Kat and the Desert Eagle Page 9

  He hooked a thumb at the Spitfire behind him. “He’s in EBOB, right behind me!”

  She squinted at the Spitfire that had just come to a stop. It had the letters EB, the round Royal Air Force circle, and then another letter B stenciled on the fuselage. Kelly had slid the canopy back and climbed out.

  “You’re flying already!” she called, walking over to him. “I thought you didn’t have a plane to fly.”

  “I don’t,” he said, unstrapping his parachute and stepping out of it. “EBOB’s pilot wanted a break, so I took his place.”

  She frowned at him. “Can you avoid doing that? I need you in one piece.”

  He frowned back at her humorously. “I’m a fighter pilot, Kat. That’s what I do. Can’t laze around the Officers’ Mess all day.”

  She fell into step beside him knowing where he was heading, he had debriefing with Squadron Leader Graham and then he’d be free. Kat only hoped that Graham didn’t mention the requisition before she broke it to him.

  “Sam, can I talk to you before debriefing?”

  “You’ll have to be quick. We’re expected to be there as a group.”

  She took a deep breath. “The SOE have requisitioned you… for my team.”

  “What! You went ahead without asking me?”

  “I understand how you feel. I only did it because the SOE would have lumbered me with someone else if I hadn’t pushed the requisition.”

  “Blimey, Kat. You’re on one hell of a mission. I don’t even know if I’m qualified for a thing like this.”

  She took his arm and gazed at him. “If you hadn’t told me about the horse in Berlin, I wouldn’t have done it.”

  “What on earth has this to do with a horse in Berlin? I was a ten-year-old kid.”

  “That wasn’t the only thing. There’s something else that connects us. Something really creepy.”

  She had Kelly’s attention now. Peeling off his leather helmet, he ran a hand through his unruly hair and grimaced. “Something really creepy? Worse than a dead horse?”

  “A lot worse. I’d rather not tell you here. I’ll wait for you in the mess.”

  “No, not the mess. It’s too noisy. I’ll see you in Number One hangar. I want to check on the Dakota. Make sure it’s still out of action.”

  “Fine. I’ll see you shortly.”

  Leaving him standing there, looking perplexed, she made her way to hanger Number One. Instead of finding Corporal Morrison working on the DC-3, she saw him leaning over a workbench, filling out forms. She didn’t need to ask what the forms were for… Morrison was on his way home.

  “It came through then?” she asked, walking up to him.

  “It did,” he whispered, “and I can’t thank you enough. I haven’t had leave for over a year.”

  “Well, I’m sure you deserve it. What’s happening with the plane?”

  “Well, I’m the only Pratt and Whitney mechanic on the base. There are three Spitfire mechanics, but they couldn’t fix a DC-3. So I’d get my skates on if I were you. I think they’re flying someone in.”

  “They’re flying someone in?” she asked, suddenly worried. “From where?

  “If they can find someone who’s prepared to fly out, Pratt and Whitney in America I imagine, but knowing the Royal Air Force, it’ll take days. You should be safe. I’ve told Corporal Atkins how to fix the problem.”

  “Thanks, Corporal. You’re a gem.”

  A shadow fell across the hangar floor, and she turned to see Kelly making his way towards her.

  “Debriefing okay?” She ventured, for want of something better to say.

  Glancing at Morrison, he herded her across the hangar. “Shall we talk in the plane? It’s more private.”

  Making their way through to the cockpit, they eased into the pilot and co-pilot’s seats. Kat had never sat in a DC-3 before, and surprised by how spacious it was, certainly a lot roomier than the Junkers 52.

  “So, what’s all this creepy stuff you were talking about?”

  She looked across at him. He gazed at her. “I didn’t want to mention this, but now I feel obliged to… considering what we’re up against.”

  “Kat, I don’t mind. In the next few weeks, I’d have probably been killed anyway, but you could at least have asked.”

