“What, not even a measly little Dakota?”
“Actually, we have two Dakotas and they are pretty banged up, and we’re using both of them.”
She became aware that Kelly looked at her with a grim expression and surreptitiously shaking his head. He wanted her to drop the subject.
“Ah well, just a thought.”
Graham suggested, “why don’t you all have a shower and get something to eat. I’ll put Flight Lieutenant Kelly at your disposal for the present… since he ditched his brand new Spitfire and we haven’t another for him.”
The Officers’ Mess was surprisingly well furnished for a wartime desert air base. Reminiscent of a Cairo Men’s Club with its leather chairs, occasional tables and huge ceiling fans. The bartender hesitated when she ordered a drink, although the few officers lounging around chatting or reading their dog-eared newspapers, didn’t give her a second glance. Nevertheless, she was relieved when Kelly walked through the door.
“Am I allowed in here? It feels very men-only.”
“I’ve no idea, I’ve never seen a woman in here. However, since there are very few women on the base, I wouldn’t worry about it.”
“I’ll take your word for it. By the way, did I say something inappropriate in Graham’s office? You gave me a funny look.”
Ordering a beer, he led her over to a group of chairs by the window. “I didn’t want you to make too much of it.”
“Why? We need a plane.”
“I know you do, and one of those DC-3s is perfect, but we might have to be a bit crafty.”
“Sam, I don’t want to get you into trouble. If we weren’t in North Africa, the SOE would requisition it for us, but…”
“But that’s the thing,” he whispered. “We are in North Africa, and we’re very short of planes. The only way Graham will let you have even an old Dakota is if he thinks it’s unreliable.”
“And how do we do that?”
He laughed. “We make it unreliable, but we won’t succeed if he suspects we’re sabotaging the engines.”
“We’re sabotaging the engines?” She whispered. “In the middle of a war?”
Kelly looked around to see if anyone was listening. “But that’s the point, isn’t it? That jet bomber you’re looking for is a damned sight more important than a decrepit old DC-3. If I can bribe the mechanic, Graham will have no choice but to ground the plane. In those circumstances, he might let you borrow it.”
Kat thought about it. Bribing an RAF mechanic to sabotage a plane in the middle of a war sounded like treason at the very least. Then again, if they didn’t steal the Adler, the war might soon be over.
“How much bribe-power do you need? I mean in US dollars.”
“The name of the DC-3 mechanic is Corporal James Morrison. We can’t give him money.” He hissed. “That really would be treason. However, if your people at SOE could arrange compassionate leave, I’m sure he’d jump somersaults for you.”
She thought about Commander Fleming, how he’d been prepared to bend any rule in the book to kidnap Stipa. “Okay, then ask the mechanic and let me know. I’m pretty sure SOE can fix it.” Kelly was about to stand up when Kat had a light bulb moment. “Sam, Can I ask you a question I didn’t ask?”
He gave her a bemused smile. “Sure. Go ahead and not ask it.”
“Do you think that you and Capetti together, could fly that monster?”
Kelly sat down again. “You mean, after I’ve bribed a mechanic to sabotage Royal Air Force property and then go AWOL?”
“Something like that.
CHAPTER 10
“A Jeep?” Stewart exclaimed. “In a DC-3? You must be daft. We’d never get the flaming thing in there.”
They stood in number three hangar, Kat, Capetti, Dore and Stewart. They studied the only plane in the hangar, a battle-scarred DC-3. Its cargo doors open, and the cowlings stripped away, exposing the multiple cylinder heads that encircled the Pratt and Whitney engines. The only other vehicle in the hanger, a Willys Jeep, Stewart measuring its dimensions with a tape measure.
“It’s ten feet long, and five foot two inches wide. How are we going to get the flaming thing through the cargo doors?”
“Simple,” Kat replied. “Take the bumpers off and drive it in.”
“And how do we get it out again, in the middle of the god-awful desert?”
“Harry, are you trying to be awkward? We take the ramps with us. The biggest problem is getting Squadron Leader Graham to give us the plane.”
“Why we not just take it?” Capetti ventured.
“What, and the Jeep?” Dore remarked. “And all the weapons we need?”
Capetti shrugged. “Is a war. Things go missing.”
Kat bristled. “Sandro, we’re not all Italian. We don’t just steal whatever we want. Anyway, Kelly has found a way, but I’ll have to call the SOE.” The hangar doors rattled and someone shouted. Someone was trying to open them, but Kat had jammed one end with a crowbar. “We’re not here, guys. Make yourselves scarce. I’ll see you later.”
Waiting until the team disappeared, she removed the crowbar and headed for the communications room. A small annex with a soundproof booth, behind the Officers’ Mess and permanently manned by two radio operators. One, a small dark haired man who tapped out Morse Code, the other, a tall, gangly Corporal with curly blond hair.
