Portals in Time 3

by Michael Beals

  Trufflefoot tried to whisper, his clogged nose hissing out like a siren. “I don’t know. It’s so quiet. Too damn easy. How do we know this isn’t another trap?”

  Dixon flashed his pearly whites in the starlight. “Oh, it is, just not the way you’re thinking. The Italians dispersed the hell out of their planes to make our air raids less effective. We’re 400 clicks behind the lines... Nothing but mechanics and a few pilots down there. Guarantee you no infantry. Especially since there aren’t any fighters here, for some reason.”

  “Probably because they’re all airborne hunting for us. Even if this goes well, we’re just jumping out of the pan and into the firing squad.”

  Major Trufflefoot squinted at the handful of twin-engine transport shadows sleeping under the bright starlight. Except for a little white light slipping out of a small radio shack and the cherry glow from a sentry smoking by the fuel dump, the place was a ghost town.

  “Don’t be so melodramatic. Compared to what we’ve been through, this is a vacation.” Kat reached over to pat the older man’s hand, but wound up slapping his swollen nose.

  “Ah! It had just finally stopped bleeding!” Trufflefoot shoved his fingers up his nostrils. “Come now. I don’t think anyone is worried about overrunning this place. It’s the next part that’s somewhat… complicated. We’ve done our part. Time to fly east and get the whole Royal Air Force to take it from here. We don’t have to do this.”

  Trufflefoot seized Kat’s wrist, pleading hard without saying a word. Several of the men clustered around murmured as well. Atkins cleared his throat and spoke for the first time in hours.

  “Hey, fine, we did the last thing they would expect and headed west, dodging all those patrols. Brilliant, Kat, but this... Come on! We’re not just tempting fate here. You’re slapping the old girl in the face and calling her a bitch!”

  Capson nudged him in the ribs. “Ah, shut your money maker. If we had listened to you, we all would likely be wasting away right now, sipping mojitos on some beach in West Africa. Probably only reading about history rather than making it!”

  Atkins dropped his jaw and splayed his hands out in mercy before him. “Exactly, you bloody fool! Why are you so hellbent on becoming a part of history?”

  “You really think they’ll mention me in the history books? Wow…” Capson stared off at the stars, humming loudly.

  Sergeant Dore hissed. “Quit your bellyaching. You’re going to live forever, son. Or die trying.”

  Kat locked eyes with Sergeant Bagnold and his patrolmen, all sliding surreptitiously off to the side. “I can’t order you to do anything. Especially not counterattack at a time like this, but Captain Steele saved you all for a reason.” The whole group recoiled as if slapped when she mentioned their Commander.

  “I need help, but I won’t beg. You boys can follow me or get out of the way.”

  Without another word, she jumped to her feet and pounced towards the darkened field in a hunched run, darting between shadows. The one time she glanced behind her, only Trufflefoot, Dore, Capson, and Atkins followed, with a huffing Dixon bringing up the rear. The makeshift emergency field wasn’t even fenced. Not that it was necessary, though. The sand flats all around didn’t offer the slightest cover.

  None of the attackers bothered bounding forward in pairs. They stalked at a fast march until the base’s lone humming generator drowned out their footfalls. When the loose sand under her feet gave way to more hard-packed crunching, Kat dashed at full speed the last hundred meters, aiming for the largest shadow around.

  “Shh!” Kat raised a fist as the team skidded under the wing of the first transport without a shot following. Clutching his sides and gasping for breath, Dixon trotted the last few yards to join them, tripping over an errant toolbox splayed open next to the landing gear.

  Fifty yards away, the cigarette cherry from one of the sentries went flying. The sharp click of two safeties snapping off at the same time echoed across the tarmac.

  “Chi va—”

  Kat dropped to a knee and trained her machine pistol on the silhouettes by the fuel dump. Instead of muzzle flashes, though, both defenders sagged to the ground—a larger pair of dark shapes jabbing something into their backs from behind.

  As the Italian rifles clattered to the ground, someone drew back the curtains from the well-lit radio shack. An Officer’s cap popped out the door, but the man’s rifle dangled at his side. The figure spent a long second trying to get his night vision back before giving up and taking a step towards a sizeable mobile floodlight generator next to the building.

