With Dixon’s help, Kat landed with her butt on the door’s frame. “Hold on, and we can ride my chute…”
Dixon let her go and fell all the way down into the cockpit. A moment later, reality tilted almost back to normal as Dixon somehow mostly leveled the plane off in a tight spin.
“Ah!” Kat looped an arm around Trufflefoot and Atkins as they dropped to the deck. Snaking a hand into their belts, she backflipped out the door with both in tow.
Kat’s chute didn’t open.
The static line attached to the jump door had nothing to pull against, since the shredded aircraft gave up the ghost and broke apart above her head.
“What the—ugh!” Trufflefoot blacked out as Kat tugged at the manual release on his chute and kicked off, using his chest as a springboard. She screeched for all she was worth as Atkins tumbled head over bum away.
“Pull it now!”
Kat closed her eyes and allowed herself a quick millisecond of thanks as Atkins’ chute deployed fifty yards below, just as she yanked her ripcord. A second bonus tug on the line ripped her eyes open.
Just in time to catch the steel bar, the static line was still attached come slashing through her canopy, slicing it neatly in two.
“Oh, give me a damn break!”
She yanked on her emergency chute. The poorly packed lines never fully deployed before intertwining with the regular parachute. Kat struggled to untangle the mess, a plume of unladylike curses trailing in her wake as she smacked the ground and forgot all about her proper landing technique.
Kat lay on her back, grasping frantically at the last strips of consciousness slipping fast away. She focused on the throbbing pain in her bleeding scalp, forcing her blackened tunnel vision to let a sliver of light in. Everything ached, except for her legs.
“Hey! Where are my legs? Now I know I took them with me when I jumped out of that crate.”
She sat up and tried to stand, only to collapse right back as her wobbly sticks buckled. The dizziness forced her to crash back onto her bum. Kat grinned when more pain shot through her knees.
Major Trufflefoot dashed over while she wiggled her toes and sighed. “Oh, God! Are you OK?” Kat tugged a tissue out of her pocket and waved it at the Major’s bent nose.
“You’re bleeding again. It’s a good look for you.” She blinked past him and whooped as Sergeant Dore limped over as fast as his sprained ankle allowed. “Tell me someone managed to kick out those crates carrying all the plastic explosives? I feel naked without my purse.”
Dore snickered. “Yeah, she’s fine.”
She waved off Dore’s first aid kit while snagging the canteen from his hip and drained half of it. “Who’s left?”
“Everyone except for Bagnold and Dixon. The rest are banged up pretty good, but we can still walk. Barely. Look, Kat. Time for plan B… or J or whatever we’re on by now. We lost all the explosives and heavy weapons. Even Capson’s machine gun broke in the fall.”
Kat climbed up, leaning against Dore for a moment until she was sure her knees could handle the weight. She wagged her head at the city outskirts, less than five hundred meters away.
“Nothing’s changed, gentlemen—still the same mission. At least we have the element of surprise. That’s worth a small army.”
Trufflefoot leaned back and wheezed. “You can say that again! Even I’m surprised we’re still alive. Why are you so hellbent on fixing that?” Kat dug her auto-rifle out and dusted it off.
“So, we’re what, three or four clicks from the port? Let’s double time. I’m sure we can find some transport in the city. Maybe those interlopers could even be useful for a change. Looks like the Germans are distracted with the wrong threat.”
She tilted her head at the squadron of Spitfires, duking it out with Messerschmitt’s high above their heads. Scores of flak gun tracers lanced up from around the city to help ward off the dawn raiders.
“Careful what you wish for.” Dore dropped to a knee and snapped his weapon up towards a trio of Italian jeeps, jumping off the main road, and cutting across the desert.
“Contact, two O’clock!”
The jeeps spread out into a well-ordered firing line, each swiveling a .30 Caliber machine gun their way. Kat spent all of two seconds searching vainly for cover. “Spread out! Maybe they can’t get us all before we get some of them.”
She threw herself flat and raised her submachine gun. At four hundred yards, the odds of hitting anything with the souped-up pistol were less than zero. Still, she gamely aimed high and dropped the hammer at the same time as Dore and Trufflefoot.
