Oh, do pay attention 007.

[MANICHAEAN]

Chapter 1: Defense of The Realm.

"Oh, James, James, a pair of French nylons. You really do know how to look after a girl. How on earth did you manage to get them?"

"A little contribution last week by the Resistance in Paris for the Allied war effort you might say."

"James, how will I ever repay you? What do you want me to wear them with?"

"A pair of high heels and a smile should compliment them sufficiently."

A bomb dropped nearby in Mayfair.

"Did the earth move for you darling?" asked the naked Englishman, his eyes hooded and the corners of his mouth upturned.

"Oh, James, James, you are such a tease and so hairy!"

The phone rang on the small desk in the hall outside the bedroom.

He slid out and under the still perspiring body, opened the door and picked up the phone.

"Bond. James Bond."

The Cheltenham tones of Miss Moneypenny came on the line.

"James, sorry to disturb this late in the evening. I know you were orf but M wants to see you. Is the raid still on in your part of London?"

"Yes," he replied. "A few big bangs, but you have to keep your pecker up and keep pounding
away. See you in forty minutes."

He returned to the bedroom. The look was beckoning and the nylons sheathed the new owners long slender legs.

But England called and he left.

[MANICHAEAN]

Chapter 2: A Cunning Plan.

M fiddled about with his pipe, ramming in a wad of Old Holborn and puffing at the stem gripped between his dentures.

Across from the wide green leather topped desk, Bond sat, one leg crossed over the other.

He affected casualness, but was alert. It was only too easy to underestimate his ex-admiral boss and the pipe routine. Let your guard down and the old boy in an almost primeval way, would sense it.

"Everything go well across the Channel?" M enquired, cocking one eye through the evolving
fumes, although he already knew the answer.

"Oh yes, the Resistance were very efficient. They took out the collaborator and I did the same for his Gestapo handler who was blackmailing him by holding his brother. It was a quick in and out operation."

"Yes, well the next assignment will be less transitory," said M, his pipe now steadily gaining traction and the smell of tobacco filling the room.

"I want you to change Hitler's sex."

"Sir?"

"You heard. One of our scientists has convinced Churchill that if we change the Fuhrer's gender, it will curb his aggressive instincts and make him more like his placid sister Paula."

"And what exactly did you have in mind sir?"

"Don't take that tone with me 007. If that's what the PM wants, then that's what he gets. Apparently there has been quite a lot of research going into the importance of sex hormones. I believe they are beginning to be used for sex therapy here in London in fact. The boffins believe that by smuggling female sex hormones into the Fuhrer's food they can turn him into a woman and curb his aggressive impulses."

"I apologise sir, I was just a bit surprised by the initiative. Would it not be simpler to just kill him, rather than get into all this transgender thing?"

"Been tried. Too well protected. Likewise poison. He has food tasters and all we would do is take out bit players. But you see, if we can lace oestrogen into his food, they only affect you after weeks or months, so you bypass the food taster defence."

"Ingenious. I'm beginning to warm to the idea. It would be entirely possible, but where do I come in?"

"How's your German and your cooking?"

"Well, as you know, I spent a lot of time in the Arlberg, in fact went to school there, so the language is not a problem. But the cooking so so."

"Thought so. The plan is to get you in as one of Hitlers cooks at Bertesgarten in the Bavarian Alps. So we have arranged a crash course in German cooking by Major Ramsey of the Catering Corps out at Aldershot. Get yourself up to speed. Miss Moneypenny has made all the arrangements. And also, go and see Q re getting fitted up with all his latest wizardry. That's all."

"Thank you Sir."

Bond rose to go.

"Oh, Bond, don't waste time trying to bed my secretary on the way out. There's a war on you know and I want her focused."

[Steven Hunley]

Ah, my gracious, was this funny. So very English, so very Bondy, so sexy and tongue-in-cheek! And in the last anaysis, dear fellow, so downright entertaining!

[MANICHAEAN]

Chapter 3: Q.