  The Officer was still squinting down the darkened tarmac when Sergeant Bagnold materialized around the corner and lanced a bayonet through his Adam’s apple. Then under his armpit, plus one more in the inner thigh. The Sergeant snagged his prey’s weapon in midair, the whole fight as quiet as kittens wrestling with yarn. Bagnold and a second patrolman charged into the radio shack before the Officer’s body even hit the ground. Something crashed, and someone gurgle-screamed inside, but no shots rang out.

  Kat returned Bagnold’s thumbs up when he stepped out of the Command Post five seconds later. She pointed at the largest windowed structure around, a single-story wooden barracks, before flicking her head at Dore.

  “One last chore, guys. Look tough, but don’t shoot unless you absolutely have to. Let’s try a charm offensive first.”

  She stacked outside the building’s only entrance, slung her weapon over her back, and depinned two frag grenades. “Dore, would you be a gentleman, please?”

  Dore kicked the barrack’s door straight off the hinges. With a little chuckle, he stormed inside on her heels with a flashlight taped underneath his submachine gun. Twenty half-naked mechanics spilled out of their sleeping bags, then froze. None dared cross the grizzled Scotsman and a pair of young English riflemen blocking the way to the weapons rack next to the door.

  Kat kept going, straight into the center of the large common room and preened.

  “Buongiorno!”

  A tall pilot nearby flipped his bed over and snagged a revolver from his boot. Kat slashed her steel-toed boot into his exposed dangling bits and sent him tumbling into the latrine. She danced around, flicking the spoons of both lethal pineapples aloft with two fingers, and hollered in Italian.

  “Believe it or not, you boys just won the lottery. Who wants to trade?”

  The oldest mechanic snaked a casual hand inside the rucksack by his bed and growled a little too calmly. “What type of trade do you have in mind?”

  “How about twenty dumbass souls in exchange for filing an emergency flight plan to Tripoli?”

  She sprang forward and shoved the grenade in his mouth just as his arm flashed out of the ruck.

  “Or just nineteen? I only need one of you…”

  The mechanic dropped something heavy back in his bag and nodded his eyes vigorously, without moving his head. As soon as Kat pried the deadly baseball out, the mechanic rubbed his sore jaws.

  “Happy to help. Take the Caproni. It’s the slowest transport we have, but the most reliable. If it helps, we have extra parachutes in maintenance bay three. There’s also plenty of demolition gear in a hidden bunker behind the radio shack. Should I send a couple of my men to help carry everything?”

  Kat raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you a gentleman? What are you playing out?”

  “No game, just keeping my options open. I can’t imagine how you’ll live through whatever you’re planning, but just in case you pull it off… maybe you could put in a good word for us with your headquarters?”

  “Ha!” Kat nearly dropped a grenade when she slapped her knee. “That’s what I love about Italians. They always come out on top.”

  “Five minutes! If you don’t have it onboard yet, then forget about it!” Sergeant Dore yanked the chokes out from under the Caproni Ca.148s wheels and bellowed as Dixon spun up the propellers. He ducked around the flapping ailerons and whistled at Capson and Atkins as the American pilot finished his
pre-flight checks.

  They lunged out of the nearest supply shack, hunching under the weight of so many extra parachutes across their backs. “We finally found some! Thank God.”

  “Well, those could be useful.” Kat snagged one and slipped it on with practiced ease.

  Atkins cut his eyes at her. “Useful? How were we supposed to get down otherwise?”

  Kat laughed and patted the skinny guy’s sunburnt scalp. She gazed past him and eyed the lucky prisoners, all tied hands and feet to their disabled Chevy truck, and tossed them a wave. Bagnold trotted over with his men and dumped a few miscellaneous bags of lethal knickknacks they’d scavenged inside the plane.

  “Everything nice and tidy, Sergeant?”

  “Aye, no worries. None of the radios are ever going to work again. We didn’t even leave so much as a functioning bicycle. If you’d let me borrow a few kilos of High Explosives though, we could rig booby traps all over the planes and…”

  “I know, however, we need everything for where we’re going. Go ahead and gear up. It’s going to be a short flight.”

