The Maltese Defence

by Simon Brading

  Tanya removed her hand and stepped back, giving Scarlet enough room to slide out of bed. In just a few very efficient movements, the Irishwoman’s negligee was on the floor and she was stepping into equally dark clothing - a male child’s by the look of it. The black trousers and dark grey shirt fit her well, though; Scarlet had quite obviously altered them to fit and Tanya nodded in approval at the demonstration of foresight and preparation.

  They slipped out of the room and moved towards the staircase at the end of the corridor, but froze when a noise, like a cry, came from Gwen’s room. They stood stock still, listening for the sound of someone getting up to relieve themselves or investigate, but moved on when no other sound came, apart from a few low moans of a woman in the throes of a bad dream.

  ‘Poor thing,’ muttered Scarlet under her breath when they had reached the relative safety of the stairs. ‘She’s been having nightmares again ever since Kitty was shot down.’

  Tanya said nothing, she just nodded and tried to put on a sympathetic expression, even as she was promising herself that she wouldn’t ever become so weak as to be similarly affected if anything happened to Rudy.

  The two of them had spent time finding out which stairs squeaked, which floorboards creaked and made sure that the hinges of every door they had to pass through were well-oiled. That, added to the fact that the house was never locked, meant that it was extremely easy for them to leave undetected and less than five minutes later they were out in the moonless night, padding softly up the road towards the village.

  Once they were safely out of earshot of the house, Scarlet frowned up at the slightly deeper darkness that was the Muscovite. ‘How did you sneak up on me? Again! Nobody can sneak up on me.’

  ‘When you hunt in Siberia you learn to be very quiet so as not to be hunted yourself.’

  ‘But I set traps!’

  ‘They were quite childish.’

  Scarlet huffed in annoyance; ever since she was a child, nobody had ever managed to get that close to her without her knowing, even when asleep. And it wasn’t as if nobody had tried. Always before, though, she had come awake as soon as she had sensed someone approaching, had the chance to assess whether the intrusion was welcome or not, and been able to act accordingly. She smiled back at the woman, albeit grudgingly. ‘You’ll have to show me how you did it.’

  Tanya frowned down at her. ‘Why? Whose bedroom do you want to sneak into?’

  Scarlet giggled. ‘How long have we got?’

  Tanya glanced at her chronograph. ‘Five and a half minutes. Why?’

  Scarlet thought that the Muscovite was playing with her and grinned, but then saw that she was genuinely puzzled and sighed. ‘Never mind.’

  They entered the town and passed between the stone buildings of the main street.

  Scarlet kept her eyes moving, scanning for threats. ‘Where are we meeting them?’

  The whisper sounded far too loud in the dead silence and Tanya just gave her a warning look in reply and turned off into the square in front of the church. She led Scarlet to the side entrance and slipped into the deep shadows of the doorway, becoming instantly invisible.

  Scarlet stood next to her, feeling ungainly and far too conspicuous for the first time since she’d gone on the course at the Infiltration and Sabotage school and found she had a talent for the stealthier side of things.

  After a few minutes of awkward silence she peered at her chronograph. It was nearing midnight and there was still no sign of any explosives. Or anyone at all.

  ‘Are you sure they’re coming? Who are they anyway? And why are we meeting here of all places?’

  ‘You ask too many questions, Irish.’ Tanya said. ‘If you closed your mouth every so often, the rest of your senses might give you your answers.’

  The Muscovite gave Scarlet a pointed look and the Irishwoman frowned at her, not understanding what it meant, but then heard the faint clip clop of a horse’s hooves against the flagstones of an adjoining street. She peered around the stone frame of the doorway just in time to see a horse and cart emerge from the lane which led to the sea.

  She glanced back at Tanya, wondering if she was going to meet it, but realised that the woman was no longer there. She spotted her a couple of seconds later, already most of the way across the square, and swore under her breath, using one of the saltier phrases her grandfather had taught her and which she used only on special occasions, then moved quickly after her.

