any event."

There was a brief woosh as a train went past them in the opposite direction on the next track over.

"Firstly, none of us speak German. This is going to be a bit of an issue when it comes to, well, going to Germany. Fortunately, I know a man who does. His name is Leopold Key - Austrian by birth, came over here about ten years ago. Doctor by trade; he works at the Oldchurch County Hospital, mostly dealing with acute cases. TB in particular, but he served as a medic on the Italian Front in the war.

He's Jewish himself, but not obviously so, although he might need some persuasion to go on this trip.

In any event, he's a fan of the greyhounds and I'm going to meet him tonight at Romford dog track. Suggest you all come along and make an evening of it; might be the last real fun we have in a while..."

She looked over some notes, then briefly removed her hat to run her fingers through her hair.

"Anyway, how are you lot with bicycles?"

"Well... You know they say you never forget," Dixon says brightly, "During the War, I became quite competent on a motorbike. Say, what about motorcycles for transport?"

"Look here, hadn't we devise some sort of cover story to explain the presence of such a large group of foreigners?"

Andrei looks a bit sour at the mention of bicycles.

"If one is small," he suggests.

"You got one with stabilizers?", Daniel asked. It wasn't clear if he was joking or not.

He then turned to Dick.

"You said you were a reporter? What if we all posed as a news crew doing a coverage of the latest political unrest in Germany at the moment. If we also claim to be from a pro-fachist news team that may also help us get close to our target."

Jock gave a big grin. "It's been a wee while, but give me a half hour, it'll all come back.

Glad to hear about the Doctor, he should be worth his salt rations."

"We could all be members of a circus troupe," Andrei suggests.  His absolute straight face leaves one with the impression that he's either totally serious, or having them on.

"I don't think all of us posing as a newsreel crew is viable, or possible. Especially on short notice. It's highly likely to get us consigned to a large number of long boring speeches and tours round youth camps." Georgia said as they ran past Bethnal Green station with the locomotive ahead making a shrill whistle. Some people on the platform were reading their daily newspapers.

"That said... Dick and Daniel can certainly do that, see if any of the local goose stepping brigade know anything."

She watched briefly as they continued their run through the East End.

"Transport. If you can bring a motorbike along do. I'm planning to hire a car when we get there, but we'll need to split up to cover more ground. My cover was going to be as an off-season American tourist visiting the old country - I can actually trace my roots back to Silesia; Gramps on my mother's side came through Castle Garden [OOC: The predecessor to Ellis Island] from there in 1866."

She looked at the map again.

"Good news, we don't need a visa to go to Germany. Bad news is, we do for Poland... so our better departure option, if we're compromised, would be Czecho-Slovakia."

In reply to Daniel Blakeman (msg # 38):

Dixon gives Andrei a silent laugh before turning to Daniel.

"That journo dodge could work, though I don't know why any paper would send six of us. Hmmm..." He casts his eyes to the ceiling as he ruminates.

"Perhaps if we had a photographer (he points to Andrei) and a woman's reporter (indicating Charlotte) and a general assistant (Daniel), maybe a man to tote the baggage, which would be you Jock... and Georgia could be my blushing American bride on our working honeymoon --no strings attached,old gel, of course. Heh-heh.

"Shouldn't be anything to do with politics, though. We'd never shake off the Geheime Staatspolizei --the secret police, commonly called the Gestapo. Breslau's a big trade and industrial city, went pretty heavy for Herr Hitler in the elections. The Mirror's been pretty strong for Mosley and his British Union of Fascists for the past few years. The new owners are changing all that, thank goodness, but the news probably hasn't spread very far in Deutschland yet.

"Aha! We can be a Daily Mirror team sent to get the real story of how the Nazis turned a hotbed of Red sympathizers into loyal Sons of the Vaterland, including their wives. I can type up some sort of letter of introduction to the local Gauleiter or his press assistant. Should hold up for a few days.

"If we're a bunch of reporters from the same paper, there's nothing odd in our being together, or in going off separately on our own leads."
This message was last edited by the player at 00:45, Tue 09 Apr 2019.

"I could act as a photographer," Andrei agrees.  "We would need to procure the right equipment, of course. My supplies do not include a camera."

