Slaughter in the Desert Read online

  THE ADVENTURES OF

  KAT’S COMMANDOS

  The Declassified History of World War II

  SLAUGHTER

  IN THE DESERT

  BOOK 1

  Copyright 2017 © Michael Beals

  Cover Art

  By Michael Beals

  All pictures contained herein are public domain, courtesy of either the Imperial War Museum (UK) or the Bundesarchiv (Germany).

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are used fictitiously or are just the fevered products of the author’s twisted imagination.

  Dedication

  To all the fallen angels keeping us out of hell.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  Book 2 Preview: Kat’s Rats

  Acronyms/Slang/Terminology

  CHAPTER 1

  Prologue, London

  March 1939

  “This way, gorgeous. You’re with me and the VIP trade delegation, remember? Security is for the commoners.”

  “Oh my! Buckingham Palace… I feel like a princess.”

  The lithe redhead squealed and snuggled up to her bespectacled date. She kept oohing and ahhing as he guided her away from the line of lowly nobles and up the royal staircase to the ornate ballroom. Her obsidian, skin-tight silk dress, swaying above her knees, drew plenty of attention. Mostly sly nods from the other young playthings and daggers of jealousy from the older wives and duchesses, all decked out like somber funeral floats.

  She ignored the old biddies disgust and grinned as every man, especially the security staff, glued their eyes on her ample exposed skin. They soaked in everything except her face.

  Her tuxedo-clad date slid a chair out from the endless oak banquet table. Dieter swept a well-manicured paw towards the daffodils and fine china lavished across the satin linens.

  Kat only pouted her lips. “Oh, must we sit so far away? Can’t we dine closer to your boss? That’s where all the other bankers, all the big-time wheelers and dealers are.”

  “Well, seats are assigned by the Majordomo…” The junior account executive clenched his jaw while she dropped her shawl. His annoyance caught in the throat as his drooling eyes raced down her backless dress. Kat leaned over and arched her rump a tad, batting her eyelashes at the far end of the table.

  “That’s okay, darling, just my silly, girlish fantasies of being with a powerful man. This is fine. Thank you.”

  With his mouth gasping for saliva, Dieter cleared his throat. “Ah… let me see what I can do.”

  A minute later...

  Kat glided into a spot across the table and two seats down from Werner von Brauchtisch, the CEO of her escort’s Austrian bank. She never took her hawk eyes off the banker as a Royal Air Force General hopped out of his chair and gave Kat a bow. He shot the nervous young man a wink while guiding his bored wife farther down the table.

  “Not a problem. It’s all about who you know.” Dieter patted her hand and eased next to his odd girlfriend.

  “Oooh, now this is more like it! Tonight’s going to be quite special, hmm?” She massaged his thigh under the table and brushed her lips across his cheek.

  The thirsty man leaned in, purring in German while the rest of the table gossiped and topped off their glasses. “Does that mean I finally get to explore your palace of treasures?”

  “You naughty…” Across the table, Werner rose up and clasped hands with his counterpart at an English bank. Kat squinted as they pressed close and whispered, but nothing seemed to pass hands.

  “Uh, sure thing. After three months, I’d say you’ve been patient enough.”

  Dieter spilled a little of his wine and crossed his legs in a hurry. He wiggled closer and murmured sweet nothings in her ear, as Kat tensed up again.

  “Now where’s he going?” She wiggled her glass in her boyfriend’s face, stalking Werner like a wolf as the aging grandfather lit a cigar and gossiped his way towards a side door.

  Dieter grunted and reached for his wine. “Again, with Herr Brauchtisch? Why are you always so obsessed with that man? Work is over. I respect that you’re the most dedicated translator we’ve ever had, but don’t you ever shut off? This is purely a social occasion.”

  Kat darted out of her chair. “I need to go to the powder room. Back in a moment, my dear.”

  “But the prince could be here any…” Dieter sighed at her swaying backside, already halfway across the banquet hall.

  She slowed just shy of the small door Werner disappeared through, taking a deep breath before creeping outside as well. The side gallery, vivid portraits of past monarchs coating the walls from end to end, was breathtaking.

  But also, empty.

  With exits at both ends, she gambled on the shortest route and dashed to the right, deeper into the sprawling complex. She swooped the double doors wide open, skidding to a halt in a new hallway. Just shy of colliding with two eagle-eyed King’s Guardsmen. They hovered in front of a red-carpet staircase, both with steady hands on their holsters.

  “Is there a problem, madam?”

  Over their shoulders, a squeaky, angry young voice hollered from the private residences above. “Where’s that next damn bottle? You can’t keep a duke locked up without hydration!”

  A harried steward brushed past Kat and the guards, taking the steps two at a time with a fresh flask of Moët & Chandon in each hand.

  “Oh, I’m just looking for the little girl’s room.”

