Kat's Rats Page 10

  “See? Only excuses.” Émile jabbed a finger in Rigor’s chest. “As you said, we’re just allies. I don’t work for your Agency Africa network. You’re spies. We’re guerrillas. To each his own.”

  “Yeah, but we’re all in the same leaky, under fire, boat.” Rigor pried off his beret and perched on a desk. Émile squinted and cracked his knuckles.

  “What aren’t you telling us?”

  Rigor chewed the inside of his lip and scanned the room, his coal-black gaze landing on Kat and Dore. He leaned in and mumbled to Émile. “Do you trust them?”

  “As much as I do you.”

  Rigor grinned for the first time, saying nothing. Émile sniffed. “Again, you’re the spook. Have you never heard of them?”

  “Oh, we have quite an extensive dossier… Everything came from German sources. None of my American contacts ever heard of them.” The Pole slapped his knees and huffed. “Well, what do we have to lose at this point?” He limped over to the map mounted on a chalkboard and grabbed a pointer.

  “The invasion timetable has been moved up. The first wave hits the beaches at dawn.”

  Everyone jumped to their feet, even the open-jawed prisoner. Rigor started stabbing sites in Algeria and Morocco.

  “Hitler’s leaning on Franco hard to end Spain’s neutrality and close the Straits of Gibraltar... in effect, turning the Mediterranean into a giant Fascist lake. So the Allies want a Mediterranean foothold ASAP. Once it’s a fait accompli, then that wily Spanish bastard is out of options. When the Americans and Brits flush Rommel out of North Africa, then it’s on to Sicily by the summer and Italy by autumn. Maybe one more year and we can liberate Paris itself. Then we’ll pave the open road to Berlin with NAZI bodies. And it all starts right here!”

  Most of the rebels cheered and hollered at his pumping fist. Émile puckered his lips, “beautiful plan, but the devil’s in the details. What about the modern weapons the Americans promised? The air support or the Commando teams? I can’t kill Fascists with a pep talk.”

  Rigor splayed out his hands. “I know, I’ve told them. Washington’s convinced the Vichies won’t fight. Those cowboys think if the French didn’t have the balls to stand against Germans in France, they wouldn’t raise a finger against Americans in the colonies. So we need to make their fantasy a reality.”

  Rigor clapped Émile’s shoulder and jerked his thumb at General Juin. “I know how you feel… that’s where this asshole comes in. Let him go. You’ll have enough trouble on your hands seizing the police barracks and communications points in the morning.”

  Émile bared his teeth. “He can use my radio to call in the orders, but he’s not leaving my sight.”

  “Get your head out of your ass, Émile. As long as the Allies look like they’re winning on the beaches, he’ll swap sides. He knows what side of his baguette is buttered. But none of his men will listen to a stand-down order if someone’s holding a gun to his head!”

  While the two men bumped chests and snarled, Kat slipped between them.

  “At the risk of drowning in the testosterone here, kidnapping Juin was my idea. So I think I have the final vote. I’m afraid we haven’t met. Is Rigor your real name?”

  Rigor shifted his stare, still not blinking. “Mieczysław Słowikowski, Polish intelligence in exile. If you’re really MI6, you should have known that already, Katelyn. Or did your daddy not put me on your hit list?”

  Dore snatched Kat’s elbows as she reared back on her haunches. He shoved her back and plopped a friendly hand on Rigor’s shoulder. The man growled at the vice crushing his collar bone. “Mate, you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. You’re right about one thing. She is definitely her stepfather’s daughter. You really want to make an enemy out of a force of nature?”

  Rigor twisted out of Dore’s grip, his hand gliding to the holster on his belt. He froze an inch short as Kat loosened her stance and slipped something out of her belt. With a grunt, he stuck out his hand. “I suppose if you were really a double agent, this place would have been flooded with SS a while ago.” He shook his head as Kat only hissed at his handshake.

  “Why are you still here, anyway? I assumed you’d be on the way to the drop zone by now.”