"There is a camera shop in Romford", Georgia said, as she considered the idea, "You know this could work. Thing is we'll need to find a way to do our own thing to find this place and do the necessary."

She looked at Dick and smiled.

"I'd happily be your pretend wife for all of this. But you're sleeping on the floor."

In reply to Georgia Taylor (msg # 44):

Dixon looks a bit non-plussed.

"Oh, well... Surely, my dear... The sofa at least?"

"So I'm just the skivvy? Och well, I can do that right enough."

Dainel turned to Jock, grinning. "Hey, there's a lot to be said for being a skivvy. I've done a lot of low paid labour jobs in my time and you get to meet all kindsa people."

"Used kit would be better. D'you know of an uncle in Romford? A shylock?"

"I know a couple of them, yes."

Out of the window, the sun was setting and the various street lights of London, both electric and gas, were being lit. On the left side of the train, the industrial areas of Stratford were coming into sight, along with the huge railway works for the LNER, home to hundreds of depots.

"I'm going to suggest that we get some dinner in Romford and you lot find a hotel to stay the night. The market is also open tomorrow, so we can get some other equipment and victuals for our trip. You can't really get Jacob's cream crackers in Germany."

In reply to Daniel Blakeman (msg # 47):

Jock grinned. "I know all about skivvying - I was in the army."

Andrei pulls a knife out from someplace around his ankle and starts to balance the tip of it on his finger.

"Do we need credential to pass as a press team?" he asks.  "Official identification and such?"

In reply to Andrei the Amazing (msg # 51):

"Seeing as it's Germany, they might bother about it, if we were to try to access any high officials or official events. That's why we're just doing informal, on-the-fly, man-in-the-street sort of things.

"Everyone has a passport, right? British is best."

Andrei flips the knife around and puts it away.

"I have my Romanian passport," he says.  "The Circus Gleich originated in and toured in Germany.  I may be recognized there.  It may be best for me to be disguised in some fashion."

He thinks for a moment.

"Or should our story be that this is my attempt at a career after the circus?"

"I have a passport", Taylor said, "British. Became a subject two years ago. But it's in Taylor, not Dixon. We can explain that one away as me having not changed it yet. I can travel on your passport, but that's really not my style."

The train started to slow down for the approach to Stratford.

"I think Romanians might need a visa for Germany. In any event, trying to access high level officials might be a good idea... any ray gun stuff is likely to go well up the chain. Isn't the fat so-and-so Goering the Prime Minister of Prussia?"

She adjusted her sleeve slightly.

"Tell you what, three of us ought to go up town to the German Embassy tomorrow and get the credentials sorted out. Get your paper to backstop them."

The train rolled into the platform, where a variety of people were waiting to board. Two of them moved towards their compartment.

PM:

Two industrial workers, their faces marked with dirt and smelling heavily of coal, climbed into the carriage before Andrei could stop them.

This terminated any discussion on the operation until they got out at Chadwell Heath for Becontree, the penultimate stop on their ride.

As Georgia shut the door, she looked over to the south. A very large array of street lights and glow from windows was visible in the twilight.

She moved over and pointed at it.

"See that? That's the Becontree Estate, the biggest public housing estate in the world. Nearly 26,000 modern houses, all with indoor toilets and private gardens. Getting people out of the slums of the East End. Some ideas that could be copied back in the U.S.A. if I'm being honest."

She looked at her watch.

"Next stop is Romford. Anyone for pie and mash?"

"I've got a passport", Daniel added.

When the workers boarded daniel struck up a conversation with them, steering away from the real reason for the trip and concocting a story about visiting an aging aunt.

When they got out and Georgia mentioned food Daniel smiled "You read my mind, Mrs T. I'm kinda hungry right now."

Andrei glowers at the workers the entire rest of the trip.  He'd not been expecting anyone to bother them during the stop.  At the mention of food, he nods.

"A bit of tucker never goes amiss, m'dear," Dixon says, gathering his belongings..

"Pie and mash is always a good idea."

"I will need clothes that are more drab," Andrei notes as they are leaving the train.  His impeccably tailored suit would look out of place as a news photographer.

