Kat and the Desert Eagle

by Michael Beals

  The drive to Benghazi passed close to the docks, and she looked for Giovanni’s trawler. There was no sign of it, and she wondered where he would re-fuel after their explosive stunt in Palermo. Maybe he’d find diesel in Trápani. Suddenly, she longed to be in Italy, with its espresso coffee, prosciutto ham, and the crusty Italian bread that went stale in a matter of hours.

  “Penny for your thoughts,” Kelly said, swerving to avoid a series of bomb craters.

  “I was actually thinking of Italy. It was a beautiful country before the war. Poor Capetti. He must be really homesick.”

  “Aren’t we all? I imagine you miss England.”

  “That’s what’s so weird. I work for the Brits, and I’m totally on their side, but I grew up in Germany. I went to middle school in Hamburg.”

  “Yes, of course. Uncle Rudolph’s your stepfather. So how come you sound so English?”

  “My mom was English. She sent me to a Swiss finishing school to learn social graces and be a refined young lady.” Kat grinned. “So here I am, gutting NAZIs and blowing shit up.”

  “And doing a terrific job from what I hear. If you wouldn’t mind waiting,” he said, pulling up to a steel smelting works. “This may take a while.”

  Kat exited the jeep and said, “I’ll just do a bit of shopping while you’re gone. Meet you back at the jeep in half an hour.”

  When they met back up, Kelly showed her a length of steel piping he purchased. “This should do the trick.”

  “We could have done with your help in Italy.” Kat said smiling.

  For the first time in ages, she began to relax. Even the bombed-out streets of Benghazi felt like a tourist destination. Small cafes looked colorful and quaint, stray donkeys added character, and the kids looked cute, when in truth, they’d rob you blind.

  They pulled up in a small square. Chickens strutting around and children kicking a screwed up ball of paper through a makeshift goal. They walked to a small outside café, tables with tattered parasols had been set. There was an aroma of coffee and something that smelled like roasting meat. Climbing out, they sat down at one of the tables, and in less than a minute a man came out to take their order.

  “You make aseeda?” Kelly asked.

  “My wife make very good aseeda.” The man said. “Best in Benghazi. And have lemonade, like in America.”

  “Wonderful. We’d like two of both.”

  The man disappeared, and moments later came back with the lemonade. “My wife making aseeda. Not be long.”

  “Fabulous,” Kelly said. “Thank you.”

  “I thought you’d only just arrived in Benghazi.”

  “I have, but I’ve been here before. This was my first station in North Africa, before Squadron Leader Graham. But they ran out of pilots in Tobruk. Then they ran out of pilots here, so I came back.”

  “And you’re still breathing.”

  “I’ve been lucky. Well, sort of.”

  She laughed. “And now it’s about to run out.”

  “Jesus, I hope not. I’d like to live long enough to get that monster off the ground. Do you really need me to creep into the secret air base?”

  “If we ever find it. We have no idea where it is. Stipa wasn’t sure. He thought it was in Algeria.”

  “Well that narrows it down to what… a million square miles?”

  “So we might end up flying back to base again if it takes too long, Graham might take back his plane again. If that happens, it’s up to SOE. It’s their mission.”

  The aseeda arrived. It appeared to be a small upside down pudding with honey drizzled around it. It looked delicious, and when she tried it, it certainly was. She was starving and, helped by the lemonade, could have eaten two.

  “This is so bizarre,” she said, trying hard not to stare at Kelly.

  “What is?”

  “The first time I met you, my stepfather was killing a horse. The second time I pulled you out of a sinking fighter plane. Then you take me on a magical mystery tour, and tomorrow we’re stealing a monstrous plane that no one knows how to fly. If that isn’t destiny, I don’t know what is?”

