Kat's Rats

by Michael Beals

  The fighter’s expensive, double-breasted suit, soft hands, and glistening leather loafers brought a grin to Kat’s face, despite the rifle in his lap. The rest of his well-dressed gang looked like they would be far more comfortable behind a desk than huddled down in the truck bed and cuddling their old-timey weapons.

  “At the risk of sounding ungrateful…something tells me you gentlemen aren’t exactly special forces operators. Who are you with? OSS? MI5? Maybe—”

  The leader turned his full attention on her, and Kat’s grin faded. “If there’s anything these last few years have shown, it’s that the Jews are on their own.” She nodded as those sunken, dead eyes of his cut through to a part of her soul that hadn’t stirred in years.

  The rest of his fighters muttered something in Hebrew. Dore edged closer to Kat as they all tracked her like sharks. Despite no apparent signs of pursuit, none had lowered their weapons, or offered to give Kat and her team their guns back.

  “If you’re so curious, I’m Émile Bouchara. And these gents are what’s left of the Géo Gras Group.”

  Trufflefoot perked up. “The French Resistance? Smashing! Then we’re on the same side. If you could get us to a long-range radio, we can help each other.”

  For the first time, a few smiles broke out amongst the rebel band — all except for Émile.

  “Oh, I’m quite sure you have plans to use us, just like everyone else. For once, we hold all the cards. And I plan to bleed you for all your worth first.”

  Kat squinted. “Like the Colonel said, we’re all on the same side. We’re happy to help. Get you whatever you need.”

  A tight smile underlined Émile’s hollowed eyes.

  “Who said I was speaking metaphorically?”

  Part II

  In the absence of orders, go find something and kill it.

  – Field Marshall Erwin Rommel

  CHAPTER 5

  Domaine Ouadah District, Algiers

  “Will you relax already? Go do all that pacing about in your own room.”

  Trufflefoot leaned back on his mattress and wrapped both hands behind his head. Kat kicked a fancy boudoir in the apartment corner.

  “Back to my cell, you mean. It’s been two days already! All they’ve done is shift us to another city. This might be the prettiest prison I’ve ever been in, but make no mistake, Émile and his crew aren’t keeping us safe out of the kindness of their black hearts.”

  Atkins propped an elbow up on the top bunk and waved out the window.

  “I don’t know. Can you blame them for not trusting a bunch of foreigners after what their own Government did to them? I mean, just look at how easy it was for them to hide us in this ghetto. Except for the fancy houses confiscated by rich Frenchmen, this whole section of the city is empty. The only thing crazier is that they’re still here.” Atkins dipped his brow at the stiletto blade she twirled about like prayer beads. “Pretty hardcore. I figured you of all people would respect that.”

  “Exactly my point! Professional soldiers are predictable. This war has way too many dangerous amateurs mucking things up. Who knows what they’re up to right now while we, the only ones who know what we’re doing, are locked away in purgatory?”

  Trufflefoot guffawed while she scratched at the fresh stitches on her arm. “Right, and I’m sure you had those soldiers right where you wanted them? Don’t confuse luck with professionalism.” He sighed and crossed himself. “It’s a moot point. Our base of operations was Morocco. With Smith gone, we have no bona fides with any intelligence service in Algeria. Can’t even pull off our civilian cover story. Face it. We’re just broke illegal immigrants. Oh, and fugitives, too. So let’s give our benefactors the—”

  Kat flew out of the room as something crashed in the living room, her blade cocked low and tight. In the cozy little common room, Sergeant Dore cursed on his back and pried himself off the splintered remains of the coffee table. A tall, wiry Jewish rebel clutched his red throat with one hand and helped the Scotsman up with the other.

  Dore rubbed his back and pounded the man’s shoulder, giggling like a schoolboy.

  “All right, Karsenty. Double or nothing this time. Gawd, you’re fast. Where the hell did you learn that move?”

  “It’s just basic Aikido. Picked it up during a stint in Indochina. Quick way to end a fight, especially when you can’t breathe. Christ, how’d you get a grip like a damn vise?”

