“Seemed to be, but they saw you lot leaving. They wanted to know who you were.”
“I hope you tell them we just visiting.” Capetti said.
“Giovanni told them you bought some fish, but he doesn’t speak German either, and they didn’t speak Italian. They’re coming back with an interpreter.”
“I don’t care if they come back with the Pope.” Kat said. “We won’t be here. Wake Giovanni. We’re moving the boat.”
“To where?”
“Out of sight. It’ll be dark in half an hour.”
Having had no sleep since Genova, Giovanni wasn’t happy about being woken, yet he started the engines and anchored the boat deeper into the harbor. He was puzzled when Kat directed him, wanting a clear view of the munitions dump, and then furious when Capetti explained what they planned.
“Far esplodere le banchine?” He gasped. “Are you all crazy?”
“Don’t blame me.” Capetti said, hooking a thumb at Kat. “Blame her. She the crazy one.”
“They will see us. They murder my family.”
Kat pulled a face. “Giovanni, they’re not the mafia. Anyway, it’ll be dark. We’ll be gone before they can say, schnitzel.”
Stewart laughed. “Sounds like they’ll be schnitzel.”
“If we don’t screw it up. Giovanni, do you have a roll of fishing cord?”
“Fishing cord?”
“What you make the nets with. Corda sottile. Thin rope.”
“I have lenza. A big roll. What you want it for?”
“I want to re-condition one of the submarines.”
It was dark by the time Giovanni finally accepted their madness and agreed to help. Turning the trawler around, he anchored it facing the harbor entrance, then set up a pulley that would allow the fishing line to unspool as Kat swam. Despite her insanity, he’d grown to like Kat. He didn’t want her coming to harm, especially before the long and boring trip to Benghazi.
Stripping down to her underwear… an event that didn’t go unnoticed by the team who all pretended to show no interest… Kat allowed Capetti to tie the line around her waist and then cautiously lowered herself into the water. The U-boat was 200 yards away, at the far end of a row of fishing boats. Guards patrolled the key, but apart from the U-boat, illuminated by a moving spotlight, the harbor was as black as ink. Swimming to the nearest boat, she studied the route she needed to take. It wasn’t in a straight line and the cord might snag on boats she would pass. A risk she’d have to take.
Pushing off, she began to swim. The water was freezing, and every so often, something soft brushed against her. She’d almost reached the submarine when she realized what it was. Rats, swimming from one boat to the next in search of food. She shuddered and tried to concentrate. The U-boat was a IX-C with an elaborate conning tower. Which was a pain, because it meant she’d have to climb the damned thing to make sure the hatch was open. Easy to see from the trawler’s deck, impossible down here at water level.
Taking a deep breath, she glanced at the Guards and then swam over to the silent U-boat. To her relief, ropes hung down the side, making it easy to climb, yet she still needed to dodge the spotlight sweeping on and off the boat at regular intervals. She waited, timing the spotlight. She had exactly 15 seconds to climb the conning tower, check how to fix the grenades and climb down again, wait another 15 seconds, and then slip silently into the water.
The submarine dipped into shadow. “Now!” She whispered to herself, and climbed the metal ladder… 3, 4, 5, 6, 7. She checked the hatch. To her relief it was still open, the smell of paint wafting up to her. Time to leave… 11, 12, 13, 14. Light washed over the submarine. Again, she waited for the submarine to dip into shadow. Moment’s later, back in the water and silently swimming to the trawler. She tried to imagine doing that at 0400, when all the trawlers prepared to leave. What if someone saw her, perhaps a fisherman who sympathized with the Germans? She would be unable to shoot him, she’d be unarmed.
Capetti leaned over the side to haul her aboard when she reached Giovanni’s trawler. Where was the rest of the team? She’d been expecting them to be watching her progress, but they weren’t on deck.
“Where is everyone?” she asked, clambering aboard.
“Patrol boat doing security check. We had to hide.”
Grabbing the towel he’d brought her, she wrapped it around her shivering body and sodden knickers.
