Kat and the Desert Eagle Page 5

  Parking the Humber in one of the netting sheds, they loaded their weapons onto the boat. Atkins did it again, of course. He found a Panzerschreck with four rockets, 2 mortars with eight mortar shells, six MP40s, a box of Gramigna’s seventeen-second grenades and hundreds of rounds of ammunition. Not that they expected trouble in Sicily. It was only supposed to be a refueling port. But who knew what to expect with Kat aboard?

  The Alexia was an elderly trawler, and in need of a lick of paint, yet it didn’t matter, Stewart loved the boat. His father owned a fishing boat in New Zealand, but it wasn’t a patch on Giovanni’s.

  “Worth a bloody fortune in Nu Zill’and,”

  CHAPTER 6

  Kat needed to call London before leaving Genova, and it would not be easy. First she needed to find the Angelina Lauro, which turned out not to be as simple as she’d imagined. After an unnerving drive through Genova, and then a long discussion with the ship’s radio operator, by sheer good luck she managed to get Fleming. The commander was delighted to hear about their teaming up with Gramigna, and even more delighted about the Bergamo operation.

  “You blew up the chateau and four Tiger tanks?” he said. “And you all got out okay?”

  “Piece of piss.”

  “Quite… So dear old Miggy’s still creating chaos. Did he loan you his wonderful Daimler?”

  “He did, and he helped us with Stipa as well, which in a way, was even more harrowing. It was hand-to-hand combat.”

  “Good Lord. And you were caught up?”

  “Right in the thick of it… I’m mainly calling you about Benghazi. I have no contacts there and we’re desperate to find the Adler.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll find someone for you, however, I’m not sure if you should be stealing something as important as the Adler. None of you are qualified to fly a plane like that. What if you crash? We’ll have nothing.”

  “Trust me, Commander, if we crash, we’ll do it in England.” Kat said in a rushed tone. “Commander, I’ve got to go, the team are waiting for me and Genova’s swarming with Germans.”

  “I trust your judgment, so do what you think best… Before you go, in case you can’t call again, where are you refueling the trawler?”

  “We think Palermo’s the best bet. It’s got more fishing boats to hide amongst.”

  “Yes, it probably does. Just to warn you though, the Allies are planning to invade Sicily. When they do… and I have no idea when… they’ll more than likely carpet bomb the ports, so get in and out as fast as you can.”

  “Do my best. I’ll call you again when I can. If I can find a friendly radio operator, hopefully from Palermo.”

  Thanking the ship’s radio operator, she made her way back to the Humber. She’d parked it on the dock beside the ship and hadn’t expected problems. It was 0600 and staff cars were usually ignored. But when she reached the car it was being inspected by two German Guards. They wandered around it, peering through the windows.

  Ignoring them, she climbed behind the wheel.

  “You have a permit to park here?” One of the Guards asked.

  She gazed at him for a moment. He was a Corporal, somewhere in his mid thirties with an unpleasant look on his face. “I have no idea. I was driving Colonel Schmidt.”

  “And where is the Colonel?”

  “On board the ship. Where do you think?”

  The Corporal looked at the other Guard, who just shrugged. “Would you mind getting him? We need to check your papers. No cars are allowed here. It’s a high security area.”

  “Then it’s just as well I’m leaving.”

  “Would you mind getting him?” The Guard persisted.

  “Why don’t you get him?” She snorted. “I’ve delivered him to his ship. My job is finished.”

  The man looked up at the ship, considered it for a moment, and then reached into take the keys. Immediately incensed, she batted his hand away. “This is a diplomatic, government staff car. Back off!”

  Snarling, the Corporal reached for his gun. Kat drew her Luger and aimed it straight at him. “I really wouldn’t if I were you. You’re off-limits, soldier. Try that again and you’ll be in deep shit. You’re threatening an officer of the Waffen-SS.”

  “I wasn’t threatening you,” he said, suddenly alarmed. “I was just doing my duty.”