  “I’m sorry, but I had my back against the wall.”

  They fell silent for a moment.

  “So?” he said, finally. “What’s worse than a dead horse?”

  She shrugged. “Your uncle.”

  He laughed. “Well, that’s not up for debate. He’s even worse these days.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  He glanced at her. “You’ve got to be kidding. No one knows what my uncle’s up to. It’s all very hush-hush. Even the Krauts don’t know, half the time.”

  “I know. Because I keep tabs on him.”

  His frown deepened. “You keep tabs on my uncle. Why?”

  “Well,” she said, taking her time, “firstly because he’s trying to kill me. Secondly, because… well, he’s… he’s my stepfather.”

  “What! Uncle Rudolph’s your stepfather? That’s impossible.”

  “Huh!” she exclaimed. “If only. You and me are related, Sam. Well, kind of. That’s why I was there that night. My stepfather and I were going to a Christmas party at the home of Heinrich Himmler in Dahlem… when he shot the horse, and I heard you screaming…”

  He stared at her in astonishment. “And then you… rescue me in the Mediterranean.”

  “Exactly. That’s why this whole thing’s so creepy. How could I even consider going on this mission without you?”

  “And your stepfather’s trying to kill you. Why?”

  “Because he knows I’m an English spy. And because I screw up everything he touches. He’s even involved in the Adler mission, which I’m going to steal from under his nose.”

  “Holy crap! And you want me to fly the thing?”

  “First, we have to find it. But yeah, along with Sandro.”

  Slumping forward, he put his head in his hands. “Well,” he said, eventually, “I suppose I’m already committed. Having convinced Morrison to sabotage this plane, I’m already guilty of treason.”

  “I’m going to tell Squadron Leader Graham that we can fix this plane, and will… if he agrees to lend it to us.” She grinned.

  “I don’t understand. Why can’t the SOE simply requisition the damned thing?”

  “Because we’re in a war zone, and Kat’s Rats doesn’t officially exist. We’re a myth, and you can’t requisition a plane for a myth.” She laughed. “You can only requisition ex-pat pilots who grew up in India.”

  “Or whose uncle is Oberführer Pernass.” He shook his head. “This is insane. It’s difficult to believe it’s really happening.” Glancing through the window, he said, “We should go. If Graham catches us conniving, he’ll know we rigged all this.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m going to see him right now.” Standing up, she made her way down the fuselage, but as she approached the cargo doors, she hesitated. “So, are we fine? You’re OK being on the team?”

  “Dead horses not withstanding, how could I possibly refuse?” He laughed. “Wait until I tell Uncle Rudolph what a rotten stepdaughter he’s got.”

  A Lancaster bomber came in as Kat made her way across the apron, its gun turrets glinting in the sunlight, the roar from its huge engines loud and intimidating. It wasn’t hard to imagine how terrifying the Adler could be. According to Stipa, it’s twice the size of a Lancaster, and considerably louder. Sprinting out of its path, she he
aded for the Officers’ Mess and a meeting with destiny.

  Squadron Leader Graham was on the phone when she entered his office, a suspicious glint in his eyes. Carefully replacing the receiver, he gave her a grim smile.

  “Can I assume you’re on the warpath?”

  “A slight exaggeration.” She replied, giving him the best of her Wolfram smiles. “I actually came here to offer my help.”

  “Really? And would that help include the services of Corporal Atkins, a whiz-kid DC-3 mechanic, from all I hear?”

  “Absolutely,” she said, pulling out a chair and plumping onto it. “It’s jolly hot out there.”

  “It is, indeed. And can I assume there are strings attached?”

  “Strings?” she asked, innocently.

  He shook his head. “Please don’t play games, Miss. Wolfram. You need to borrow a plane.”

  “Well, if we can get the old dear running again, we would appreciate the use of her. You know, for a couple of days.”

  Pulling open a drawer, he extracted an official order form. “Meaning we’d probably have to parachute a pilot into the desert and have him fly it back again… if we ever find the damned thing.”