“Oh my…”
Trufflefoot jumped straight up as all three jeeps drove through an invisible sausage grinder, only fine chunks of meat and strips of steel coming out.
“God… How hard did I hit my head?” Kat gawked in déjà vu as six familiar Chevy trucks, decked out with over twenty machine guns and light cannons, rounded the corner of a cement plant on the edge of town. Seconds later, the lead truck squealed to a dusty stop in front of her face. A lanky, emotionless figure dived out and took a pinch of snuff. He mused over his shoulder at a stocky man climbing out of the truck after him.
“See, Captain? Like I told you. Soon as I saw those chutes, I knew we weren’t too late.”
Kat picked her jaw off the ground. “Lieutenant Stewart! You’re supposed to be a thousand clicks east. I’m dead, right?”
Stewart’s eyes darkened as he counted up the few survivors clustering around. “Not yet, but the day’s still young.” He clapped the three remaining LRDG privates on the back. His hollow voice boomed louder than necessary.
“What happened to the rest of Whiskey patrol? Where’s Captain Steele?”
Trufflefoot opened his mouth. Only a croak came out.
Dore clenched his teeth. “Sorry, mate. The SS were waiting for us with beaucoup artillery. You shoulda seen the Captain at the end. Made Horatio look like a pussy.”
Stewart squeezed off a double pinch of snuff, forgetting about the one he just took. “We’re too exposed out here. There’s a safe house near the port. Mount up!”
Kat wedged into the lead truck right behind Stewart and shouted in his ear over the roaring engines. “I’m happy to see you back. What the hell did we miss? Who are these guys?”
The Captain in the front passenger seat ran a skeptical eye over Kat’s tattered shorts and the excessive smooth skin peeking out. As his driver swerved around a cursing street vendor, he stuck out his beefy palm.
“Captain Owen with Ghost patrol, Long Range Desert Group. Been quietly monitoring the port for weeks. Except for setting off the occasional mine, we’ve kept a low profile. I always figured Command was saving us for something big. At least until we got orders to pick up these crazy bastards less than an hour ago. Didn’t know we were on a suicide mission.”
He threw a wave at Stewart in the back of the truck. The four emotionless hunters behind him, all sporting gray German uniforms instead of British khaki, just blinked. “The Lieutenant’s been telling the wildest fairy tales about you. Still, even if half of them are true, it’s a pleasure to have you with us, ma’am.”
“I’m confused… how? And who are these guys?” She squirmed under the Captain’s strange deference and jerked her head at the faux NAZIs. Stewart glanced over the side at a bunch of locals peering out of doorways as the convoy bounced through packed side streets.
“Steele would be pissed at me, but I couldn’t just abandon you all. Command still doesn’t fully believe my story, even with the notebook. I convinced them to compromise. They let me retask these Special Air Service boys on their way to wreak havoc in Sicily. I figured once we linked up with Ghost Patrol here, we could get eyes on that sub. Maybe even throw a wrench in the works.”
“That was just yesterday. How long have you guys been here?” Kat whipped her weapon up at a Colonial Police Checkpoint flashing by one block over. A couple of the Italians glanced their way. None gave chase.
Captain Owen rea
ched over and pushed Kat’s muzzle down. “Relax. We’ve paid off the local police. They think we’re smugglers, and the regular army rarely sends patrols through here. Of course, this is the first time we’ve ventured out in full force, though. We’ll have to abandon the safehouse before lunch. Too many questions.”
Kat snorted. “If we’re still alive by breakfast, then we’ve beaten the odds. What’s the plan, Lieutenant?” Stewart wavered on the verge of laughing.
“Haven’t really had much time for planning. We dropped in less than half an hour ago, right before dawn. Those Spitfires were simply supposed to cover the insertion. Make it all look like a ho-hum air raid. Guess they were a little too good at the game. Sorry about that. On the plus side, from what we can gather, the Krauts haven’t moved the bombs from the docks yet. So what did you have in mind?”
Kat leaned back in her seat. “Doesn’t matter now. There’s a little wrinkle we spotted from the air. We saw three U-boats in that pen.” Stewart ground his jaw and unfolded his map.
