Story WIP

By late 1942, the Second World War was in full swing with the sleeping giant of the United States having entered the previous year. Germany, at this point, seemed to be the greatest military force on the face of the planet and growing only stronger. The United States had only just had it's first taste of what the Wehrmacht was capable of. It was in November that the Allied intellegence community was bombarded by some of the most disturbing news yet – the German project codenamed "Ratte". Though it had existed since June, it was just then in November that allied spies had gotten word of it back.

It was a veritable monster, weighing in at a sobering 1,000 metric tonnes, powered by two 24-cylinder engines, armor over a foot thick and turret carrying two 280 millimeter naval guns. It was, quite appropriately, designated the Landkreuzer P. 1000 or Land Cruiser P. 1000. That such a thing would even be considered for building was almost beyond belief, but the amount of traffic associated with the project contradicted it's bombastic, almost nonsensical, nature. Indeed, it was not just a project of Hitler's Germany, but serious one. Headed by the industrial empire of Krupp AG, the Allied intelligence community found it to be a serious threat and dangerously close to realization. Leaked blueprints not only revealed the depth of the plan, but that it was actually possible.

It was no secret that the Germans had a long history of being exceptionally skilled at the creation and implementation of over-sized artillery. But this project took the cake, as the blueprints revealed a particularly harrowing mixture of mobility and firepower. It boasted the firepower of the classic railway gun while being twice as mobile with theoretical speeds of up to 28 miles-per-hour. Not the fastest tank on the battlefield but it's maximum of 14 inches of armor made all but weaponry of equal or greater size, only seen on ships and as towed artillery, useless. Worst of all, it already had the signatures of the top of the Nazi echelons on it. Project Ratte was forseen to be cruising across the battlefield by mid-1943. The initial order was for four – two to aid in the Eastern Front, one to bolster the Africa campaigns and the last for use in an invasion plan of the British Isles.

At the head of the British intelligence team analyzing the Ratte project was Colonel Gerald Finch. At this point, everything relating to Ratte was declared to have priority Ultra – intelligence of such a sensitive and important nature to the war effort that it transcended all other levels of importance and of intelligence classification. Colonel Finch and his team were at the very bleeding edge of the human intelligence efforts with agents and informants everywhere, even one purported to be in Hitler's personal staff. Bar none, Finch was the most important and in-the-know intelligence man at that time.
However, for all of his resources and web of spies, he lacked the means to put a stop to the juggernaut tank project. Peeping in was one thing, but actually sabotaging what had an enormous amount of momentum already seemed nigh impossible. It seemed inevitable that Ratte would make it to the battlefield and the Allies would have to instead rely on developing armaments to take on the behemoth, rather than making a strike on it's production. Finch himself had taken part in several operational committees to plan bombing runs deep into the heart of Germany where the Krupp plants toiled away on the Ratte tanks. All were determined to be futile, with Finch's network reporting such heavy anti-aircraft fortification in those areas that a successful bombing run wasn't a suicide mission but more a fool's errand, a waste and even a blunder. You could perhaps convince a brave few to lead an aerial assault on those locations, giving their lives to ensure success against the Nazi Reich, but there wasn't a pilot alive that could even be ordered, preferring a court martial to such lunacy.

It was then that the American OSS approached Finch with a proposal of their own. It was clear to all but the densest of minds that a traditional military operation would put a stop to Ratte. Unconventional warfare would win the day against the monster.

The proposal came from Brigadier Winslow McLaughlin, a no-nonsense Georgia man who spoke with a drawl of the likes that we only hear of in the reminiscing of by-gone eras of Southern charm. But only the unwise and untraveled would take his mannerisms as a sign of being some daft, country bumpkin. No, the Brigadier was as sharp as they came and could match wits with any Harvard or Oxford scholar - maybe even beat them. But for all of his mental agility he, too, lacked a resource – Finch's connections. The OSS was a relatively new organization, unseasoned and in it's infancy, so it's connections were few. However, with Finch's connections, the introduction of an American agent would be more successful, as British resources were becoming ever scarcer as the Blitz laid waste to Britain. Beyond that, all British agents were tied up in other operations as the Ratte project intelligence wasn't the only thing classified as Ultra. As it was, Finch could either turn it into a defensive game or let go of his pride and accept Brigadier McLaughlin's help.

McLaughlin's choice was Sergeant William Joseph Blazkovicz, a US Army soldier who spoke many languages very fluently – most importantly German and French. His most outstanding attribute was, however, his every-man face. Give him the right attire, change his facial hair and put on a good local dialect he could pass for a farmer, a banker, a family man or even an SS Officer – it didn't matter. This was just who Finch needed, a veritable Swiss Army Knife of espionage, he only needed to accept the OSS's help in the matter. This was easier said than done, however, as Sergeant Blazkowicz was currently somewhat preoccupied with his regular Army job in North Africa as a part of the mounting second attack on Tunis with the 1st Infantry Division, following the failed attempt to capture it the previous month. Despite protests by Major General Terry Allen, Sr., the Sergeant was pulled from his unit as soon as a replacement was available and flown to London directly. Oddly enough, this saved his life as his entire squad was decimated by mortar fire during an attack. However, Sergeant Blazkowicz was destined for greater things.

“Tell me, Sergeant, uhm, Blaz-ko-wik-z,” enunciated Colonel Finch, finding difficulty in pronouncing the Sergeant's name, “Do you are you qualified for this mission?”

“I don't,” he responded, quite abruptly, “Apparently someone does because I didn't exactly put in the request to be flown to London to talk to you. Now, I am prone to say things I regret later but I am pretty damned sure I didn't say anything like that.”

