“Looking for this?”
She skidded back from the blinding flashlight washing over her. Mr. Trenchcoat aimed the torch at the ground and away from her sniveling face.
“I—I don’t know what my stepfather is up to, or where he is. Please, I’m just trying to get away. Take your revenge on him when he comes home!”
The stranger unbuttoned his coat, flashing an immaculate SS uniform.
“Fräulein, you should show the same courage as the Obersturmführer. He sent me here to protect you from the State’s enemies. Brownshirts, communists, disloyal cops, Jews—all the rats are running about tonight. Let’s go back inside. The streets are no place for a lady.”
He snagged Kat’s thin arm and tugged. She hissed and flailed out of his grasp, slamming her back against the garden fence.
“Come now. This is silly. I’m not your babysitter. If you’ll be a good girl and get back in bed, I won’t tell your stepfather about your little adventure.”
When he reached for her again, Kat swatted his hand away and yanked out her brand-new stiletto. She cocked her foot back, bent forward and took up the same fighting stance Pernass drilled in her since she hit puberty.
“Stay away, or I’ll kill you!”
Between her croaking voice and the tears streaking down her war face, the SS man doubled over with laughter. “Enough with this foolishness. Give me that before you hurt yourself.”
In a blur, he lunged forward and snagged her wrist, twisting her slender arm in a vice grip so hard that Kat’s whole body collapsed at his feet.
“Ow!” With her wrist bent near 90 degrees and the blade slipping from her grasp, she struck her tormenter with the only weapon she still controlled.
The man swallowed his laughter when Kat’s forehead slammed into his crotch. As he doubled over, the girl wouldn’t release her death grip on the knife. Her struggling as she leaned against his legs brought the big man down as well, right on top of Kat.
The blade sank inside the guy’s throat with wet ease as he fell. Kat screeched, not letting go of the hilt. The flailing man’s panicked struggles twisted and turned the knife, spurting more blood over her face. By the time he quit fighting, his frozen face was pure white, all his color instead drenching Kat’s blouse in dark red.
Still clutching the sticky, trembling blade, she pried herself out from under the twitching corpse.
“Katelyn?” An elderly uma from next door peeked a gray head out of her kitchen window. “What’s happening, my dear… Gottes Wille!”
While the nosy old biddy shrieked, Kat ripped off the man’s coat and draped the oversized camouflage over her wet shoulders. Ignoring the gun handle sticking out of a holster, she rummaged around for his billfold. When she found it, the bulging leather pouch full of brown Reichsmarks steadied her hands.
“Well, maybe I should have tried a bribe.” Her queasy stomach churned hard as the adrenaline faded. “No, no!” Kat abandoned her fear with her suitcase and shot off in an Olympic sprint before reality could catch up.
Five deserted blocks later, her sore muscles gave out on the edge of the industrial side of town. She melted against a warehouse wall and gasped for air, as a pair of Volkswagens rounded the corner and blocked the intersection.
“Halt!”
Kat threw up her hands. She couldn’t bring herself to step out of the shadows and into the streetlight. Kat shut her eyes as six black-clad figures hopped out of the cars, rifles at the high ready.
They opened fire without another word.
She pried her eyelids open as the rounds missed her by ten yards, snapping down the street at a police paddy wagon charging towards them. The bullets found their mark. The truck swerved as the driver slumped over. Someone reached across from the passenger seat and steadied the wheel.
While Kat gaped, the police vehicle plowed straight through the hasty SS blockade, dragging one of the NAZIs along under the rear tire well. The truck never slowed as it took a hard left and raced towards the nearby railyard. A massive train full of coal blared its horn and squealed the brakes. The paddy wagon was too fast.
Kat couldn’t help but cheer as the strange truck bounced over the tracks a hundred feet ahead of the train. She was still cheering when one of the dismounted SS hunters chasing the truck opened up with an automatic rifle.
