“I don’t know,” Dore whispered back. “But this is dead brilliant. We can use the Panzerschreck on the house.”
“Bene,” Capetti hissed, climbing out and opening the boot. “Panzerschreck the house. Do from other side of drive and don’t-a fire until I signal you.”
Kat whispered, “after the Panzerschreck rocket explodes, Dore can lob the smoke grenades, and then we’ll blow the tanks. We’ll have 17 seconds to get the hell out of here.”
Grabbing two smoke grenades, the Panzerschreck and three rockets, Dore scuttled behind a hedge. Kat hooked two grenades onto her belt and darted into the shadow of the nearest tank, a Royal Tiger, the turret already open. Clambering carefully onto it, she squatted beside the turret and waited for Capetti’s signal. Except that Capetti had disappeared. She saw Stewart and Atkins. They crouched above the turrets of the nearest tanks, unable to see Capetti.
“Bloody Italians.” She muttered.
A massive explosion shattered the silence, and moments later, a thick pall of smoke drifted across the gardens, burning debris and chunks of masonry raining down as if a volcano erupted. Men stumbling out of bivouacs, some yelling and grabbing their guns, their faces illuminated by the burning chateau.
“…Two, three,” Kat whispered, and dropped the grenades.
She now had 17 seconds to drive away. Jumping down, she ran towards the car, but the smoke made it almost impossible to see. A siren wailed. Someone bumped into her. Men cursing. How would the team find their way back? A hollow thumping sound. She’d found the car. Feeling her way round it, she dived behind the wheel. The engine was still running, but the damn car was empty. Where the hell is everyone?
The first Tiger tank exploded, followed almost immediately by the second, and then the third. Men coughing and shouting in panic, voices everywhere. The front passenger door yanked open, and Dore jumped in.
“Don’t speak.” She whispered.
A rear door opened and Stewart dived in, followed immediately by Atkins, then Capetti.
“Vai! Vai!” Capetti hissed.
“Your tank didn’t blow.” Kat whispered, accusingly. And then a fourth explosion erupted. “Are Italians always late?” she remarked.
Switching on the lights, she drove very slowly towards the exit. This was the most dangerous moment, getting out again. No one blew up their own house… and certainly not their own tanks. Anyone trying to leave, would be immediately stopped. The Germans stumbled around in a thick fog, as flames engulfed the burning chateau. The smoke thinned a little. She saw the exit now… and a big problem, the armored cars were pointing straight at them. No one was leaving.
“Everyone lie down,” Kat ordered. “You’re all wounded.”
Twenty yards from the check-point, a spotlight blinked on, Armed Guards forming a human barrier. “Halt!” an amplified voice shouted. “Stoppen oder wir schießen!”
Kat leaned out and shouted, “Hilfe! Hilf den verwundeten!” And continued to drive, causing the Guards to scatter.
“Ficken Italiener,” someone cursed.
One of the armored cars fired a warning salvo. Dore was ready for it. Firing the Panzerschreck, he blew it to pieces.
“Floor it, Lassie!”
Moments later they were clear, only an orange glow on the horizon to mark the destruction. Gramigna would be pleased. His immaculate car wasn’t even scratched.
CHAPTER 4
“The Italians won’t be very popular,” Kat said, as they walked into the castle.
“They’re not popular now,” Gramigna retorted. “You blew up the villa?”
She shrugged, underplaying the drama of what happened. “We burned it a little. Any news on Stipa?”
“Ah, Signor Stipa,” Gramigna said, running a hand through his long hair. “That is not good news. He lives near Pavia, which is not so far from here, but the house is heavily guarded… by the Waffen-SS, I believe.”
Kat blinked. “The Waffen-SS are guarding Stipa’s house?”
“And he has a special visitor. A friend of yours, I gather.”
Kat stared at the General. She only knew one person in the Waffen-SS. “Go on then, General, ruin my day.”