He looks speculatively at Dixon's clothing.  "Perhaps you could offer advice on what to purchase?"

In reply to Andrei the Amazing (msg # 61):

Dixon is juggling his valise, his cigarettes, and his lighter as they walk along the platform.

"Hrm... Of course, old man, happy to share some sartorial guidance with you. We'll have you all spiffed up in no time."

He nudges Andrei in the shoulder, almost dropping his cigarettes: "Won't cost you an arm and a leg, either," he adds with a chuckle.

"Please, call me Georgia", Mrs. Taylor said as they rattled past the dog track, a quantity of new housing and then the vast Ind Coope Brewery with its railway sidings before coming to stop at Romford station.

The group of them stepped out the train, the last of them closing the door behind him. They could hear the succession of doors being slammed shut as others got out and did the same, followed by a cry of "all aboard!", a guard's whistle and then another whistle as the train pulled out of the station to their right.

Descending the stairs, a ticket inspector was waiting to collect their used tickets. Just beyond this, a young man was standing next to a shoe shine stand, ready for another who wanted shiny shoes.

At Anderi's comment Daniel looked down at himself. A 'really?', look crossed his face as Dick was asked for clothing advice. Daniel frowned. He always thought he wore working class well. Maybe when he got back home he'd seek out some fashion advice. He obviously needed it.

Daniel passed a coin at the shoe shiner. He didn't want his shoes shined but liked to help others where he could. The fact that this kept eating into his savings and ambitions tended to cross his mind later on when it was too late.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:33, Thu 18 Apr 2019.

Jock took in the scene. He wasn't really expecting trouble at this stage, but he'd been hired as a troubleshooter - literally or not - and he took his job seriously.

The very fact that the group had been hired meant that someone could know that they'd been hired. They'd have a bit of an uphill struggle if someone were onto them at this stage of the game, but complacency was seldom a good idea. He would continue to keep his eyes and ears open.

Georgia stopped suddenly and raised her hand to her head.

"Of course, he won't be at the dogs tonight... it's Friday, he'll be at the synagogue. We'll go there after the service finishes, which will be after 8pm."

She stepped onto the street and turned to the left.

"This way please."

As they walked, she turned to Jock.

"Have you ever snuck into or out of Germany before?"

In reply to Georgia Taylor (msg # 66):

"Who's that, Georgia?"

"Doctor Key. Our planned medic and German speaker."

They kept walking down the street, the sounds of the market ahead of them increasing in volume as they approached. The air was getting chilly and a low rumble of thunder could be heard in the distance.

"Looks like a storm's coming", she said.

They got to the end of South Street, where a truck was being loaded up with two cows who weren't particularly keen on getting into the truck.

Another truck was standing next to and an old man with a beard casually touched his flat cap.

"Mrs Taylor," the man said, "I got something nice and 'andy for you. Yours for a shilling."

Taylor turned to the others.

"This is George. Local rag-and-bone man. Sometimes sells me some stuff on the cheap that gets thrown out."

She turned back to him.

"What have you got."

"German p'rasebook. Whole batch of foreign phrasebooks in fact from a local farmer who kicked the bucket last month. A shilling each or all twelve for 'alf a crown."

He saw the others as he reached for a cheap cigarette.

"Can I do you lot for anything? I got some interesting spoons."

"Have you a camera?" Andrei asked the man. "Not new, but in working condition."

George grinned a grin that showed a couple of missing teeth and laughed.

"I did find a camera lately, but I sold it to Mr. Gorton the pawnbroker. He's down the other end of the market. Probably closed now, but he'll be open tomorrow. You'll easily recognise him on account of the fact he's got only one arm. Lost the other in France.

Anyway, it was a nice affair. German, I think."

Andrei nods politely.

"Thank you," he says, "that sounds as if it will do nicely."  He looks at Dixon.

"Shall we find somewhere to purchase clothing?"

"Mmmm... Supper first, I should think, what?"
This message was last edited by the player at 14:39, Thu 02 May 2019.

"We'll have to do the clothes shopping in the morning", Georgia said, "Shops will be shut by the time we've eaten."