  “You were threatening me. Back off before I report you.”

  Starting the engine, she holstered the Luger and drove away. Moments later, she drove east on Via Aurelia. The confrontation had been close, but what can you do with arrogance?

  When she told Capetti what happened, he wasted no time casting off, and they soon left Genova behind. She gave the pilot credit, as he did in the mountains, when he needed to move, he moved. For the first few hours, Giovanni hugged the coast which was fine by Stewart and Atkins, the nearer to dry land they were, the better. The journey to Palermo made disagreeable by a sudden squall that came out of nowhere causing bouts of nauseating seasickness for Stewart and Atkins. Waves ferocious, breaking over the side with such force, even Giovanni looked tense.

  The wind finally dropped when they reached the Bay of Naples, which was unusual. As a rule, it was the other way around. As the seas calmed, the traffic got heavier, and to make matters worse, it was now dark.

  “I take southernly course,” Giovanni said, “away from land. This molto periculoso. One of those ships could sink us.”

  “Still, we are sailing south?” Kat inquired.

  “No. We direct southeast. Italy no north-south. You not worry. I know where I go. Get sleep. You will need it.”

  Taking the top bunk in Dore’s cabin, and praying she’d manage to sleep, she settled down for the night. However, between Dore’s snoring and the crashing of waves, she only managed an hour or two. When she woke, she woke to the sound of a massive foghorn. Alarmed, she clambered down from the bunk. They were at full speed beside an enormous battleship, its bow-wave almost swamping them.

  “What the hell are we doing?” She yelled, slamming into the wheelhouse.

  “Is not me!” Giovanni shouted. “They keep pace with us. Look! They laugh at us!”

  Kat peered up at the ship. The crew hanging over the rails, laughing and jeering.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. move away!”

  “I try, they follow us!”

  “Then slow down!”

  Reluctantly, Giovanni slowed the Alexia, and they were soon wallowing in the battleship’s wake. It was another lesson in life. Sometimes it’s better to sooth the beast.

  Palermo was a hive of activity. The docks crawling with Germans, tanks and halftracks being off-loaded, and cranes lowering wooden crates. They changed into jeans, shirts and old sweaters, as much to keep their uniforms clean as disguise who they were. While Giovanni refueled, Capetti went ashore to buy provisions, too risky for anyone else to go.

  Kat scanned the harbor with field glasses. Dore ignored her, pretending she wasn’t up to no good. In the end, he couldn’t hold his tongue.

  “Don’t even think about it, Kat. It’s not worth it.”

  “What, after all that Italian hospitality. What else are we going to do with the mortars?”

  “Yer a wee maniac, Kat. Just enjoy the sea air while yer can.”

  “I hate sea air. It’s boring. And there’s a bloody wonderful munitions dump over there.”

  Dore grabbed the field glasses. “Where?”

  “Where all those tanks are queuing up. Anyway, it’ll be easy. The fishing boats all leave at 0400. It’s perfect. The Germans wouldn’t know what hit them.”

  Dore let out a gravelly laugh. “Yer
goin’ blind, Kat. There are two U-boats over there.”

  “There are?” Snatching the field glasses back, she peered through them. “Oh my god! You’re right. And they’re being repaired.” She lowered the glasses and smiled. “And we’ve got slow-burn grenades.”

  “And they’ve got Guards.” Dore reminded her. “Can’t we just enjoy the wine and take it easy this time?”

  “Jock!” She asked, with mock disappointment, “where’s your sense of duty?”

  “It went overboard when we nearly died crossing the English Channel.”

  “Fine,” she said, playing with her fingers and tilting her chin in a coquettish way. “We can finish the wine, although god knows what we’ll drink on the way to Benghazi. And it’s a two-day journey. Think how bored you’ll be.”

  “Two days?” He groaned. “Two whole days? I’ll go effing nuts.”

  “Exactly. Wouldn’t it be great to be exhausted and sleep like a log?”