The General gesturing with his hands said, “The Guard Detail is being overseen by Oberführer Pernass, although I doubt he’s actually staying there.”
She glanced at Capetti. Should she tell him about Pernass? If they were going to kidnap Stipa, it seemed pointless. Then again, who knew what would happen in the middle of a war. “You don’t know about Pernass, do you?”
“Old boyfriend?” Capetti ventured, giving her a supercilious smile.
“No, he’s my stepfather, and believe me, he wants me dead.” She shrugged. “Well, sometimes he does… We’re a pretty dysfunctional family. I haven’t seen him since North Africa. He’s very bad news. Nothing gets past Pernass. If he wants Stipa guarded, believe me, he’ll be guarded.”
“So you really princess,” he sniggered. “You even have wicked stepfather.”
“You are so funny,” she retorted. “At least I don’t live with my mother.”
Gratefully accepting Gramigna’s offer of sleeping bags and use of the many derelict bedrooms, they settled down for the night. She couldn’t get Pernass out of her mind. Everywhere she went, that annoying man was there. He was haunting her. Or was it the other way? Maybe Pernass felt the same way. She smiled as she drifted off to sleep dreaming he slept badly, worried that at any moment his infuriating stepdaughter would appear to make his life a living nightmare again.
The following morning dawned warm and humid, sunlight glinting in the dusty windows. It was going to be another hot day. Even North Africa wasn’t as humid as this, and the nights were positively cool compared to Italy. Kat wondered whether someone might have rigged a reasonably private shower in the castle. She could certainly do with one after last night, with the smoke grenades smell lingering on her skin.
Gramigna arranged for a different staff car for their trip to Pavia, this time a less extravagant Humber Pullman with a hard roof and German markings. They would be wearing SS uniforms again, not such a bad idea after last night. He drew a map to find Stipa’s house, a map they needed to destroy the moment they found it. The house was in the countryside on the outskirts of Pavia, so he advised hiding the car in a nearby barn before approaching it. Otherwise they’d be targets if they kidnapped the engineer.
“Whitehall has arranged safe passage on the SS Angelina Lauro,” Gramigna said, sipping a grim-looking espresso. “It’s docked in Genova Harbor, so you must be careful, the Germans are everywhere. And another thing, when Stipa goes missing, Pernass will go crazy. It won’t be safe to drive directly to Genova. They will check all the cars. Go through Piacenza and take the mountain road. It’s a terrible road, but…”
“Compared to a run-in with Pernass?” Kat retorted, “I’m sure it’s a beautiful road.”
So they spent the day cleaning their weapons, studying maps and pacing the castle, waiting for dark. It would have been better to drive to Pavia and scout the area, but it was too big a risk. So they waited, Dore and Stewart arguing about the weapons they would take. Dore wanted machine guns, just in case. And grenades. You never knew when a grenade might come in handy.
“We’re officers, mate. Officers don’t carry machine guns and grenades.”
“And if things get a wee bit derf? How we supposed to defend ourselves?”
Capetti echoed agreement with Stewart, ordering Dore to leave the machine guns and grenades behind.
“We won’t be fighting anyone, Jock. We’ll be on a ship.”
“I mean before that,” Dore snorted. “What if some kraut cotton
s on to us?”
“The Persians used to throw cats at the enemy,” Atkins chuckled. “Throw Katelyn at them.”
They left the castle just as the sun was going down, Kat vowing to go back there after the war. Dore hid an MP40 and a box of grenades in the boot, winking at her as he tucked them behind a hamper of food and spare ammunition. She should warn Capetti, but Sergeant Major Dore was a law unto himself, and always would be. No point creating tension just as they were leaving.
The Humber was a joy to drive. Unlike the Daimler, it was right-hand drive, imported from England before the war. The four-liter engine that made more of a hiss than a roar when she put her foot down. The suspension so soft, she barely felt the road, and the rear seat so wide, it could comfortably accommodate four.
