by Phil Ward
“Same deal—Colonel Killery has orders to escort you on board the first airplane to my headquarters when you hit port,” Col. Randal said.
Wino said, “Tell Mud Cat and Warthog I can hardly wait to get the old Gold Coast firm back together again.”
“I’ll do that.”
• • •
Colonel John Randal was not prepared for the reaction to the operation when he arrived back in Cairo. He thought it was no big deal. His team traveled to Singapore and did what it had to do to accomplish the mission.
That was not how anyone else saw things.
The extraction of the Far East Combined Bureau was classified. But that did not mean a lot of very important people did not know about it—including the Prime Minister of Great Britain and the President of the United States. When Col. Randal, Lieutenant Roy Kidd, ex-Lieutenant Billy-Jack Jaxx and King flew back to Cairo aboard the Raiding Forces Hudson piloted by Lieutenant Pamala Plum-Martin, they were immediately whisked to Field Marshal Claude Auchinleck’s private residence for a secret awards ceremony.
As FM Auchinleck presented Col. Randal with the Order of the British Empire, he said, “We are not really sure of what to do with you, Colonel—the OBE may not be the appropriate decoration for this particular action, but it’s the only one anyone can think of at this point in time. Consider it an interim award until we can sort it out.
“Congratulations on a most important mission nicely done.”
When FM Auchinleck presented the Military Cross to Lt. Roy Kidd, he said, “So, you are Raiding Forces’ premier truck killer. I understand there will be a slightly more public ceremony in the future, during which I shall be presenting you with an extraordinarily rare honor for a lieutenant, award of the Distinguished Service Order.
The Field Marshal came to Lt. Jaxx, “What to say, Texas—you keep running up the score. This makes your fourth MC and I have been informed you will be receiving a fifth for shooting down an enemy airplane in what has been described to me as a ‘single combat.’ What do they feed you cowboys?”
King received another fat envelope.
Major the Lady Jane Seaborn got Col. Randal.
When the two were ensconced behind a palm in the Gezira Club, she said, “I have never been so worried in my life—do not ever do anything like that to me again, John.”
“All we . . .”
James “Baldie” Taylor arrived at their table.
“Promise I will not take up much time—three quick points, then I shall be gone, Lady Seaborn.”
“You better be,” Lady Jane said, flashing a watered-down version of her heart attack smile—it did not sound like she was joking.
“First, knowing you, Colonel,” Jim said, “you probably do not realize what a magnificent feat you pulled off. When we heard your Catalina had been destroyed, it sent shock waves from Cairo to London to Washington.
“Percival was not being straightforward about how dire the situation was in Singapore or we would have extracted those Bureau people much sooner. Their capture would have been catastrophic to the war effort.
“Even their death would have been a major blow—some of the operators you brought out possess certain knowledge and skills that are virtually irreplaceable.
“Second,” Jim said, “a couple of developments have been percolating here while you were gone. I shall give you a brief outline, and Lady Seaborn can fill you in on certain other details after I leave.
“Captain Alfred Seebohm,” Jim said, “621 Radio Intercept Company—Rommel’s genius radio interceptor. As you are aware, Mrs. Seaborn and Captain Honeycutt-Parker have been assigned to track the unit down.
“Nothing short of another GOLDEN FLEECE has a higher priority,” Jim said. “Is that clear?”
“Crystal,” Col. Randal said.
“Lastly,” Jim said, “you know, on the night that you, King and Lieutenant Jaxx jumped in to assist them, Mrs. Seaborn and Captain Honeycutt-Parker made contact with an Abwehr agent tasked with transporting spies across the Great Sand Sea to Egypt?”
“I do,” Col. Randal said, “no one has ever briefed me on the details.”
“By the time they caught up to the Nazi, whose identity you are not cleared to know—before your team arrived on the scene—the two agents he was delivering had already departed for Cairo. Now we have a massive manhunt underway to run them to ground.”
“I’m up to speed on the two spies, General,” Col. Randal said. “Mandy filled me in before I left.”