  One of the grim-faced men jerked his head down the hall. He ignored her charms and focused on that delicate face, clearly memorizing it. She spun away and tried to relax her stride. Rounding the next corner and out of their sight, Kat rushed past the lady’s room and barged inside the men’s water closet.

  A lone Scottish Officer perched over a urinal with his back to her. He twisted his neck around and chuckled.

  “Don’t let the kilt fool you, lassie. Wrong room.”

  “Oh, my!” Kat dropped her slim pocket purse and squatted to pick it up. With one sweeping glance under the finely polished wooden stalls, she forced herself to blush up at the Scotsman shaking something between his legs. He was the only one there.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  She slipped back out the door and punched a marble column in the hall. “Scheiße! Three months of work pissed away in a minute!”

  Kat reached for the lady’s room handle, just as the Highlander came out and grinned. She avoided his wandering eyes and focused on the floor-to-ceiling mirror at the end of the corridor, making a big show of fixing her curls back in place.

  Still grinding her teeth after he left, she gave up and turned back to the Grand Hall.

  Kat froze when the faint
reek of tobacco wafted over her.

  She crouched on her knees and scanned the floor. A little mound of ash rested on the slick tile just to the side of the mirror. One corner was perfectly straight, as if someone tried sweeping it out of the way.

  “You cheeky royals!”

  She ran her hands over the gilded mirror frame, not flinching when she snapped a painted nail off in a hidden latch. Popping it as gently as possible, she creaked the whole mirror open wide enough to stick her head in for a peek.

  Kat stifled a whoop and ducked inside the narrow passage, clicking the hatch tight behind her. She shuffled up the pitch-black, winding staircase until bumping her nose against another hidden door.

  For a solid minute, she pressed her ear against the inside panel, but nothing in the next room was louder than her pounding heart. Fumbling around, she finally found the latch and flicked it open.

  Kat had to smother a whistle as the 18th-century dresser swung open and the girl tip-toed into the most massive, most lavish bedroom she’d ever seen.

  “Well, I guess there’s one in every family.”

  She crept past the bed, alone as big as her apartment, doing her best to avoid all the filth. Kat nicked a discarded bottle of whiskey with her high heel, sending it rolling under the bed. Thankfully, an unconsumed portion of a block of hashish cushioned the crash.

  A loud laugh through the half-open master door drew all her attention.

  “Oh, come on, Weiner! Stay for one drink. It’s so boring up here. My cousin’s too ashamed to ever let me join one of his soirees.”

  “It’s Werner, you drunken fool. And be thankful for his indulgence. If I were king, you would’ve disappeared a long time ago.”

  Kat dropped prone on her belly, sticking only her emerald-edged eyes out the door at ground level. Werner hovered over a scrawny man sprawled on a sofa in the common room, wearing a loose pink bathrobe. The banker dangled a microfiche roll into the light and ran a pocket magnifying glass over it.

  “Indulgence?” The pale brat staggered to his feet and drained the rest of his champagne, straight out of the bottle.

  “I should be third in line for the throne! He keeps me hidden away just to make sure his own kids take over. It’s nothing but greed! Why else do you think his fucking majesty cut me off from the royal purse? And besides, who do you think you are, speaking to me like that? You Goddamn NAZI!”

  The duke hurled his empty bottle at his guest. The flask missed by a good five feet and shattered a Chinese vase worth more than Kat’s yearly salary, from both her official and cover jobs.

  Werner only snorted. “Would you prefer me to stop paying off your whores, drug dealers, and bookies? Or maybe call the king to pick you up the next time you’re strung out in an opium den somewhere.”

  He rolled the microfilm tight and tucked it inside a hollowed-out cigar in his tuxedo’s inner vest pocket. The duke kept sputtering and tried to light a hookah. Werner snatched the pipet from him.

  “You did good here, but I didn’t see anything about how many new Matilda tanks are being deployed to the British Expeditionary Force in France. That was part of the deal.”

  The royal heir stomped around in a little circle. “Yeah, yeah. I’m trying. I’ll get it soon, promise.” The duke’s mood tilted again as he popped the cork on another champagne bottle.

  “How about a toast?”

  Werner sneered again. “You better have that next week, plus the sub patrol schedules, or I stop all payments. We’re done here.” With shocking speed for such an elderly man, Werner dashed into the bedroom before Kat could get the hidden passage completely open.

  “Katelyn? What ze hell are you doing here?” The businessman’s practiced Cambridge accent slipped a tad. Kat bounded across the bedroom and clutched at his collar.

  “Oh, Mr. Brauchtisch, thank God! I got a little tipsy at the party, and some royal guards grabbed me. Told me to head up here and entertain a prince or something like that.” She laid on the crocodile tears. “I’m so scared!”

  Werner bared his teeth and shoved the shrieking girl off. “I thought you English folk love your royalty? For some reason. So go ahead and show it. I won’t tell Dieter if you don’t mention me.” He ripped open the secret path and faded into the passage, just as Kat darted into the common room.

