The Captain coughed and scratched his beard. “Sorry, Ma’am, you’re not under anyone’s Command. Not now.”
“What! Bloody Fleming. What the hell’s he up to? I’m not a character in one of his novels. We’ve just stolen two brand new Messerschmitt 109s, and we intend to use them.” She glanced at Capetti, who looked angry enough to kill. “I’m sorry, Sandro. I had nothing to do with this.”
At that moment, Major Stirling walked over. “Everything all right?”
“No, it bloody isn’t,” she snapped, thrusting the letter into his hand. “Read that. It’s outrageous.”
Stirling studied the letter and gave her a quizzical look. “There are no women in the British Military, let alone Women Officers.”
“I don’t think the SOE would send the LRDG halfway across the Sahara Desert for a joke.”
“No. I suppose not.”
“And we have a mission to do.”
“Kat, unless we do another raid tonight, and I’m not sure if everyone’s up to it after last night, it’ll be a month before we can do another. The moon’s on the wane, and it won’t be full again for another 28 days. Maybe you’ll be back in time.”
“And pigs might fly,” she almost snarled. “Fleming wants us back in London. I can almost taste it.”
“Hah!” he grunted. “We’ll swap places with you. We could do with a break.”
“You and me both,” remarked Captain Phillips.”
“When are we supposed to leave?” she asked, pouring herself one of Capetti’s toe-curling coffees.
“Well, now, I suppose.”
Kat felt annoyingly emotional when she said goodbye to Stirling and his team, but it was nothing compared to the stab of regret she felt when they drove past the parked Messerschmitts. In all likelihood, they would remain there, unused and neglected. Forced to travel further afield, Stirling would probably move camp in the next few weeks, and that would be that. They’d gone through all the platitudes of saying they’d meet again soon. In all probability, it would never happen.
Why commission her? Why give her the rank of Major? She’d been spying for the British for years, and she’d never needed a rank before. The whole thing was ridiculous and more than a little worrying. And why go over Capetti’s head? Technically, Capetti was their Commanding Officer. At least, he used to be. Now he was simply an angry Italian who deserved a medal after stealing a Messerschmitt.
She glanced at Kelly. “Where d’you want to camp tonight?”
He laughed. “Your decision, Major. Preferably not in the dunes.”
“Sam, please don’t call me Major, even as a joke. Sandro’s really upset about this. He probably thinks they’re re-assigning him.”
“Maybe they are. Then you’ll be able to choose your own team.”
“We’re already a team. I don’t want to change anything.”
The convoy slowed and approached the range of dunes where they’d stopped on the way to the Moghra Oasis. There must have been another sand storm, the shape of the dunes different, and the ridges not as high as they had been. Captain Phillips pulled over and walked back to them, his keffiyeh flapping in the wind.
“We were wondering what you’d rather do, camp here and get an early start in the morning, or press on to the next oasis.”
“There’s another oasis between here and Cairo?”
“If you can call it that. It’s just a bunch of palms. The well’s as dry as a bone. At least we won’t get hit by sand storms.”
She looked at Kelly. “You want to press on?”
“I would. It’s only 1700, and we’d be that much nearer to Cairo.”
They pressed on, through the dunes and onto a sandy plain, where the wind sculpted extraordinary shapes out of the passing rock formations, giant arches and crumbling buttes that they hadn’t seen in the other direction. Phillips found a better route. Every so often they passed a shallow wadi where stunted acacia trees grew. Otherwise, the land was dry, rocky, and lifeless.
When they finally arrived at the oasis, the sun sank below the horizon. There was water here because the few palm trees that grew, although leaning at a precarious angle, looked almost healthy. As Phillips warned, the well was dry. It didn’t matter. They brought plenty of water. They were now in a kind of no man’s land, halfway between Cairo and the Qattara Depression. No one frequented this part of the desert. Even the Berbers didn’t come here.
No one spoke about Kat’s new orders, not that there anything to discuss. When they’d pitched their tents and were sitting around in a group, Dore asked Kat if he could see the letter that came from the SOE. She shrugged and handed it to him. Apart from her embarrassing rank, there wasn’t anything to hide. Nevertheless, Dore studied the letter.
After a while, he said, “I don’t understand how they can commission ya when there are no women allowed in the active military, and the Auxiliary Territorial Service has no combat authority. Maybe it has to do with money. Can I ask you a question? D’ya ever get paid? Yer a civil servant, or at least, you were.”
“They put money in my bank every so often, although it’s not very much.”
“I don’t mean to be rude, but how much?”
“I don’t know… two shillings a day.”
He nodded. “Maybe that’s why they commissioned you a Major. A conscripted Recruit Private gets two shillings a day. A British Army Major gets twenty-eight shillings a day.”
“Does he? I’ll be damned?”
“That’s why everyone’s so pissed at the Yanks. They earn twice that.”
Dore raised his eyes, tilted his head, and gave a little shrug. “Ya practically run Kat’s Rats, might as well get paid for it.”
“We already have a Commanding Officer.”
“I doubt Fleming did it just to replace the General with you. No, Fleming’s got another mission planned.”