"Now do pay attention 007. This is the car we are sending you in with, by heavy duty parachute I might add. It's a captured Type 2 82, also called a Safari "Bucket" / Type C Class military vehicle. It's normally a 1,131 cc air-cooled engine, but we have souped it up to a 3.5 litre. Therefore, for obvious reasons, do go carefully on the gas as it's basically a lightweight. The transmission is 4-speed manual with self-locking differential. It's an interesting car, known officially as "The Volkswagen Kübelwagen" a light military vehicle designed by Ferdinand Porsche and built for use by the German Wehrmacht and Waffen-SS.It's for the Germans what the jeep is for the Allies."

"We felt it needed in your case some improvement of its off road ability and so we have mounted new axles with gear-reduction hubs, providing the car with more torque and more ground-clearance all at once. Revised dampers, 41 cm wheels and a limited slip differential, as well as countless small modifications complete the specification."

"What small modifications?" asked Bond, not letting that one slip past him.

"Oh, the usual things; grenade launcher, revolving number plates, flame thrower and a radio that tunes into the BBC."

"What's it's other strengths Q?"

"Well apparently The two-wheel-drive Kübelwagen surprised even those who had been a part of its development, as it handily out-performed the other vehicles in nearly every test. Most notably — thanks to its smooth, flat underbody — the Kübel would propel itself much like a motorised sled when its wheels were sinking into sand, snow or mud, allowing it to follow tracked vehicles with remarkable tenacity.Apart from that, the air-cooled engine has proved highly tolerant of hot and cold climates, and less vulnerable to bullets due to the absence of a radiator."

"Interesting," remarked Bond. "Any other gadgets for me?"

"Yes, there is this knife."

"What's it's special feature?"

"Good for peeling potatoes! You will need it when Chef Ramsey gets his hands on you!"

With that, for a change, Q, had the last laugh.

[MANICHAEAN]

Chapter 4: Hells Kitchen.

Major, (or as he preferred to be called), "Chef" Gordan Ramsey of the British Army Catering Corps, was to culinary excellence in war time Britain, what Gengis Khan was to the art of chivalry in combat. He was blunt, crude, foul-mouthed, a bully and yet got results. If an army marched on it's stomach, then Ramsey was the one who provided the victuals.

Perhaps because he aroused such antagonism in those under him, that this particular emotion was never allowed to descend into apathy in the kitchens he ran. Staff scurried from stove to produce, pots simmered relentlessly, pans spat hot fat, ovens choked and glowed inwardly like Hades incarnate, chaos seemingly reigned and above it all the hectoring urging of the "Chef" was everywhere; his malicious eye looking for perfection. And yet, somehow by dark and
almost perverse means; the dislike, the humiliation, even the hatred became channelled to constructive ends. For Aldershot Military Camp during the War was host almost exclusively to the hard drinking Allied Canadian Forces with appetites to match and it was the somewhat awesome responsibility of the British to run the catering side of things.Ramsey saw they were fed and watered. More discreet individuals of the officer class dealt with the aspect of killing.

"I don't like you Bond. Your too neat to be a chef and I'm only obliged to teach you under orders from above. How much experience do you have of cooking?" Ramsey stood in his whites, sleeves rolled up, apron tied around his waist, arms folded, eyes unblinking, and with a forehead furrowed like a field turned over by oxen and a wooden plough.

"Not much Major. Just the odd omelette."

"Understand one thing laddie, right from the start. You call me "Chef" and I will call you anything I please."

Bond eyed him and did not respond.

"I don't like the look of you laddie, in fact I think you are a Nancy boy, running around playing war games at the edges, while others put their arses on the line. So how do you feel about that?"

"You, outside," said Bond smoothly.

"What."

"You heard me, you Scotch chufta. Behind the cookhouse. Just you and me and we will see just how tough you are. And bring that knife your holding. I've cut more men's throats than you have sliced cucumbers."

Chef Ramsey smiled inwardly. "Not just someone who buckled easily like so many others. This one was prepared to fight back and not just with his mouth."

"Aye, well then, if its cooking behind enemy lines so I've been told. Know anything about the prospective clientele ?"

"As high as it goes."

