Kat and the Desert Eagle

by Michael Beals

  “So?”

  “So you can’t get left behind. It would be totally unacceptable.”

  “I won’t get left behind. Atkins will be firing mortars. The Germans won’t even be able to see us with all that sand being kicked in their faces.”

  He stared at her for a moment and groaned. “Smoke grenades. I can’t believe we forgot to bring any smoke grenades.”

  “What, none at all?”

  He looked across at the others. “Anyone bring smoke grenades?”

  Everyone stopped talking, shaking their heads as if they’d been admonished for disobeying orders.

  He turned back to her. “Which is why I’m switching places with you.”

  She stared at him. “Jock, you don’t need to. I’ll be right behind you.”

  He shook his head. “No you won’t. Until the hatch is open, there’ll barely be room for three people inside the landing gear. Anyway, it’s decided. Capetti can shoot the locks off. And he can sure as hell put a gun to the pilot’s head.”

  A sudden thought stabbed at her. “It may not be as simple as that.”

  Dore squinted at her. “In what way?”

  “Well, someone killed all the Guards at Stipa’s house, they didn’t just disappear. And someone killed all the airfield Guards. Pernass isn’t stupid. He must know something’s going on.”

  “And?”

  “Think about it, Jock. What would you do in his shoes?”

  He stared at her for a moment, and then his eyes widened. “Oh my god, you’re right! He’d put Guards inside the plane.”

  CHAPTER 23

  The sun was still below the horizon as they made their way towards the cliff top, but even in the half-light they could tell that the weather changed. High-altitude clouds scudding overhead, and a strong, blustery wind blowing in from the south, the kind of wind that generates sandstorms, or at the very least, fills the air with a fine grit that gets in the eyes and causes pinpricks of blood to appear on thin shirts.

  As they made their way along the edge of the rock face, she noticed tiny dots of blood on Atkins’ back. Kat put on her jacket, but it didn’t protect her bare legs.

  Stewart had had the foresight to bring lengths of rope, not just to lower the mortars, but to help them negotiate the jagged crevice that Kat found it so difficult to climb. Kat thumped him on the back.

  “Good thinking, Harry. I’ll be sure to mention you in my will.”

  “If you live long enough to write it,” Dore joked. “Can we talk about who’s going in which team?”

  “I thought we’d already decided that,” Kat said.

  “We did, but we’ve changed our minds. Sandro, you want to chair this?”

  “Chair it?” Capetti said, shielding his eyes from the wind. “What chair it?”

  “Lead the discussion.”

  “Oh. You mean talk. Be your Commanding Officer… for once… what a novelty…” Capetti crossed his arms, “fine, we’ll give it a try. Kat, you go with me and Kelly. We board Adler first. I break lock in hatch, you talk to pilot, Kelly be co-pilot. Dore, Stewart, Atkins fire mortars.”

  Kelly shook his head. “That doesn’t work.”

  Capetti said shaking his head, “why Commander Fleming make me in charge? No one follows my orders.” He continued. “Why not my orders work?”

  “Who’s the fastest runner?”

  “What?”

  “Whoever’s the fastest runner will reach the plane first. That person will reach the hatch first and be first into the plane. If there are Guards, they’ll also be the first to be shot.”

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “How fast are you… as a runner, I mean?”

  “I can run.” Capetti said. “How fast you run?”

  He laughed. “I’m bloody hopeless. I’m running out of breath just thinking about it. It’ll be hard enough for me to climb the landing gear.”

  Kat pulled a face. “Then stop worrying about it. Whoever gets to the plane first will take care of any problems.”

  In the end, they all agreed with Capetti’s plan.

  One by one, with the wind blowing like a banshee, they climbed down the crevice. They left the cave without packing up the tents. Even their sleeping bags were still in place. There seemed no point in stowing any of it. It probably would be found by a group of explorers in a few hundred years, no doubt causing long discussions as to how old it was.

  Kelly croaked, shielding his eyes from the swirls of airborne sand. “I feel really bad about leaving the DC-3 behind. We even turned it around so someone could take it.”

  She giggled. “Yeah, old man Graham will be cheesed.”

  “Will you two stop yakking,” Dore hissed, when they gathered at the foot of the scree. “Sound carries in the desert.”

  “What, in this wind?” Kelly retorted. “Must be 40 knots. They might even cancel today’s flying.”

  Making their way along the foot of the scree until they reached a jagged outcrop of rocks, they set about setting up the mortars. They were a hundred yards from the takeoff point, and Kat couldn’t help wondering when they would fire them. Should Dore wait until they’d reached the plane, or should he launch them before that, making it harder for the Germans to see? Or would it be better to fire them at the rock face at the back of the camp? It would cause the Germans to look in the opposite direction, taking their gaze away from the Adler. Making her way over to Capetti, she told him what she was thinking.

  He squinted at her, perhaps surprised that she’d asked him and not Dore. “Is good idea,” he said, raising his eyebrows. “But I have better. As you say, we fire at rocks, but we also hit laboratory. Is very windy. Dust go everywhere. Germans will run, but not know where to run.”

  “Won’t that cause that horrible bomb to go off?”