  “But think of the savings, you wouldn’t need to fly in a mechanic from Pratt and Whitney.”

  “How fortunate… What a blessing…” he said sarcastically.

  “Of course, if there is any danger of us not getting back again,” she said, running a finger across his dusty desk, “you could always send a spare pilot with us. He could fly it back.”

  Graham rolled his eyes. “Except that you’ve already got our only spare pilot. I received the requisition just over an hour ago. I haven’t mentioned it to Flight Lieutenant Kelly yet because I thought we’d like to discuss it first.”

  “Discuss away, sir. Whatever makes it easier for you.”

  Graham made a soft groaning sound. “What’s easier for me is not to lose my only spare pilot. What’s easier for you?” he asked, dryly.

  She let out a girlish giggle. “To use your only spare pilot, I suppose.”

  “Why do I have the feeling I just got played…” Taking a deep breath, he picked up a pen and scribbled his signature on the order form. “You could do me a favor Miss. Wolfram.”

  “Anything, Squadron Leader. Ask away.”

  “Ask one of those influential people you know to send us more Spitfires.”

  Standing up, she picked up the order form. “I can’t even begin to thank you, sir, and I’ll certainly put the request in.”

  The squadron leader nodded. “A word of advice, Miss. Wolfram, the desert is huge. Keep a tally of how long you’ve been flying, and in which direction. We’d hate to come across your skeletons in a few month’s time.”

  CHAPTER 12

  “How much space have I got?” Dore yelled, as he began maneuvering the Jeep into the plane’s cargo bay.

  “Bugger all!” Stewart shouted. “Straighten the wheel a bit!” He banged his hand on the hood. “Too much! Half of that!”

  “That much?”

  “Fine! drive her in more!” He peered at the diminishing gap between the Jeep and the Dakota’s doorframe. “A bit more… another few inches… Now! Hard right!”

  The Jeep crept forward, its front wheels almost clear of the ramp. Then it was in, moving slowly up the fuselage. Against all odds, after removing the front and rear bumpers, they managed to get the Jeep on board. Now they only needed weapons. Would they need mortars? They had no idea how many anti-aircraft guns would be installed to protect the Adler from attack. There might be two, but what if there were more? What if they’d been positioned in camouflaged bunkers in the desert? They might only find out when it’s too late.

  “I don’t see the problem.” Dore said. “It’s not like we’re in a hurry. We’ll have time to scout them out. It will also be obvious. If we can find a high vantage point, we can monitor all movement. We’ll soon know if there are hidden bunkers. Anyway, I vote that we take a shed-load of mortar shells.”

  “I agree.” Capetti said. “We not be too careful.”

  Kat sat on an upturned box with Kelly. They discussed what to wear as they watched the procedure. They needed German uniforms if they were to slip onto the air base, but they would also need British uniforms. It would be unfortunate if they went to all this trouble, then shot by their own people.

  “Surely, we’re not all going to creep into this secret airfield?” Kelly asked. “Two or three people at the most would be enough. Any more would be a liability, especially if they don’t speak German.”

  “So we only need three German uniforms.” Kat said, giving Dore the thumbs-up when he waved their success with the Jeep to her. “They also need to be desert uniforms, and we don’t have any.”

  “We only need the insignias. British and German desert uniforms are pretty much the same. We might have difficulty finding the peaked caps, but it’s going to be dark. They don’t need to be perfect.”

  “They’ll have lights, Sam. The Germans won’t be stumbling around in the dark. Anyway, it’s not a problem. Graham can call Tobruk. I gather they’ve got German prisoners there. I’m actually more worried about stealth. Whatever happens when we break into that airfield, we’ll need to be incredibly quiet.”

  “You mean if we have to kill someone?”

  “Exactly. There’s no way this will go without a hitch. Someone’s bound to smell a rat.”