“Good,” Jim said. “Starting immediately, Colonel, I am ordering you to take two weeks’ leave for rest and recreation. However, in the event something comes up where you could aid in the capture of those two German spies—R. J. and I would take it as a personal favor if you participate.”
“Count me in,” Col. Randal said.
After Jim had departed, Lady Jane said, “The only spy hunting you will be doing is at our private pool at Mena House.”
Col. Randal said, “Fine by me.”
“I am quite aware you want to see Rocky’s show at the Kit-Kat,” Lady Jane said. “If you cooperate, I might let you off for good behavior a few hours one night to take it in.”
Hoping to change the subject, Col. Randal said, “Mandy told me she wanted to go undercover as a dancer.”
“Mandy claimed you threatened her life if she did,” Lady Jane laughed. “Half of my Marines have been temporarily seconded to counterintelligence to dance at the Kit-Kat—I volunteered, but R. J. said I was too well-known in Cairo.”
“You’re kidding,” Col. Randal said.
“Thought it might be fun, actually,” Lady Jane giggled. “For King and Empire.”
“What’s such a big deal about two more spies in Cairo?” Col. Randal asked. “There’s probably half a dozen in this restaurant right now.”
“These particular Abwehr agents are thought to be highly trained professionals,” Lady Jane said. “Field Marshal Auchinleck is concerned they will discover the plans for his next offensive—happened to him once before in Norway.”
“So,” Col. Randal said, “what’s the part you’re supposed to brief me in on?”
“The Rommel legend,” Lady Jane said. “It has spiraled out of control. The troops are convinced he is a military genius with something close to superhuman powers—we cannot beat him.
“The Desert Fox fable has become so widespread, fistfights break out in bars if anyone disparages him.”
“Really?”
“After CRUSADER, our troops are convinced Rommel must have a crystal ball that tells him all our plans, since he knows them before they do.
“The Desert Fox cult has become so rampant, Field Marshal Auchinleck sent out a message to all commands to be read to the men; it said Rommel was simply another enemy commander—aggressive—but no mastermind.”
“How did that work out?”
“Achieved the opposite intended effect, naturally,” Lady Jane said. “Once a myth takes flight, people seldom bother with facts. Besides, the Desert Fox does have a wizard with a crystal ball—Captain Alfred Seebohm of the 621st Radio Intercept Company.
“British field commanders simply cannot be convinced of the need for radio security,” Lady Jane said. “Our units seldom bother with using call signs. Officers simply use each other’s names. Often as not, they transmit in the clear.
“Long distance messages are sent in Morse Code. As you know, every operator has a unique typing pattern called a ‘fingerprint,’” Lady Jane said.
“Since our senior commanders never rotate teletypists from one division or corps to another, the 621st recognizes the sender the instant they transmit. That gives away the British order of battle, which provides the Germans with a tremendous tactical advantage—completely takes away our element of surprise.”
Col. Randal said, “Auchinleck’s generals’ outdated tactics, our inferior tanks, the RAF refusing to provide close air support, combined with a lack of signals security, that’s how Rommel does i
t—we’re beating ourselves.”
“Agreed,” Lady Jane said. “Now you know why it is vital for Raiding Forces to take down Seebohm’s 621st—kill Merlin, explode the Desert Fox’s magic crystal ball.”
“Rommel’s no superhero,” Col. Randal said. “I’m not even convinced he’s all that great of a combat commander. Every desert campaign ends with him having lost nearly all of his tanks.”
“When Brandy and Parker locate the 621st and you eliminate his magician,” Lady Jane said. “we shall find out.”
“Roger that,” Col. Randal said.
• • •
Colonel John Randal said, “What makes you so sure I’m interested in Rocky’s show at the Kit-Kat?”
“I would be concerned,” Major the Lady Jane Seaborn said, “if you were disinterested.”
17
SOLID GOLD
Colonel John Randal was stretched out by the private pool to the suite that Major the Lady Jane Seaborn kept at the exclusive Mena House Hotel. The Great Pyramid was just a few hundred yards away.
Lady Jane and Lieutenant Mandy Paige, in matching black French-cut swimsuits, were sitting at the end of the pool at a glass-topped table getting manicures done by a pair of Egyptian girls from the hotel’s salon.