She turned to George.

"Put those to one side for me and I'll pick them up at the yard in the morning".

They carried on walking and were just about to enter Dempsey's Pie and Mash when a man in a black shirt walked up to them. A black shirt with a red armband with a bolt of lightning on it.

A literal blackshirt then. He had short dark hair, a sleazy moustache and was looking rather upset.

He saw Dick Dixon and became apoplectic.

"I know you!" he said, "You're Dick Dixon! You cost me my job!"

Dixon cocks his head at the man, his expression a study in neutrality. His eyes glance briefly at Jock, as though to assure himself the big man is with him.

"Sorry, chap, don't have the foggiest notion what you mean. Was it something in The Mirror?"

Jock stood ready, but was strictly observing for now. This could be a problem or an opportunity.

Andrei moves casually around to the rear of the indignant man.  If needed he could provide a tripping hazard if someone else was pushing the man.

"Yes, it was actually. You wrote an article about someone in my old firm who was taking money from the till."

Georgia looked at him.

"And that was you I assume?"

"For good reason. My old firm was Burtons, the department store chain. I was keeping valuable money out of the hands of the Jew who owns it."

In reply to The Whip Cracker (msg # 77):

"Well, chappie, you can't blame the store for sacking you, then. Obviously, they felt the purpose of their business was to put money into the hands of the owners, be they Christian, Jew or Mohammedan. I reported facts, as you have confirmed. You got no beef with me. Write a letter to the editor.

"By the bye, were you prosecuted? Might be worth a follow-up story."

Jock had been in many a fight during his military career, but one thing the army had taught him for sure was that if you could avoid a fight without losing ground, that was far preferable to anything other than total destruction of the foe. And total destruction simply wasn't an option in this case. He positioned himself so that he could make a pointed stare into the reporter's eyes.

"Evidently, this gentleman and his employers had differing ideas on the best use of the money, Dick. I'm sure you faithfully reported the facts as they were seen, and told to you, by the employers at the company, but did you interview this young man and hear his side of the tale?

"By his own admission he took the money, but he evidently believes he had good reason to do so. For all we know, his employer was a Scrooge who was abusing his staff. Perhaps we should hear him out? It may be that any follow-up story ought to have an entirely different slant?"

"He doesn't have any good reason", Georgia said, "He's a Jew-hater, pure and simple."

The man looked at her.

"I know you. You're the woman who's married to a d*****e. Why don't you go back to where you came from?" he said.

"When you go back to your swamp."

OOC: Roll Initiative, please.

11:54, Today: Andrei the Amazing rolled 6 using 1d6+3.  Initiative.

Dick Dixon rolled 4 using 1d6+2 for Initiative.

My rules are on a different machine. I'm guessing that's 1D6+Quick?

15:21, Today: Jock Tavish rolled 3 using 1d6+2.  Initiative.

I see the dice roller hasn't grown any fonder of me since we last met...

Yes, 1d6+ Quick. For an hand to hand attack, it's 1d6+Strong+Bludgeon

The man was clearly telegraphing the punch he was about to throw at Dick Dixon. Georgia spotted it and her own fist moved first... but clearly he wasn't that bad a fighter, because he was able to dodge her blow...

Andrei is up next.

Andrei moves up behind the man and slices his belt/suspenders, in an attempt to get the man to trip as his pants fall down around his ankles.

21:35, Today: Andrei the Amazing rolled 10 using 1d6+4.  Slicing belt/suspenders.

I'll roll now, in case I'm not online over the weekend:

03:51, Today: Jock Tavish rolled 10 using 1d6+4.  Round 1 Punch.

Hmm, maybe the dice roller heard me!

That's +3 for Strong, +1 for Bruiser.

"Or not," Jock answered his own suggestion as the situation exploded.

With the man distracted by dodging Georgia's punch and by a sudden loosening of his trousers, Dicky swings his valise in a quick arc to impact the man's scrotal area.

Dick Dixon rolled 6 using 1d6+1 for Fight with 1 STR.

Andrei's knife moved in quickly and sure enough, the man was debagged, his trousers dropping to the ground. Dick's own valise impacted him in the pleasure department and Jock's own punch then knocked him backwards to the ground.