“We were already on a mission,” she said, crossly, “and quite important. Now those Messerschmitts are just going to sit there and rot.”
The streets of Cairo choked with cars, Army trucks, horse-drawn carriages, and wooden carts. The smell of drains was terrible, and Kat wished she were back in the desert. Qasr el-Nil Street was jammed with traffic. She’d intended to report to Army Headquarters on her own. She felt so guilty about Capetti, in the end, she took him with her. He was, after all, her Commanding Officer. Or at least he had been before the letter arrived. Now they weren’t so sure.
Colonel Briggs looked noticeably startled when Kat introduced herself as Major Wolfram and handed over Fleming’s orders. Not that his reaction surprised her. Women weren’t allowed in the military. Public opinion would have balked at the very idea.
“But… you’re a woman,” he spluttered.
Kat shrugged. “Talk to Commander Fleming. It wasn’t my decision. Until yesterday, I was a civilian.”
The Colonel leafed through a thick file of papers, sweeping a knuckle across his thick mustache and tutting to himself as he squinted at them. “Well, I’ve got a Major Wolfram listed. It doesn’t say it’s a woman.”
“Well, it wouldn’t, would it?” she said, indignantly. “Does it give a Christian name?”
“Yes. Name of Katelyn.”
“Know any men called Katelyn? I need to know what my orders are.”
Briggs frowned and ran a finger down the page. “It says that you and your team are to report to the SOE in London. They’re flying you there on the…” Peering at the calendar on his desk, he raised a bushy eyebrow. “…tomorrow morning.”
“So,” Capetti said, scratching the thick stubble on his chin, “Does it say who the Commanding Officer
is?”
Briggs squinted that the documents again. “Major… no, it doesn’t. It just says that Major Wolfram and team are to proceed with all speed. It lists everyone’s names. It doesn’t say who’s in Command. Your flight leaves at 0900 hours.”
“Charming,” Capetti remarked. “The British Army so organized.”
“More than you can say for the Italians,” Briggs retorted.
CHAPTER 7
By the time they’d landed at RAF Northolt, Kat thought she was part of some convoluted conspiracy. Why would Fleming fly them back to London only to re-assign them? He could have done that from Cairo. Moreover, a car waited for her. Not for the team, only her. Capetti, Stewart, Kelly, Dore, and Atkins were loaded into a truck and driven to a hotel in Bayswater. And it wasn’t just any car. A military green Humber Super Snipe, the kind of car she’d have expected General Montgomery to be driven in.
The drive was uneventful from the airbase to Baker Street. It gave her time to think of some questions for Fleming that needed answering. She couldn’t imagine what was so important to take her away from a mission that was proceeding so successfully. Eventually, she arrived at SOE Headquarters with her questions mentally prepared.
Taking the elevator to the second floor, she gave her ID to the receptionist, a pretty young woman wearing an Auxiliary Territorial Service Uniform. She’d expected to wait, but after a brief word on the intercom, the young woman stood up and led her down the corridor to Commander Fleming’s office.
“Major Wolfram,” Fleming said as if he hadn’t been expecting her. “It’s so nice to see you. Please sit down. We have a lot to discuss.”
She eased herself into a chair on the other side of Fleming’s enormous desk and littered with what looked like a manuscript of some kind. “Please don’t tell me you want to kidnap someone.”
Fleming fitted a new cigarette into his elaborate cigarette holder, lit it and blew a plume of smoke towards the open window, perhaps as a courtesy to her. “Not quite. It’s a bit more complex than that. How’s Flight Lieutenant Kelly doing?”
Surprised by the question, she gazed at him for a moment. “He’s been a real asset. On our last mission, he stole a Messerschmitt 109 and took out about fifteen enemy aircraft. If you hadn’t recalled us, he’d probably have taken out even more. Why? Is this to do with Flight Lieutenant Kelly?”
“Well no, not really, but it has a bearing on it. You’re probably wondering why I brought you back from Egypt.”
“You could say that. We doubled the number of aircraft the SAS had been destroying.”
“Yes, I heard. The SAS is going to be expanded. You’d have become a cog in a much bigger wheel. It seemed a waste of your rather… nefarious talents.”
“Really? I thought we were doing rather well.”
“You certainly were, however, something very important has come up, something that not many other people can handle.” He hesitated, letting the seconds tick by. “We have intelligence that Hitler placed a ‘Shoot On Sight’ order on Oberführer Pernass and within the next few days, Pernass is going to organize a meeting of the Generals in Vienna.”
“Have you a reason Hitler put a kill order on him?”
“Only a guess. He’s gone rogue. Or he’s planning a Military Coup. Or both.”
A spike of adrenalin surged through her. “And Pernass is in Vienna?”
“He will be.”
“What has that to do with me?”
“Pernass has infiltrated the British Government at the highest levels… He’s even infiltrated the SOE. The man has spies everywhere. He has to be dispatched with due speed.”
“And that’s our… next mission,” she said, hesitantly.
Fleming grimaced and took another drag of his cigarette. “It’s your main mission. We also have a problem in Italy. General Gramigna needs your help. He asked me to find you.”
