Kat and the Desert Eagle

by Michael Beals

  “Thank you!” He gasped, as Dore and Capetti hauled him aboard. “I thought I was a gonner!”

  Dore wrapped a blanket round his shoulders. “What’s your name, flyboy?”

  “Kelly.” He gasped. “Sam Kelly.”

  “Are you hurt, Sam Kelly?”

  “I don’t think so.” Glancing at the other men on the boat, he turned back to Kat. “Ah. My guardian angel. Is there anything I can do to show my appreciation?”

  “Keep killing German’s and we’ll call it even.” Since the team stood around gawking at the pilot, Kat introduced everyone.

  “You’re all English?”

  “Sort of… Harry’s a Kiwi and the Major here’s a Wop.”

  “Would you believe she talk about her Commanding Officer?” Capetti remarked, rolling his eyes.

  “You’re… all in the military? What are you doing on an Italian fishing boat?”

  “We’ll tell you later. First, let’s get you cleaned up. Jock? Harry? Over to you.”

  An hour later, Kelly wearing jeans and one of Giovanni’s old shirts, they all sat in a circle on the foredeck. It turned out that Kelly had been drafted to an RAF station near Benghazi, which was really Bomber Command but needed fighter planes. He’d been transferred from Tobruk, then found himself being heckled by Messerschmitts on the way over. He’d downed two, then run out of ammunition. They talked for a long time before Kat finally told him why they were heading for Libya on an Italian trawler.

  “You’re all espionage agents? I thought spies operated alone.”

  “We’re not those kind of spies,” Dore informed him. “We work as a team, we’re all good at different things.” He laughed. “Kat’s just a wee secretary, but she’s worse than any of us.”

  “What d’you mean, worse?”

  “Her hobbies are killing NAZIs and blowing things up. She’s our wee in-house maniac.”

  Kelly sipped at the wine in his baked bean can. “So what are you going to do if you find this air base? Why’s it worth spying on? Better to bomb the hell out of it.”

  Kat drew a deep breath. Kelly was a Royal Air Force pilot, but what if he was shot down again and tortured? “Ah, well that’s the thing about spying. We can’t really tell you.” She shrugged, trying to make light of it. “Anyway, you wouldn’t want us to. Think of all the sleep you’d lose, worrying about those ever-so-nice people who saved your life.”

  “Well, there is that, I suppose. So how can I thank you?”

  “You could tell us about your Commanding Officer.”

  Kelly pursed his lips. “I’ve only met him once. His Name is Squadron leader Graham, and he comes from Yorkshire. He sounds like a lad-about-town. From what I can gather, he’s a real stickler. Why? Are you going to need his help?”

  “Yes, I think we are. We’ll need to borrow a plane.”

  Dore, Atkins and Stewart retired to their cabins for a much needed rest while Giovanni steered the boat. Kat sat by the winch housing and talked to Kelly. Speaking with such a posh English accent, she’d imagined him coming from London, or somewhere in the Home Counties. Instead, he turned out to be from India, where his father was in the Army.

  “You’re from India? You mean you don’t even know England.”

  “Did my basic training there, and learned to fly, but no. I’ve only been to London a couple of times. In fact, I’ve spent more time in Germany. My mother is German. We would visit her sister, my aunt, for holidays.” He laughed. “But yeah, as far as England’s concerned, I’m a complete foreigner.”

  “And now you’re in North Africa.”

  “I know. It’s weird. When my plane went down, all I could think about was India.”

  She burst out laughing. “That really is weird. If you were a bit more devious, you’d belong on our team. We’re a real jigsaw puzzle.”

  He squinted at her and asked, “So why are you searching for this secret airfield?”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “Why on earth not? We all sign the Official Secrets Act. If I live long enough to tell anyone anything,” he added.

  “Sam, if I tell you, you can’t breathe one word to anyone. If it gets out, and it reaches the wrong ears…”

  “Who on earth am I going to tell? Besides, you saved my life.”

  She stared at him for a moment. “Okay, I’ll tell you because maybe you can help us.”