Georgia looked down.

"That was brutally efficient..."

Then came a loud sharp whistle...

OOC: Perception check please. 1d6+Quick+Perception. Target Number 3.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:14, Mon 20 May 2019.

17:19, Today: Andrei the Amazing rolled 5 using 1d6+3.  Perception.

At the sound of the whistle, Andrei puts his knife away in his boot and steps away from the man on the ground, striving to look like he's out for an evening stroll.

Dick Dixon rolled 7 for Perception.

Dixon looks about, waving one hand to attract police attention, while with the other he gestures for his friends to slip away.

"Over here, constable! Quickly now. I'm afraid the poor devil has had a fit of some sort," As the policeman draws near he adds, sotto voce, "I trust he hasn't done himself a mischief through drink. Frightful thing."

The police constable came running over as the other started to slip away. He was a young man, about six feet tall, dressed in uniform complete with the distinctive British police helmet.

He came over and looked down at the blackshirt rolling on the ground in agony.

"Bit of a strange fit for you to lose your trousers..."

In reply to Georgia Taylor (msg # 91):

Dick Dixon rolled 5 using 1d6+4 for Clever 3+1.

The officer looked at Dick with even more suspicion.

Georgia stepped forward at this point.

"Dickens? It is Dickens, isn't it? You know this guy's a bit of an idiot, prone to running his mouth off... and handy with his fist. He accosted this gentleman here and decided to start a fight. We ended it."

18:47, Today: Andrei the Amazing rolled 8 using 1d6+3.  Quick.

Andrei manages to successfully get the knife away before the officer sees it.

Dickens nods and turns to Dick as the strongest man in the group.

"Well, well... in that case, sir, would you mind helping me carry this chap to the hospital so we can get him checked out?"
This message was last edited by the player at 10:30, Sat 13 July 2019.

Wouldn't Jock and Georgia have taken a powder with Andrei?
This message was last edited by the player at 19:35, Sun 30 June 2019.

Noted and edited.

Dixon smiles at the constable, but indicates the suitcase in his hand: "Erm... Well, I'd be happy to assist, officer, but already rather burdened, you see, and... uh...."

He trails of as the man fixes him with a glare.

"But...ah...certainly, always happy to help the strong arm of the Law, as it were."

He lays a hand on the fallen man's shoulder as the cop gets him to his feet. The bloke's pants drop to his ankles. Dicky grimaces and looks around for help.

"If I might suggest, constable, perhaps a couple of porters or --yes!-- a baggage cart. That's the ticket! I'll see if I can find one."

Leaving the peeler to support the full weight of the debagged miscreant, Dixon begins to edge away, looking for his companions.

Jock edged away with the others. They had things to do, places to be...

Having managed to edge away from the scene, leaving a constable with a bigot, Dick Dixon managed to join the others at the pie and mash restaurant.

After a tasty meal where the conversation stayed on non-mission topics in case of eavesdroppers, the group went to the recently opened Quadrant Arcade with an array of shops and offices. Charlotte Silk was already waiting for them at the entrance.

Taylor led them up the stairs to the offices of "M. Taylor, Private Detective", where she unlocked the door and led them into a waiting room with a three seater sofa, a large coffee table and two well-worn armchairs. A sink and stove was over against the wall opposite the window; the sink was from the Armitage Shanks company.

"I would give y'all a cup of tea, but I'm out of tea bags," Georgia said.

In reply to The Whip Cracker (msg # 100):

Dixon drops his case in an empty corner and to a volley of cracks, crunches and creaks, stretches his back, rotates his neck, and flexes his fingers.

"Ah...just  as well then, eh?"

Jock eyed the kettle on the stove. "You want me to pop down to the arcade and get some? How are we for milk, sugar and biscuits?"

Andrei leans against the wall next to the window, setting his valise down beside him.

"I would prefer something stronger than tea," he says mildly, "but I suspect that can wait until later.  You are a private detective, Miss Taylor.  Who is paying for this expedition?"

"Indeed." Charlotte added, nodding slightly at Andrei.