She caught a brief glimpse of the shredded vehicle jackknifing and flipping over. The train screeched to a complete stop, blocking her view as a bloody woman and two little kids climbed out of the wreckage with their hands high.
Then the heavy shooting began.
Under cover of gunfire and NAZI laughter, Kat slithered into a half-full coal car a moment before the train picked up steam again and headed south.
Filthy, but safe, she finally let herself throw up and cry. Kat didn’t stop until dawn broke hours later and the Alps towered above her, to the north.
Despite her rumbling belly, she whooped through her cracked, blue lips at a giant Willkommen in der Schweiz sign whipping past.
“Now that’s the best birthday present of all.”
CHAPTER 3
Casablanca
“You look dashing, so quit squirming already. People are watching.”
Kat reached over and patted Sergeant Dore’s freshly shaved cheek. He kept fiddling with his double-breasted pinstripe suit and prying at the tie as they followed the maître d. Dore had to lean into the girl on his arm to hear anything over the loud brass band.
“Oye! I ain’t worn a tie since confirmation. Besides, nobody here is staring at me and my monkey suit.” He winked over at the redhead gliding by in a slinky black dress and plopped down in a chair as the maître d chatted in French.
Kat shouted a drink order at the server, who sniffed at Dore as he strode off.
“What’s that bloke’s problem?”
Still hovering over him, Kat gave a little cough. After a good five seconds of staring at her raised eyebrow, a lightbulb flashed under his bushy eyebrows.
“Oh, sorry, Princess.” Dore chuckled and jumped up, taking Kat’s shawl before yanking a chair out for her. He bowed from the waist before slumping in his chair again and scratching his crotch. Kat matched his snort.
“My, what a gentleman.”
“I thought I was only an escort? Not that I don’t enjoy a quiet evening with you, darlin’. The Colonel said I was supposed to watch your back and keep the drunks from pinching your bum. This spy stuff is your bailiwick.”
She leaned across the table and took his hand, tracing hearts in his hairy palm. She kept a soft, playful grin on her face. Her whisper, however, dripped acid.
“Keeping your cover isn’t a silly game. I don’t care if you’re out of your element. How are we going to get the Vichies to trust us if we act like amateurs? Now you’re a Swedish businessman tonight. So square yourself away, Sergeant!”
Dore grunted. “Yeah, yeah. Sorry. I’m just sick of this pretend war. Hell, I ain’t fired a gun in months!”
Kat gave a genuine smile. “I feel your pain, Wolfman. If we do this right, no one has to fire a shot when the Yanks get here. Then you can do all the shooting you please when we move on Sicily.”
“Too right, Lassie. I’ll toast to that.” He swiped the whiskey from the waiter before the tuxedo-clad fellow even set the glasses on the table. “Skal!”
He winced, yet finished the tumbler in one gulp. “Bloody ‘ell… American bourbon? I thought this was a civilized country!”
Kat winked and sipped her tumbler extra lady-like. Dore’s grin faded as he caught her eyes clouding over. She buried her face in the menu while he stretched and gave a lazy scan over his shou
lder. None of the four uniformed SS men sauntering up to the bar paid him any attention, although all their gazes lingered on Kat.
Dore slapped on a smile and whispered. “Sure seems like there’s more of those rat bastards out here every week. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say the Germans don’t trust the local Vichy troops.”
“Speaking of which… Monsieur!” Kat waved and babbled in French at a balding Vichy Army Officer camped out at the far end of the bar. The barfly meandered over and gossiped a little too loud with Kat. Dore kept grinning like an idiot, tossing an occasional shrug or nod into the foreign gobbledygook.
After a few respectable moments, the stranger helped himself to a seat at their table and ordered a fresh round, gushing in Frenchy with Kat the whole time. As soon as the waiter left, he snarled and flipped to an English whisper.
