Portals in Time 3

by Michael Beals

  “Call Berlin. Amateur hour is over. I need my team. Pull them off the Russian front.”

  “Yes, sir. How many men?” Oberführer Pernass snarled.

  “All of them. Next time I’ll be ready.”

  Alexandria, Egypt

  8th Army Headquarters

  After two days and nights of constant interrogations, the brigadier General leading Kat and her team’s debriefing finally smiled.

  “Well, I guess that’s it then. I don’t believe half of what you’ve all told me, but the fact remains, you still gave the Jerry’s one hell of a kick in the crown jewels. So great work.”

  Kat snorted while he shook everyone’s hand, saving the female civilian for last. “So no bands or fistfuls of medals? My guys have been through hell.”

  “So has the whole army. Rommel’s like a rabid dog. Just one savage attack after another.”

  He stretched his back and puffed out his cheeks at the silence all around. “I suppose we could swing a few days R&R before you all rejoin your units. You’ve earned that much. Talk to my adjunct outside. He can forward you some advance pay.”

  Atkins whooped, and high-fived Capson and both charged for the tent’s exit. The two officers kept a stiff upper lip. Dore grunted and stomped off after the boys. “What did you guys expect for saving the world? A promotion? Naïve, bloody officers…”

  The General ignored Major Trufflefoot and Lieutenant Stewart, focusing his gaze on the girl glaring daggers at him.

  “This is some bullshit. They deserve more.”

  He squirmed under her unblinking shark eyes. “What am I supposed to do? I can send a highly sanitized version of events to the General Staff, but come on. If I reported everything you said, they’d lock me up in a padded room. Maybe after the war.”

  A dead-eyed civilian strutted in and folded his hands in front of his khaki vest. “Are you done yet, General?”

  “Oh, yes.” He bit his lip. “Perhaps these… gentlemen can help you. Good luck. Lieutenant Stewart, please come with me. You’re not on their, uh, list.” The intel Officer snagged the protesting LRDG man and shoved him out of the tent flap.

  Another civvy marched inside after them. Both golems silently fanned around the room and slipped hands inside their vests.

  “Just what the hell is this? I’m too exhausted for more spook games…” Major Trufflefoot wrapped both arms around Kat as a third stranger strutted inside.

  Kat rattled and bared her fangs, uncoiling with an audible snap. A bayonet materialized in Kat’s hand.

  “Stand down, for God’s sake! You know him?” Trufflefoot pried the blade from her white knuckles and stroked her scalp.

  The bald skeleton above stuck a mutilated hand out while using the other to wave off more henchmen popping their heads through the tent. He gave Kat what was probably a grin behind his giant mustache.

  “You look better for wear, Agent Wolfram. Nice to see you again.”

  “V! This ass-covering, slimy bureaucrat is the whole reason I’m on the run in the first place!”

  Kat wiggled out of Trufflefoot’s grasp and onto her feet. Kat kept her clenched fists to her sides while both silent civilians in the corner whipped out sidearms.

  “It’s CD now. Heading up a new foreign ops department. I must say, my zeal for domestic work faded after your, um, little incident.” He chuckled and produced his weapon. CD stepped closer and waved his gun around while Kat collapsed back in the chair and dropped her head between her knees.

  “Katelyn, let me show you. Please understand that I never wanted—”

  He could only grunt as a red flash shot up and headbutted his crotch. Another blur snagged his gun arm. CD squealed as her nails clawed into his wrist and twisted, prying the weapon from his grasp and into her twitching trigger finger. In the same motion, Kat kept twisting his arm socket until the man’s whole body spun around, and he winced at his bodyguards. She snaked an arm around his neck and torqued it down.

  “This time, I will finish what I started!”

  The armed civvies fanned out, one covering Trufflefoot and the other trying to dart around the room for a flanking shot. Kat never gave them a chance. Instead of bringing the muzzle up against her hostage’s head, she flicked her arm left and right. Neither man had a chance to flinch before she snapped off a round into the snouts of each grinning shooter.

  “Enough!” CD croaked through the headlock. “Will you… ugh, fucking listen for once?”