  So she told him about their meeting with Stipa, about the extraordinary bomber he’d been working on, how it’s twice as fast as any other bomber, and would almost certainly help the Germans win the war. She told him how they planned to steal the plane. She explained that Capetti, with all his hours of flying fighter planes, may not be able to fly it, and that if they couldn’t steal it, they would have to destroy it.

  That night, Giovanni cooked pasta with prawns, his farewell present after everything they’d been through. Although on reflection, it should have been the team cooking him a farewell dinner. The elderly Captain gave them considerably more for their $200 than they could ever have expected, and they’d probably never see him again. He’d return to his family, afraid to relate the true magnitude of what happened in the last few days, or why the trawler’s deck was covered with burn marks.

  But everyone’s attention was too focused on Kelly to consider such things.

  “So whereabouts in Germany did you go on holiday?” Kat asked, afraid to even mention her dreaded stepfather.

  “My aunt lives in Werben, which is a small town, quite near Berlin, although we didn’t go into the city very often. One of my uncles lives there. He isn’t a very nice person, so we used to avoid him.”

  “You have strange background.” Capetti commented. “Your family sound more German than English.”

  Kelly laughed. “My mother’s German, although she’s lived in India for thirty years. Now we have a war raging, there’s a lot of family discussion about it. British rule in India’s breaking up. They’ll be kicked out in the next few years, so they’re not sure where their Motherland is… or Fatherland, if you listen to my not-so-favorite uncle. At this exact moment, my father wouldn’t dream of moving to Germany, but it’s where my mother was born.”

  Kat gazed at the pilot. A handsome young man, all red hair and blond eyelashes. He’d obviously chose which side to be on, but his holidays in Germany must be confusing memories.

  “So, who’s this uncle of yours?” she asked. “Why didn’t your aunt like him?”

  “Ah! Uncle Rudolph. I’ve only met him a couple of times. He’s in the army and he’s a really scary person. Last time I saw him, he shot a horse right in front of us.”

  “He did what!”

  “We were in Berlin and it was snowing. A carthorse had slipped on the tram rails and no one could get it on its feet again, so he pulled out a gun and shot it. There was nothing wrong with the horse. It was just very slippery.”

  Kat stopped breathing as a vivid memory lanced into her thoughts. “When was this?”

  Kelly pursed his lips. “Hmm. Must have been Christmas, 1935. My last holiday in Germany.”

  “Where a… bouts in Berlin?” She almost whispered.

  “We were in Alexanderplatz.”

  The realization hit Kat like a grenade going off in her brain. “You were that little boy who was screaming blue murder?”

  Kelly’s head shot around and he visibly flushed. “You were there?” he gasped. “In Berlin that Christmas? Standing there when the horse was shot?”

  The memory rewound in her head, the Christmas laughter, snow falling like a fairy tale. Her stepfather taking her to a Christmas party. She would never
forget the horror that knifed into her when he shot the horse.

  “I was. I saw everything. So you’re related to… the man who shot the horse?” She suddenly realized how bad it would be if Kelly knew who she really was. She wasn’t related to Kelly any more than she was related to Pernass. Uncle Rudolph was her stepfather, not her father. Nevertheless, the connection was too close for comfort.

  “I know. I understand why my aunt doesn’t like him, and he’s even worse now. He’s a high-ranking officer in the Waffen-SS. I can’t imagine serving under him.” He gazed at Kat in fascination. “So you were there? That’s amazing. You must have been a little girl.”

  “I was fourteen.”

  “Wow!” Kelly exclaimed. “I’m surprised I didn’t notice you. You must have been sweet.”

  She laughed. “I’ve never been sweet. My school friends used to call me Scat.”

  Kelly’s story must have stuck in her head, because that night she dreamt of Berlin. She didn’t see Kelly in her dream, or even her stepfather, but she was in Alexanderplatz and it was snowing. There were dozens of horses roaming around, and somewhere in the distance, bombs going off. The horses looking at her and nudging up against her, and in the back of her dreaming mind, she knew why they were being so friendly. They were thanking her… because one of them was about to die.

