The Maltese Defence

by Simon Brading

  De Luca proved to be an enthusiastic, if not particularly talented dancer, and Kitty was fearful for her toes, but thankfully, after only a few stumbling and awkward minutes, a gong rang announcing dinner and the dance came to an end.

  As the host, De Luca could safely claim the privilege of escorting her in and she was sat at his right hand as the guest of honour, with Jilani opposite her, Ammiraglio Costa next to him and Colonnello Vitelli by her side. Curiously, an empty seat was left next to the admiral and she wondered if it was some tradition of theirs, perhaps to honour a pilot who had been shot down recently, but, when the soup course was almost over, a man in black sat down.

  Remembering what Jilani had said about le Camicie Nere, she pointedly didn’t look at the man, however, his fluent and American-accented English when he apologised for being late caught her attention and she couldn’t help but glance in his direction.

  Gruber!

  She hadn’t realised she’d shouted his name out loud until her end of the table fell silent and everyone around her turned to stare at her.

  ‘Quite right, Miss Wright.’ Gruber grinned, as if he’d said something amusing. ‘It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in the flesh and I’m looking forward to getting to know you much better after you join me on board my airship.’

  ‘Aerial Officer Wright is the prisoner of the Legione Aerea, Herr Gruber,’ said De Luca from his place at the head of the table. ‘She will not be joining you anywhere.’

  Gruber chuckled. ‘As I was saying before I was interrupted - the reason for my tardiness was because I was speaking to the Kaiser precisely on this very matter. He has promised to speak to your Emperor about Miss Wright’s status and remind him that the attack on Malta is under Prussian direction now, which means that any prisoners taken belong to me.’ He grinned malevolently at Kitty.

  ‘Nonsense. That is not how things work and you know it - a prisoner “belongs”, as you say so erroneously, to whoever they surrender to. The Emperor will never agree to handing her over to you and that is the end of this conversation.’

  De Luca stared at Gruber, daring him to say more; as the host he would be well within his rights to have the Prussian thrown out.

  ‘Very well.’ Gruber nodded, but his confident smirk never faltered, even as he picked up his spoon and rapidly began to shovel soup into his mouth.

  Kitty had followed the exchange closely, well aware that her fate was being decided as much, if not more, at the table that night as it was in the palaces of Europe. Despite De Luca’s words, she wasn’t sure that the Italian generals would dare go against Gruber if the man outright demanded Kitty even if the Kaiser didn’t back him up.

  A rustle from her side alerted her and she turned to face De Luca as he leaned in to speak to her quietly.

  ‘Don’t worry, the Emperor will never let him take you; we have too much to gain by exchanging you and I would never forgive myself if you were to end up in that man’s clutches.’

  ‘Thank you, Giovanni.’ Kitty smiled warmly, but wasn’t particularly reassured and, as the dinner went on, she found she had no appetite for any of the wonderful food that was put in front of her, especially because every time she lifted her gaze from her plate she found Gruber staring in her direction, as if she were his property and he was deciding what to do with her.

  The two hours that it took for the meal to conclude seemed like an eternity, but then it was back to the atrium for more dancing and, while she could ignore Gruber at the table by simply not looking at him, it was impossible to avoid him when he was free to approach her when he willed. There was nothing she or anyone else could do, therefore, to stop him when he cut in on Colonnello Vitelli and whirled her expertly away into the crowd.

  Kitty was too stunned to do anything except continue dancing. For a moment she wondered at his temerity in doing such a thing; a Brit would never consider such a thing and even an American would at least warn the man first, but then again it was Gruber and Gruber was all temerity. She briefly considered causing a scene and putting him in his place, but the conversation at the table had shown her how low an opinion the man had of the Italians and it would mean very little to him to be shown up in front of them. It would also deprive her of an opportunity to get the measure of him as a man and not just a pilot. Unfortunately, that meant enduring his touch and trying to breathe through his halitosis.

  ‘That was a very practised move. How many women have you stolen away from their partners like that?’

  Gruber laughed. ‘More than I care to remember.’

  ‘And does it usually work or do you get what you deserve?’