“Is June. The water always cold. Anyway, they gone now.”
“Where’s Dore?”
“Behind you, Lass.” She jerked around to find Dore crouching in the shadows. “How was it?”
“Bloody freezing, but it’s do-able.”
That night, Stewart cooked sea bass and sweet potato on the trawler’s primitive grill, burning it so the skin went crispy. He said they always burned the fish in New Zealand, it tasted better. The meal was absolutely scrummy and put everyone in such a good mood. They even sampled the wine, and by the time Kat corked the bottle, they’d almost forgotten what was in store.
“That’s it boys. We’ve got to be up in a few hours.”
Capetti groaned and shook his head. “We have to do this? Is a Sunday.”
Dore laughed. “Good try, Major. In two hours it will be Monday.”
That night, Kat slept in Dore’s cabin again. She was getting used to his snoring. He was beginning to feel like an older brother, although she doubted if he felt the same way. He’d even brought her clothes when the Italian pulled her out of the water.
Setting the alarm on her travel clock, she settled down for the night. It took a while before she slept. When she did, she dreamt about riding a camel somewhere in Africa. She was surrounded by Germans riding camels as well. She didn’t see him, but she knew Pernass was there somewhere. Strangely there were tanks and halftracks nearby, and no one seemed interested, preferring to ride the camels. She woke with a start. The alarm was ringing, but the howling wind was louder. It even woke Dore.
“You still want to do this? We’ve got another storm brewing.”
“Brewing?” she remarked, climbing down from the bed. “Sounds like it’s already here.”
“You can at least cancel the submarine thing. With all the wee boats rocking around, you could get squished. In fact, they’ll as likely close the submarine hatches.”
“No they won’t. Submarine hatches are like chimneys. Even the slightest breeze stops the rain from entering.”
“You’re a fountain of knowledge, Kat. Are you sure you want to risk it?”
“Jock, I haven’t blown up anything lately. I need the practice. Besides, I’ve already planned it.”
“Fine, fine.” He said, holding up his hands, “Never argue with a Taurus.”
“I happen to be an Aries.”
“Same thing. Are we ready?”
Outside a blowing gale, many of the fishing boats pitching in the rising swell, and Giovanni was battening down the hatches. Looking around, she saw Stewart setting up the mortars and anchoring them to the bow of the deck. Stewart would only be able to set the elevation and then wait for the Captain to turn the boat facing the docks. Atkins got another mortar to mount but this one facing to the port side. With the boat heaving with the waves, if the Captain had to turn to starboard, they would have another opportunity to fire at the docks. It wasn’t a perfect plan with all the ship bouncing, but it was the best they could do.
“Is this a good time?” Stewart asked. “We’ll have to put to sea in this storm.”
“Don’t you start, Harry. I’ve already had Jock griping in my ear.” Opening the ammunition box, she pulled out two of Gramigna’s seventeen-second grenades. “Are we al
l ready? Because I’m not freezing my butt off until we are.”
“We’re just waiting.” Stewart said.
“For what?”
Capetti appeared in the wheelhouse doorway. “For you to take clothes off.”
“Alessandro! I didn’t take you for a perv.”
“I am Italian. It is our duty.”
She rolled her eyes. It wasn’t as if she would be naked. Well, not quite. “So are we all clear?” she shouted, above the blustering wind. “You don’t fire until the engines are running and I’m safely back on the boat.”
“Do we have to wait?” they chorused, then burst out laughing.
“Very funny. You’re all an absolute hoot… Jock, can you help me?” Walking down to the stern, she threw a ladder over the side and stripped off. It wasn’t as simple this time, she had to carry the grenades.
“I experimented with the grenades.” He said, strapping on her NAZI belt and pressing the grenades into the empty holsters. “They won’t fall out, but that’s the problem. It won’t be easy getting them out without accidentally pulling the pins or damaging the soldering wire, so be extremely careful.”
“That’s brilliant, Jock. Thank you.”