“You're dangerously close to saying something you will regret later, at this very moment,” quipped Finch, finding the Sergeant's attitude less than palpable, “But no, no you didn't. You're here because of a deal between myself and Brigadier McLaughlin.”

Blazkowicz chose to listen mostly, not that he had much of a choice anyway. Finch went on for some time, into the wee hours of the night, explaining the nature of Blazkowicz's mission and the history of the Ratte project.

“All very fascinating,” the Sergeant finally said, “But how do you plan to get me anywhere near the plant?”

“A perfectly valid question,” responded Finch, who was actually quite confident in his answer, “I have a fairly large network at my disposal in both Occupied France and Germany. It will be a long-term process but, theoretically, you could be infiltrating the plant as soon as two weeks following your insertion into France. Your main method of transportation will be the automobile and members of my network – locals of course. You will meander through the countryside and into Germany relatively unnoticed, with any luck.”

“Two weeks?!” Blazkowicz exclaimed, unable to comprehend such a lengthy travel time for such a short distance.

“Well if we had you go in one shot from Bayeux to the plant it'd be about a nine hour drive,” Finch spoke at length, “However, people in any kind of hurry are often noticed by the authorities and looked upon with some degree of suspicion. By drawing out your insertion over a period of two weeks, allowing periods of inactivity between movement, you are less likely to be caught. So just whizzing down the Autobahn to a manufacturing facility isn't in the interests of success.”

Finch was, indeed, quite correct. Failure was almost guaranteed if they tried to make the trip in one fell swoop. Just as a feline is silent and slow in it's approach before the pounce, this mission would have to be founded on patience, caution and forethought.

“And what is to be done when I finally get there?” Blazkowicz asked, satisfied with Finch's plan so far.

“Normally, the destruction of an entire facility is best left to bombers,” he started, “But it is obvious that that isn't an option, it is just too far inland. My network also indicates that the plant's location was chosen for it's location close to several strategic air defense locations.”

“You know, if you have such an extensive network in Germany, why aren't you putting it to good use and having them do this job? They're already there!” the Sergeant inquired, finding that Finch's insistence on the extensiveness of his network and yet his apparent unwillingness to use them.

“Logic would dictate that, now wouldn't it!” Finch retorted, understanding Blazkowicz's skepticism, “Without boring you with the finer points of intelligence gathering and HUMINT, suffice it to say, my line is one-way, so to speak. I can receive information but actually sending information isn't possible. It is all connected to me via the French Resistance, so that is yet another layer between me and them. It is up to them what flows where.”

Blazkowicz kept his opinion of the French to himself, instead opting to continue with the conversation without his colorful descriptions, “Then why can't they get something in the works, eh? Can't you just make the arrangements or even order it?”

“I think you misunderstand,” began Finch, speaking at length about the finer points of his relationship with the Resistance, “My relationship with the French Resistance is strained at best and dysfunctional at worst. We are in contact because it benefits us both. Frankly I want nothing to do with such unprofessional and ill-coordinated buffoons - but that isn't my call – King and Country you know. Naturally, I imagine they wouldn't normally give damn about a bunch of up-tight British officers who prefer 'by the book' over 'by any means necessary'. Our working relationship is based off the fact that they need backing by us – lest they fail. And of course we need them because let's face it, we're an island and just getting you in is going to be pushing it. They're there and have infiltrated the structures, something we could never do. Frankly, they are my best kept secret. If I didn't have them we'd probably be neighbors in North Africa right now. But, they trust me, barely, and I trust them, barely. It works out in the end and I've managed to do my service to my country. If we had the pull to get things done through them, trust me, we wouldn't be having this conversation right now. Which brings me to a second part to your mission – that of courier. Smuggling you through France and into Germany isn't being done out of the kindness of their hearts. You'll be given sufficient currency to ensure your timely travel and a somewhat larger payoff for our contact in Bayeux.”

“Seems you have a tidy little plan then,” Blazkowicz stated, “I have one final question – why me?”

“Simple! You French like a Frenchman, German like a German and Danish like a Dane!” Finch proclaimed, “Those three languages are what is going to get you in and out in one piece, as you'll be going through a Danish network of resistance fighters to return home.”

“And there aren't any British who fit that bill?” again inquired the Sergeant, which began to wear thin on Finch.

“Damn it all! Either your collar is too tight or you have the thickest skull I've ever seen!” Finch exclaimed, “Politics, Sergeant. Politics! I don't expect you know know the technicalities and nature of the politics but, be damned, I had at least expected a college-educated man to comprehend that there are reasons behind actions! The States are our allies in this war, and the powers that be have decided that I should include our allies in this little venture of mine. You were in the OSS service pool due to your education and being that you fit the needed qualifications, your name was drawn.”

“Well, you have one thing right – I don't like politics. It's why I am college-educated but enlisted in the infantry. Cold day in hell before I play the officer's game of ass-kissing and elbow-rubbing,” Blazkowicz rebuked, pointing his stout, calloused finger at Finch behind his desk, “They begged me to be an officer but I just wouldn't have it then and I won't now, either!”

Finch chuckled and knew then that he had indeed found just the right man, “They told me about that, and that you were more about action and the thick of things than the must of an office. I was told you could get things done, and something needs done. We could spend all night playing Twenty Questions about the 'why' but, frankly, we need to get on to the how and when. Do you accept or not? Yes or no, right here, right now.”

A moment of silence filled the room, but Blazkowicz accepted the mission. He figured that no matter what he was doing in the war, if it meant sticking it to the Axis powers, it was worth doing.