  Bagnold cracked his neck and swooped up a chute. “Yeah, the worst ones usually are.”

  Major Trufflefoot grabbed a bag of silk and held it at arm’s length, turning the thing every which way. “Are you sure that flight plan you filed will work? Even if no one comes for a visit, these guys will eventually work their way out of those ties. It’s only an hour or so jog to the nearest base, but a two-hour flight for us to Tripoli. We’re cutting this mighty close.”

  “So what? We just need to get there. You afraid the Germans are going to find us? If we do this right, we’re going to be bloody hard to miss!” Kat made a quick headcount as everyone dashed aboard, stopping at Dore’s stoic, forced smile.

  “Relax, guys. We have total surprise, a fast ride, and plenty of firepower. When’s the last time everything went according to plan? Can’t you just savor it for a moment?” Kat sucked in the fresh Mediterranean air and slapped Trufflefoot and Dore on the back.

  “When, in the entire cursed history of mankind, has telling someone to relax ever worked?”

  Major Trufflefoot kept cursing under his breath and slipped on his parachute, the wrong way. Kat snapped hers on and reached over.

  “Upside down, sir.”

  “This whole damn mission is upside down! Have you ever jumped out of a perfectly good airplane before?”

  “Yeah, a couple of times before the war. Fun hobby.”

  The Major plucked at his tangle of cables, somehow knotting them up while shrugging the assembly on. “Is there anything I should know about using this thing?”

  Kat pinched his cheek and laughed. “Oh, lots!”

  She looped an automatic rifle under her chute and waltzed aboard the transport, singing the whole way.

  Tripoli

  Main Axis supply base in North Africa

  “Ten minutes out!”

  Behind the pilot, Kat dug a pair of binoculars deep into her eye sockets, pressing them far harder than necessary against the cockpit glass. The dawn’s rays swept fast over the ancient, sleepy city below, and the harbor was already a beehive of action.

  “Didn’t see that coming. Major! Sergeant! Do you see this? Dixon, bank us around and get as close as you safely can. We need a better look.”

  A squadron of Messerschmitt’s rocketed past, appearing consumed by something far to the east. Dixon veered slightly off course from the airfield’s standard landing pattern, not daring to swing wide enough to attract the wrong attention. Just in case anyone in the anthill below bothered to notice.

  With 5,000 tons of supplies arriving every day, nothing stood still in the bustling deep-water port. Freighters, warships and auxiliary vessels of all sizes dipped in and out of the piers, with one section of docks relatively calm. One bristling with AAA cannons…

  And six 5-ton trucks parked in front of a submarine pen.

  “Sure, I see the U-boat.” Major Trufflefoot fiddled endlessly with the focus knob on his binoculars. “Right up against the dock. A God-awful amount of security, but that was to be expected. So what’s the new problem... oh.”

  Dore collapsed back in his seat, finishing the Major’s moan.

  “Which fucking sub is it?”

  “How the hell should I know?” Kat growled at the three submarines tied up on the same long pier, wrapped tight inside endless rings of soldiers and sandbags. Even from so far away, the ample guard towers and armored vehicles ringing the sub pen were clear. The only encouraging signs were the shut submarine hatches and the crowd of battle-ready soldiers milling aimlessly about the parked trucks. Sergeant Bagnold dropped his shoulders and laughed.

  “Ma’am, I love your enthusiasm, but we aren’t equipped for this. If we run in there, guns a’ blazing, they’ll cut us down long before we find the right U-boat. Even Captain Steele knew the difference between being balls-out and suicidal. It’s time to do things the old-fashioned recon way. We’ll drop low on the outskirts of the town, infiltrate and then find some way to hit them at the right time.” He took a step towards Dixon. Kat stuck a surprisingly firm hand against his chest.

  “Can’t take the risk. It’s a miracle they’re behind schedule. If we blow it now, the next we’ll see of those dirty bombs will be swastikas from the Atlantic to Pacific.”

  He grabbed Kat by her parachute strap. “Look around you! With your team and mine, we only have ten shooters left. Even ten heavy bombers wouldn’t be enough to wipe out their defenses.” Kat perked up and quit staring at her boots.