  “What the hell are you brutes doing?” Kat sheathed her blade out of Karsenty’s sight and cocked her hands on her hips, glaring up at the two chuckling men.

  Karsenty rolled his eyes and nudged Dore. “I know you island monkeys do things differently but is she like your boss or something? I thought you said she was a translator? Just a civilian auxiliary.”

  “Who you calling a civvy, big boy? Let me take the next round. I need to vent.” Kat rolled up the sleeves on her dungarees while Karsenty snickered.

  “You were right about one thing though. She is cute when she’s angry.”

  Dore cringed. “Oye, don’t encourage her, Lieutenant. She doesn’t fight fair.”

  “Lieutenant?” Kat blinked. “Are you a damn Vichy soldier!?”

  “French Foreign Legion, Mademoiselle. Technically I guess I was in the Vichy army, from about breakfast the day of the armistice until shortly before lunch. One of the new Government’s first acts was to detain all Jewish soldiers in the ranks. My Commanding Officer gave me an hour’s head start though.” His grin faded as his cheek twitched. “Shame I couldn’t offer him the same courtesy when I burned him alive saving your pretty ass. Do you have any idea what your little war tourism stunt has cost us?”

  “At ease, mate.” Dore squeezed the rebel’s shoulder. “She has that effect on people. Trust me. There are worse things than having a pit viper owe you a favor.”

  Kat blew him a kiss. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Wolfman. Since you two are so buddy, how about you tell us what…”

  Someone rapped on the front door with two pairs of hits followed by a soft blow. Karsenty threw the deadbolt and gave the short man sauntering in a little bow.

  Émile didn’t even glance at the busted table, nor take his hands out of his pockets.

  “Since I have no choice except play along with your story about you being British spies, I passed the word along the grapevine. Just heard back this morning that the American embassy is quite keen on getting you all back. So get ready. We’re meeting up with a submarine in a small fishing village nearby right after sunset. You’re going home.”

  He spun on his heels and marched out without so much as a forced smile. Karsenty ground his teeth and raced after him, muttering something in Yiddish. Émile slashed his hand in the air and slipped away.

  Kat cut her eyes at the frowning Legionnaire. “What’s wrong?”

  “I tried telling him this was… risky and you people should stay here.” He puffed out his cheeks. “Well, orders are orders. Can’t lose sight of the big picture.”

  As the sun burst out its final blazing stand over the Mediterranean, Kat crouched in the pines lining the wharf and hissed over the lapping waves.

  “Nice of you to see us off personally. I never knew you were the sentimental type.”

  “There’s a trade involved. That’s all.” Émile shuffled about in the grassy peninsula jutting out into the sea, his gaze focused back at the village rather than the bay. Just like the ten rifle-toting rebels with him. Kat squinted at the random cigarette cherries in the darkened village, all pacing back and forth.

  “You sure brought a ton of muscle along for a simple trade.”

  “Spend a couple of years as a rat on the run in your
own land, and you’d be paranoid too.”

  Kat squeezed his forearm and leaned in. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. You lost someone to the fascists, didn’t you? I know where you’re coming from.”

  Émile ground his teeth to nubs keeping his glistening eyes straight ahead. “My wife. My kids. Parents, grandparents, neighbors, coworkers… everyone who doesn’t fight goes into the camps. No one ever comes out. We didn’t lose someone. We lost everyone. What can a spoiled little English girl know about that? Why the fuck do you people care about us all of a sudden anyway?”

  Kat’s shock fogged her mind for appropriate words. She was only able to blurt, “Christ, er… Goddamn, I mean.”

  “That’s sweet. Where was that British sympathy when the Huns overran France and set up their Vichy puppet Government to spread their holocaust to the colonies? We tried to flee into British controlled territory, but nooo… your Government had a quota. Turned us around at gunpoint. Only so many refugees you’d take in. Especially Jewish ones.”

  Kat chewed her lip as he ripped his arm away. “Look, we can wave off this extraction. Tell the Americans there was too much heat. You want to kill all these bastards and free your people? Well, that’s one thing we can help with. We owe you at least that much.”