  ‘You’d be surprised how many women fantasise about being swept off their feet by me.’

  ‘I’m not one of them, believe me.’

  He leered at her. ‘Oh I know perfectly well you have other... leanings.’ As the music ended he took the opportunity to illustrate his words by dipping her, putting her off balance and leaning her more than sixty degrees. He held her there, seemingly effortlessly, and only brought her up again when the orchestra had launched into a new tune and it was too late for anyone to rescue her diplomatically.

  To her horror, the next dance was a tango, one of the dances most associated with romance, and Gruber immediately pulled her into a very close embrace as he began to move her.

  If anything he was even more adept at the tango than the foxtrot he’d cut into, which didn’t surprise her one bit, considering it was one of his main seduction methods. However, while he was keeping his face carefully schooled, like the good actor he was, she could tell he was actually finding the energetic dance quite hard; not only was there a faint sheen of sweat on his brow and a slight labouring to his breath, but she could feel something ribbed around his waist as he pressed his body against hers, betraying the fact that he wasn’t quite as fit as he wanted it to seem he was.

  She smiled to herself as she remembered that one of her dance teachers, a woman, of course, had described the tango as a battle and that, while the man was nominally in charge, it was the woman who had the real power. So, by forcing her to keep dancing with him, he had provided her with a way to attack him where he was vulnerable - his ego.

  A man led a dance by giving the woman subtle clues as to what he wanted her to do or where he wanted her to move, like shifting his weight or pressing with his hands. She didn’t disobey those commands; that would have been disastrous, instead she simply resisted.

  A truly great tango dancer, a proper one, would take her resistance and use it to create something remarkable, something which belonged to both of them, but Gruber was only technically proficient. He wasn’t a true dancer, he didn’t feel the dance as much as carry out the steps and he was obviously not used to a partner showing any reluctance whatsoever. He began to struggle and in a very short time his breathing became ragged. He began to sweat properly and his hair, so carefully slicked back, began to come loose, strands falling into his eyes as the product in it was diluted.

  He barely lasted the dance and when the music ended there was no fancy flourish, just a simple pose, held for a few short seconds, before he released her and stepped back.

  ‘That was amazing! Invigorating.’ Gruber huffed breathlessly, very pleased with himself. He looked around as if expecting applause and pouted when none was forthcoming.

  ‘Meh.’ Kitty made a non-committal sound, raising her voice slightly so that the people around them could hear. ‘It was... adequate, at best, much like your flying.’ She slapped his stomach with the back of her hand. It made a hollow sound which more than proved her theory about his fitness. ‘You might dance better if you loosen your girdle.’ She started to go, but then turned back with a smile. ‘Oh, and your bald spot is showing.’

  Amid titters from the onlookers, Gruber’s eyes widened in alarm and his hand shot up to his hair. He brushed the loose strands back into place frantically before coming to his senses and realising what he was doing. He looked around and found himself surrounded by dozen
s of people, all thoroughly enjoying the spectacle of his discomfort.

  He scowled and snarled at Kitty. ‘You’ll pay for that.’

  He stormed off in the direction of the exit, pushing his way through the crowd to more laughter and Kitty just couldn’t resist a parting shot. ‘Lord Drake sends his regards, by the way!’

  Kitty was probably one of the few people on the planet who didn’t like Gruber’s movies and she had never had a particularly high opinion of him, having heard tales of his exploits from friends who had encountered socially. However, ever since she’d read Drake’s report, she’d felt that he didn’t even deserve the respect that pilots normally showed each other, or to even be considered one of them, and had been looking forward to putting him in his place in the sky when the Barons finally showed up. Doing so on the ground, face to face, had been almost as satisfying.

  ‘That was well done, Kitty, but are you sure you want to antagonise him? All you’re doing is giving him more of a reason to mistreat you if he ever gets you as his prisoner.’

  Kitty turned to find Generale De Luca watching. ‘Do you know what he does with the pilots he has as prisoners of war?’

  De Luca nodded. ‘I have been made aware. That is why we will be doing what we can to keep you out of his clutches.’