  CHAPTER 13

  The sun just broke the horizon when Kat stepped out of quarters, sending long shadows across the quadrangle and casting a golden glow on the open hangar doors. She looked up at the sky. Mare’s tail clouds curled in from the south, indicating high-altitude winds, yet there wasn’t the hint of a breeze as she crossed the apron. She wore the desert Waffen-SS uniform that consisted of khaki shirt, shorts and desert boots.

  She wasn’t the first up, she heard Atkins working on the plane, and judging from all the banging, he was replacing the engine cowling.

  “Can I assume you’ve already tested the engines?” she asked, strolling into the hangar.

  “Yup! Tested them last night when all those Hurricanes came in. They were making such a bloody din, you wouldn’t have heard a bomb going off, let alone a DC-3 starting up.”

  “So the engines are fine.”

  “Right as rain. If you ever become rich, buy me a DC-3. It’s the most reliable plane on the planet.”

  “That’s good to hear. It could be pretty windy up there.”

  “I’m sure it’ll be fine. Morning gentlemen!”

  She turned to see Dore, Capetti, Stewart and Kelly walking into the hangar.

  Kat walked up to Dore with a beaming smile. “Here. Bought you a present.”

  Giving her funny looks as he unwrapped it, he studied the strange object. A handmade cigar lighter. It had been made from a large nut, capped with half crown coins and filled with a cotton wool blend.

  “Good god. Where did you get this from?”

  “I had it made… in Benghazi.”

  “That’s very… nice of you,” he said, giving her another funny look. “What did I do to deserve it?”

  “It’s for not snoring!” she said, grinning at him. She glanced at Kelly. “Did you make the silencers, Sam?”

  “Sound suppressors…”

  “Whatever… Are they finished?”

  “They’re on the plane. I also doctored the holsters. Yours, mine and Major Capetti’s.”

  “I didn’t give you my holsters.”

  “I took them when I was preparing the German uniforms.”

  “From my room?” she said, indignantly. “When I wasn’t there?”

  “Oh, you were there. You were asleep.”

  A strange sensation wriggled in her stomach. “What!”

  He laughed. “I’m kidding. I got a bunch of Colt .45 ACP 1911s with holsters from the armory. I fitted the sound suppressors to them and doctored all the holsters last night. Fortunately, .45 ammo is subsonic, so I didn’t need to modify the ammo. There was no need for me to get your Luger and holsters to modify them.”

  “Are you telling me that the armory stock .45s?”

  “They’ve got all sorts of shit in there. You okay with a .45?”

  “Sure.” she replied. “Something with a tad more stopping power than a 9mm will make a nice change. And the Colt 1911 is the bee’s knees’.” Unsure whether it was safe to thank him, she tried to smile, but her face muscles felt stiff.

  “We all ready?” Capetti asked. “There is nothing we not think of?”

  Dore peered at his clipboard. Making sure they were fully equipped should have been Atkins’ job, except he’d been fixing the plane. “Tents, sleeping bags, Colt .45s, Thompson submachine guns, ammunition, mortars…”

  “I’ve already checked all that,” Stewart said.

  “Field glasses woul
d be useful,” Kelly said. “If they’re not on the list. The stores should be manned by now.”

  Needing a reason to escape, Kat raised a hand. “I’ll get them.”

  The Stores were manned by an overweight aircraftsman still half asleep, having difficulties standing when Kat walked in.

  “Field glasses.” She asked, “What have you got?”

  “Field glasses.” He said, sleepily, “Dunno. I’ll have a look.” He came back two minutes later with three pairs of battle-scarred binoculars. “These are German, but they’re better than ours. They’re a bit bashed about, but the optics are good.”

  “I’ll take them. Where do I sign?”

  Pulling out a triplicate order pad, he slid in two sheets of carbon paper and slowly picked up a pen, as if he had all the time in the world.

  “Flight Lieutenant…?”

  “Wolfram.”

  “Wolfram. Isn’t that a German name, as in Volfram?” He glanced at her and did a double take. “In fact, isn’t that a… German uniform?”