  “Hell with this wanker.” Dore hefted the sledgehammer and poked it at Rigor. “Talk straight for once.”

  The tight-jawed Pole twitched his nose. “You’re really that far out of the loop? Oh, screw it. You two have done enough damage here. Breaking Operations Security is worth it if it gets you out of my hair.”

  He reached in his cargo pocket, digging out a wad of maps and overlays.

  “We found your Comrades two days ago. Cracked a coded transmission requesting transport to bring three high-value prisoners back to Germany. The pickup point is a previously unknown airbase south of Oran. Also just happens to be where they relocated a squadron of supposed super fighters.”

  Kat perked up and snagged Émile. “I know you have your hands full… How many men can you spare?”

  Rigor waved over one of his guards. “Let these two take Kowalski’s place.” He shoved a map in Kat’s hand and nodded.

  “I’m taking a gamble here. If you screw me over, I will find you. The Americans want that base out of the equation. So they’re sneaking in a battalion of paratroopers right after sunset. We’re supposed to mark the landing zone for them. If you leave now, you just might make it in time.”

  Kat seized his hand and pumped it hard. “You’re an asshole, but my kind of asshole. Good luck to you all.”

  Dore raced Kat towards the door. General Juin’s condescending laugh drew him up short. He turned around as Rigor pushed Émile back and cut the General loose. Juin helped himself to one of Émile’s cigarettes and clucked his tongue.

  “It’s just simple politics, so don’t take things so personally. You need me—ah!”

  Émile whipped his ever-present coffee mug off the desk and smashed into a hundred shards against the General’s nose. Even Kat flinched back as Émile seized the General’s collar, spittle slinging out his roaring mouth as he screamed.

  “My daughter was born the day before you took Command. Why wasn’t it enough for you to ship all the Jewish men to slave camps? As soon as we were out of the picture, you carted off all the women and children too. Why? You signed the order personally!”

  Juin spit through the blood dripping down his pencil mustache. “You damn lunatic! If I didn’t do it, then Berlin would have stuck someone in who would. At least I managed to keep most of the Jews in local work camps rather than shipped off to those death factories in Europe. A note of thanks is in order.”

  Émile howled in subhuman rage. “The baby didn’t even last the week. My wife, only days later.”

  “Stand down, Émile!” Rigor drew his weapon, keeping it pointed at the floor. “Think about all the families we can still save.”

  “Yeah, of course.” Émile bared a smile. “If you fuck us over, I’ll find you again. You can leave now. Let me walk you out.”

  In one lightning move, Émile kicked Juin in the balls. He dragged the collapsing man across the floor by the hair and rammed his head through the single-pane window.

  “I said no—” Rigor doubled over with a small fist to the solar plexus. Émile spun back on Juin, busy plucking glass out of his gushing cheek. With a dropkick to the chest, he launched the General straight out the window.

  Kat ran over and peered at the civilians crowding around three stories below. A rebel snagged the whimpering Juin by his dangling left arm and shoved him into a waiting car. Kat pinched Émile’s puffing cheeks.

  “Who says politics is boring?”

  CHAPTER 8

 
Tafraoui, AlgeriaCenter Task Force Sector

  Operation Torch

  D-Day – 8 hours

  “Didn’t he say we should expect 40 transports?” Dore ran up and lit his last flare, completing his half of the flaming torch circle in the middle of the valley.

  “Yeah… one or two might have had to turn back. They’re coming all the way from England, after all.” Kat dropped her last torch and craned her ear at the droning echoing above the dark clouds.

  “I only count seven,” Dore growled at the short line of C-47s, each dumping a chalk of 20 human bombs out the side door. A silk canopy blossomed the second each shape cleared the plane’s tail, then banked in a tight circle towards the flares. Dropping in at only 500 feet, Kat and Dore didn’t have to wait long for their guests.

  None of the newcomers spoke a word as their duffel bags plowed into the ground, followed by 140 men crash landing on the balls of their feet and then rolling to the side. Kat charged up to a skinny fellow flashing the most hand signals left and right.