  Kitty laughed. ‘That was very melodramatic! You sound like you’re an actor in one of his awful flyvies!’

  ‘Really? How horrible!’ De Luca shuddered exaggeratedly, then shrugged. ‘I’m sorry, but I wouldn’t know, I’ve never seen any of them.’

  ‘Believe me, that’s for the best.’

  ‘So I’ve been told.’ He grinned and nodded, but then turned serious. ‘Anyway, I promise that we will do whatever we can to keep you from him until you can be exchanged. We all wanted the privilege of playing host to you, but in the end it was decided you would be safer and more comfortable with Generale Jilani and his staff at his headquarters. He will naturally want to wine and dine you while you are there, but I hope you will agree to accept the hospitality of the Legione Aerea at least once and Ammiraglio Costa has asked that you pay him and the Legione Marina a visit in Palermo.’

  ‘Will negotiations take that long?’

  De Luca shrugged. ‘These things take as long as they take.’

  The musicians, who had paused for a couple of minutes to allow the dancers to get their breath back after the Tango, started up again and De Luca smiled wryly and held out his hand. ‘Would you allow me a chance to make up for my clumsiness of before?’

  Kitty smiled. ‘Of course, Giovanni, although you were not at all clumsy.’

  ‘You are too kind.’

  She relaxed into his hold for a sedate waltz, which wouldn’t put her feet in as much danger as the quickstep had.

  It didn’t take long for the party to end; the pilots were flying at dawn and, as the hosts, it would have been rude to keep going without them.

  Generale Jilani took Kitty to the villa that he had requisitioned for his headquarters in his luxurious autocar and his second in command was rousted from his suite to make room for her.

  Over the next few days she was kept in the lap of luxury with the best of food, plenty of rest and some very interesting company. There was even a swimming pool and, after a bathing suit was found for her, that was where Kitty spent most of her days, either lounging around with a book from the villa’s extensive library, swimming laps, or simply enjoying the early spring sunshine with the dozen or so other army officers that found themselves with too much time on their hands. The evening after the party at the villa she made her way to Palermo with Jilani for a formal dinner with the Italian Navy and the very next day it was the turn of Colonnello Vitelli, although his party was far less formal and much more fun, with a jazz band, plenty of alcohol and not a single black shirt, Italian or Prussian, in sight.

  She tried to relax and have fun, but, even knowing that she would soon be reunited with Gwen and her friends, there was always the shadow of Gruber looming over her, preventing her from fully enjoying herself. She couldn’t help think that he would manage to get his own way somehow; he always seemed to come out smelling of roses and it seemed that the Kaiser would do anything for him.

  She was right to worry.

  She was lounging in her bathing suit at lunch, an informal buffet set up on the patio overlooking the pool with no dress code or set time, when a messenger arrived on a motorcycle and hurried straight up to the generale, who was sitting next to Kitty at one of the small tables. The woman saluted, handed him a folded sheet of paper, saluted again then left, but only after a furtive look and shy smile at Kitty, which the American returned warmly, before going back to her delicious meal of pasta.

  She paused, her fork half-way to her mouth, when the generale screwed the message up into a ball and started swearing, using many of the more colourful phrases that she’d asked the younger officers teach her over the last few days so that she could take them back for Scarlet to add to her collection.

  Eventually Jilani ran out of steam and he turned to her, frustration evident on his face. ‘Orders from the Emperor. We are to deliver you to Gruber before his airship takes off this evening.’

  The fork dropped unnoticed from Kitty’s hand, splattering tomato sauce on the red and white checked table cloth. ‘But... the exchange! I thought...’

  The generale deflated in his seat and looked at her for long seconds, his sympathy clear in his eyes, but then he suddenly sat up straight and started bellowing orders in Italian too fast for her to understand.

  The change in the half-dozen men lounging around the patio was instant and they abandoned whatever they were doing and raced into the villa. When they were gone, the generale lounged back in his chair and picked up his drink. He sipped at it, then gazed out over the beautiful grounds of the villa as he spoke slowly and deliberately. ‘Oh dear, it seems that we have already exchanged you and won’t be able to comply with the Emperor’s orders.’