  “Yes, it is. I’m German. Can I sign it please?” When he just stared at her, she grabbed the pad and scribbled her signature. “You’d better get used to it. We’re winning the war.”

  Kat felt famished when she returned. “Sandro,” she called, stalking across the hangar. “Are you trying to starve us to death?”

  “What you mean?” he asked. “You not have coffee?”

  “Coffee!” she exclaimed. “We’re flying all day on a cup of coffee?”

  “Of course not,” he said, looking uncertain. “We have rations.”

  “For god’s sake, Sandro, we’re not bloody Italians. We need breakfast. Haven’t you heard? It’s the most important meal of the day.”

  “You English,” he grumbled. “You’re impossible. Go have breakfast.”

  “Jock! Harry! Atkins… Kelly, if you haven’t been struck deaf. Breakfast!”

  The Officers’ Mess was as silent as a tomb. The cooks were on duty, but the dining area was deserted. Obviously too early in the morning even for pilots. Ordering sausage, scrambled eggs and baked beans from an astonished cook, she walked over to a table by the window and sat down.

  “Can I sit down?” Sam asked.

  “Sure. No need to ask.”

  Dore sat down, his plate piled high with sausages and enough baked beans to sink a ship.

  “Blimey, Jock! Are you going to eat all that? We’ll never get off the bloody ground.”

  “To keep my girlish figure, I need to eat.” He looked around. Atkins and Stewart were on their way over. “Where’s the Major?”

  “Drinking more coffee, probably. The man’s mad.”

  “Bloke’s a bag of nerves.” Stewart said, sitting down. “Weird. He was cool as a cucumber in Italy.”

  “He was on home turf.” Dore said, forking half a sausage into his mouth. “Here, he’s surrounded by Brits and Arabs. It’s enough to put anyone off their food.”

  They ate in silence, and after a while, pilots began to appear, pink-faced and sleepy-eyed, their hair still ruffled after a night of fitful sleep. Soon, they too would be on a mission, some never to return, and Kat wondered about their own chances.

  “So are we set to go?” Dore asked, as they walked into the hangar and gazed at the DC-3. “Don’t we need to tell the Squadron Leader we’re leaving, get the all clear, so to speak?”

  “I don’t see why.” Kat said. “We can be like The Phantom. Appear out of the blue, then disappear back into it.”

  “I don’t recall The Phantom stealing a plane.” Stewart reminded her.

  “We’re borrowing it, Harry… We just might have a bit of a problem returning it.”

  Moments later, Capetti appeared. “We got the all clear. We can go when we’re ready.”

  “Well that settles that.” Dore said. “Any last wishes, anybody?”

  No one spoke as they boarded the plane. Kelly eased himself into the co-pilot’s seat next to Capetti.

  Picking up one of the Colt 1911s, she examined the attached silencer. It was about six inches long and painted black. When she examined the holster, she saw the ends were roughly cut away.

  The DC-3 rumbled its way round the dusty perimeter track. In a few minutes they would be airborne, yet Capetti had never discussed the route they would take. Had he talked to Kelly about it, or was the Italian pilot going to take potluck and just hope to find the airfield? Making her way forward, she grabbed the back of Kelly’s seat.

  “Have you two talked about the route we’re taking?”

  “Yes, we have.” Kelly said, looking up at her. “We’re flying west southwest towards the mountains.”

  “What mountains?”

  “The Tassili Mountains. They are in Algeria, bordering Libya, and they’re famous for their prehistoric rock paintings. It would be typical of the Germans to test their Super-Bomber there, with all that crap about the Aryan race.”

  “You think the airfield could be in Algeria? That’s a hell of a way from Benghazi. I also don’t see the connection.”

  “There are some very unusual cave paintings in the Tassili Mountains. They’re thousands of years old, yet there’s even one that looks like an astronaut, and the Krauts are obsessed with their origins.”

  “But the Aryan race is blond and blue-eyed. North Africans are dark-skinned.”