Pulling up a chair, and ignoring the Corporal’s you’re-not-allowed-in-here complaint, she peered at the communications equipment. “Do you know how to contact the SOE in London?”
“You’re not…” The Corporal began.
“Yes, I know, I’m not allowed in here, but I need to talk to SOE in London. You called them before, for Squadron Leader Graham. Now I need to talk to them, and it’s a private conversation.”
“We need a requisition,” he said. “I’m not being awkward, it’s regulations.”
“Oh my god. Okay, fine, I’ll get a requisition form.”
Getting up again, she made her way to Graham’s office. She found the squadron leader on the phone and not wanting to interrupt him, she wrote her request on a piece of paper. Graham peered at the note, frowned at her, then pulled a pad from a desk drawer.
“Hold on a moment… I’m going to sign this, but please be careful what you say. The Germans listen to these broadcasts.”
“I’ll be careful. Thank you.”
“Okay. Use the kiosk. The operator will connect it.”
Back in the communications room, she dropped the requisition on the Corporal’s table.
“I need to use your kiosk. Can you connect me to SOE?”
The Corporal peered at the requisition, blew his nose, peered at it again, and then looked at his watch. “How long do you need?”
“How long can I have?”
“It’s not like a regular phone.”
“You don’t say.”
“I need to time it.”
She began to feel irritable. She had no idea how long it would take them to find Commander Fleming, or how long she needed to talk. “Then time it, decode it, scramble it, and then add chips and vinegar. Anything you like, but put me through. And in the kiosk if you don’t mind.”
Sitting down, the Corporal put on headphones, turned a few dials, sighed, turned two more and gestured to the kiosk.
Slipping into the sound proof room, she sat down on a rotating stool and picked up the phone. “I have a call for you.” the Corporal said.
There was a crackle of static, and then a female voice said, “Can I help you.”
“It’s the Cheshire. Can you put
me through to Commander Fleming?”
“I’m sorry. The who?”
“He’ll understand.”
A brief pause, more static, and then a man’s voice.
“Commander Fleming.”
“It’s me, Commander.”
“Is that so? And who is me?”
“The Cheshire Cat. This line isn’t secure.”
“They never are. How’s it going so far?”
“So far, so good, but I need a plane and there aren’t any that are free… so I will have to borrow one.”
“Fine. Then borrow one. Why tell me?”
“Because being able to, I need compassionate leave for a Corporal James Morrison.”
Fleming fell silent for a moment and Kat imagined him sitting in his wood-paneled room overlooking Baker Street, cars tooting in the street below, the pretty Miss. Moneypenny typing his letters in the outer office.
“Is this to be used as leverage?”
“You could say that.”
“Fine. Consider it done.” He let out a rattling smoker’s cough. “While we’re talking,” he wheezed, “are you sure you wouldn’t be better off sticking to plan A?”
“It’s too late for that. They don’t really need the target any more.”
“You mean the product is complete?”
The Corporal stared at her impatiently through the observation window.
Kat looked at the Corporal holding up his watch while tapping it with his pencil. “I haven’t seen it yet, obviously. However, it’s fully operational.”
“We need either Stipa or the plane. I’d hate to lose both.”
“I understand, and we’re not exactly comfortable with it either, but I think it’s the best option.”
“And does the Major agree?”
“No he doesn’t. It’s way outside his comfort zone.”
“Do you think he’s capable of managing something like this?”
“Commander, are you going soft on me? If you knew what we’ve been through in the last two days…”
“Fine, fine, go ahead with it. I’m not comfortable with this, but your record has shown multiple times of you pulling a rabbit out of your bum. Let’s hope this is one more.
She fell silent for a moment. “Commander… we rescued a Spitfire pilot on the way here. His name is Flight Lieutenant Kelly, and he’s a pretty bright guy. If he teams up with Capetti, we might stand a better chance. If you want that monster to reach English soil in one piece, I’d strongly recommend you requisition him.”
“Why? You think he knows how to operate this… thing?”
“He thinks beyond the thunder-dome, and that may be all we have.”
“He thinks beyond the thunder-dome? My goodness, we do have fancy words. You should have been a writer.”
“So can you do that? Requisition him?”
She heard a sigh, a crackle of paper, the squeak of a chair, and a clicking sound, Fleming lighting a cigarette. “Of course.”
She found Kelly in the Officers’ Mess again, but this time he was with two of the pilots from his squadron. Their faces lit up when they saw her, one even twirled his mustache. What is it with wartime pilots that they needed either a handlebar mustache, or mutton chops without the sideburns? Was it some way of making themselves look like unconventional heroes? It wasn’t as if it improved their flying skills, and North Africa hardly teemed with impressionable girls.
“Sorry to interrupt,” she said, taking Kelly’s arm, “but can I have a word, Sam? I’m really short on time.”
“That’s about all you are short on.” The mustached pilot preened, once again sweeping a finger across his mustache and beaming at her. “A sight for sore eyes in North Africa, I can tell you.”