  CHAPTER 9

  Kat woke to the sound of voices, and she noticed the trawler’s engines were silent. She was already sweating from the morning heat and humidity, and when she checked Dore’s bed, as usual, empty. Quickly dressing, she went out on deck. They were anchored off the coast of what she assumed to be Libya, Benghazi docks visible in the distance. Capetti, Dore and Kelly deep in conversation about what to wear when they docked. The problem hadn’t occurred to them when in Italy. Apart from the old sweaters and jeans they were wearing, the only clothes they possessed were the uniforms of the Waffen-SS. They could hardly traipse through Benghazi dressed like that.

  “That’s not really a problem.” Kelly said. “Once I’m installed at the air base, I can send clothes back to you. If my Commanding Officer calls the SOE, I can even get your ranks correct, although you don’t seem very bothered about rank.”

  “I am.” Kat said, joining the conversation. “I want to be a Lieutenant. Dore and Atkins should be commissioned as well. Then we can all use the Officers’ Mess and have a shower. Believe me, I need one. I’m practically creaking with salt and rat shit.”

  Kelly laughed. “Where did the rat shit come from?”

  “Our little escapade in Palermo. I had to go in the water and it was full of the damned things.”

  “Well, I’ll do my best, but it could take a while.” Kelly mused. “I was supposed to fly to the airfield, not walk all the way from Benghazi.”

  “That’s not a problem,” Dore said. “We’ve got American dollars coming out of our ears. You can take a taxi. I’m sure they’re still running and everyone seems to love dollars.”

  “Brilliant!” Kelly exclaimed. “Do you carry any ID?”

  “You joking?” Capetti said. “In Italy, we were Waffen-SS. Our papers prove it. My cover-name is Schmidt. I’m SS equivalent of Major. Tell your Commanding Officer we flew into Italy on a Junkers 52. Have him confirm with Commander Fleming with SOE.”

  Kelly shook his head. “I’m sure it won’t be a problem. There’s not much doubt about who you are.” Then he laughed. “Although with a name like Wolfram, Kat might come into question.”

  Kat stifled a laugh. “You don’t know the half of it.”

  “So, we go Benghazi now?” Giovanni asked, waving for Atkins to weigh anchor.

  “We sure can,” Kat said. “We’ll stay on the boat until our clothes come. If we feel uncomfortable, we can anchor further out.”

  Benghazi docks were chaotic. Cranes lowering crates of supplies, smoke still rising after an earlier air raid, military Jeeps zipping back and forth, and the army helping to unload a battle-scarred ship.

  “Good luck with finding a taxi,” Dore said, as they moored next to a group of fishing boats. “It’s bloody madness here. D’you want me to come with you?”

  Already standing on the dock, Kelly waved a hand at him. “I’m fine, Sergeant Major. I know where the taxi rank is. If they let me, I’ll come back with the clothes myself. If I can’t, I’ll see you in the mess.” He turned to go, then hesitated. “Can you ask Kat if she needs clean underwear… after all the rats?”

  “Kat!” Dore yelled. “You need clean knickers?”

  She stepped out of the cabin. “Thanks Jock. Yes, preferably from Paris.”

  Kelly grinned. “I haven’t been lucky enough to see military knickers, but they probably are a delightful shade of khaki.”

  “Sounds smashing!” She called, putting on a posh accent. “Whatever you can find.”

  “So what do we do now?” Stewart asked, coming up behind her. “Do we chuck our uniforms and weapons, or keep them in case we crash-land in France or Germany?”

  “Keep them. Harry, you know better than anyone, we wear NAZI uniforms almost as much as we do our own.” Kat snickered. “Sometimes I forget what side I’m really on.”

  The sun was sitting on the horizon when Flight Lieutenant Kelly finally returned driving a Royal Air Force Jeep. He wore an immaculate khaki uniform with a pale blue cap and wings sewn above the breast pocket.

  “You manage to get everything?” She called.