  “You bloody genius!”

  She clambered into the empty co-pilot’s seat and bumped steel helmets with Dixon for a minute. Eventually, he nodded, all gusto evaporating. Kat kissed his forehead. “Thank you. Trust me. It’s not in vain. We’ll make it count.”

  “Well, yee haw, I guess.” Dixon laughed without mirth and yanked a photograph of a pretty young woman out of his overalls. He gave it a final smooch before tucking the black and white pic in his chest pocket, right over his heart.

  Kat set her jaw and took a long breath. She spun on her heels and channeled more of her stepfather’s iron than she cared to admit.

  “Listen up! Dixon will drop us at high-speed right over the U-boat pen. Barely 500 feet, so super simple. Even for those of you that have never jumped before. The static lines we rigged up will pull your chute the second you’re clear of the tail. There won’t be any time for maneuvering, but that’s good. All you have to do is focus on your landing. Remember, the second your feet hit the ground, roll sideways, and distribute the fall through all five points, feet, calf, thigh, hip, and back. And keep your chin against your chest. Any questions?”

  Major Trufflefoot stuck up both hands.

  Kat ignored him. “Once we land, try to pair back up. Don’t waste too much time. This is as hot a Landing Zone as it gets.

  “The game is simple. First to throw a satchel charge inside a submarine wins. If we sink them all, it doesn’t matter which is the right one.”

  Atkins squirmed in his seat like it was on fire. “What about the plane? We’ve got a tail gun. Maybe I should man it and give you some covering fire?”

  “Don’t need the cover. Dixon is going to play the hero card and ride this tin can into the biggest ship he can find in the harbor. Should make for one hell of a diversion. Are you that hellbent on earning a Victoria’s Cross too?”

  Atkins somehow grew paler. “I’m, ah, right behind you.”

  She drew herself up and locked eyes with every one of the men. A few gripped their weapons in grim determination and eyed her with undisguised skepticism. Dore reached for the side door first, but Kat snatched him back.

  “It’s my plan, so I go first. Don’t argue with me, Sergeant. You go last and make sure no one gets cold feet. By any means necessary, understand?”

  Dore’s nostrils flared. He nodded and pushed back to the front of the plane.

  “Three minutes! Here comes the flak.” The pep left Dixo
n’s voice.

  Kat double-checked her weapon and bomb satchel straps one last time before locking her static line to a bar running the cabin’s length. With a quick twist, she ripped open the side hatch. The blast of furnace air forced her to scrounge her eyes together, even with her goggles. None of the copious bursting AAA clouds were too close, by some miracle. She peeked her head out briefly and then shouted at the top of her lungs.

  “Target in sight! Get—”

  A Spitfire dived out of the sun from the rear left quarter. Atkins hollered over her shoulder at the red and blue circle on the wings.

  “Goddamn it! They’ve found me again!”

  “Go! Go!” Changing the plan yet again, Kat snagged Dore and kicked him out the door. The big man barreled over Capson, taking the skinny guy with him.

  Sergeant Bagnold gave a hand and shoved the last of his men out the door in seconds.

  “Your turn—” He snagged Kat’s arm as the Caproni erupted in sparks. She was still shouting in his face as Bagnold’s spine caught most of the shrapnel instead of her.

  Kat’s legs skidded out from under her as both engines flamed out, and the aircraft flipped on its back. She crashed into a cargo strap on the ceiling, the remnants of Bagnold’s body sliding off towards the plane’s nose.

  Which now pointed straight down.

  A brain-melting screech filled the cabin as the g-forces sheared the right wing clean off, gouging a giant raggedy hole to the cockpit. Dixon levitated out of the pilot’s seat, skipping right past the hole. He unsnapped his chute so he could move faster and monkeyed up the cargo straps towards Kat.

  “Talk about FUBAR, huh? You better not be waiting for me in hell, sugar!”

  With a few quick swipes of his knife, he freed her feet from the cargo webbing. Before she could say a word, he boosted Kat on his shoulders up to Trufflefoot and Atkins. Both hung from handholds above the jump door’s frame, dangling their boots out the open side while searching for a foothold.