  Kelly shook his head. “If you study places like Carthage, or even ancient Rome, they weren’t always dark-skinned. Carthage was an outpost of Greece, and the ancient Greeks were definitely fair-skinned. In fact, they’re pretty sure that Helen of Troy was blonde. Do you know where the German’s laurel wreath comes from?”

  “Educate me.”

  “Ancient Greece. But the NAZIs use older stuff than that. The SPQR logo they have on their ceremonial staffs actually comes from Carthage… which is now Tunisia.”

  “Hmph,” she grunted. “It’s not difficult to see where your family leanings come from.”

  “My uncle’s. Not mine. He’s the nutter in the family.”

  “Why? Who is your uncle?” Capetti asked, pushing the throttles all the way forward. The engines climbing to a roar as the plane surged forward,

  “A very high-ranking Waffen-SS commander!” Kelly shouted, above the roar of the engines. “Trust me, you wouldn’t like him!”

  Kat laughed. “Don’t be so hard on the guy, Sam… He couldn’t possibly be any worse than my stepfather!”

  CHAPTER 14

  Kat watched the Gulf of Sirte drift slowly by. She saw a small fleet of warships, although at an altitude of 15,000 feet, whose side they were on was difficult to make out. Capetti flew west before turning into a south-westerly direction. Maybe he wanted to steer clear of built-up areas. At that moment, beams of sunlight swung across the interior as the plane banked around. Capetti must have read her mind. They now headed southwest, morning sunlight streaming in through the port windows, and she wondered if the Italian had mapped out where the Germans were. It would be difficult to hit the DC-3 at 15,000 feet, but it still a concern.

  “So,” Dore said, easing into the seat beside her, “does the boss have a plan for this mission, assuming we ever find this mysterious airfield?”

  Kat looked at Dore, “He hasn’t said anything to me, so I’m assuming we’re taking it as it comes. If the airfield’s surrounded by flat land, we might have difficulties to get near the place.”

  He shrugged. “Well, we’ve got the Jeep.”

  “True, but I wouldn’t want to risk driving at night.”

  He guffawed, which caused Kelly to glance back at them. “Y
ou’re a pussy cat, Wolfy.”

  “Actually, I was thinking of Kelly,” she whispered, when he’d looked away again. “He’s not used to any of this. We need him to help fly the Adler, but he could be hopeless in a combat situation.”

  Dore grunted. “He doesn’t look the hopeless type to me. I’m more worried about Atkins. He can throw some real Wobblies.”

  “I know he can. Thank god he’s not coming on the scout.”

  He leaned past her to peer through the window. “Oh yes, the scout. So who’s going on it?”

  “There are only three people who can, Capetti, Kelly and me. We’re the only ones who speak German.”

  “You don’t want me with you? I can say Jar und nein.”

  “Jock, I’d love you to be with us, but in these circumstances, you’d be a liability. We don’t know what we’re facing. Breaking into the airfield might be ridiculously easy, or extremely problematic. Shall we see what happens when we get there?”

  “Aye, that’s probably best.” He leaned past her again. “See those pretty white, fluffy clouds popping up all over the place?”

  She peered through the window. “Oh my god!” she cried. “Someone’s firing at us.”

  “Aye. And they’re wasting their ammo. They couldn’t hit shit at 15,000 feet.”

  But the plane banked around, and five minutes later, all she saw was miles of undulating desert, the shadows of low hills in the distance. She wondered when they should start watching for the airfield. If Kelly was right, another two hours would have to pass before they were even close. She may as well get some sleep. Hunkering down in the uncomfortable seat, she closed her eyes, but with the aircraft shuddering on the shifting thermals, it took time before she began to drift away, snatches of strange dreams coming and going.

  She woke from a fitful sleep. Kelly crouching beside her, tugging her arm said, “Kat! Wake up! Wake up!”

  “What? I’m awake. What’s the matter?”