  “No. Bomb need fission. Cannot detonate with ordinary explosion.”

  “In that case, your idea’s brilliant, Sandro.” She grinned. “I’ll let you tell Jock.”

  She glanced at Kelly. The sun broke the horizon, and his face bathed in a soft golden light, causing the blond stubble on his chin to glow. Peaking out from behind the rocky outcrop, she scanned the encampment, relieved to see that the hangar doors were open, the tug tractor already connected to the Adler. There was no sign of Rommel or Pernass, but it was still early. The Adler wouldn’t takeoff for at least another hour.

  She watched as the huge bomber was fueled and armed, slowly, methodically, its cargo doors wide open, people scurrying around as they checked the bomber’s ailerons, flaps and elevators. In many respects it wasn’t different from any other plane, just enormous and powered by massive jet engines instead of propellers.

  Looking at Kelly she asked, “are you ready for this?”

  “I think so. In a way, it’s not much worse than my normal missions. I was always afraid of not coming back.”

  She laughed. “You may not this time. The day’s still young.”

  The Adler’s engines had begun their slow ascending whine and moments later Dore came scuttling over at a low crouch. His hair stood on end in the wind and he had a wild look in his eyes.

  “Okay guys. I’m going to go over this one more time. The moment the Adler turns into the wind and stops, you head for the landing gear as fast as you can. Don’t wait for each other, just run like hell. Make sure you climb the inner left-hand wheels and keep going until you can’t go any further. Hopefully, Capetti will blow the hatch, but if you get there first, Kat… well, you get there first. If you see a Guard, don’t say anything, just kill him. Then race forward to the cockpit and hold the pilot at gunpo
int. If he offers the slightest resistance, stab the bastard in the leg, so keep a knife handy.”

  “And if he still resists?”

  “Stab him again. But whatever you do, don’t kill him, or damage his arms in any way.”

  “How far behind us are you going to be,” Kelly asked.

  “Not far. We’ll launch the mortars while you’re running to the plane. Tell the pilot to increase power, but keep the brakes on. With any luck, we’ll be inside the plane before you can say, Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled…”

  She looked at Kelly. “You see Sam? Relax, even Jock’s having a jolly good time.”

  “Relax? My heart is practically bursting out of my chest.”

  “Aye Lieutenant, really gets your adrenaline going.” Dore said turning to Kat. “The moment Atkins and the Captain are on board, tell the pilot to gun it. I’ll be the last one in.”

  “You make sure you’re in, Jock. You play any heroics, I’ll bloody kill you.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll get there.”

  With that, he scuttled back to Atkins and Stewart. By the sound of it, Jock would aim one mortar, and Stewart the other. Atkins would feed in the shells.

  She peered around the rock again. The Adler approached the takeoff point. It moved slowly, its turbines at a high whine, the buffeting wind sending swirls of sand racing around its wheels. The pilot clearly wasn’t worried about the wind, because she glimpsed his face as the plane rolled past. He was laughing at something, and she could only hope he was sharing a joke with the navigator… and not a Guard.

  Capetti was beside them, his face as white as a sheet.

  “Hey, Sandro!” she yelled, over the whine of jets. “Are you okay? You want me to go first?”

  “No, no! I go first! I am okay!” He forced a grin.

  The whine of the jets climbed an octave, and the Adler began to turn. Slowly, little by little. There was a blast of hot air as the huge jet bomber swung around lining up with the runway, its enormous delta wings giving it the appearance of hunching forward, ready to launch itself down the one and a half mile runway.

  It almost stopped… but not quite… the outer wheels still turning… turning…

  It stopped.

  “Vai!” Capetti screamed. “Vai, vai, vai!”

  Kat launched forward, her thigh muscles twanging as she pounded towards the Adler with all her might. She didn’t look left or right with no idea where Capetti or Kelly were. All she could see the landing gear getting closer and closer, the whine of jets getting louder and louder. Then a huge explosion rent the air, followed almost immediately by another, and another. She opened her mouth and stretched out, head back, arms pumping. Another huge explosion, and another, but all she could hear was jets now. They were filling her senses and tearing at her eardrums.

  Then she was there, clambering up the wheel as fast as she could, warm rubber slithering beneath her hands, the smell of fuel, her feet scrabbling for a hold. She grabbed a greasy spar and pulled herself higher, kicking at the huge tires beneath her feet. A dazzling array of bars and levers skittered before her eyes as she scrambled into the yawning chasm of the undercarriage. More levers, chromium shafts, the smell of jet fuel, her hands covered in grease. A dark ceiling swam towards her. Something glittered, a row of studs and hinges. She saw the hatch now, its brass lock only inches away. Wedging herself against something sharp, she pulled out her .45. She had no idea where Capetti was and it was impossible to look back.

  “I am here!” Capetti gasped. “Don’t-a wait!”

  Ramming the .45 hard against the lock, she pulled the trigger. Even with the silencer, there was a loud explosion as the lock blew apart, splinters of wood flying everywhere. She pushed open the hatch with a loud bang. Three men in Waffen-SS uniforms stared down at her with shocked expressions on their faces. She didn’t bother to aim. She just emptied her gun at them. There were horrible smacking sounds. Blood splattered the fuselage as the men collapsed. She looked around as she tactically reloaded her .45. No more Guards.