  “Is this what you Amis call shock and awe? Where’s the rest of your battalion?”

  “Scattered to the four winds. We snuck across Spain, hitting some wild weather over the mountains.” The American Captain left his chute alone and ran a red-lens flashlight over a map on his knee.

  “We’re right on the money, for once. The rest of the force is trying for a landing on the salt flats south of the city. Twenty clicks away… Might as well be the far side of the moon for us.” He chuckled, his cocked eyebrow bouncing between the impatient girl in his face and the big docile man behind her.

  “Still, it all worked out. If the whole flight had been together, I’m sure these jet things would’ve been all over us. Looks like we snuck in the back door. So you’re these mysterious Brits they warned us about? I’m Captain Roberts, 509th Airborne.” He squinted over their shoulders at the dark horizon, pine trees ringing the valley. “Where’s the transport the rebels were supposed to bring?”

  Kat’s eyes twinkled in the starlight. “You’re standing on them. Just five clicks to go. Race ya!”

  Captain Roberts whistled as Kat shouldered her rifle and marched off at a near trot. He snagged the hairy fella’s arm as he turned to follow. “Hey, buddy. You’re regular army, aren’t you?”

  “Aye, Captain. Sergeant Dore, Royal Scots Dragoon Guards.” Roberts squeezed his offered paw while nodding at the redhead’s fading backside.

  “I hope you understand what’s at stake here, Sergeant. Keep your feisty lady friend on a tight leash. We’re going into some heavy shit. None of us have time to babysit some hysterical, scatterbrained skirt.”

  Dore bawled over, slapping his knee.

  “What’s so damn funny?”

  The Scotsman jogged west, still wiping his eyes a kilometer later.

  An hour farther in the woods, the pines gave way to well-irrigated fields. Kat sprinted into a vineyard and finally caught her breath. Hands on her knees, she beamed at the soundless army of shadows slipping through the vines around her.

  “So that’s what all the hubbub is about?” Captain Roberts trumped up to her side and stuck his binoculars out of the green wall. Kat followed suit and trained her field glasses on the airstrip less than 500 meters away. The whole field was under a strict blackout, only amplified by the cloudy night. Under the brief twinkle of a few stars, she made out a row of stubby aircraft, each nestled in a little sandy revetment cubby hole. A cigarette cherry fired up from the lone sentry walking a beat in front of them.

  “Never thought I’d say this… we might have brought too much firepower. No berms, armored support nor even roving patrols. That barracks looks like it’s been reinforced. Might be an issue. It’s too small to hide many troops. Considering the ground crews needed to support a whole squadron of experimental birds, I’d be surprised if they have more than a single platoon dedicated to security. Executive Officer…”

  Roberts turned his back on Kat and huddled with his Lieutenants. After a minute, they all whispered “hooah!” in unison and stalked off to their platoons. Kat stepped out of the way as his headquarters team set up a pair of 60mm pocket mortars in the middle of the infantry line. A steady stream of runners collected the ammo and boosting charges carried by every man in the unit, piling them in neat stacks behind the tiny cannons.

  “You’re not going to destroy those AAA guns, are you?” Kat rapped her foot. “If you loan me a squad, I’ll take the first one. Then we’ll own the field.”

  Roberts shared a grin with the company’s First Sergeant. “We’ll be fine, but you’re staying here. Can’t have a civilian running around the battlefield. Sergeant Dore, why don’t you help the heavy weapons squad? We’ll need to leapfrog those machine guns forward soon, so let’s put your muscles to use.”

  “I got a muscle for you to exercise…” Kat hissed and cut Dore off as the rest of the troops stripped their giant packs off, shedding down to ammo, water, and grenades. She reached for a roll of detonation cord. A paratrooper slapped her hand away.

  “So what, I’m supposed to stay in the field kitchen where a woman belongs?”

  Roberts rolled his eyes in the dark, focusing on counting the filtered red lights flashing his way from the left and right. “I don’t have time for this Rosie the Riveter crap. Do whatever you want, just stay out of our way.”