  Kitty blinked, puzzled, but then smiled as understanding dawned. She stood, her meal forgotten, and hurried towards the house, but then stopped and ran back to the old man. ‘Thank you, generale.’ She bent and kissed him on the cheek, then raced into the villa.

  When she came out of the front of the villa, half an hour later, she was dressed in nondescript green Italian army coveralls belonging to a female mechanic, with the woman’s uniform hat on her head, hiding her golden hair. Jilani was waiting for her, along with an army wagon, and she marched up to him and saluted with a grin.

  He laughed and returned the gesture, thumping his hand against his chest. ‘My men will take you to the village you came ashore in. I have already spoken to the Marinos to arrange passage for you and the Navy have been told to ignore their boat.’

  ‘Thank you, but what about the exchange?’

  ‘Sky Commodore Campbell strikes me as an honourable person, I trust her to give us what she thinks is right.’

  ‘I’ll make sure she does.’

  ‘I know you will.’ He stuck out his hand. ‘I hope we meet again under better circumstances, Miss Wright.’

  ‘So do I, Generale. So do I.’

  The Marinos welcomed Kitty back with open joy, but this time there was no big party for her; her presence in the village needed to be kept as secret as possible to prevent the Prussians from finding out that she wasn’t already back in Malta.

  It was just after midnight when the Cassandra sailed with a single passenger for the six-hour journey to Malta.

  Kitty slept most of the time, while the Marinos took it in turn to pilot the ship, but she had asked them to wake her when they were nearing Malta and Orazio did so when they were half an hour out.

  The young man shyly handed her a bundle, wrapped up in brown paper and she opened it to find her flight suit. It still smelled faintly of fish, but it had been treated and was almost as good as it had been when she’d taken off in it days before. He also had her helmet and gloves in a hat box, the lenses wrapped in felt
to protect them.

  ‘Thank you!’

  The boy grinned. ‘You’re welcome.’

  He took a newspaper off the table behind him and she saw that it was an Italian one with a report on her capture. She scanned it quickly, getting the gist of it, and grinned when she saw that the Marinos were mentioned a couple of times and hailed as heroes. She went to hand it back, but the boy held out a pen.

  ‘Please?’

  He waved the pen, making his intentions perfectly clear, even if he didn’t know the words and she grinned.

  ‘To Orazio, thank you for saving my life. Lots of love and kisses. Kitty.’ She signed it with a flourish and handed it back to him.

  He beamed and surveyed it happily, but she hadn’t finished. The Marinos had held on to her survival kit as well and she dug around in it for the penknife. After some quick work at the stitching she pulled the Misfit Squadron patch off her flightsuit and held it out.

  He gasped and stared at it in shock. Then looked up at her. ‘Davvero?’

  Kitty smiled at him and nodded.

  ‘Grazie!’ He turned and sprinted for the companionway, almost tripping over the stairs in his haste to get up them, all the time calling for his father.

  Kitty grinned and started getting putting on her flightsuit. It wasn’t too long before dawn and she wanted to be ready to fly with the Misfits as soon as she got back to Hal Far.

  It seemed that the British had been expecting them, because when they steamed into the Grand Harbour, just as light was seeping back into the world, there were four patrol craft, filled to the brim with cheering Royal Naval personnel, and a few dozen fishing boats waiting to escort them to their berth.

  As they neared the shore, Kitty leaned against the rail of the Cassandra and peered into the gloom, searching the people on the shore, but was disappointed when she didn’t see Gwen or anybody in an RAC uniform. It had been a forlorn hope; she had known that the pilots would be sleeping as long as they could to be as rested as possible for the day ahead, but she had thought that Sky Commodore Campbell would be there at least. Instead, the delegation on the pier was made up entirely of Royal Navy personnel and led by Rear Admiral Pritchard, the commander of the Navy base on the island. There were at least a dozen Italian airmen with them, under a very loose guard, and she briefly wondered if Jilani would be satisfied with that many men as an exchange for her, or whether he had been holding out for more.