“Are you people insane? I thought you were professional spies!” The Colonel straightened his narrow civilian tie and took a breath. “I mean, does this Caveman here even speak a word of French? I can’t help but have second thoughts about this whole plan.”
Kat ignored the boisterous crowd of Gestapo boys getting plastered ten feet behind him. Waving her hand, she gave a coquettish giggle, but her whisper flashed steel.
“If you’re more scared of those clowns than me, then you’re the idiot. The Yanks are all set to storm the coast, guns a-blazin' like the Wild West. The balloon is going up soon. So do you want to save your ass and the lives of your men or not, Colonel?”
He raised his glass and sniffed, splashing half of it over his shaking hand. “Uh, not to be too forward… what about the other item?”
Kat clacked her tongue. “No worries. As Trufflefoot promised, your current division Commander is just too friendly with the Reich. De Gaulle has already approved your promotion. The second your garrison surrenders and joins the Free French forces, you’ll take Command and jump two pay grades. Congratulations... General.”
Dore propped his elbows on the table. “And you don’t even have to do the dirty work. Just pull the guard duty off the headquarters the night before the invasion, and me boys and I will take care of the rest.”
The Vichy Colonel’s hand steadied as he drained the rest of his liquor and fired up his third cigarette since coming over. “Rest assured. I can deliver, as long as the Americans can take the beach as fast as you promise.”
In one endless drag, he burned through half the cigarette and drummed his fingers on the table. “The Americans are so inexperienced. Look what happened with the Dieppe raid, and those were battle-hardened Canucks and Brits. We can’t get involved in a repeat of that disaster. If your little invasion runs into the slightest hiccup, the Germans will rush reinforcements into the city. Then, even the most diehard French loyalists will have to stand and fight with the Wehrmacht.”
He took another drag on the cigarette. “It’s going to be hard enough dealing with the SS minders always hovering about in the Command center. Perhaps we could…”
“Hauptmann Marseille! Kommt, bitte!”
The SS crowd whooped and pounded the bar, barking over the whole nightclub.
By the front door, a hawk-faced young man ran a hand through his slicked-back hair and wandered over. The Gestapo fellows stumbled over one another, getting him a drink and slapping his back. The lean, rakishly handsome man laughed along and lit an offered cigarette, freezing as his gaze drifted over to Kat.
The young newcomer whispered something at the other boys, who howled back.
“Shit, he’s coming over. Goodnight!” The Vichy Colonel melted away while the local hero took his place, ravishing Kat with a roguish grin and sizing up Dore.
His accent was thick, though that raspy bedroom voice smoothed the edges out of his English. “Pardon me, Mademoiselle… I have the strangest feeling we’ve met before. Don’t suppose you’re secretly a British Commando by chance?”
Dore’s hand shot into his coat, but as he snagged the table to flip it over, he gaped at Kat’s face and blanched.
The Terror of Tripoli blushed, then giggled.
“Well, I must say that’s the most original line I’ve ever heard. So just what would you do if I were an agent provocateur? Hmm? I suppose a little spanking would be in order.”
The German cocked a twinkling eye at the fire in her voice and slipped a hand in his pocket.
“Oh, not much. I’m but a humble fighter pilot… It’s no line. You remind me so much of a gorgeous little thing that shot me down last year over the Great Sand Sea in Libya. You sure you’ve never been there? How many fire-headed goddesses can there be running around this desert?”
Dore continued to stare as Kat twirled a finger through her curls and licked her lips. “Something tells me you’ve never been shot down by a girl, in any situation…”
Finally closing his gaping mouth, Dore flicked his hand out at the cheeky German. “Can I help you with something, Mr...”
“Captain Joachim Marseille.” The pilot gave Dore a perfunctory shake, while never taking his soul-piercing eyes off Kat. He slipped out of the big man’s iron grasp in a split-second and seized Kat’s hand. Pressing her slim fingers to his lips, he murmured in French. “But you can call me… anytime.”