  He clicked his flashlight on three times and raised his binoculars. Without a word, his first two platoons jogged ahead about fifty meters in a loose wedge formation, then threw themselves prone in the open field. With their weapons trained downrange, the last two platoons bounded fifty meters past the covering section and dropped down, both sections repeating the run and cover leapfrog maneuver every 30 seconds. Roberts perched in the vineyard with the heavy weapons team, never taking his binoculars from his face.

  “All right. Call it halfway there. Let’s light a candle.”

  Two long cylinders thumped out of the mortars, birthing twin mini-suns seconds later that straddled the runway’s nearest end. The giant flares wafted down on parachutes, bathing a square kilometer below in a searchlight from God.

  Including the zig-zagging trench network outside the airfield’s perimeter fence lit up.

  The blinding light above deepened the shadows in front of the German trench. The hundred-plus flaming barrels inside churned out more than enough tracers to spotlight the onrushing paratroopers.

  “Where’s my smoke?” Roberts gritted his teeth as First and Second platoons, caught on their feet in the open, evaporated under the deluge of red hornets. Covering fire from the prostrate Third and Fourth platoons had little effect on the fortifications… other than to draw ample attention to their positions from two previously silent machine gun nests on each flank.

  Dore and Kat tossed smoke shells at the mortar team, who fed them down the tubes even before the mortars stopped recoiling from the last round. A green blanket soon hid the gruesome harvest in the field. With a few tweaks to the mortar angles, another twenty smoke rounds walked along the trench line and blinded the enemy gunners.

  Kat snatched Roberts’s sleeve as he jumped up. “What the hell are you doing? Use the cover to extract your men. It’s an ambush, you fool!”

  “Isn’t it always? Besides, there’s no extraction nor reinforcements if we don’t take that field. Fix bayonets!”

  He chopped his hand at the slaughter ahead, bellowing only that ancient, magic infantry motto, “Follow me!”

  While the mortar team stayed behind to feed High Explosive rounds down the glowing red tubes, even Kat charged after the Captain.

  Dore stuck his boot on a Wehrmacht Corporal’s chest and pried his bayonet out of the boy’s sternum. At his elbow, Kat cooked o
ff her last pair of frag grenades around the next V in the trench. She threw herself over Dore as a single potato masher shot back in response. Dore flipped the sobbing Corporal on top of the grenade with one hand and gave the girl struggling to push him down a wink through the pulpy blast.

  “I knew you’d come around, but I’ll have to take a rain check.”

  “Keep advancing! Don’t let the bastards fall back to the barracks. If they get the high ground, we’ll be pinned down here.” A few meters to their right, Captain Roberts kept one hand pressed against the sprawling bloodstain on his stomach yet still scaled the trench walls to lead the charge.

  Kat rolled her eyes and scurried up the dirt wall. “No worries. Just line up behind this mountain man. I’m pretty sure his ego is bulletproof.” Dore snickered and slapped her wiggling butt, shooting her over the top and out onto the flight line.

  Only to get tackled back into the trench as soon as he clambered up. Kat opened her mouth. An endless spray of .50 Caliber rounds stitching the parapet filled her throat with sand. She crawled over to Captain Roberts, slapping his shoulder with a cough.

  “Looks like it’s too late. Let’s try a breakout along the south…” She kept spinning him over, her eyes endlessly searching for the other half of his face that must have been somewhere.

  Kat shouted at the next green-clad soldier sticking a carbine over the parapet and firing blindly at the barracks. “Who’s in charge now?”

  He burrowed deeper into the trench lining, a single silver bar glinting off his collar. “I guess… no, I am. Got to get organized. Organization is safe. Secure… Security. Yes. Lay down a base of fire. Conserve ammo. Maneuver to flank the enemy, and get your element out of the kill zone…” The Lieutenant kept babbling passages from some tactical manual at Kat through the cleaved-open hole in the Captain’s skull. She crept over the body and stuck a finger to the Second Lieutenant’s quivering lips.