  Dore squinted at her, chewing his lips. “I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t we borrow a car and visit one of the vineyards? They’re probably closed, but I’ll bet you a dead man’s kilt, they’ve got some stashed away.”

  “I’m sure they have,” she said mischievously. “But do you really want to be pissed all the way to Benghazi, when we could blow up a munitions dump, or a U-boat?” She gazed at him. “Or both.”

  “Yer a wee trouble-maker, Lass. You know that, don’t you?” He gazed out to sea, still chewing on his lips. “How about we do both? There might be a problem though. Taking out the munitions dump should be no problem, but we forgot to bring a truck to take out the subs!”

  Kat grabbed Dore’s sweater, started laughing while beating her head against his chest. “That’s funny! Didn’t bring a truck…”

  Dore blushed. He took Kat by the shoulders and moved her back a little to prevent her from pummeling his chest with her head, which kinda hurt. When he got her arms length, he saw tears in her eyes from laughter.

  Kat, wiping her eyes said, “I’m sure we can find a more… conventional way.”

  Kat’s laughter died down. “Let’s go find a vineyard. The Captain told me about one near Camporeale. It’s not far from here.”

  “Terrific. When do we leave?”

  “When Capetti gets back?”

  “Capetti, Capetti,” he groaned. “Why does everything have to go through Capetti? Can’t we just go? I’ll hot-wire someone’s car.”

  “Well, Fleming did say he was in charge…”

  “Yeah, but did that ever stop you from making all the decisions?”

  “Jock, he’s Italian. We need him. If we get stopped, he’ll sound like a local, home on leave.”

  “I don’t know. Sounds dodgy to me.”

  “Not as dodgy as just the two of us. You don’t even speak Italian… or German.”

  When Capetti returned, he was horrified. “You know how many Germans out there? More Germans than Italians. Why you need wine? Is not holiday.”

  “Sandro, don’t be boring,” Kat said, smiling at him flirtatiously. “Benghazi’s two days away. It’ll be fun.”

  “Twenty dollars. I find you car,” Giovanni said, brightly.

  The old Fiat Giovanni found was so old, it should have been registered as an antique, nevertheless, the engine worked, and if Kat pumped the clutch, she could change gear without too much grating. However, the brakes were something else. To stop the car, she needed to stand on the brake pedal and pull on the handbrake.

  “This is the best Giovanni could find?” Dore grumbled. “We’ll be lucky to get back alive.”

  “You want me drive?” Capetti asked, as Kat swerved to avoid a series of potholes.

  “I’m fine. There aren’t many cars out here. I can manage.”

  They were out of Palermo and driving in the countryside, fields on both sides, barren and neglected. The few houses they passed seemed in reasonable condition with lush vegetable gardens, but the war had taken its toll on Sicily, and she couldn’t help wondering if the vineyards were still running. Everything else seemed to have ground to a halt.

  “At least there won’t be check points asking for papers.” Dore remarked.

  “It doesn’t matter, our papers are fine. We’re Waffen-SS and we’re in Sicily. You can only get off the island by boat.”

  “The Italian Resistance aren’t here?”

  “I’m sure they are, but it can’t be easy for… are those grape vines?”

  Growing along the side of the road, entangled in a rusting fence, wild grape vines growing, and in the field beyond, row upon row of cultivated vines. A modest house came into view, beside it, a barn and two large fermentation tanks.

  “Looks like we’ve found the vineyard,” Kat said, braking to a stop. “What do you want me to do, Sandro? We’re wearing SS uniforms. They might not be very friendly.”

  “Is fine. Pull in there and stop. I speak to them.”

  Letting Capetti out, they watched as he knocked on the door and waited, looking around when it wasn’t immediately opened. An old man appeared. He seemed to gasp when he saw Capetti in his SS uniform. Little by little, a puzzled frown creased his elderly face, and finally a smile. He looked at the car, raising his eyebrows when his eyes settled on Kat. She sighed with relief. They were welcome. But… did they have any wine?