  The cart reeked of fish and had three occupants. To the Irishwoman’s surprise, one of them was Father Bugelli.

  ‘Father.’ Scarlet heard Tanya whisper as the cart gently creaked the last few yards to the church. ‘Any problems?’

  ‘None, Tatiana, the enemy were as greedy as we knew they would be.’

  The driver of the cart pulled the horse to a halt next to the same doorway the two women had taken shelter in and, while the other man jumped down and began undoing the tailgate, Tanya handed the priest down.

  Scarlet watched, unsure why the Muscovite was helping Father Bugelli, a youngish man, down from the low cart, but when Tanya dropped to a knee and the priest made a sign over her she understood that it had simply been out of respect. She looked away, uncomfortable with the religious demonstration, and waited until Tanya was on her feet again before approaching the priest.

  ‘Father.’ She nodded at the man when he looked her way, peering into the darkness in an attempt to make her out.

  ‘Miss Flynn, good evening.’

  ‘And a very good evening to you too.’

  As Bugelli went to open the door, Scarlet and Tanya helped his companions pull two heavy crates, stamped with the Italian Imperial crest, from beneath a filthy tarpaulin. They carried them into the sacristy, where the priest had lit a few candles.

  The priest handed the two men a bottle of wine each and they left after exchanging a few words with him in the local dialect. Tanya waited for the door to close behind them before producing an iron crow from somewhere about her person and applying it to the lid of the first crate.

  Scarlet crouched down beside her and examined the other wooden box while the Muscovite worked. During her I and S training she’d been made familiar with the various types of explosives used by the military of both sides and she recognised the names and numbers written on the crate immediately.

  She grinned. ‘These are exactly what I asked for! How did you get them?’

  ‘That is a long story of bartering and exchanges that is far too convoluted for this late at night,’ said the priest, ‘which started with one high-ranking Prussian naval officer’s love of a certain type of fish and ends with an Italian Army quartermaster and his taste for lederhosen.’

  ‘Lederhosen?’

  The priest grinned. ‘You really don’t want to know.’

  Scarlet was fairly sure she did, but right then the lid came off the crate with a loud crack of splintering wood and, while Tanya placed it to one side, she peered into it. It was stuffed to the brim with wood wool and she dug her hands into it, immediately finding one of the hard metal cylinders, about eight inches tall by five wide, that she’d been expecting.

  She fished around in the crate again, pushing aside a dozen or so more of the black demolition charges until she found what she was looking for - a small rectangular metal box.

  ‘Have you used this kind of thing before?’ she asked Tanya as she brushed a few wood chips off the box, then snapped open the catch and flipped up the lid.

  The Muscovite shook her head. ‘No. My basic training was limited to guns, knives and bayonets and we threw boules instead of grenades because we didn’t have any.’

  Scarlet snorted. ‘The French should have thought of that; they would have scared the Prussians right away and saved us a lot of trouble.’

  Inside the metal box was a detonator, packet in cotton wool to protect it, and Scarlet pulled it out and showed it to Tanya.

  ‘This is the radio detonator.’ She flicked a switch on the front of the rectangu
lar gadget and one of the three small lights in a row under the switch, the red one, lit up. ‘Red means that there is nothing in range. If the green one goes on...’ She fiddled briefly with the base of the explosive, flicking a switch, and the red light went off at the same time as a green one ignited. ‘Then it’s ready to blow. Then we just have to press these two buttons at the same time.’ She pointed to the red button underneath the lights, then showed them a second button on the side. The two were close enough together to be pressed simultaneously by one hand, but far enough apart not to be pressed together by accident.

  ‘You mean it’s live now?’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘Yes.’ Scarlet nodded and the priest, who had been following along, jerked back involuntarily, but the Muscovite didn’t even flinch.

  A little disappointed, Scarlet made the bomb safe again and turned off the detonator.

  Tanya took another of the cylinders from the crate and turned it over in her hands. She didn’t look impressed. ‘Are you sure these will get the job done? Don’t we need something a bit bigger?’