"So I've been led to believe in the highest confidence. If it's Hitler, he's a bloody vegetarian, which explains why he's so f---ed up and why we are all fighting this f---ing war. But brought up in Austria, so you'll need to be able to cook all those dumplings they are fond of. Then there's that crowd of psycho s--t that he surrounds himself with. You will need to know the roast pork *"Schweinsbraten" the goulashes and the wursts."

Bond nodded. "Yes Chef."

[Delta40]

Omg I'm laughing my head off. Love the description of Gordon Ramsay and the confrontation between him and Bond. Excellent British comedy. Go for it Manch!

[MANICHAEAN]

Chapter 5: Apprentice Chef.

For the next four weeks Bond hardly slept. Life revolved around cooking, cooking, cooking. If he was not engaged otherwise, he was assigned one Paulus Schmidt, an Austrian chef of exemplary knowledge and patience who, married to an English girl and despite his lineage, was exempted internment and was only too happy to have young James under his tutelage.

"Now pay attention Herr Bond. If Hitler compliments you on this dish I show you, don't be attributing it to your Mutti, ya? Tell him Chef Pauli teach you."

"You know I can't really do that Pauli. It will blow my cover."

"I know, I know. But what if one could dream. Anyway remember that the Austrians stole many a dish from countries that belonged to the the former Austro-Hungarian Empire, most notably the beef goulash or *Fiakergulasch , now known in Vienna as the "Wiener Saftgulasch".Little does it matter whether it does form part of what we now call our culinary heritage, it does feature prominently in our lives, even if only on certain occasions like when we are drunk. Gulaschsuppe is most commonly consumed at New Year's parties where, at the end everybody is in need of something to fill their stomachs with, in an attempt to soak up the excessive amount of alcohol they've just downed and hoping to sober up a little. If you thought in England, Bloody Mary was the best hang-over cure, think again. So what's in my stew, then? All the traditional stuff: meat and vegetables (onions, potatoes) in good measure,
a generous helping of dry spices (smoked Hungarian paprika, as well as ground caraway) and a cheeky addition of some smoked bacon... I really can't think of any dish that wouldn't benefit of a smoky rasher, can you? "

"No," replied Bond appreciatively, "A bit of streaky bacon would even compliment champaign and oysters."

"Ach, dat is not funny Herr Bond. What you must remember is that every nation in the world has its stew - and Austria's answer to Bœuf Bourguingnon must be the Gulasch. Austrians are no more than common thieves when it comes to all things culinary. Truth be told, we have spent centuries pilfering the kitchens of other countries we ruled, (a bit like you British I might add), and now we like to take the credit for all the delicious strudels, dumplings, cakes, even something as simple as the Wiener Schnitzel."

Chef Ramsey appeared and beckoned Chef Schmidt to one side.

"How's the apprentice doing? Is he ready?"

Pauli pursed his lips. "Ya, he picks it up quick, and his knife skills are amazing."

Chef Ramsey winched. "Regional knowledge. Has it got enough? Local dumplings for example."

"Ya I think so. He now knows how to cook a wide range from spinach dumplings with blue cheese sauce (Spinatknödel mit Kaesesauce), bacon stuffed dumplings with white cabbage salad (Speckknödel mit Krautsalat), yeast dumplings with plum preserve and poppyseeds (Germknödel mit Powidl und Mohn), even curd dumplings with rhubarb-strawberry compote (Topfenknödel mit Erdbeer-Rhabarber-Kompott)."

"Good. Just round off bits where he might give himself away and I'll let the War Office know he's ready to give Herr Hitler's taste buds the mother whore of all dishes."

Chef Pauli just looked. He did not know all the details, but then he really doubted if he wanted
to.

[Hawkman]

This is priceless! keep it coming...

Live long and prosper - H

[MANICHAEAN]

Chapter 6: Home Cooking.

Bond approached the heavy wooden panelled study door carrying a tray of food. The tall SS guard in black uniform and spotless jackboots eyed him over and opened the door to let him in.

"You vill have to wait as Hitler is currently addressing the German Hausfrau League," he was informed. "Put the food on the desk. That's where he likes to eat."

From across the corridor through a half open door came a guttural scream.

