A long time ago in a universe far, far different…
A boat, small, built for pleasure cruises, tore over the choppy waves of the North Sea. Hastily bolted on weapons fired inaccurate bursts of tracer at their pursuer, a massive seven hundred-foot cruiser that responded with massive shells that burst in mid air next to the yacht, which shuddered with every near miss. Finally, a carefully aimed shot detonated right above the yacht’s meagre weapon complement, killing the gunners and reducing the emplacements to slag. The ship began to slow as the engine took hits, and the German Schwere-Kreuzer pulled alongside and lowered a boarding ramp that clunked into place on the deck.
KMS Blucher, Darth Hitler's personal ship.
What few Dutch soldiers the Queen had onboard hurried to the base of the ramp and raised their rifles and American-bought SMGs. Most of the Dutch army had not been issued new equipment since 1906, but these were the Royal Guard, and armed as such.
Staring up at an angle of thirty degrees the sun was in their eyes, so as soon as they heard the stamping boots of stormtroopers they squeezed their triggers and did not let go until they were dead, which was not soon after. Seven were cut down by snipers on the Schwere-Kreuzer’s gun turrets in ten seconds, and the remaining troopers retreated to the bridge, moving left across the deck. There was a splash as three dead Germans fell into the deep, and dozens of well-trained stormtroopers charged after the Dutch.
The effeminate British reporter Sethrepio Mulholland-Jones and his dog, Arty, ran up the stairway into the main hold, Sethrepio demanding at the top of his voice to know what was going on, and what the terrible noise was. He noticed the soldiers exchanging white-hot bullets from and into the bridge and captain’s cabin and decided he would go back into the hold after all and keep quiet. Just before he could get down, a pair of Germans caught a glimpse of his disappearing head. They sauntered over to the stair and began making their way down.
Sethrepio looked left and right until he could see Arty standing in front of Queen Wilhelmina, who was crouching so she could reach his collar. He slipped a small piece of paper into the buckle so it was almost impossible to see, then looked up to see Sethrepio. She vanished further into the hold without a second glance. Sethrepio followed Arty to the right where there was a shell-hole in the side of the boat, and a lifeboat hanging right next to it, miraculously unscathed. Arty hopped into the boat.
”Woof,” he said. It was all he needed to see. Sethrepio followed, as behind him two stormtroopers made their way further into the hold.
Private Hans noticed a flash of white, possibly a gown disappearing behind a stack of crates. He glanced at Corporal Bock, who nodded. They cautiously advanced, MP40s at the ready.
Before Hans could react, Queen Wilhelmina, inexplicably younger and prettier than she would be in a normal universe, burst from behind one of the crates and shot him in the head with a luger pistol. She turned it on Bock to find he was no longer in front of her, but to the side. He bashed the back of her head with the butt of his gun.
Meanwhile, on the deck, the last vestiges of Dutch resistance had collapsed. A line of half a dozen bruised and bleeding Dutch prisoners were escorted from the bridge and captain’s cabin, which were now more holes than wood, and where there was wood it was scorched.
A man clad in a black suit strode down the boarding ramp, trying not to stumble and escorted by two SS officers. When he set foot on the deck, Darth Hitler, Dark Lord of the Reich, took a deep breath of the sea air. Smelled like… victory. He grinned and stroked his tiny mustache.
A Kriegsmarine officer walked over to him as the prisoners were herded up the ramp behind him. He saluted, “The Bismarck plans are not in the radio logbook,” he stated. Hitler frowned and motioned for the Dutch captain to be brought to him.
The wounded man stared at the Dark Lord defiantly, and Hitler replied by grabbing the Dutch man’s throat and lifting him up effortlessly. “Where are those transmissions you intercepted?” he demanded, lifting the sailor further until his feet were a foot from the ground. He could hear the man’s neck crackle and see liens of blood trickle from the corner of his mouth. “What have you DONE with those PLANS?”