“I… see. Then we’ll have to wait until they move. Only a few good ambush sites nearby. Perhaps here—”
Kat yanked his map away. “No, we tried that approach before, and the bastards were two steps ahead of us. If we’re going to do this right, we have to hit now while we have the initiative. Forget the safe house.
“Just drive straight for the gate, and let’s blast our way in.”
Kat traced a quivering finger over the heaping mounds of demolition gear the Special Air Service team brought with them and moaned. “Oh, these are so much bigger than what I’m used to. I’ll take point.”
“As always, I admire your subtle finesse. However, this is a different type of target.” Stewart gave in and let a grin cross his thin lips. “Besides, we’re already there.”
The convoy halted in the industrial side of town while Captain Owen climbed out. He tossed a handful of cash at two civilians doing a poor job of hiding the sizeable bunches under their robes. While the local guards counted their payday and melted away, Owen ran over to a swaying, rusty fence section. Ignoring the “Danger, Unexploded Ordinance” sign in three languages, he unlocked the gate and disarmed a thin tripwire running six inches off the ground. Less than twenty seconds after stopping, the entire convoy disappeared into the bombed-out warehouse behind the fence.
“This is your observation post?” Kat bounded out of the truck before any of the fellas and perched her MP40 on her cocked hip.
“Seems a little too safe. Shouldn’t we set up somewhere we can watch…” Her nose twitched at a salty tang wafting over the diesel. For once, it wasn’t coming from her. A piercing ship’s horn squawked far too close. Kat dashed up the nearest twisted staircase and craned her neck out a shattered north-facing window.
“Well, I guess I’ll shut up then.”
Captain Owen rattled up the steps behind her with Stewart in tow. The Lieutenant studied the port three blocks away and gave a curt nod, his version of clapping his hands. “Not a bad view.”
He slid back deeper in the shadows to avoid any refraction and raised his binoculars. From this perch, they had a perfect shot to the gates of the sub pen, kept separate from the main harbor by an extra ring of c-wire and sand berms.
And plenty of shooters.
Dore nudged between the voyeurs and whistled. “I wasn’t expecting this to be easy, but come on!”
A winding lane of concrete barriers in front of the gate ensured any vehicle would have to slow to a crawl on approach and couldn’t just roar through the guardhouse, guns a-blazing. A pair of armored cars blocking the road, their 20mm guns twitching for a target, added an extra dose of insurance.
“OK, so let’s say the good Captain here has a couple of tanks and a battery of artillery tucked away in his rucksack. What do we do once we’re inside? How we gonna crack that nut…” He gestured unnecessarily at the castle everyone else stared at.
Two hundred meters past the gate, right against the water’s edge, a half-scale replica of the impenetrable flak towers in Berlin loomed over the nearby warehouses. AAA guns of every caliber littered the roof. A 3-meter thick, steel-reinforced concrete wall drew everyone’s attention… especially the machine gun slits carved on the ground level, on each side of the six-inch thick steel door.
Kat turned away and purred at a construction site a couple of blocks south. “The same thing we always do. It’s all about speed, surprise, and…” Every man around recoiled at her husky voice as she licked her lips.
“Violence of action.”
Medina “Old City” District
Two blocks south of Tripoli seaport
The entire battalion is ready to march, Oberführer.”
As the gates to the submarine dock lifted, and the guards saluted, Pernass opened his Command Car’s door and gestured for his assistant to climb in. “And the cargo? Are the crates loaded yet?”
The SS Captain didn’t even blink at the trick question. “Of course not, sir. As you ordered, they’re still locked down in the subs, berthed inside their bomb-proof drydocks. Since we had the men to spare, I quadrupled the guard detail instead of just doubling them.”
“Good enough, I suppose. Who’s Commanding this outfit?”
“General—”
One of the 40mm guns from the towering flak citadel above opened up hell on the gate behind them. Pernass turned to watch a bulldozer roar from a wrecked building, cross the street, then careen into a concrete barrier. The heavy AAA gun shredded the errant machine, but not before the dozer gouged a neat path through the concrete blocks and tangled itself in the chain-link fence.
The Captain jumped up and barked orders at a quick reaction force racing to the gate. The well-disciplined squad surrounded the smoking earth mover before it even came to a complete stop.