  Kelly winced and looked away, and she knew what was on his mind. He’s a pilot. He’d never killed anyone at close quarters and now it was worrying him.

  “It’s okay, Sam. We don’t expect you to do anything horrible. That’s not what’s worrying me.”

  “It isn’t?”

  “No. It’s silence that concerns me. To kill with a knife, you have to be on top of the target. Although I have extensive experience at it, you don’t. If you or Capetti have to shoot someone, it’s all over.”

  Kelly grinned at her. “Oh, is that all that’s worrying you? That’s easy to fix. We fit sound suppressors to our guns.”

  “You mean silencers like they have in the films?”

  He laughed. “The films… Silencers is a misnomer. It’s a muzzle device that reduces the sound intensity and muzzle flash when a firearm is discharged. The noise you hear when you discharge a firearm comes from the expanding gasses when the gunpowder is ignited, and the fact that the bullet is traveling faster than the speed of sound, and what you hear is the sonic boom it creates. So we also need to combine the sound suppressors with subsonic ammo by removing some gunpowder from the cartridges.

  “And how do you propose we find something like that?” she asked. “Because I’m pretty sure they’re not standard issue.”

  “Sound suppressors are very simple, Kat. They’re basically two metal tubes, one inside the other. The inside tube has lots of holes drilled in the sides, so the gas can expand. Then all you need is two end caps, one of them threaded to screw onto the barrel. Every air base has a tool shop. We can make them.”

  Kat looked at him. “Just like that?”

  “Absolutely. Of course, you’ll have to cut the ends off the holsters so the sound suppressors can poke through, and that will make the guns burdensome to draw. However, I’m sure we’ll manage with a bit of practice. We can pick off the Guards or whoever with minimum noise.”

  She looked at him in astonishment. “So, how did a pilot from India learn how to make these gadgets?”

  “I have a brother who I visit in California. He likes to go rabbit hunting, but hates the noise, so he made sound suppressors and modified the ammo for all his guns.” Kelly turned to leave. �
�I’ll go get started. I’ll meet up with you later.”

  When Kelly had gone, she looked for Atkins.

  She found him in the hangar workshop measuring the gap on a set of spark plugs with a feeler gauge. “I assume you’ve talked to Morrison,” she said, picking up one of the spark plugs and peering at it.

  “Yup. Once I’ve fitted all these, I only have to reconnect the fuel pump, and both engines should run perfectly.”

  “Great! Not too quickly though. We don’t want it to seem too easy. In fact, I’d make a meal of it. We’re not leaving until tomorrow morning. I’ll string it out with Squadron Leader Graham, pretend the engines are still a bugger to start.”

  Kat, on her way to the mess saw Kelly driving a Jeep. He pulled over when he saw her. “Want to go to Benghazi?”

  She laughed. “You asking me out on a date?”

  “Now there’s a thought. But no, I think Sergeant Major Dore would strangle me in my sleep.”

  “Oh my god,” she said, feeling herself blush. “Is it that obvious?”

  “Kind of. You were sleeping together on the trawler.”

  “I shared his cabin,” she protested, “not his bed. Jock thinks of me like a sister. I totally trust him.”

  “He doesn’t look at you like a sister.” He snorted. “And nor does Major Capetti.” He laughed. “Not that I blame them.”

  Kat chuckled. “I think Capetti looks at all women that way.”

  “Oh, you will come then?”

  “Why are you going there?”

  “I need two-inch steel tubing. The workshop doesn’t have any. While we’re there, we can stop for a coffee and aseeda.”

  “What’s aseeda?”

  He laughed again. Kelly seemed to laugh quite a lot. “Food for lovers. The Italians have Tiramisu. The Libyans have aseeda. It’s made with flour, butter and honey.”

  “You’ve sold me,” she said, climbing into the Jeep. “Although, d’you think they’ll still have honey in the middle of a war?”

  “The Libyans always have honey. It’s the one thing that’s completely free.”