Kat and Die Wolfsschanze Read online

  THE ADVENTURES OF

  KAT’S COMMANDOS

  The Declassified History of World War II

  KAT and die

  WOLFSSCHANZE

  BOOK 4

  Copyright 2019 © 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.

  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

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  APOCALYPSE IN TIME:

  CHAPTER 1

  Shepheard’s was the oldest luxury hotel in Cairo, and Kat wouldn’t typically have considered staying there. She usually stayed at Azar’s, being far less palatial. Except Kelly’s father owned shares in Shepheard’s, so he never stayed anywhere else. Besides, hadn’t they saved London from annihilation and possibly the world from domination? Kat figured a grateful SOE could pick up the tab! So, she went overboard and invited the rest of the Rats. Dore and Atkins were delighted. The hotel’s restaurant that put the Ritz in the shade. Dancing until two in the morning. It was difficult to believe that less than an hour away, a war raged, and of course, reflected in the restaurant’s prices.

  Kat took Kelly on a tour of Cheops, the most amazing Pyramid ever built. After his fascination with the ancient cave paintings in Algeria, she thought he’d enjoy crawling along dusty passageways constructed thousands of years ago. It intrigued Kelly, and the Descending Corridor fascinated him. Cut into solid bedrock, and the length of three football pitches, its ceiling and walls deviated by no more than a quarter of an inch over its entire length.

  “It’s not possible,” he said, squinting down the length of the walls. “How could they cut stone with such incredible precision thousands of years ago? They can’t even do it today.”

  “According to Flinders Petrie, he thought they did it with special chisels. It mystified him, so you’re in good company.”

  “Who’s Flinders Petrie?”

  “A famous archaeologist,” she said, with an air of detachment. “He died a couple of years ago.”

  “Wow. I’m impressed, Wolfy. I thought you only knew about explosives.”

  “You’re not the only one who knows stuff. And stop calling me Wolfy. Only Jock’s allowed to call me that.”

  Feeling admonished, he asked, “and why only Jock?”

  “Because he’s saved my life a couple of dozen times. He’s earned the right to call me anything he cares to.”

  They spent another hour exploring Cheops. Afterward, they scrambled up its massive stone blocks and gazed out over the desert. A warm wind blowing, bringing with it a mixture of hot sand and that indefinable herbal smell all deserts seemed to have, and for a while, they sat in silence.

  After a time, he glanced at her. “So why are we really here, Kat? I mean, why are we in Cairo? The Pyramids are wonderful, and I’m glad you brought me here, except you never do things without reason.”

  Thinking for a moment, she said, “Have you heard of the SAS?”

  “I’ve heard of them. I think it stands for Special Air Service, but I don’t know what they do.”

  “They’re a covert hit-and-run team that attacks German airfields, blowing up their planes and hiding out in the desert,” Kat informed him.”

  “Still, that doesn’t explain why we’re here in Egypt.”

  “It was actually Fleming’s idea. Apparently, the war in North Africa is finally turning. The SAS are blowing up so many planes, Rommel’s losing his air support.”

  “Oh no,” Kelly groaned, wiping the sweat from his neck, “please don’t tell me we’re joining the Special Air Service.”

  She winced. “Not… joining them, exactly. Joining forces with them.”

  “Oh my god,” he said, putting his head in his hands. “I don’t believe this. Kat, I’m a pilot. You know I hate the desert. And I’m hopeless at blowing things up. That’s kind of your bailiwick.”

  “That’s the beauty of it,” she said excitedly. “You wouldn’t be blowing them up. You’d be stealing them.

  “You just told me, the SAS are already turning it. Why would they need our help?”

  “They are, just not quickly enough. Anyway, what else are we going to do? We can’t laze around in the hotel for weeks.”

  “Wanna bet?” he snorted.

  “Sam, the SOE won’t let us. They might even send you back to Benghazi. Which reminds me, what time is it?”

  “Why? Do we have to be somewhere?”

  She squinted at him, trying to judge his reaction. “We’re meeting the head of the SAS at 1500.”

  It was easy to recognize David Stirling, being the tallest person in the room at a lanky six foot six inches tall. Already a Major in his twenties, he was the highest-ranking Officer in the bar. Sitting alone and sipping what looked like Scotch and ice, he seemed lost in thought. Commander Fleming set up this meeting, and he’d warned Kat to tread carefully, the very existence of the SAS is highly confidential.

  She wondered whether it was wise to bring Sam. She saw no reason to exclude a member of the team. However, Stirling might not see it that way.

  “Major Stirling?”

  The Major turned to her, glanced at Kelly, and smiled. A cautious, polite smile. “Miss. Wolfram?”