“That’s really sweet of you.” She replied, batting her eyelashes. “If only I had more time.” Ushering Kelly over to a table by the window, she pulled out a chair and sat down. “Sorry to drag you away, but I’ve spoken to London.”
“They’re requisitioning a plane?”
“No. They can’t. We’re in the middle of a war zone. However, I talked to Commander Fleming, and he said he would get Corporal Morrison his compassionate leave.”
“Excellent. Morrison said he will cause the Dakota’s engines to misfire, which will ground the plane. Then you can go to Squadron Leader Graham, say that Atkins worked for Pratt and Whitney before the war. You can do a deal with him. Tell him Atkins might be able to fix the problem if he agrees to lend you the plane for two days.”
“That will never happen.” She whispered. “If we find this German airfield, we’ll have no choice but to abandon the plane.”
“Kat, my Spitfire’s at the bottom of the bloody Mediterranean. At least the Dakota’s recoverable.”
“I suppose so. What’s Morrison going to do to the engines?”
“Fool around with the plugs and fuel supply. All you’ll need to do to fix the plane is give it new plugs and reconnect the pump. DC-3s aren’t complicated.”
She glanced behind her. No one close enough to overhear their conversation. “Did you give any thought to my other question?”
“What? About teaming up with Capetti?” He scratched at the blond stubble on his chin. “I’ve been thinking about it. You’re not going to just walk in and steal that thing. If you can even get it off the ground, they’ll shoot it down.”
That possibility had occurred to her. Still, it wasn’t enough to dissuade her from the objective. They would need to protect their precious jet bomber. “You think a desert airfield will have anti-aircraft batteries?”
“For a plane like that? Yes, I certainly do. Which means that if you’re to stand any chance at all, you must destroy them. How are you going to do that?”
“We’ll figure that out when we get there.”
“Where this airfield’s located will be the big issue. Fighter planes only have a range of 680 kilometers, so if they want to attack and airfield, to take out the anti-aircraft guns, for example, it can’t be any further away than 340 kilometers. If I were building a secret airfield, I’d make sure it was at least 400 kilometers from enemy fire. They could hit me with bombers, of course, although they’re easier to shoot down.”
She stared at Kelly for a long time. He’d obviously put a lot of thought into this, which made her realize how valuable he really could be.
“I’ve got to go. Tell Morrison he’s got his compassionate leave. Let me know when the Dakota’s been officially grounded.”
CHAPTER 11
Squadron Leader Graham paced up and down like an expectant father. “This just isn’t credible,” he said, tapping his pipe against the hangar door and blew through it. “It’s a DC-3, for Christ’s sake. They never go wrong.”
A loud stuttering noise emanated from the Dakota’s port engine as Morrison tried to start it again. “It’s no use!” He yelled, from the cockpit. “It won’t start. The other engine’s the same. I think it’s the fuel pump. I’ve already checked the plugs and there’s nothing wrong with them. Of course, it could be the magnetos.”
“Then check the bloody things. I need this plane.”
“Yes sir. I’ll find the problem.”
“Please do that Corporal. I’ll be in my office.” He turned and stalked away towards the Officers’ Mess.
Dore stepped out of the shadows. “Well, you got your first wish, Kat.” He glanced back at her. “And some unscrupulous bastard has nicked the distributor cap from the Warrant Officer’s Jeep. People are so bloody dishonest. No wonder there’s a war going on.”
“So now it’s a waiting
game,” she said, giving Morrison the thumbs-up. “As soon as the requisition for Kelly comes through, I’ll start badgering Graham.”
“Does Major Capetti know about this?”
“Not yet… he’ll be okay.”
He let out a cynical chuckle. “He’ll be okay? I’m not sure if I’m okay.”
“We need him to help fly the Adler. Capetti could never handle it on his own. The first sign of trouble, he’d be screaming for his mother.”
“Oh yeah? He was cool as ice in the mountains.”
“True, but Kelly’s very tactically aware and a tactician on our team could come in quite handy.”
“I can’t argue that. Maybe you should tell the Major, I mean before Flight Lieutenant Kelly is seconded onto our team.” He laughed. “In fact, does the Lieutenant know?”
“I did discuss it with him. But no, not exactly.”
“Blimey, Kat. You do play it close to the edge. You realize we could all die on this bloody trip?”
“Don’t be such a drama queen. I’ll go and tell Kelly now.”
There was no sign of Flight Lieutenant Kelly. He wasn’t in his quarters or the Officers’ Mess. Kat decided to look for Sam in the hangers. As she strode across the apron, four Spitfires came barreling in. She watched them as they touched down and worked their way round the perimeter, one after the other in close formation. The first pilot to climb out was one of the pilot officers she’d met in the Officers’ Mess, the one with the handlebar mustache and a beaming smile.
“You looking for Kelly?” He called, when he saw her watching.
“I am, actually!”
Kat and the Desert Eagle Page 8