Rita Hayworth and Lana Turner, the slave girls Col. Randal had liberated in Abyssinia, were floating on rafts.
Col. Randal was having a nice day.
One of Lady Jane’s Royal Marines walked out wearing shorts and a crop top—she was on duty at the door since King was on semi-leave, checking in several times a day to see if his services were required.
“Captain Reupart to see you, Colonel.”
“Send him out, Stephanie,” Col. Randal said.
Captain Roy “Mad Dog” Reupart was the Raiding Forces Training Officer when he was not leading desert patrols. He was recovering from an injury suffered during the CRUSADER Operation. Capt. Reupart had been with Raiding Forces since they went through No. 1 British Parachute School—he had trained the Raiders, then volunteered to join the unit. In Col. Randal’s opinion, Mad Dog was the best trainer of troops in the army. “Pull up a chair, Roy,” Col. Randal said.
“Yes, sir.”
“We received a cable stating that Captain McCloud will be arriving tomorrow with the fifty-man contingent of U.S. Paratroop volunteers that we’ve been expecting for Raiding Forces,” Col. Randal said. “I need them qualified for Desert Patrol as soon as possible—you up to that?”
“Yes, sir.” Capt. Reupart said. “You know, Colonel, my wish is to reconstitute my patrol and return to active patrolling.”
“I do,” Col. Randal said. “And, you can—only you’re more valuable to me right now as a trainer.”
“Thank you, sir,” Capt. Reupart said. “Is there anything different about this batch of volunteers I should take into consideration?”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” Col. Randal said. “These men will be in U.S. uniform—not replacements for the American Volunteer Group.”
“You want them to operate as a unit, sir?”
“Negative,” Col. Randal said. “At least not until they have five or six months under their belts spent on operations. I understand there’ll be three officers in the group and six NCOs. What I want you to do is evaluate the leaders and give me a private report from time to time.”
“Can do, Colonel.”
“Since Travis handpicked these volunteers, I expect they’ll be good men. Weed out any you feel won’t be a good fit,” Col. Randal said. “We have to reorganize, so be prepared to advise our Desert Patrol Leaders who need replacements about how individuals in the group perform during your training—they’ll be asking.”
“Yes, sir—right man, right job.”
“Sergeant Rawlston believes Americans make the best jeep drivers because they grew up driving. Factor that in when you make your recommendations.”
“I agree with Sergeant Rawlston’s assessment, sir,” Capt. Reupart said. “We shall make a point to identify the best drivers.”
“Perfect.”
“With your permission, Colonel,” Capt. Reupart said, “I would like to borrow a few of the Blue Patrol ex-Foreign Legion men for the initial phase of the training—getting acclimated to the desert.”
“Pick anyone you like—Sergeant Major Mikkalis has already been notified to assist, at least on a temporary basis,” Col. Randal said.
“I’m going to need a replacement Blue Patrol leader. Has to speak French and be able to handle the toughest soldiers we’ve got—any thoughts?”
“Not at the moment, Colonel.”
“Come with me to meet the troopship when it arrives tomorrow,” Col. Randal said. “Get the new men settled in at RFHQ, then start your training program the next day.”
Soon after Sgt. Reupart departed, Brandy arrived wearing a snow-white swimsuit. She waved at Col. Randal. The golden girl took Lt. Mandy’s place at the glass-topped table. One of the manicurists started working on her nails while she and Lady Jane chatted.
Lt. Mandy came over and stretched out on the lounge next to Col. Randal.
“Guess what?”
“OK—what?”
“Y-Service has intercepted several Afrika Korps radio communiqués to its outlying posts advising them to be on the lookout for Auto Gyro helicopters.”
“Really?”
“Fabulous idea, John,” Lt. Mandy said. “My first radio deception worked like a dream—R. J. is impressed. Love you.”
“I guess that lets Rocky off the hook?” Col. Randal said.
“Actually, no,” Lt. Mandy said. “Intelligence is complicated. Rocky may have realized we were testing her. No harm, from her point of view, if a few remote Italian outposts are placed on the lookout for phantom helicopters if it solidifies our confidence in her.”