  The duke gawked at her and rubbed his bloodshot eyes. “Who are… you?”

  Kat didn’t even make eye contact as she stomped past him and grabbed the door handle leading out of his apartment.

  “You little minx! Stop that bitch!” Werner stormed back inside the common room and stamped his boot at an odd angle. A pocket watch sized thing popped out, which he palmed with practiced ease.

  The duke snagged Kat’s wrist. “Look, why don’t we have a drink and figure this—”

  He toppled backward over the sofa with a straight-leg kick from Kat’s heel into his solar plexus. The duke’s skull smashed the glass coffee table into a hundred shards, spilling his blue blood from a thousand cuts.

  “Where’s my fucking cigar?” Werner ignored the gruesome scene and shoved his palm pistol against her temple.

  “What are you going on about? Does it look like I can hide anything in this dress?” She traced her eyes over her heaving bosom.

  Werner ignored the bait as she loosened her stance. He sprang back out of arm’s reach and leveled the miniature barrel between his fingers at her center mass.

  “Quit with the games. This little .32 is more than enough to get the job done. Who are you with, anyway? MI5 or 6 would’ve sent a whole team after me. Not a lone honey trap.”

  Kat batted her lashes and jutted out her hip. Werner just tightened his grip, the equivalent of cocking the trigger of a standard revolver. “Christ, fine! Here you go. What is it with men and their guns? Takes all the sport out of things.” She snaked a slim hand under her skirt.

  “Left hand and two fingers!”

  “I’ve got a finger for you…” Kat yanked the cigar out of her garter belt and handed it over while babbling on full auto.

  “Look, I don’t care what you’re doing with that, but my employer could get you a lot more reliable information at a fraction of the price you’re paying this weasel. From the French too. Did you know the Maginot Line has…”

  The cigar slipped from her grasp a split second before Werner’s outstretched hand touched it. The older man wasted a millisecond transitioning from listening to focusing on the cigar. With the mind distracted, his subconscious ordered both hands to catch the precious falling object.

  Crack!

  He managed to squeeze off a single shot as Kat swooped in. The few centimeters his wrist drifted were enough to send the shell smashing through her jingling pearl earring. Werner’s second shot murdered the ceiling as Kat seized his wrist and shoved his gun hand high. He never got another round off before she pried up her elastic hem and slipped her favorite Shanghai stiletto out from between her thighs. When Werner swung his free hand out to block her, she buried the blade in his exposed armpit, slicing a jagged line through the subclavian artery.

  “These earrings were a gift from my mother, du Arschloch!”

  Before he could even gasp, she wrenched the knife out and stitched him a half-dozen more times in each inner thigh. Both femoral arteries geysered while she hummed. Less than four seconds after the first strike, she gently pried the gun from his cold fingers.

  Spraying the palace furniture with a pint of blood every second, the old Kraut could only gurgle as he sagged to his knees. His heart pumped mostly air by the time he smacked face-first onto the carpet.

  Kat fished the cigar out of a dark puddle flooding the Persian rug. She wagged i
t in the air to dry and whistled at the only other thing stirring in the room.

  “Excuse me, your highness. Mind if I use your

  telephone?”

  The low-crawling duke shrieked and bounded to his feet, racing for the door. He just touched the doorknob when someone from the outside kicked it in. The duke toppled over again as the flying oak barrier busted his sliced-up nose and flung him to Kat’s feet.

  Both King’s Guards in the doorway raised their semi-automatics and clicked their safeties off as one.

  Kat blinked down at the butcher shop refuse under her skirt and flashed her pearly whites.

  The only part of her face not streaked in blood.

  “Oops.”

  She combat-rolled into the bedroom as the guards opened fire. Kat kicked the door shut a split second after a lead stinger scorched her bum.

  “Oww! Now you’re just being a pain in the arse.” She emptied the last six rounds of Werner’s palm gun through the door, aiming high on purpose.

  Not that the guards appreciated her professional courtesy. A third Kingsman joined in, this one rocking a submachine gun. She snagged a half-full bottle of 120 proof schnapps from under the bed and sprayed it all over the covers and gorgeous wall paneling. As a final departing gesture, she fired up the Zippo on the nightstand and chucked it on the pillows. She duck-ran through the blue flames racing around the room and flopped into the passageway, all while the troops shredded the door and most of the room with 9mm vengeance.

  As soon as the dresser hatch slapped shut, Kat rammed her Shanghai pig sticker through the inside lock, blocking the way.

  “Goodbye, my old friend.” She gave the only present that she ever treasured from her stepfather one last kiss and darted down the stairs.

  At the bottom, she kicked the mirror open and charged. Dieter’s shocked hands met her. The skinny little redhead hiked up her skirt and wiped her red-splattered face. The banker’s draw dropped.

  “Kat, where the bloody hell have you been? What are you doing?”