  Scarlet nodded enthusiastically. ‘Oh yes, these will be more than enough, trust me. The Italians might be a bit lackadaisical and rather comical when it comes to most of warfare, but they know how to destroy stuff, and the reason I asked you to get these in particular is that they contain an acidic compound that is designed to eat through metal like a hot toddy through a constipated sheep.’

  Scarlet stopped abruptly when she realised what she had said and put her hand over her mouth. She stared at the priest, wide-eyed. ‘I’m so sorry, Father.’

  The priest just waved away the apology. ‘I grew up in a community that farms and fishes, Miss Flynn, I have heard, and seen, far worse.’

  ‘What’s the third light for?’ asked Tanya as if she hadn’t heard the Irishwoman’s crude analogy, pointing to the light in between the red and green ones.

  ‘That’s the test circuit.’ Scarlet turned the explosive back on, then pressed a yellow button on the top of the radio controller. An orange light went on, along with a corresponding one on the top of the explosive. ‘It’s how we’ll make sure everything is working. We need to unpack both crates and turn all the explosives on one by one to make sure the circuits inside them haven’t been damaged.’

  ‘Do we have time to do that now, Father?’ Tanya looked at the priest.

  Bugelli glanced at the clock on the wall, linked to the same mechanism that ran the one in the tower with the bells. ‘I have Lauds at six, but the congregation will arrive at five-thirty to start cleaning and preparing the church for the day. You have until then.’

  Tanya looked at Scarlet, who nodded. ‘This will only take me half an hour, unless there’s something wrong. I suggest you go and get some sleep; you need to be alright to fly tomorrow, whereas I’ve just got more paperwork to look forward to.’

  The Muscovite pursed her lips and glanced at the explosives, obviously wanting to stay and help, but then seemed to see the sense in Scarlet’s suggestion. She stood up and brushed her hands off. ‘Alright. Try not to blow yourself up.’

  ‘Aw! You do care!’

  Tanya shook her head. ‘Only about the explosives.’ Something occurred to her and she turned to the priest. ‘Oh, and Father Bugelli and his church, of course.’

  Bugelli laughed. ‘I’m glad, thank you!’

  Tanya bowed her head to him solemnly. ‘Goodnight, Father.’

  ‘Goodnight, my child.’

  Tanya gave Scarlet a last look, then slipped out of the door.

  When she was gone, the Irishwoman looked at the priest. ‘You don’t have to stay if you don’t want.’ She grinned. ‘Unless you don’t trust me not to steal your communion wine?’

  ‘Actually, I think I’d like a glass myself, if you’d care to join me?’

  ‘Bless you, Father!’ Scarlet gave him one of her best smiles, then turned her attention to the explosives while he went to fetch a couple of glasses.

  The two women sneaked out again the following night, just before eleven. This time they didn’t stop in the town, but jogged through it towards Hal Far. They didn’t go all the way to the airfield, though, but turned off just before they got to it and made their way through the trees to a clearing, a few hundred yards from the perimeter fence. A dirt track ran from the fence directly to the clearing and that was what Scarlet’s fitters had used to move Hummingbird there.

  ‘Any problems, Aviator Sergeant?’

  Scarlet’s chief fitter, Bob Skidmore, jumped and stifled a shriek when the Irishwoman spoke in his ear.

  She grinned at him when he spun to face her and stamped his foot.

  ‘I’ve told you before not to do that!’

  ‘I know, but it’s just too much fun.’

  ‘For you.’ The man pouted, but then smiled broadly. ‘She’s all ready, ma’am, and raring for something to do.’

  ‘I know she is, Bob, I know.’ Scarlet reached out to pat her machine. ‘Don’t worry, darling, we’ve got something special for you tonight.’ She gave Hummingbird a last stroke then turned back to the fitter. ‘Did the priest bring you the explosives?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am!’ The man grinned. ‘They were in with the potatoes in the daily supplies, but I rescued them before somebody in the kitchen tried to peel them. They’re with your bags on your seat.’

  ‘Good, thank you.’