Col. Randal said, “I can see how that might be.”
“On the other hand,” Lt. Mandy laughed, “Captain Merryweather is having Teddy—he’s back at Eton—make recordings of Royal Navy helicopters that are in the experimental stage for use on submarines. Colonel Clarke is having the recordings flown here on a priority basis.
“Dudley wants you to order our patrols to play them through loudspeakers outside remote Italian outposts at night—something he calls ‘sonic deception.’ The idea is to drive the bad guys crazy.”
“We can do that,” Col. Randal said.
Lt. Mandy said, “Remember I told you about the two Abwehr spies on the loose in Cairo?”
“I do.”
“They went straight to the Kit-Kat Club,” Lt. Mandy giggled. “Exactly the way Sammy Sansom predicted. He was in the club, saw two men at a table and one of them was lighting a cigarette with a fifty-pound note—turned out to be the Nazis. Sammy is a brilliant counterintelligence operator.
“Somehow he struck up a friendship with the spies. Like something out of the movies.”
“No kidding,” Col. Randal said. Now he would not be going to see Rocky dance. Oh well.
“Classified—we did not have this conversation, John,” Mandy said. “You do not have a need to know.”
“Roger.”
“On a different subject, strictly off the record . . . another conversation we never had, Lady Jane cried her eyes out when we learned your Catalina had been destroyed in the harbor at Singapore,” Lt. Mandy said.
“That’s not good.”
“Brandy was inconsolable. Rita and Lana teared up too,” Lt. Mandy said. “No one thought the girls even knew how to cry.”
“What about you, Mandy—shed any tears?”
“Just for show, John,” Lt. Mandy laughed. “I knew you would have an ace up your sleeve.”
Rita and Lana were summoned to have their nails done. Lady Jane and Lt. Mandy took their places on the rafts. Brandy came over and stretched out next to Col. Randal.
He always enjoyed talking to her; they were close friends.
“Gave us a real scare, handsome,” Brandy said, rubbing some oil
on one of her perfect, golden legs.
“Sounded worse that it was,” Col. Randal said.
“Not what Billy Jack says.”
“You can’t believe him.”
“King backed his story up.”
“Well,” Col. Randal said, “the trip did have its moments—Big Toot II was not a luxury cruise liner.”
“John, the surrender of Singapore is the single most humiliating defeat in the entire history of the British Empire,” Brandy said. “The Prime Minister stated publicly that our troops failed to fight—is that true?”
“Strictly between us,” Col. Randal said, “I told Jane there was no way Singapore, with over eighty thousand troops, could have been taken by a force of twenty thousand Japanese—attacking down the length of Malaya through a jungle.
“The odds were all in our favor and there was plenty of time to prepare defenses. The word is, Percival refused to allow any earthworks to be constructed on the land side because it would ‘be bad for morale.’”
“Seriously?” Brandy said.
“You can’t make this stuff up,” Col. Randal said.
“With your experience operating in the jungle against the Huks,” Brandy said, “surely you must have thoughts on why we lost, John.”
Col. Randal said, “Bad leadership.”
“Exactly what Father says,” Brandy said. “He believes Percival should have been able to whip the Japanese after their long, overland-approach march through the jungle, ‘with eighty thousand Boy Scouts.’”
“Is the Razor back from England?”
“Flew in this morning.”
“If you see him before I do, tell him I have another skipper for him,” Col. Randal said. “‘Wino’ Muldoon.”
“John, you do know colorful people.”
“I know you, Brandy,” Col. Randal said. “You’re solid gold.”
“Yes, I am,” Brandy laughed, oiling the other equally perfect leg. “Now, to business—as you are aware, Parker and I are on a mission to hunt down Captain Alfred Seebohm and his 621st Radio Intercept Company.”
“Do you have a plan?”
“Not at the moment,” Brandy said. “Parker organized a small operations center at RFHQ for us to work out of. We shall be collecting signals intelligence from our Y-Service in an attempt to pinpoint the 621st location long enough for you to deal with it. But that poses a challenge.