  Heaving herself into the plane, she raced forward, almost tripping on an elaborate metal grid glistening with what were probably rows of bombs. She raced towards the cockpit at a crouch. The pilot stared back at her, open-mouthed, his eyes wide with shock. She hadn’t been expecting him to be carrying a gun, but as she drew near, she saw he was frantically trying to draw a Luger.

  “You must be fuckin’ stupid!” she snarled, in German. “Can’t you see I’ve got a goddamned gun pointing at your fuckin’ head!”

  The man hesitated, the gun half out of its holster. He released the grip of the gun. Kat reached over, removing the Luger from its holster. To her surprise, he wore the uniform of the Waffen-SS. She’d expected him to be a civilian test pilot.

  “Increase the power, but keep the brakes on,” she ordered.

  “How much power?”

  “Enough to be able to takeoff quickly.” She said calmly, “Do it now or we’ll be scraping your brains out of this cockpit for a month.” Kat thought about it for a moment then clarified. “Well, probably just me. Everyone will be so mad at me for blowing your brains out, they’ll make me clean up the mess all by myself…”

  The engines climbed a couple of octaves. Then Capetti was beside her, and seconds later, Kelly, their guns drawn.

  “Watch him!” she said, sharply.

  She raced back to the hatch, gasping for air. She couldn’t see the runway. The landing gear was in total darkness. She must have worked her way through a dogs-leg of levers and machinery, whatever it was that allowed the landing gear to retract. She could hear machine gun fire, and there could only be one reason for that, Dore’s team was being fired on.

  “Macht erhöhen!” she screamed at the pilot. “I want to be powering down that bloody runway in less than thirty seconds!” Kneeling down, she screamed into the hatch. “Jock! Where the bloody hell are you?”

  “I’m here!” came a voice. “Almost there!” Seconds later, Dore appeared, his face streaked with blood. “Take off! Atkins is right behind me!”

  “Bloody hell! Wait until I’m aboard,” Atkins complained, scrambling through the hatch. “It’s bloody murder out there. The Krauts are going nuts.”

  “Where’s Harry?”

  “I don’t know. It’s chaos out there. I think he may have bought it. Get us off the ground, now!”

  “You Think?” Kat said in a fearful rage. “Sargent, we are not leaving Harry behind because you think he bought it. We have to go back!”

  Major Capetti spoke up. “I am leader of team. We not risk mission. We leave now. That is order Miss. Wolfram!”

  Dore put his arm around Kat and said softly. “Six million people, Lass…. We have to go, now…”

  With tears in her eyes she cried out, “Get us the hell out of here!”

  The pilot increased power, and the engines climbed to a throaty roar. The runway rushed towards them at an astonishing speed, wheels rumbling on the imperfect surface, the desert slowly expanding as the mountains fell behind. A wave of silky smoothness as the plane lifted. They were airborne. The huge bomber flying, but climbing so steeply, Kat held her breath. Higher and higher they flew, nose up, the engines roaring like a thousand earthquakes.

  CHAPTER 24

  They were at 25,000 feet before Kat realized what the pilot was flying north towards Tripoli, towards German-occupied territory. She studied the dizzying array of instruments, the rows of levers and dials, each with their red warning signs. She looked at Kelly. His lips were silently moving while occasionally glancing at the pilot.

  “Do you understand any of this?”

  “A little. I see a yoke, rudder peddles, and
a throttle. I also see lots and lots of dials and switches I have no clue what they do.”

  “Could you fly it?”

  “For as long as there’s fuel, I can keep it in the air, but landing’s another matter. I’m not even sure if London has a runway long enough.”

  The pilot turned to him and grinned. He was calmer now, being on familiar territory and feeling more confident. “You vant to fly zis? Be my guest.”

  “You think we can’t?” Kat yelled.

  He laughed. “Fräulein, I know you can’t. I learn for one year, and still it… what you say? Foxes me.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Weber. Hans Weber.”

  “Well, you can relax, Hans Weber. In a few hours you’ll be out of the war.”

  He shook his head. “Lady, we are winning the war. It does not matter vere you make me fly. Very soon, it vill all belong to the Fatherland.”

  “Maybe. But at what cost?”

  “Vat you mean?”

  “You know what this plane is for? Do you know why they designed it?”

  He shrugged. “To drop bombs, just like the English.

  “No, Hans. To drop one bomb. One huge and very ugly bomb.”

  She told him about the bomb they’d found, about the conversation she’d overheard with Rommel, about the six million men women and children… The people the nuclear bomb was going to kill.

  “Is not true,” he said, shaking his head. “Ze nuclear bomb is myth. You make mistake.”

  “Okay, fine. Then we’re about to make another. Turn the plane around.”

  “Vat?” he cried. “Turn ze plane around?”

  “If you don’t,” she said, drawing her gun, “we’ll do it for you… but you’ll be dead.”

  “Fine, fine,” he said, holding up a hand. “I turn ze plane around.”