  Dore duckwalked over through the high grass and snorted. “Yeah, mate. Fucking up the Gestapo’s dirty work is sort of our specialty… and her hobby.”

  “You’ve already helped more than you can imagine.” Émile sagged his round shoulders for a moment, then snapped his spine straight at a faint rumble in the distance.

  Someone in the town’s mosque minaret flicked a flashlight off and on five times. Seconds later, five unarmed lorries rolled up to the tiny dock, all sporting Iron Crosses on the doors.

  Dore spun around and roared, “you lavvy-heided wankstain!! I’ll…”

  Émile had already slipped off to the far side of the wharf. His men formed a hasty firing line, all well out of arm’s length. The rebel leader’s sunken eye sockets still blazed in the dark as he jabbed a knife-hand at the trucks.

  “There’s nowhere to run and nothing to gain by fighting. Just march forward. They only wanted the girl breathing. The rest of you were optional. Dead or alive, they said. You can thank me later.”

  Trufflefoot stuck up both hands and took half a step towards the rebels, freezing as ten safeties clicked off at once. “Look, we can offer you a hell of a better deal than the Huns. Money, weapons, safe passage… whatever you want.”

  While the rest of her team fanned out, Kat peered over her shoulder. Instead of Stormtroopers, scores of emancipated women and children shuffled out of the trucks. In the town, one rebel fighter after another dropped his guard, and weapon, while wrapping the refugees in his arms.

  Émile stomped forward, tantalizingly close to Kat’s reach, and waved his revolver.

  “Quit stalling and get moving! The NAZIs held up their end of the bargain.”

  “You idiot!” Kat rolled her eyes and bared her teeth, standing with her hands high.

  Émile’s gun shook as hard as the rest of his body. “I suppose this is where I should say it’s nothing personal, just war…but I think you know it doesn’t get more personal than this. Don’t worry. I doubt they’ll execute you out of hand. Probably swap you all for some German spies eventually. Be proud you just saved a hundred lives without firing a shot.”

  “Oh, honey,” Kat tsked and smiled. “I’m not sore about the betrayal. I’d probably do the same thing in your shoes, but dammit, Émile! I can’t forgive you for being so naïve! You think the Gestapo is going to let you just ride off into the sunset?”

  “Give me some credit. My scouts have been watching the convoy since they left camp. Only trucks, no tanks. I’ve also gathered up every rebel in a hundred miles, just in case the SS tries a double-cross. We even have a few machine guns and a crate of real grenades.” Even with the reassuring weight of a loaded gun in his hand, his shaking only worsened when Kat threw back her head in laughter.

  “Smooth move, Napoleon. So you put all your men in one place and then told the Gestapo where to find you? Bloody amateurs. All right, we’ll fix this. Still owe you one, after all.”

  Several of the guards gulped and skittered about, though none lowered their weapons.

  Kat whistled at Atkins and Capson, both inching away and trying to hide the pine branch clubs behind their backs. “Come on, boys. A deal’s a deal, eh?”

  She spun on her heels and stomped off for the trucks, the rest of the team racing to catch up without hesitation. Dore jogged behind and reached for her arm. Karsenty popped up out the crowd of sobbing ex-prisoners. “I’m sorry, Sergeant. Just following—”

  “You, ya bas’!” Dore swung a meaty paw at the man’s oft-broke nose. The tall guy dodged him with ease. He swooped Dore’s fist in an underarm hold. Instead of following through, Karsenty shoved something in the Sergeant’s now-open palm.

  “Good luck. Give me a ring at 5-5-5-7-9 next time you’re in the city.”

  Karsenty faded into the flood of scrawny, terrified humanity. Kat plunged her head and pushed forward. Ten paces shy of the first truck, a pair of black-clad SS Stormtroopers hopped out of the cab. Both dangled MP40s under their shoulders, studiously keeping only their flashlights at the high ready with all the Jewish rebels around.

  “Strip.”