“Sorry, sir. Could be a saboteur, or just another local drunk. This won’t affect our mission in the slightest.”
Pernass shielded the sun from his face with his hand and squinted. No form lay sprawled out in the perforated driver’s compartment. Someone had bolted on a massive box behind the engine compartment.
“They’re here! Go!”
Pernass slapped his driver and dived into the floorboard just as the sky went dark. The bulldozer and gate, not to mention twenty-odd German riflemen, evaporated in the blast. The shock wave spun the Command Car in a 360. The driver recovered and slammed the gas pedal down, making a beeline for the sub shelters.
Pernass snagged his standing aide’s arm as he tumbled head over ass and dragged him back into the car. “Get on the radio and order the subs to scramble out to sea. Then have the General flood this harbor with troops and panzers. Now, damn you…”
He shook his silent aide, who only rolled over and burned Pernass’s arm with the jagged, white-hot shard of shrapnel jutting out of his eye socket.
The Oberführer grunted and grabbed the radio mic himself. A touch of the first nervousness he’d shown in years tinged his voice as an earsplitting screech roared out of the smoke by the gate. A hundred NAZI rifles, cannons, and machine guns raged away at the swirling black hole in their defense line.
The grim screeching only grew louder.
“OK… now!”
Clinging to the back of a second earthmover, Kat peeked her head through the zinging rounds to peer over the elevated dozer blade. Besides filling the bucket with sandbags, Captain Owen’s clever engineers did a great, if the hasty job of bolting on enough steel plates around it to turn the blade into a decent shield. Of course, visibility left much to be desired.
Which meant someone had to stick their tender noggin out in the lead maelstrom to time the next phase of the breaching operation.
Inside the cab, Sergeant Dore gritted his teeth and dropped the blade to the ground. Instead of a mouthful of 7.92mm wasps, Dore caught a brief glimpse of an armored car’s turret. The autocannon inside lit up, the muzzle flash singing his eyebrows…
Just as the bulldozer plowed into the mini-tank and gouge
d the steel can wide open. With the turret now firing straight in the air, several screaming German sardines spilled out and hung tight to the blade with whatever limbs were still attached. Most were still alive when Dore pile-drove the wreckage through the guard shack’s sandbags. One Kraut survived long enough to squeal as the car’s ruptured benzine fuel tanks roasted him alive.
Kat swan-dived off her bulldozer as Ghost Patrol’s six-gun trucks rocketed through the gap her team carved through reality. With every trigger on full automatic, the raiders unleashed a tsunami of suppressive fire in every direction. The enemy’s fire wavered for a moment, yet Kat didn’t join in. She snagged the rear fender of the last, unarmed civilian truck in the convoy. Capson grimaced from the driver’s seat, flashing past without slowing.
“Faster, Capson! It’s just a rental.” Kat instinctively dived for cover inside the truck bed as the looming flak tower eviscerated one of Captain Owen’s nearby vehicles with an 88mm shell. She chuckled at the compressed gas canisters all around her and grabbed a handhold.
Capson slid even lower in his seat and redlined the engine.
“This isn’t my bailiwick! Wanna swap?”
Atkins waved as he jinked another armed truck millimeters past their hood. Capson pouted at Sergeant Dore, standing tall and rocking his favorite gun in the other vehicle. A bucket of spent brass and links cracked Capson’s windshield. The psychotic screaming from the rest of the patrol did the job as every German gun on the flak tower tracked the hornet cloud of raiders. They all ignored the unarmed construction truck zooming towards the flak tower while packed with compressed gas canisters.
And one high-explosive laughing redhead.
Kat bounced over and stuck her chin on his shoulder. “Don’t forget to jackknife at the last second. Those hinges open out.”
In three seconds, or three years to Capson’s fluttering heart, they raced so close to the tower that the roof guns couldn’t depress to reach them. Not for lack of trying though. Chunks of concrete rained down as someone above hammered the ramparts with a sledgehammer, giving a giant barrel a few extra degrees of firing room. The heat and shrapnel from the blasts smacking yards behind the truck edged ever closer.
Portals in Time 3 Page 15