Finding Stipa’s house turned out to be easy, although a little nerve-racking with all the Guards stationed around the house, most of whom stared at the passing staff car with its high-ranking officers. This worried Kat. If Pernass got wind of a staff car he knew nothing about, they would tighten security. Locating somewhere to hide the car was difficult, but eventually they found parking in the garage of a derelict house.
Walking warily through the village, they stopped short of Stipa’s house to discuss their options. There were five Guards stationed around the home. One at the high iron gates, two at the far corners of a very large garden, two continuously patrolling. It wouldn’t be easy to take them down without a noisy struggle. The question was, where’s Pernass? There were no hotels in the village.
“Pernass not problem,” Capetti whispered. “Pernass will be at big hotel in Pavia. The problem is radio transmitter. We take out molto, molto carefully. We have big trouble if they send message.”
“And how do we do that,” Dore asked, “without raising the alarm?”
“Easy,” Kat said, with a mischievous smile. “Major Capetti is a Waffen-SS officer. We march straight up to the gate and demand to see Signor Stipa. When the Guard asks if we have permission, we demand to speak to Oberführer Pernass on the radio. Then we kill them all.”
“They’ve got bloody machine guns,” Atkins whispered.
Dore sniggered. “So do I.”
“What?” Capetti snapped. “I ordered you not to.”
Dore shrugged. “Sorry sir… I forgot.”
“Well… then you… better go and get it,” Capetti stammered. “We will… wait.”
While they waited, Capetti decided that he would do the talking and enter the garden, only with Kat, his indispensable assistant. The moment they were out of sight, Dore, Stewart and Atkins were to kill the Guard, then go looking for the other two, killing them all silently. He and Kat would deal with the radio operator. With any luck, they’d be able to dispatch all the Guards without firing a shot. If they couldn’t, well, there’s always Dore and his noisy machine gun.
When Dore returned, Kat told him what they’d planned, he asked, “So I don’t need this?”
Capetti winced. “Possibile. Is a large garden.”
Kat looked at her watch. “It’s 2330. Do we wait, or do it now?”
Capetti shook his head. “We don’t-a need to wait. Expensive hotel, expensive wine. Pernass not leave unless have to.”
Kat took a deep breath. “Then let’s do it.”
They walked briskly, shoulders back, chin up, their footsteps echoing in the narrow streets. They passed the paniettera, the silent café, its tables deserted, and the butcher’s shop. One hundred yards, sixty yards, thirty yards, twenty…
“Halt!” the Guard shouted. “This house is off-limits.”
“We wish to see Signor Stipa,” Capetti said, in German. “It’s urgent.”
The Guard snapped to attention. “Sir! You need special permission. Sorry sir!”
“I have special permission, soldier. Please radio Oberführer Pernass. This is urgent.”
“Yes sir! I need to call another Guard. I cannot leave my post.”
“And quite right, soldier. Go ahead.”
“Private Becker!” the Guard shouted. “Please come to the gate!”
They waited in silence, a dog barking in the distance. Moments later, Private Becker marched briskly up to them.
“May I have your name, sir?” The Guard asked, stiffly.
“My name is Major Schmidt. I want to speak with Rudolph… I’m sorry, Oberführer Pernass. And I’ll need my assistant with me. If that’s all right.”
The Guard looked warily at the men crowding in on him.
“Soldier?”
“Yes sir! Of course, sir!” Unlocking the gate, the soldier stepped stiffly to one side. “Private Becker, please escort the Major to the radio operator.”
Narrowing her eyes at Dore, giving him a, don’t you bloody dare shoot him, look. Kat followed the Guard up the winding pathway, Capetti hard on her heals. There were few flowerbeds, most of the land laid to lawn, dense clusters of shrubbery and winding pathways, completely screening the far end of the garden. The Germans erected security lights that ringed the house, with most of the garden in darkness.
The radio operator sat on an upturned box by the French windows. It looked as if he’d nodded off, because he jerked upright as they approached.