Not that Miss Silk particularly needed the money, but it always did to see who was footing the bill. In her experience, "free" things often came with quite the price-tag.

"Also... well, how much on the QT is this, Georgia? I expect I very well can't tell Father- everyone in his social swim would simply die for souvenirs, if they knew the vacation we were planning, and... well, that might be literal 'dying' if I read the situation right."

She then concedes "Not that I wouldn't go, of course. It's just a matter of how one prepares for the occasion."

"Shops will be closed by now. I have some powdered milk in the cupboard and a few biscuits in the tin, but I'll have get my husband to do a shop at some point."



"I will be able to recoup some expenses from a contact that Fraulein Winter knows, but to be honest, I'm going to be running this at a loss. Rebekka's parents sold what property they had to get out to France and she's not got a lot of money left.

I have a steady stream of income on the divorce and tracing work... but at some point, I'm going to need something a bit more lucrative."

She opened the door to her office and reached for an atlas.

"This will be very much on the QT. Quite a lot of sympathisers for Mr. Hitler out there."

She started to flick through the pages.

Since he wasn't going shopping, Jock settled himself into one of the armchairs, and waited to hear the plan.

Georgia found the atlas, showing the eastern part of Germany.

She pointed to the city of Breslau on the map; it was in the southern part of the mouth of Germany.

"We're going to go up to London to tomorrow to arrange the journalism stuff with the German Embassy, then travel over there over Monday and Tuesday. I doubt we can get any flights from the aerodrome round here."

OOC: Amateur pilots should be pretty common in the "inventor crowd" Silk is from in this era. Would she know someone to arrange a flight out if need be?

That is, she's fine with the plan Georgia's got to get in, but is there useful information she can give for getting out in a hurry?

"We should be certain we know what circuses are touring, if any," Andrei suggests.  "In dire straits I may be able to impose upon them to hide us from the authorities."

"Quite."

"I would put the word about, here, but you're right of course- that would give away too game, too soon. "

OOC: Is there something more we should do? I'm set.

"We could probably make some discreet enquiries while we are in Silesia. If anything, we might need something actually comic and not scary."

The telephone in the office began to ring. Georgia went to pick it up then closed the door.

OOC: She might know someone in the area. I'll let you decide.

Have a chat among yourselves while Georgia is on the phone.

Jock stood just enough to shake hands with the young woman, before sitting down again.

"My name's Dougal Tavish, Miss Silk, but you can call me Jock - everyone else does. I'm a former Sergeant-Major in the British Army, and I think I'm here largely to add some muscle, though I have other talents.

"What brings you to Mrs Taylor's party, and what do you bring to it?"

Once Miss Silk had made everyone's acquaintance, Dicksy pulled out his flask and put a bit of warm into his stomach.

"Are we staying here the night then, Georgy, before we return to London tomorrow? You know, I could probably put everything straight for our 'assignment' with a few telephone calls.

"When do we go across to Bocheland?"

Georgia returned from the office once she had made her telephone call. She was smiling slightly.

"If you wish to stay here in Romford for the night, you can do so, but it'll have to be at your own expense, sadly.

The plan is to spend Saturday i.e. tomorrow sorting out all the arrangements for our assignment. I will try to see if we can get a flight to Breslau, but I'm doubting it. We'll have Sunday to rest before we start for Germany on Monday, aiming to arrive in time for lunch on Tuesday."

She moved over to one of the armchairs and sat down, adjusting her earring slightly.

"The person I've just called is a Hannah Lansky. Jewess but not obviously so, if you know what I mean. Speaks fluent German, Yiddish and Polish - she is Polish in fact. Comes from a village near Lwow in Poland. [OOC: Now Lviv, Ukraine].

She's a nurse by training; has some experience treating war wounds in Manchuria... anyway, she's also rather experienced at skulduggery. Ever heard of something called... I'm probably mangling this... Haganna?"

At the mention of lunch in Germany, Dicksy's thoughts run to schnitzel und wurst, rouladen und sauerbraten. He wipes a bit of saliva from his lips.

"You know, I've dossed down worse places than this sofa," he says, thumping the cushion, "That armchair looks like it would do you for a kip, Andrei, old chap. And we've simply acres of carpet for yon wee Scotsman.