  “Now see here, young man…” Kat shut Trufflefoot up by stripping her blouse and shorts off first. The rest of the men followed suit without a word. Even Dore was abnormally closed mouth while standing around in his knickers waiting for the SS to paw through his clothes. Kat bared a smile as one trooper cupped her brassiere. His grin dropped as he sprang back, cutting off his search above her waist.

  “Oh, I don’t bite. Want to do this in private?”

  “We’ll see how tough you are when the Oberführer gets you in private.”

  The Stormtrooper edged to the rear of the cargo truck, never turning his back. “Get dressed and put these on.” Instead of cuffs, he tossed a jangled pile of large wrist and ankle manacles in front of the Brits.

  Trufflefoot shuffled towards the tailgate, shoulder to shoulder with Kat. “Stiff upper lip, everyone. Déjà vu, eh? We’re finally back in our element.” Two SS guards heaved Kat up and locked her ankle chain to a bench. Two more SS guards hooked Trufflefoot under the arms and dragged him away.

  “Only one of you per truck. You really thought we’d keep you together? Amateur hour is over.”

  Dore worked his jaw as another pair of Stormtroopers prodded him to a third cargo hauler, yet still never opened his mouth. Capson pursed his lips as they dragged him to the fourth truck and Atkins to the last.

  As the convoy roared to life and hung a U-turn, Kat batted her eyelashes at the lone guard on the far end of the truck, lit only by a single weak lightbulb, and moaned in German.

  “Alone at last.”

  The Stormtrooper crouched on the far edge of the cargo bay, his muzzle never wavering from the coiled demon deep in the shadows.

  “Keep it up. The Oberführer only said to bring you back alive. He didn’t say how many pieces. You can still talk without kneecaps. Something tells me nothing would shut you up.”

  “That wouldn’t be Oberführer Rudolph Pernass, by any chance? Spooky guy, beady little eyes, still sporting that silly pencil mustache? Butt buddies with Hitler?”

  A sly grin flickered over the SS Sergeant’s sharp cheeks. “If you know him so well, then you understand these Juden schweine were on holiday compared to the hell you’re in for.”

  Kat tucked her shackled hands between her legs and dropped her head. “Of course I know my step-father.”

&nbs
p; The trooper’s weapon dipped for the first time. “No… no. You’re full of shit. Just because you play the same mind games doesn’t make you—”

  “I also know the only thing he hates more than me is failure. I’m not going back to him. Race you to hell!”

  In one seamless move, she yanked the Shanghai stiletto out of her underwear and slashed it across her throat.

  “Ugh!” The redhead collapsed across the truck’s bench, her lithe body twitching out of control.

  The SS-man took a good two seconds to pry his jaw off the floor. “Scheiße, Scheiße!”

  He lunged forward and clasped a firm hand around Kat’s spasming neck, staunching the blood flow pretty good judging by how little slipped between his fingers. With his free arm, he pounded on the cab’s window and ripped it free. “Get us to the mortar section, now! They have a medic.”

  The driver cut his eyes. “Is she hurt? I’ll call it in…” The NCO slapped the driver’s wrist as he reached for the center-mounted radio.

  “Not a damn word over the battalion net until we get a medic. Use the platoon net and tell the rest of the convoy to continue ahead. Don’t keep Oberführer waiting at the rendezvous point. He’s going to be pissed enough.”

  As soon as the truck made a hard left off the highway and bounced across a farm field, the guard rummaged under the bench for an aid kit.

  “Thank God, she’s still warm.” He pried his life-saving right hand away from Kat’s bleeding neck long enough to tear open a field dressing, which stayed spotlessly white, since only a few loose specks of blood stained his hand.

  “Y—” The dry bandage suddenly squished in his hands as both his carotid arteries soaked it in bright red geysers. Not that he noticed, busy as he was choking on the blood gurgling in his exposed esophagus.

  Instead of pulling the blade out of his windpipe, Kat gouged deeper. She hooked his spinal cord and dragged the already cooling body down to her level. Propping it over the bench, she ransacked his pockets with her shackled hands.