

"Good evening.  This is Andrew Wilson with the Allied Radio Network, broadcasting
from London on August the 15th, 1941.  Here is the news update.

The war effort continues to go badly for the Allies.  Despite our successes in Iraq
and Syria, we have made little headway in repelling Axis forces from Western Europe.
The story on the Eastern Front is even more grim.  German armored tank divisions,
supported by Finnish, Hungarian, and Rumanian troops have swept through large parts
of European Russia.  Observers report little by way of Soviet resistance.

This show of might by the Germans is seen by many as a sign of continued conflict,
with little hope for a negotiated settlement.  Intelligence reports indicate that
the Germans have made a secret pact with an unknown force that has hitherto remained
on the sidelines.  It is not clear who or what constitutes this force.  It is clear,
however, that they have brought renewed vigor to the Axis and pose a terrible threat
to our boys.

On the bright side, the Atlantic Charter was signed between Great Britain and the
United States.  While continuing to remain neutral, America has agreed to provide
some assistance to Britain and the U.S.S.R.  This historic event was a joint
declaration for a post-war settlement, by Britain's Winston Churchill, and America's
Franklin Delano Roosevelt.

In other news, boxer and world heavyweight title contender Jack Porter has disappeared
from his home in Liverpool.  His trainer, Mike Lewis, said that Porter didn't show up
for his training session yesterday morning.  When he didn't show up again today, Lewis
went to Porter's home and found him missing.  Authorities report no signs of a struggle.
Fans of the sport will remember Porter as the lad who devastated the Italian heavyweight
Leopoldo Arnetto in '39 with his punishing left-hook.

Stay tuned for the next news update."

The radio clicks off.  I look up with a grim face at "Lloyd".  Just "Lloyd".  Didn't
know his last name.  Didn't even know if Lloyd was his real name.

"So they know you've gone missing, then", said Lloyd, disgustedly.  "Damn!  And did
you hear that bit about the "unknown force"?  That was supposed to be kept hush-hush.
Somebody's head in intelligence is going to roll for this.  This means that we haven't
much time.  We'll have to move the plans up.  Now let's go over them again."

"Look, Lloyd!" I reply hotly.  "We've gone over these plans a hundred farkin' times.
I'm sick and tired of going over them again.  Just get me over there and I'll do the
rest!"

"Like the dozen other hot-headed shit faces that we sent before you, and who didn't
make it back", said Lloyd coldly.  "Now go over the damn plans, man!"

"Fine!" I shoot back.  "I need to find out who's behind this shit that's goin' on
with the Huns.  You're goin' to drop me off near this haunted island or somethin' and
I need to bust a few balls to get the answers."

"If you won't open yer yap, I will", said Lloyd.  "We're going to dinghy you down to
within 2 miles or so of the island in the pre-dawn hours.  We should be far and high
enough that we won't trip any of the mines.  You'll have to swim ashore, and you ought
to be able to make it by dawn.  The island has some sort of haunted church, and it's
very tricky to get around.  They want to keep out unwanted fishermen and such like.
A few of our operatives have made it past the island and to an under-ground command
center of sorts.  Guarded by crack SS troops and who knows what.  After that you're
on your own.  None of our lads has made it past the command center.

"Now you understand why we're sending you, right?"

"No, I don't understand why you're sendin' me!" I shout.

"Dammit!" hissed Lloyd.  "You want me to spell it out for you, don't you?"

"Somethin' about me being handy with my fists?"

"You bastard!" he yelled.  "You know bloody well why you're going.  First, though I
hate to admit it, you're a damn fine boxer.  And that's mainly why we need you.  You
can't carry much gear on your swim ashore -- some rations and a sidearm.  Need to keep
you light for all the swimming and running you'll be doing. Anyway, from what I've heard,
the sidearm won't do you much good."

"What about a bloomin' rifle then?" I ask, for the hundredth time.

"Look, Porter!" Lloyd said with exasperation.  "We've gone over this.  Our operatives
radioed back to say there just isn't enough ammunition accessible to them, and far too
many guard patrols to off with just a sidearm, or even a rifle.  Remember!  This is a
commando operation, not a bloody side war.  You have to go in quietly.  Shoot off your
gun and you'll have the whole farking 10th Panzer Division being rammed up your stinking
arse."

"So, you want me to sneak in and punch my way through this shithouse, eh?" I ask.

"Bloody right, Porter", he replied.  "After sending in more than a dozen men, most of whom
never came back, we figured it out.  Who can we send in that doesn't need a gun to put
a man's lights out?  A fist fighter, of course!  And who better than Jack Porter, who lost
two of his brothers to Nazi bullets.  Damn!  I feel sorry for those Huns and whoever else
they've got in bed with them."

"Thanks, Lloyd", I say.  "Didn't realize you thought I was any good."

"Naah!" he said gruffly.  "Now don't be getting a big head.  I don't think you're good at
much, but I have a good feeling about you.  Now get to bed.  You're in for a long day
tomorrow."