“Just come back in one piece.” She began to climb over the side. “Oh, and by the way.”
“What?”
“Love your swimming costume.”
“What can I say? I’m just a slave to fashion.” She said as she lowered herself into the water.
In the howling wind, the water didn’t feel so cold, she was more concerned about the fishing boats. Some already had their engines running and were casting off. This weather obviously wasn’t going to stop them fishing. Keeping a wary eye on them, she swam down to where she’d secured the fishing line. The water choppy now, making it difficult to locate. She eventually found it and tied it round her waist.
This time she carefully checked for Guards. She even checked for curious fishermen, or crew who might have boarded the submarine, but everything was quiet. Only the Guards keeping a sharp eye out. Swimming silently over to the U-boat, she waited for the spotlight to pass over, then clambered up to the base of the conning tower. Now she only needed to thread the fishing line through the grenades’ ring-pulls, but her hands were cold and wet, and her fingers felt numb. It reminded her of their parachute jump, except that Jock wasn’t here to warm her hands.
Finally securing the cord, she waited for the spotlight to pass and then scrambled up the ladder. She had four seconds to dangle the grenades over the rim of the tower without pulling the pins. However, it took longer than four seconds and she held her breath when the spotlight swept over. Someone shouted. Had she been seen, or was it just a coincidence? Afraid to take the risk, she waited for darkness again and then dived headlong into the water.
Then she swam. She swam with all her might. Just as she reached the trawler, Stewart fired the mortars. An almighty explosion shattered the night, then another and another. And then the whole world erupted, rocking the fishing boats and sending gouts of fire shooting overhead. Grabbing the ladder, she hauled herself aboard, the trawler already moving. She felt the engines rising in pitch. Clinging to the gunwale, she slithered onto the deck, just as another huge explosion turned night into day. By comparison, the grenades going off in the submarine sounded almost pitiful.
They headed for the harbor entrance now, along with a stampede of trawlers, all fleeing for the safety of open sea. She looked back. The whole dockside on fire, cranes toppling, halftracks and motorcycles burning, the flames glittering in the choppy water. Strangely, there were no people in sight.
Kat looked up at all the mayhem in her sodden knickers. “Now those are proper explosions! Kinda gives one the warm fuzzies for a job well done.”
Dore came over, put his arm around her shoulder and patted her on the head. “Aye Lass… Good job.” Together, the two stood there looking up, admiring the beautiful fireworks. Dore admiring another explosion informed Kat, “you do realize that with all the explosions and the bright lights they are creating, we can see thru your wet knickers?”
Kat looked down, then up seeing Capetti staring at her trying desperately to maintain his composure. “Yeah. Maybe I should go below before he passes out.”
As she went below, she heard Dore saying, “deep breaths Major… Take deep breaths…”
CHAPTER 8
Kat woke to the sound of seagulls, and for a while she lay there listening to them. There shouldn’t be any seagulls, not in the middle of the Mediterranean. They were land birds and stayed near the coast. She sat up and rubbed her arms. They were sensitive from the salty water, she needed to shower. Fat chance. There are no showers on a fishing boat. She’d have to wait until they reached Benghazi.
Leaning over the side of the bunk, she checked Dore’s bed. It was empty, and this surprised her. The Scotsman loved his lie-ins. Maybe hunger had woken him, or she’d been snoring again. The team made jokes about her snoring, and according to Dore, she’d make a brilliant set of bagpipes.
Throwing off the covers, she climbed down and went looking for everyone. The reason for the seagulls immediately obvious, off the starboard bow, she saw land, and she also saw a fleet of colorful boats. Where on earth were they? Benghazi must be at least another thirty-six hours. They should be in the middle of the Mediterranean. Stewart answered her question. Wearing a peaked cap and a pair of khaki shorts, he was staring out to sea.
“They’re felucca fishing boats. We’re near Tunisia.”
“Tunisia? We should be in the middle of the Mediterranean.”
“Yeah, I know, Giovanni said it’s safer. He wants to stay near the coast.”