"Schwine, Schwine all of you. I am surrounded by traitors and Schwine. My destiny lies in the
Fatherland, yet you sit there like degenerate rats complaining of shortages. Sacrifices must be made by all. Do you hear me? Like soldiers, you must sacrifice. The Wermacht is paying in blood on the Russian front and you vermin are complaining."

Inside the gilded chamber every woman's back was straight, every nerve tense, as Adolph Hitler, the embodiment of The Third Reich, picked up a heavy glass paperweight and hurled it through the side window and into the courtyard below. Glass scattered and fell onto the lap of a Fraulein at the end of the row. But she did not move, did not look down, no one so much as blinked. A window had been broken. It did not matter. This man had been breaking windows throughout Europe for the last three years.

The SS guard leaned over and down at Bond, the silver deaths head insignia of the black peaked cap just above his eyes.

"You seem to have got him in a good mood. The last cook was strung up with piano wire for serving a runny boiled egg."

"Well," replied Bond," if he does not come soon, then this meal likewise will not be to his satisfaction."

"Careful he is coming now," said the guard snapping vertically rigid, his face expressionless.

Hitler entered the room, hair awry and with short purposeful steps.

"Who are you?" he addressed Bond aggressively.

"My name is Joachim Brandt mein Fuhrer and I am your new cook."

"Your accent is Austrian. Where were you born?"

"St Anton Arlberg in the Tirol mien Fuhrer."

"What have you brought me today for elevenses?"

"Alpine Mushroom Pasta mien Fuhrer, a vegetarian dish with Savoy cabbage and mushrooms in a light sauce. Served with a Caesar salad and breadsticks."

Hitler sat, tucked in his napkin and took up his knife and fork.

"Interesting," he nodded between mouthfuls."Some secret ingredients you put in Herr Brandt?"

"If you only knew," thought Bond.

At that point the door opened and Eva Braun came in.

"Comely, but not a striking beauty," thought Bond.

She approached Hitler still seated.

"Adolf, why did you have to be so disagreeable with the German women that came to see you. I've had them come to me crying their eyes out."

Hitler eyed Eva sideways and carefully from under a lowered dark eyebrow."Had she come to
try and exert her female cunning again?"

"I was not disagreeable. I was very polite. I merely pointed out that there is a war going on. A war for the future of Deutschland is in progress and things like shortages of milk and flour are not priorities. This pasta is very good by the way Herr Brandt. Al dente on the teeth as it should be."

Eva for the first time noticed Bond. "Something sensual, barbaric and exciting about him," she noted.

"Adolph you really must be more restrained when dealing with people," she said.

"I am restrained."

"There is no need to raise your voice," she replied.

"I am not raising my voice," he said in some heat, getting up from his chair.

"Yes you are. You are always shouting and you know how it gives me a headache. Mutti was right when she said I should never have gone with you."

"I am not interested in what your mother thinks ; your mother is not with me. I am
surrounded by schwein, schwein, traitors and cowards determined to thwart my ambitions for the Fatherland."

His eyes by now were like protruding white hard marbles, veins throbbed visibly either side of his forehead and his neck muscles knotted.He held his arms rigid at either side of his body.

"Don't talk about my Mutti like that. She is a good woman and deserves more appreciation."

"Appreciation, appreciation. I will give her appreciation. I have camps here in Germany where we really can give appreciation."

She huffed, turned and walked out. "Oh," she mused, "I do love it when he is so dominant. Perhaps tonight we try the nurses outfit and the Lili Marlene music in the background."

[lilimarlene]

well done and hilarious!!(also love my namesake's reference in there:hurray:)

[lilimarlene]

...not to mention I love this description of Bond..."sensual, barbaric and exciting":yesnod:

[MANICHAEAN]

Dear Lili
Good choice of avatar. She was a great singer in my books and had tremendous sex appeal. As you most probably have ascertained, this thread is very tongue in cheek and I've indulged relentlessly in historical misrepresentation. But glad you enjoyed it.
Best regards
M.

[Steven Hunley]

Who wouldn't accept a bit of historical misrepresentation in exchange for a slice of humor as sweet as this? I'd like to know.