  The man rubbed his hands eagerly. ‘Are you going to be taking photographs again?’

  ‘I have my camera all ready, don’t worry.’

  ‘Hurray!’ Skidmore clapped his hands in delight, then skipped away happily and began removing the straps holding Hummingbird’s overhead rotor in place.

  ‘Interesting character.’

  Scarlet had to work extremely hard not to jump out of her own skin as Tanya did exactly the same to her as she had done to the fitter.

  ‘He’s a brilliant mechanic and understands Hummingbird almost as well as I do. For that I will forgive any over-enthusiasm or familiarity.’

  Tanya nodded. ‘As it should be. Let’s check the explosives, shall we?’

  In the red light of a small emergency lantern, the two of them took the crates of explosives off the seat and placed them on the floor to do a quick final check of the radio control mechanisms, making sure they were wound fully and that they hadn’t run down overnight for some reason. They then packed them into two of the knapsacks that Scarlet used for such missions.

  When Tanya found that there were items already inside her knapsack she looked up at the Irishwoman.

  Scarlet shrugged. ‘Food and water for three days, a med kit, and a few other essentials, in case something happens and we need to walk home.’

  The Muscovite brought a large knife out of the bag and smiled at it. She pulled it half out of its sheaf, examined the blade, then thrust it back and tossed it to Scarlet. ‘I won’t need this.’

  ‘Why?’

  Even before the question was out of the Irishwoman’s mouth, two wicked-looking knives had appeared in Tanya’s hands. ‘Because I have my own, thank you.

  Scarlet had been watching her the whole time, but even so she had no idea where the blades came from, they were just suddenly there. Nor did she see where they went back to, they were just gone again and the woman was standing and hefting the packed bag. She put it down to the poor light playing tricks on her and picked up her own knapsack and followed the Muscovite to Hummingbird.

  While Scarlet was running through final checks, Tanya got dressed. She would be riding on the outside of the aircraft in one of the bolted-on stretchers that Scarlet had improvised in Muscovy to carry rescued pilots, so she needed warm clothing. She had found a winter coat and trousers, a hat, scarf, gloves, a balaclava and three thick jumpers in a cupboard at the house - one of the family was evidently a skier. She’d brought the lot with her and proceeded to put every single piece of it on.

  She caught Scarlet watching her and shrugged as best as she could through so many jumpers. �
��I don’t like the cold.’

  ‘But you’re from one of the coldest places in the world!’

  ‘And we have proper clothes to protect ourselves from it, not this... rubbish.’ She turned her nose up as she fingered the trousers, feeling how thin they were.

  ‘I’m sure you’ll be fine, it’s not as if it’s very cold anyway.’

  Tanya smiled wolfishly. ‘Then you won’t mind if I fly and you ride outside.’

  Scarlet laughed. ‘Not a hope in hell! Now, if you’re quite finished complaining, it’s time we were in the air.’

  Hummingbird flew south, directly out over the sea, before turning to the east and skirting around Malta, a mile or so off the shore.

  While the other Misfits were flying, Scarlet and Chalky had been in the intelligence office at Luqa, poring over copies of the surveillance photographs that the blonde man and Farrier had taken of Sicily and updating maps of the island with Prussian and Italian military assets.

  There was no problem finding landing places for Hummingbird which were far enough away from population centres or troop concentrations that even the quiet aircraft wouldn’t be heard, but they were all at least half a dozen miles away from the airship and would require a hike through pitch black forests and unfamiliar territory. There was no way they would be able to do that safely and make it back before dawn and finding a bolthole for the day was out of the question.

  And then there was the question of where and how to actually set the charges.

  Scarlet had sneaked a glance at a copy of the blueprints of Bertha that Drake had drawn up and gotten a good idea of where they needed to place the explosives to do the most damage. The trouble was it would require either infiltrating the airship itself, which would be nigh on impossible, or scaling it on the outside, which would leave them extremely exposed.

  In the end, Scarlet decided that the best approach would be the boldest one.