She found Dore in the wheelhouse, talking to Giovanni. He broke off when he saw her. It felt as if they’d been talking about something she shouldn’t hear.
“If it’s not my f sharp major. Good morning.”
“I wasn’t,” she said, in embarrassment. “Please tell me you’re joking.”
“Fraid not. That’s why all the boats are here. They came to see what all the noise was.”
She slapped him on the arm. “Why are you so mean to me? I was knackered.”
“I’d better go and tell the others,” he teased. “They can go back to bed now.”
“Oh, stop it!” She faked a pout. “What were you talking about… that you didn’t want me to hear?”
He gazed at her for a moment, glanced at Giovanni and then shrugged. “We’re staying near the coast for a reason. The Brits and Germans have dogfights over this part of the Mediterranean. We didn’t want to get caught up in one.”
“I would have thought they’d be safer near the coast. Who’d want to ditch in the middle of nowhere?”
“It’s circumstantial. Fighter planes travel a mile in ten seconds. They always end up miles from the coast.”
“Where did Stewart put the wine?”
“I don’t know,” he replied in his singsong Glaswegian. “We should find out before he drinks it all. I wouldn’t mind a wee dram myself over dinner.”
When she found Stewart, he hadn’t touched a drop since last night and looked genuinely shocked that she was going to drink in the early afternoon.
“The French drink wine with their lunch.” She informed him.
Carrying an opened bottle down to the stern, she settled in for a lazy afternoon. If they were going to be bored witless for the next day and a half, she was going to enjoy it. For a time, she lay propped against the winch housing, sipping wine and drifting off in the sunshine.
She was almost asleep when she heard a distant droning, and for a moment thought she was snoring. But the sound got louder, and sh
e knew what it was long before she opened her eyes. A plane, and it wasn’t alone. Shielding her eyes, she squinted up at the sky. High above her, what looked like a Spitfire appearing and disappearing behind low-lying clouds. Not far behind, mimicking the plane’s aerobatic moves, two other planes homed in on it, and they didn’t look like Spitfires. She heard the faint rat-at-at-tat now, the planes’ engines screaming when they went into a dive, the sound dropping two full tones when they climbed again. A stream of smoke suddenly trailed from the Spitfire. It banked around, then went into a steep dive. She knew what the pilot was doing. He tried to put the fire out. But the trail of smoke got thicker, and suddenly she knew, he couldn’t pull out of the dive.
“Giovanni!” she screamed. “Turn the boat around! Girarsi! Subito!”
She stared at the plane, mesmerized by the sudden danger. It was coming straight at her, only feet above the water, smoke pouring from the engine, its nose-cone glinting in the sunlight. The canopy blew off. She glimpsed the pilot, the plane so low, she was in danger of it hitting her. A rush of hot smoke as it roared over her, inches above her head. Then it was down, engine screaming, buffeting through the waves in an explosion of water. Then silence.
“Giovanni!” she screamed. “Quickly, before it sinks!”
The trawler lurched as Giovanni opened the throttle and came about. She saw the pilot now. Frantically tugging at his harness, he struggled to get out of the cockpit. However, the plane was rapidly sinking, wings already submerged, water pouring into the cockpit. They had less than a minute. She waited with bated breath as they drew closer, her eyes glued to the sinking plane. The pilot was frantically struggling. He was trapped. Unclipping her holster and yanking a knife from Dore’s belt, she launched herself into the water and within seconds, slithered along the submerged wing.
“Hang on!” She gasped, grabbing the edge of the cockpit. “I’ve got a knife!”
“Bloody thing’s jammed!” He yelled.
Grabbing his shoulder strap, she slashed at the tough webbing, water pouring into the cockpit. It suddenly came free, but the belt held fast and the plane was now underwater. Gulping in a lungful of air, she reached into the water and sawed at it, taking long seconds to cut through. Then it was free, the plane sinking, the pilot swimming. They were clear and swimming towards the boat.
Kat and the Desert Eagle Page 6