“We overheard no radio message…” the captain managed to force out, “Ugh… we’re a consular ship… on a… diplomatic mis-“
“If this is a consular ship, then where is the ambassador?” Hitler replied, lifting the man higher. The captain replied by dying. Hitler turned to the Kriegsmarine officer. “Kommandant, I want you to tear this boat apart until you found those plans, and bring me the passengers. I want them alive!” he commanded.
Corporal Bock appeared from the hold, with Queen Wilhelmina at gunpoint in front of him. He saluted.
Sethrepio rowed until his arms were sore, and looked over at the plume of smoke rising from the yacht. He raised some binoculars and surveyed the scene of the fight. “Hm. The damage doesn’t look so bad from here,” he said. Arty woofed.
Hitler stared down at the frail young Queen, who stared into his eyes firmly. He towered over her and glared.
“Lord Hitler, I should have known,” said the Queen, “Only you could be so bold. The League of Nations will not stand for this, when they hear you've attacked a diplomatic...”
Hitler stroked his tiny mustache. ”Don't play games with me, Your Highness. You weren't on any mercy mission this time,” he sneered, “Several transmissions were beamed to this boat by Allied spies. I want to know what happened to those plans.”
”I don't know what you're talking about,” Wilhelmina blustered, “I'm a member of the Hague on a diplomatic mission to Belgium...” Hitler’s expression told her this line of explanation was not going to work, and Hitler knew that she knew this.
”Your country is a part of the Allies and a traitor to the Germanic people,” he barked “Take her away!”
AAR WARS
Episode IV
A New Hope
It is a period of world war. Allied aircraft, striking from a
hidden base, have made their first bombing run against the
evil Third Reich.
During the air battle, Allied spies managed to steal secret plans to the
Reich's ultimate weapon, the Bismarck, an armored battleship
with enough power to destroy any ship in the Allied navy.
Pursued by the Reich's sinister agents, Queen Wilhelmina of Holland
races home aboard her yacht, custodian of the stolen information that can
save the Allies and restore freedom to Europe...
Episode IV
A New Hope
It is a period of world war. Allied aircraft, striking from a
hidden base, have made their first bombing run against the
evil Third Reich.
During the air battle, Allied spies managed to steal secret plans to the
Reich's ultimate weapon, the Bismarck, an armored battleship
with enough power to destroy any ship in the Allied navy.
Pursued by the Reich's sinister agents, Queen Wilhelmina of Holland
races home aboard her yacht, custodian of the stolen information that can
save the Allies and restore freedom to Europe...
A boat, small, built for pleasure cruises, tore over the choppy waves of the North Sea. Hastily bolted on weapons fired inaccurate bursts of tracer at their pursuer, a massive seven hundred-foot cruiser that responded with massive shells that burst in mid air next to the yacht, which shuddered with every near miss. Finally, a carefully aimed shot detonated right above the yacht’s meagre weapon complement, killing the gunners and reducing the emplacements to slag. The ship began to slow as the engine took hits, and the German Schwere-Kreuzer pulled alongside and lowered a boarding ramp that clunked into place on the deck.
KMS Blucher, Darth Hitler's personal ship.
What few Dutch soldiers the Queen had onboard hurried to the base of the ramp and raised their rifles and American-bought SMGs. Most of the Dutch army had not been issued new equipment since 1906, but these were the Royal Guard, and armed as such.
Staring up at an angle of thirty degrees the sun was in their eyes, so as soon as they heard the stamping boots of stormtroopers they squeezed their triggers and did not let go until they were dead, which was not soon after. Seven were cut down by snipers on the Schwere-Kreuzer’s gun turrets in ten seconds, and the remaining troopers retreated to the bridge, moving left across the deck. There was a splash as three dead Germans fell into the deep, and dozens of well-trained stormtroopers charged after the Dutch.