“Corporal, this is Major Schmidt. He wants to speak with Oberführer Pernass.”
“The Oberführer?” The radio operator repeated, blinking himself awake. “He just called. I’ll try to get him back.”
Capetti delivered a karate chop to Private Becker as Kat buried her knife up to the hilt into the radio operators neck. For a split second, Private Becker didn’t react. He just stared at Capetti in dazed astonishment. Then he Let out a strangled cry and raised his gun. Drawing her Luger, Kat rammed it into Private Becker’s midriff and pulled the trigger twice. The gunshots little more than muffled thumps. A trick she learned during SOE training, hold the gun against the body muffling the sound of the gunshots. The man fell to the ground in a heap.
Kat shook her head at Capetti, “Where in the name of god did you learn karate? I could have done better hitting him over the head with a rolled-up newspaper.”
Capetti rolled his eyes at her remark. “What about the bodies?” he hissed, looking around. “We can’t leave them here.”
Dore appeared carrying two MP40s. “All clear. Where d’you want us?”
“That’s what Jock and Atkins are for. We have a great working relationship. I kill them, those two figure out what to do with the bodies.” She turned to Dore. “Sergeant Major, would you be a dear and clean up this mess?”
“Why of course milady… Nothing to soil your delicate hands with.”
“Then take their place. Pretend you’re the Guards. Stay in the shadows. We’ll try not to be too long.”
Making their way to the front of the house, Kat straightened her uniform while Capetti rang the doorbell. It took a couple of minutes before a light switched on. Stipa must have been asleep. Capetti glanced at her, stretching his neck and rolling his shoulders. “Stop giving orders, Kat.”
“Sorry. just trying to help.”
“Si. Like you did in Arco Philaeni.”
“Alessandro, I know a lot about Stipa. Commander Fleming briefed me.”
Capetti glared at her. “I hate English.”
When the door finally opened, a rumpled man in his forties gazed out in annoyance. “E l’una di note. Cosa vuoi?”
“Signor Stipa…” Capetti began.
“Can we speak English?” Kat cut in.
“Inglesi?” Stipa said. “Ma tu sei Tedesco.”
“We’re not, actually. We’re English, we’re just dressed
like this.”
“Cosa?” Stipa said, in a startled voice.
“We’re spies, Signor Stipa. We need to talk to you.”
“Spies?” A smile spread across Stipa’s face. “English spies? How wonderful.” He peered past them. “Where are the Guards?”
“We, er… dealt with them. They’re gone.”
Stipa’s eyes widened. “What do you mean, gone? Where have they gone?”
Kat shrugged, smiling that innocent smile she did so well. “You know what soldiers are like, here one moment, gone the next. Can we come in? We’d like to talk to you.”
Stipa peered past her again. “I am not supposed to speak to anyone. When I go out, I always have an escort. I would hate to make the Germans angry.”
“Signor Stipa, no one came to your door. You’ve been asleep all night. You have no idea what happened to the Guards. We also have people watching. If the Germans come, we’ll know long before they get here.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely sure. You’re perfectly safe.”
He stared at her for a moment, chewing on his lips. “Well then, you’d better come in.”
They followed Stipa into a surprisingly cool living room, with a marble floor and furnished with antique furniture. By English standards, it was far from cozy. It seemed to be the Italian way. Gesturing them to take a seat, he sat down and faced them.
“So, how can I help you?”
Capetti studied the man for a moment. “Signor Stipa, I not-a lie to you. We sent-a here to discuss new fighter plane you develop for Germans. German air force already superior to British. Whitehall very worried.
Stipa screwed up his face and stared at him. “Fighter plane? But I’m not developing a fighter plane.”
“You’re not?” Kat questioned.
Stipa smiled like a Cheshire cat. “No, I’m not.” He paused. “It’s much bigger than that. My engines were never intended for single-engine fighters.”
“How much bigger?” Kat asked, staring at the man.
Kat and the Desert Eagle Page 3