“You brought us back from Egypt to help the Italian Resistance?”
“No, we brought you back from Egypt for the Vienna job, but while we’re waiting for a date, you can give Gramigna a hand.”
She frowned. “We’d be happy to help out in Italy, but would you mind expanding on the Vienna situation?”
Once again, he made her wait for an answer. “In a nutshell, we want you to kill Oberführer Pernass.”
She became aware of traffic noise wafting through the open window, the sound of horns, a pneumatic drill hammering away in the distance. “You want me to kill my stepfather?”
“If you don’t mind. Pernass has become a serious problem.”
“Why not let Hitler do it?”
“Hitler’s tried. When Pernass gets wind of someone is after him, he vanishes. But, we have something Herr Hitler doesn’t have. We have you.” He smiled. “You are the only person on this planet who has any chance in Hell in getting close enough to him.”
Kat stared at Fleming. Could she really murder her stepfather? It’s one thing for him to die during a mission… quite another to kill him in cold blood.
“That’s rather… a big ask, Commander. How are we supposed to achieve it?”
Fleming shrugged. “All up to you. How ever you want to do it.”
“Well, I can tell you now, sir, Kelly won’t assassinate his uncle, no matter how much he dislikes him.”
Fleming nodded. “I thought you might say that, which is why I wanted this meeting to be in private. And one of the reasons I had you commissioned a Major.”
“So what are you suggesting? I remove Kelly from the team?”
“Your call.” Removing his cigarette from the holder, he stubbed it out in the ashtray. “Or leave him in Italy… with anyone else you don’t need. I’ll leave it to you, Major. It’s your team.”
Once again, she felt a buzz of adrenalin. “And Capetti? I thought he was our Commanding Officer.”
Fleming laughed. “Was he ever your Commanding Officer?”
Fleming turned serious, “No, I can’t order Major Capetti to order you to kill your stepfather. You have to volunteer and be in Command of this mission. You’ll also need enough authority to accomplish that mission.”
“You said that was one of the reasons. What are the others?”
“Kat’s Rats has become too well known to let you continue in an active military role for the British Government. If you were to get killed or captured, the public outcry for allowing a British Auxiliary woman to take an active combat role would be scandalous.”
“I don’t understand. You said I couldn’t work in a military role, but you commission me a Major in the Army.”
“That I did. But I didn’t say what Army. There are no women in the British Military, so we convinced General Eisenhower to commission you an American Major. You will be able to continue with your… shall we say… Kat’s Adventures in the Desert.”
Kat furled her brows and informed him, “there are no women in combat in the American Army either.”
“I know. But they do have the Women’s Army Corps, and we don’t. You’ll have all the authority and benefits of an American Army Major.”
It started to come together for Kat. She began to understand. “Why a Major? Why not a Lieutenant? I mean, isn’t going from Auxiliary Translator to an American Army Major a bit of a stretch?”
“It’s all about appearances. Even the American Army had to tread carefully on this matter. We all agreed that if you were to be killed or captured as a Major, the public outcry of a woman in a combat role would be muted. Any less rank, the public would think you were ordered into danger. As a Senior Military Officer, the public would be more inclined to believe you risked your life on your own accord.” Fleming g
ave her a wry smile, “Anytime you are in a uniformed combat situation, you’ll have to wear the American Uniform. Geneva Convention, Rules of War sort of thing. And if anything happens to you, you’re a Yank problem. However, you’re still under my Command.”
“Let me get this straight,” Kat said a bit annoyed. “I got a commission because of the potential publicity fallout from my death in combat?”
“I’m not forcing you into this. You’ll still be able to continue with your spy work, of course. If you turn down my offer, you will no longer be able to continue with your combat activities.”
Without a second thought, Kat said, “where do I sign?”
“Your men are at the Brinkley Hotel in Bayswater. Let me know when you’re ready to leave for Italy. We’ll be parachuting you in.”
Commander Fleming walked over to Kat and leaned against his desk, “by the way, Major Stirling was so impressed with Lieutenant Kelly’s Sten gun suppressor design, he’s requisitioned suppressed Sten guns and subsonic ammo for all his men. I sent Kelly’s designs to Major Reginald Shepherd and Harold Turpin, who originally designed the Sten. They told us the modifications were brilliant and that with a little refinement, they could be put to the field in quick order. We are currently in negotiations with the Lithgow Small Arms Factory and should have the weapons out to the Major soon. Be sure to convey to Flight Lieutenant Kelly our appreciation for his contribution to the war effort.”
Giving Kat an American Major ID Card and instructions on where to get a proper American uniform, he said, “Major Wolfram, you’re in the Army now.” He saluted her and laughed.
“Blimey! A bloody freakin Yank. I’ve gotten used to taking orders from an Auxiliary Translator. I’ve even gotten used to taking orders from a woman. But I have to draw the line at taking orders from a goddamn bloody Yank!” Dore said, gulping down an entire bottle of beer in one swig.
“Watch it Sergeant, or I’ll have you drawn and quartered. Now get me a beer!”
Kat and Die Wolfsschanze Page 6