  “Yes, sir. And Flight Lieutenant Kelly. Is it safe to talk here?”

  He looked around the almost deserted bar. “For the moment. Where’s your Commanding Officer?”

  She gave him one of her shy smiles. “We don’t really have a Commanding Officer. Not in a practical sense.”

  “No Commanding Officer?” Stirling exclaimed. “Who makes all the decisions?”

  Kat’s eyes squinted as she considered the question. “Whoever has the best idea, I suppose. I’m actually a civilian, so I take on whatever rank is suitable at the time. I was a Waffen-SS driver when we were in Italy, and in Libya, an English Flight Lieutenant.”

  Stirling gave her a puzzled smile, then glanced at Kelly. �
��So are you really a Flight Lieutenant, or is it a disguise?”

  “No, I really am a pilot. I fly Spitfires.” He shrugged. “And Jet Bombers… when the occasion arises.”

  The Major stared at him. “Yes, I heard about that.”

  Looking around again, Stirling got up. It neared lunchtime and people were coming into the bar, so he led them over to a table in the far corner of the room. They’d barely sat down when Dore and Capetti strolled into the bar, gazed around the room and weaved their way over to join them. Judging from their rosy cheeks and merry expressions, they’d both been drinking.

  “Och, if it’s not the bonny wee Lass from goodness knows where,” Dore cried, patting Kat on the back and winking at Kelly. “We’ve been looking all over for you.”

  “Jock, have you been drinking?”

  “What a silly question. Of course, I’ve been drinking. We’re on leave.”

  Stirling glowered at him. “Have you also forgotten how to salute, Sergeant Major?”

  Dore gave an inebriated American salute. “Well, that depends on who ya really are, sonny. Are they making children into Majors now, or has Fleming finally overstepped the mark?”

  “I beg your pardon,” Stirling snapped.

  “Jock!” Kat said sharply. “This really is a British Major.”

  “And I am General Alessandro,” Capetti said, aloofly. “Please don’t salute me. I am in disguise.”

  Stirling rolled his eyes. “As what? An Italian waiter?”

  “Watch it, sonny. I’m not on duty.”

  “Sandro!” Kat barked. “Go away right now and get sober. We’re having an important meeting.”

  “Scusa me,” Capetti said indignantly. “I not care if you giving speech, I’m Commanding Officer.”

  “I know you are, Sandro, and you’re also bladdered. Go and sober up.”

  Wrapping an arm around Capetti’s shoulder, Dore turned him around. “Come on, General, we’re not wanted.”

  Kat watched them as they staggered out of the bar. “I’m sorry, Major. They’ve been through a very harrowing time. A few days ago, they were disguised as SS Officers destroying a secret German airbase in Algeria. Nothing’s normal to them. They probably thought you were another spy.”

  Stirling shook his head. “It’s okay. I’m used to it. The men of the SAS are pretty anarchistic. Didn’t you tell them you were meeting the SAS?”

  “No, I didn’t. I didn’t want to say anything until I’d spoken to you.”

  “Well, they’re not going to thank you for putting them in the thick of it again. The SAS aren’t like the regular Army. They’re more like a roughhouse militia. Lieutenant Jock Lewes even makes his own bombs.”

  She grinned at him. “As you can see, we’re not exactly regular Army ourselves, and we’re pretty good at blowing things up.”

  He studied her for a moment. “Yes, there are some pretty scary stories about you people. Normally, I wouldn’t believe such balderdash, except Commander Fleming of British Naval Intelligence, assured me that every word is true. I gather you’ve been on some difficult missions.”

  “You could say that. In fact, some missions were extremely tricky.”

  “So I gather.”

  The bar began filling up, people coming in from afternoon walks, Officers in their desert uniforms, women in summer dresses, some glancing at Stirling.

  “The thing is, Major, we don’t want to join the SAS. We have our own way of working. We want to combine forces. Your men do hit-and-run missions. We want to do hit-and-fly missions, which is very different. Obviously, we’d want to hide out with your people. They know the Sahara Desert better than anyone. However, we won’t only be blowing up planes. We’ll be stealing them as well.”

  Stirling laughed. “You’re not serious.”

  “Major, it’s perfect. As well as destroying planes on the ground, we’ll be machine-gunning them from the air. If we can find places to hide the planes, we’ll have enough fuel to do three or four raids.”

  Stirling blinked. “You have fighter pilots in your team?”

  “Two. Sam here, and the well-lubricated Major Capetti. They haven’t flown Messerschmitts before, then again, until a few weeks ago, they hadn’t flown a 500 mile an hour Jet Bomber, either.”

  Stirling rubbed his forehead and grimaced, finding it challenging to taking in everything. “Fair enough. So, where do you propose hiding these planes? They’re not exactly invisible, and if the Germans see them, you could endanger everyone.”