The effeminate British reporter Sethrepio Mulholland-Jones and his dog, Arty, ran up the stairway into the main hold, Sethrepio demanding at the top of his voice to know what was going on, and what the terrible noise was. He noticed the soldiers exchanging white-hot bullets from and into the bridge and captain’s cabin and decided he would go back into the hold after all and keep quiet. Just before he could get down, a pair of Germans caught a glimpse of his disappearing head. They sauntered over to the stair and began making their way down.
Sethrepio looked left and right until he could see Arty standing in front of Queen Wilhelmina, who was crouching so she could reach his collar. He slipped a small piece of paper into the buckle so it was almost impossible to see, then looked up to see Sethrepio. She vanished further into the hold without a second glance. Sethrepio followed Arty to the right where there was a shell-hole in the side of the boat, and a lifeboat hanging right next to it, miraculously unscathed. Arty hopped into the boat.
”Woof,” he said. It was all he needed to see. Sethrepio followed, as behind him two stormtroopers made their way further into the hold.
Private Hans noticed a flash of white, possibly a gown disappearing behind a stack of crates. He glanced at Corporal Bock, who nodded. They cautiously advanced, MP40s at the ready.
Before Hans could react, Queen Wilhelmina, inexplicably younger and prettier than she would be in a normal universe, burst from behind one of the crates and shot him in the head with a luger pistol. She turned it on Bock to find he was no longer in front of her, but to the side. He bashed the back of her head with the butt of his gun.
Meanwhile, on the deck, the last vestiges of Dutch resistance had collapsed. A line of half a dozen bruised and bleeding Dutch prisoners were escorted from the bridge and captain’s cabin, which were now more holes than wood, and where there was wood it was scorched.
A man clad in a black suit strode down the boarding ramp, trying not to stumble and escorted by two SS officers. When he set foot on the deck, Darth Hitler, Dark Lord of the Reich, took a deep breath of the sea air. Smelled like… victory. He grinned and stroked his tiny mustache.
A Kriegsmarine officer walked over to him as the prisoners were herded up the ramp behind him. He saluted, “The Bismarck plans are not in the radio logbook,” he stated. Hitler frowned and motioned for the Dutch captain to be brought to him.
The wounded man stared at the Dark Lord defiantly, and Hitler replied by grabbing the Dutch man’s throat and lifting him up effortlessly. “Where are those transmissions you intercepted?” he demanded, lifting the sailor further until his feet were a foot from the ground. He could hear the man’s neck crackle and see liens of blood trickle from the corner of his mouth. “What have you DONE with those PLANS?”
“We overheard no radio message…” the captain managed to force out, “Ugh… we’re a consular ship… on a… diplomatic mis-“
“If this is a consular ship, then where is the ambassador?” Hitler replied, lifting the man higher. The captain replied by dying. Hitler turned to the Kriegsmarine officer. “Kommandant, I want you to tear this boat apart until you found those plans, and bring me the passengers. I want them alive!” he commanded.
Corporal Bock appeared from the hold, with Queen Wilhelmina at gunpoint in front of him. He saluted.
Sethrepio rowed until his arms were sore, and looked over at the plume of smoke rising from the yacht. He raised some binoculars and surveyed the scene of the fight. “Hm. The damage doesn’t look so bad from here,” he said. Arty woofed.
Hitler stared down at the frail young Queen, who stared into his eyes firmly. He towered over her and glared.
“Lord Hitler, I should have known,” said the Queen, “Only you could be so bold. The League of Nations will not stand for this, when they hear you've attacked a diplomatic...”
Hitler stroked his tiny mustache. ”Don't play games with me, Your Highness. You weren't on any mercy mission this time,” he sneered, “Several transmissions were beamed to this boat by Allied spies. I want to know what happened to those plans.”
”I don't know what you're talking about,” Wilhelmina blustered, “I'm a member of the Hague on a diplomatic mission to Belgium...” Hitler’s expression told her this line of explanation was not going to work, and Hitler knew that she knew this.
”Your country is a part of the Allies and a traitor to the Germanic people,” he barked “Take her away!”