Under the table, Dore nudged the gushing girl across from him, breaking her trance for a second. Instead of coming to her senses, Kat flashed him a naughty grin.
“Oh, boss, do you know who this is? The Star of Africa himself! Please, have a seat!”
Kat pushed out a chair, though not far. Marseille glided down, rubbing knees with Kat while Dore ground his teeth to nubs.
“Are you sure I’m not interrupting your night out?”
“Actually—” Dore grunted as Kat’s heel slammed his shin under the table.
“Of course not. My boss and I are just out for a little celebratory drink. We closed a big supply contract for the French Army today.”
Prepping for the inevitable questioning, Dore recited his Swedish cover story under his breath. Marseille only nodded politely, and half turned his back on the older man.
“You’re not together? Then I’d say a fresh round is in order. So what does an angel drink?
While Marseille leaned forward to whisper something in Kat’s red ear, Dore lit a cigar and folded his arms. “So, you’re some type of fighter ace? Got a lotta kills under your belt?”
“Ah, they say 127 victories... I wouldn’t know.” Marseille laced his wiry fingers in Kat’s hand, never taking his eyes off her. “I’m not the kiss and tell type. Care to dance?”
As soon as she opened her mouth, Dore shouted, managing to clamp his holler down into a somewhat casual challenge. “So!... Um, what’s a warrior of your status doing so far away from the real war?”
Marseille cut a quick eye at Dore. “Just on a little R&R before my next assignment. Now, if you don’t mind…”
The cuddly girl next to him, tensed and leaned away. “Oh, I was under the impression you were up to something hush-hush and dangerous.” She crossed her legs and sipped at her drink. “After a few of these, I guess I get so caught up in tales of adventure. So boring, the life of a secretary...”
Marseille took one glance at her taught thighs disappearing as she smoothed out her dress and leaned forward.
“Well, I shouldn’t say anything, but my next assignment is something special. You didn’t hear it from me… the Luftwaffe has some experimental new fighters to throw at the Amis. Supposed to be the fastest planes on God’s Earth. And I’ll be commanding the squadron. Of course, it’s incredibly dangerous work. For all I know, this might be my last holiday…”
Kat’s green eyes glimmered as she nestled her shoulder against his. “I’
m sure a man like you will be fine. I always dreamed of flying. How about we hit the dance floor, and you tell me all about it?”
She tugged the giddy young man to his feet and blew Dore a kiss. “Boss, if we’re done here, I’ll see you in the office in the morning. Night!”
Dore slapped on a snarl that kinda mimicked a smile. Snatching up her little purse, he came around the table and handed it to her. While Marseille turned to slip a few Marks in the waiter’s hand, Dore growled into Kat’s ear. “Are you working him or is this just for fun?”
She pinched his cheek while Marseille slipped an arm around her waist.
“Oh, Wolfman. If you love what you do, you’ll never work a day in your life!”
Before the second knock landed, Atkins hopped over the Ottoman couch and checked the peephole, then ripped open the door to the safe house with a smirk.
“Kat! Where have you been? We searched… ah, long night, um? Want a spot of tea?” The peppy young Sergeant lowered his Sten gun and bolted the luxury hotel’s door shut.
Kat skipped inside and clapped his shoulder. “Thanks, Cappy! I’m ravished. Where’s the Colonel? Have I got some news!”
She hummed about the massive common room, wolfing down a handful of local Krachel sweet rolls from the small table. Dore frowned up from his field stripped MP40—not the same one he captured at Dunkirk. It was a more recent trophy.
“Trufflefoot’s meeting with a contact on the balcony.” He pried his eyes off her slinky dress. The same one she’d worn the night before. “I’m assuming you turned that thing inside out to hide the bloodstains?”
“Huh? Oh…right.” The briefest flash of red crossed Kat’s cheeks as she ran her hands over the bumpy outside seams. “Ok, I’ll change… Get everyone in here fast.”
Kat's Rats Page 3