  Capetti walked towards the car. “You can get out.” he called. “They have wine.”

  They followed Capetti and the old man into the barn. Two large stomping vats covered most of the floor area, beyond them, rows of bottle racks lining the far wall. However, the racks were empty. This year’s grapes hadn’t been harvested yet. Where’s the wine? The old man opened a door in the side of the barn, and after twenty yards, another door, then another. Soon they descended a flight of stone steps into the darkness. The old man lit two oil lamps, gave one to Capetti and opened another door, that led to a narrow, sloping tunnel. They followed him, the tunnel descending ever deeper. Suddenly it opened into a large, subterranean cavern. Rows of bottles lined the walls, their dusty glass glinting in the lamplight.

  “Vino per I miei bambini.” The old man said, proudly. “É la migliori.” Picking up one of the bottles, he deftly wound an old fashioned corkscrew into the cork. “You want try?” he asked, in English, levering out the cork and pouring some into a glass.

  Dore blinked, took the glass from him, swilled it round like an expert and tasted it. “Wow!” he said, reverently smelling the wine. “And we’re allowed to buy it?”

  “He give us ten bottles,” Capetti said. “But we must make promise.”

  “You’re giving us ten bottles?” he repeated. “Just on a promise?”

  “Is no small promise.” The elderly wine maker chuckled, pouring him more wine. “Voglio che tu Bombardi il porto.”

  “Volio kay what?”

  “He means the docks.” Kat translated. “He wants us to bomb the docks.”

  Dore peered at the old man. A smile spread across his face. Stepping forward, he took the old man’s hand and shook it. “I seem to be outnumbered.” He said, jutting his chin, “you’ve got a deal.”

  CHAPTER 7

  The sun hovered on the horizon when Kat urged the ancient Fiat through the streets of Palermo. It would soon be dark and the Italian army was out in force. But they weren’t on duty, they were frequenting the local bars and cafes, and chatting up the girls, who were giggling and flirting with the boys in green.

  “So can we really blow up the munitions dump,” Kat asked, as they turned into the docks and rumbled past the Guards waving a fistful of papers that the Guards chose to ignore, waving them th
rough.

  “I not happy about this.” Capetti said. “We on mission. If blowing munitions dump put mission at risk, Commander Fleming not be very happy.”

  “Alessandro, for goodness’ sake,” she said, sounding dreadfully English. “It will be dark and we’ll be surrounded by fishing trawlers. The Germans won’t have a clue who fired the mortars.”

  Dore laughed. “And a U-boat?”

  “You like to tell your Commanding Officer what you talking about.” Capetti asked, angrily. “You attack U-boats?”

  Slowing as they neared the U-boat pen, Kat glanced at him. “Just one of them. We’re keeping our promise to one of your countrymen.”

  “I not hear mention of U-boats.”

  “It was an afterthought. It’s not our fault if they park their subs near all the fishing boats.” She gave him a radiant smile, “or that they leave the conning towers open all night because the paint needs to dry.”

  “Kat, please. Per favore. Don’t do to me.”

  “Do what?” she asked, innocently.

  “Give me a nervous breakdown.”

  “Cheer up Sandro. It’ll be jolly good fun!” Kat said with enthusiasm.

  Parking the Fiat beneath one of the cranes, they off-loaded the wine and headed for the trawler, the clinking of bottles uncomfortably loud. If not for their SS uniforms, they would have been stopped, but Kat smiled and winked when they passed the Guards. Her grandmother had taught her a great lesson in life, you can get more by kissing than kicking.

  They found Stewart and Atkins happily playing cards when they reached the boat, Giovanni fast asleep in one of the bunks.

  “The Krauts were here.” Stewart said, throwing in his hand. “They wanted to see our papers. Of course, we don’t speak Italian or German, so we let Giovanni do the talking. He told them we were fishing crew, and our papers were in Genova.”

  “And they were okay with that?”