"You girls can nip round to your flat, Georgy, for a solid forty winks, eh what?"

He grins round at his companions.

Andrei nods at the mention of the armchair.

"That would do fine," he allows.  To Georgia, "Your friend is part of an underground army, yes?"

Jock kept his ears open and his mouth closed. He's slept in places a lot worse than an armchair, but it would depend what else was on offer, and he hadn't heard any offers yet.

"They call themselves a self defence force. Considering a load of smuggled weapons meant for them fell out of a barrel at a dock in Palestine recently, she's not exactly advertising the fact at present."

She considered the idea of accommodation.

"You'd have to sleep on the floor or the sofa at my place. I can't exactly kick my husband out of bed and he's not going to want to share with anyone else..."

She went slightly flustered.

"I'll bring some blankets over here. Might be a bit cold otherwise."

"I have slept in worse conditions," Andrei says.  "I trust none of my companions will smell as poorly as an elephant?"

In reply to Andrei the Amazing (msg # 119):

"Hah! With those long noses, you'd think elephants would smell terrific!" Dixon japes.

If Jock was preparing any japes about Georgia's husband sharing with Charlotte, he kept them to himself. He hadn't got a handle on Georgia's sense of humour yet. Or Charlotte's for that matter.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:30, Mon 19 Aug 2019.

"I once slept in a cave in Transjordan", Georgia said, "I suppose I'd better light the fire then. Don't want y'all to freeze to death, do I?"

She got up and walked over to the fireplace, where a bunch of coal was already in place. She looked around for some matches.

"Jock, can you find an old newspaper or something I can use for kindling?"

Jock stood and inspected the waste bins for discarded newspapers, or any other sort of paper.

A discarded copy of the Daily Express was folded up in the bin, along with some discarded envelopes that were torn into pieces.

Jock cast an eye across the various papers, largely as a matter of habit, in case anything stood out, before handing them over as kindling.

The papers were replete with reports on the upcoming general election, announced for 14 November; Stanley Baldwin's National Government was hoping for a renewed mandate from the electorate, with new Labour leader Clement Attlee the main rival against him. Unemployment was the main issue on the campaign trial.

The incumbent government was planning to raise the school leaving age from 14 to 15.

Once this had been passed over, Georgia started to put together a fire and lit the kindling, watching as the newsprint caught hold to help ignite the coal.

The room was starting to warm up a bit and it would provide a cosy heat inside during the night.
This message was last updated by the GM at 07:58, Thu 05 Sept 2019.

Jock eased himself back into the armchair. Pity about those teabags. Still he wouldn't be concerned about tea while he was asleep.

Andrei eyes Jock relaxing in the armchair, and debates simply dumping the larger man out of it.  Yet, Andrei considered himself civilized, and these were to be his companions in a dangerous venture.  He settled for simply glaring.

Jock noticed the smaller man glaring at him.
"Something wrong, Andrei?" he asked, genially.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:52, Fri 06 Sept 2019.

"The armchair was to be mine," he states.  "The Dixon's plan specified that."

"And what's wrong with the other one?" asked the genial giant.

OOC: Msg #100 above states 2 chairs and a settee are available. Perhaps the one Jock has chosen is closer to the fire? That might give Andrei a rationale for his ire. :)

Georgia looked at the pair of them.

"Sort it out among yourselves. I'll be back in about fifteen minutes with the blankets."

"That one is Miss Taylor's," Andre says, seeming to think that that explains everything.  Andrei is a man of few words, though, and usually doesn't explain context without being pushed.

OOC: Mostly just killing time in character until the GM's ready for things to move forward.

A look of surprise passed over Jock's face. "Since Miss Taylor has a bed and a husband to occupy this evening, I don't suppose she'll be using her armchair. I don't see any reason why you can't use it in her absence, my friend."

OOC: OK. :)

Andrei makes a sound a little like "Hmmph", and then goes to stand by the fire, examining the flames.

Jock shook his head behind the little man's back.
"Och, if it's so important to ye, you can sleep in this chair and I'll tak t'other. It's all the same to me."