  “Every stitch. Even the knickers.” He added. “And you’re a Flight Lieutenant. Atkins and Dore are pilot officers. The adjutant jumped through hoops to get them.”

  “I’m a higher rank than Jock? That’ll piss him off. Wait til I tell him.”

  But Dore wasn’t at all put out when he saw Kat in her pristine uniform. Their assigned ranks meant nothing to the Scotsman. All he wanted was a hot shower and a few tots of double malt.

  “Och! Yer a sexy wee Lass,” he said, grinning at her. “Mind you behave yourself.”

  Capetti was more upset. His real rank was equivalent to a squadron leader, but he’d been assigned the rank of Flight Lieutenant because the camp’s Commanding Officer was also a squadron leader and they didn’t want to cause a stir among the ranks. That Kat was the same rank clearly annoyed him, because in real life she had no rank whatsoever.

  “Just remember, Wolfram, I’m your Commanding Officer.”

  “Of course you are, Sandro. And I wouldn’t have it otherwise.”

  She turned to Giovanni, who stood by the wheelhouse, sipping an espresso. “Giovanni. Thank you so much for everything. We couldn’t have done it without you. Next time we’re in Italy… after the war, preferably… you can introduce us to your wonderful grandchildren.”

  He continued standing by the wheelhouse as they drove away, and Kat thought she saw tears in his eyes.

  The drive through Benghazi was startling. The British might be in control, however, bomb damage was everywhere. Some roads had craters in them, and when they got to the air base, it was ringed by anti-aircraft batteries.

  “Mama mia!” Capetti said, looking at all the damage. “Tobruk bad as this?”

  “The airfield isn’t!” Kelly called back, as he scattered a group of stray mules. “It’s not really damaged at all, although Tobruk itself certainly copped it.”

  When they reached the air base, it brought back memories of Tunis, a dusty airfield surrounded by fields where little grew. Even the hangars and surrounding buildings were vaguely similar, rows of billets and a hastily fabricated airmen’s mess. An Officers’ Mess built by local builders, white and gleaming in the afternoon sun, also housed Squadron Leader Graham’s office. Kat breathed a sigh of relief when she entered its fan-coo
led interior.

  Graham’s face lit up when they entered his office. “My god! I never thought in a month of Sundays I’d get to meet Kat’s Rats. Please, come in.”

  “Kat’s Rats?” Capetti repeated, with a puzzled look on his face. “We called Kat’s Rats?”

  “You didn’t know?” Graham said. “Oh yes, of course. You’re the new Commanding Officer. Well, let me tell you, your rag-tag bunch of no-goods is almost as famous as Rommel. They’ve been tearing up chunks of North Africa since goodness knows when.”

  “Really?” Capetti exclaimed, raising his thick eyebrows. “Is that why Miss. Wolfram keep giving orders, not taking them?”

  Dore sniggered. “She’s really our mascot, Squadron Leader. But as most regimental mascots are goats or horses and Kat’s vaguely human, we thought we’d humor her.”

  “She also speaks five languages,” Stewart added, “and we can barely speak English.”

  “Brilliant! You’re all extremely welcome. Anything we can do to help, you only have to ask.”

  “Really?” Kat said, brightly. “We only have to ask?”

  “Well… if it’s within reason.” Graham qualified. “We don’t have unlimited resources.”

  “You are a Royal Air Force base?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “Which means you have planes.”

  “Of course.”

  “Which can fly across the desert and discover secret German airfields, one of which we really need to find.”

  He glanced at Capetti. “Is she pulling my leg?”

  Capetti shook his head. “No pulling leg.”

  Graham slumped into his chair and gazed at Kat. “Young lady, you do realize there’s a war on? You’re welcome to sleep in the best quarters we can find, use the Officers’ Mess and be driven anywhere your hearts desire, but we’re not exactly over-stocked with planes. The Germans keep shooting the damned things down.” He glanced at Kelly. “As you’re all very aware.” He flung open his arms in an expansive gesture. “I don’t have any spare planes.”