  “We’ll find caves. Tunisian shepherds hide entire flocks in caves. Or we can camouflage them. If we use sheets of canvas, we can cover them with sand. You’d never see them from the air.”

  At that moment, a waiter made his way towards their table. “Sorry to disturb you, Major, there’s a phone call for you.”

  “Would you mind taking a message please? I’ll call them back.”

  “It’s a call from London, sir.”

  “I don’t care if it’s Bonny Prince Charlie. Tell them I’ll call back.”

  The waiter bowed his head and scurried away.

  Turning back to Kat, Stirling studied her for a moment. “And you? What about you? You’re an unusually good looking young woman. Living in the desert can be pretty tough.”

  She’d been expecting sex to raise its ugly head. “Major, if Commander Fleming has told you about me, surely he mentioned the fact that I have been terrorizing Rommel, the Waffen-SS, and the Gestapo and working closely with The Long Range Desert Group in the Sahara Desert for the past two years. Hell, one of our team came from The Long Range Desert Group and decided to join us because we provided more adventure. Besides, if you’re worried about people like Paddy Mayne, you should try working with Sergeant Major Dore.”

  Stirling didn’t agree. “Well, I won’t start a debate about it. I am a little worried about the forces of nature… if you know what I mean. Some of the men haven’t seen a woman in months.”

  She smiled and shook her head. “I wouldn’t worry about that, Major. I’ve worked with a bunch of hard-assed military men for the last two years. No one, but no one takes advantage of me, and if they try… they never try a second time.”

  Stirling sipped at his Scotch. “That’s what worries me. There’s a certain camaraderie in the SAS. Forgive me for saying it, but putting an attractive woman in their midst could really screw them up.”

  She sat quietly for a moment. “That’s one of the reasons we don’t want to join the SAS. We want to work as a separate unit.”

  Knocking back the rest of his whisky, Stirling stood up. “Okay… Well, let me think about it.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Kat wasn’t surprised when Stirling called her to say the mission’s on, the speed with which it happened did. One moment, the team were eating breakfast and chatting about what they were doing that day. The next they were in a taxi on the way to Army Headquarters to put in orders for uniforms, weapons, and supplies. They also wouldn’t be driving to the SAS camp, if you could call it that. They were being parachuted in, complete with everything they needed for at least a month in the desert.

  The SAS currently hiding in the Moghra Oasis, a wild and rocky part of the Qattara Depression. There were no roads or settlements. The region is uninhabited and hard to reach. Which, from a defense point of view was perfect. If the Germans found them, in such a vast area of desert, they could only attack them from the air. Kat discovered the area riddled with caves and rocky overhangs, and the area might be challenging to takeoff and land. It was a problem they would deal with when they arrived.

  Their biggest concern was that they would be under the Command of Joc
k Lewes. They would have to camp where he told them to camp, not necessarily where they might prefer, and that might be tricky since the nature of their missions were so different. If there were problems, they needed to take them to Lewes. Jock Dore had the most experience, the toughest, yet only a Sergeant. Capetti already showed signs of annoyance that no one listened to him. He realized that rank meant very little in Kat’s Rats. He was still a Major, after all. Kat would have to talk to him. She didn’t want any ill feeling setting in.

  Having concluded her initial briefing with Stirling, Kat made her way to the armory, where the team signed for weapons. After months of only using German weapons, now they were obliged to choose the British and sometimes American equivalents. They would have to use the Sten gun instead of the MP40, and the Enfield revolver instead of the Luger, although they did find three American Colt 1911s, which Kat at once took.

  “No takers for the Luger’s?” the quartermaster asked, brightly. “I’ve got four of them.”

  “Yer welcome to them,” Jock said. “The Colt’s fits me hands better than them girly Lugers, and they have a manly kick to em.”

  “Don’t need them,” Kat said. “We have Colt 1911s with sound suppressors, and three extras will come in handy.”

  “What about explosives?” Stewart asked. “Don’t we want grenades?”

  “Ay. Take as many as you can get. You never know when a grenade might come in handy.”

  Kat yelled out, hey, these guys got bazookas.”

  Kat looked at Kelly, who was busy sketching his homemade silencer for the quartermaster. “Sam? Do we need bazookas?”

  “What’s a bazooka?”

  Dore shook his head at Kelly, “It’s a long tube of whoop-arse.” Dore turned to Kat, “ay, grab a couple… and a bazooka manual for the Lieutenant.”

  “How many rockets? We’re there for a month, and there must be a weight limit.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t see why. We drop them in by parachute, along with all the ammunition.”

  “We can drop bazookas by parachute? Won’t the rockets go off?”