  Kat squinted at the two men across the room, both completely untouched.

  “OK, I guess…”

  She popped off another lightning-fast controlled pair into each face… without effect. The men reholstered their pistols, cocking heads at their boss.

  “No… it’s just another mind game!” Kat hissed and held her handgun at arm’s length, weighing it carefully.

  Major Trufflefoot rushed CD and screamed. “Sergeant Do—”

  CD shoved away from Kat’s loosening grip and poked Trufflefoot’s still healing nose.

  “Shut up. The men outside have live ammo!” CD massaged his purple neck and snickered while Kat dropped her magazine and snarled at the remaining rounds.

  She jabbed a finger into the lead shells on top of the brass cartridges. The papier-mâché bullet collapsed under her nail.

  “Don’t these blanks ring a bell? Come now, haven’t you ever wondered why it was so easy to escape the bloody Tower of London, of all places?”

  “Because I had help.” Kat muttered off in the distance and sagged into her chair.

  “Indeed. Good ol’ dependable Lyons. Of course, even your Captain had no idea the Royal Armorer was on my payroll. For the right price, he made sure the Guardsmen sprayed around plenty of funny bullets.

  “Afterward, we told the troops the whole escapade was a training exercise and transferred the entire unit to Burma.”

  CD paced around and laughed. “That plus sending a little tip to a friend of mine at The Daily Telegram should have ended the whole crap show. I even had a safehouse and new identities planned. Of course, I never had a chance to tell either of you. We never saw Lyons again. The poor bugger was so pissed off he disappeared with you overseas. Threatened to sing to the press if an agent came within a mile of him.”

  CD picked at the old mustard gas scars on his hands. “That piece of shit duke cost me two of my best agents.”

  “Bullshit. You were just protecting your own career.”

  Kat tamped her boot and chucked the worthless gun on the table. CD swooped it up and guffawed.

  “Of course I was. You have to understand. We weren’t officially at war then, yet here’s the king’s own bloody cousin demanding your head on a spit. If they found out you worked for me, they would have disbanded the whole department and stuck in royal sycophants. Probably even NAZI sympathizers, if the duke had his way. You should know better than anyone that the war against the fascists began long before they invaded Poland.”

  He reached out and squeezed Kat’s shoulder.

  “For what it’s worth, I took care of the duke with my own hands. When German bombs rained down on London itself, even the king couldn’t protect him any longer. The new prime minister is a little more hard-nosed. We made it look like a Luftwaffe strike. For a few extra quid, the coroner chalked up the 9mm entry wounds in the back of his head to shrapnel.”

  CD hefted something out of his coat and tossed a classified folder on the table, right in front of Trufflefoot’s gaping jaw. Kat fiddled with a photo of the duke’s body on top. She tsked and gave a wink.

  “That’s a poor shot group, old man. I can see why you want me back. But I’m not interested in doing the SIS’s dirty work anymore. That ship has sailed.” She scratched at the bandages across her thighs from the shootout in Tripoli. Spots of red peeked out from one of the busted stitches.

  “I really enjoy the quiet life of a civilian auxiliary.”

  CD twirled his ridiculously old-fashioned Imperial mustache. “Oh, my dear, I agree
! You were always a poor fit for intel gathering work. Such a chip on your shoulder. Too much like your stepfather.”

  Kat pounded her fist on the table. “And I was just starting to like you. Let’s go, Major. Looks like we’re done here.” CD leaned in and whispered at her back.

  “Of course, you just might enjoy working for my new office. They call it the Special Operations Executive. We’re paid by MI6, answering only to Churchill himself. It’s less, shall we say, bureaucratic. Our focus is much narrower than broad espionage.”

  “Right, and just what might that be?” Kat cut her eyes and bared her teeth.

  The gray-haired man perched on the desk and swung his legs like a naughty schoolboy, “kill as many fascists and their sympathizers as you can, by any means necessary, wherever they’re hiding… even in neutral zones. You’ll have an open-ended license to kill. Oversight begins and ends with your section chief, not me. No red tape.”

  “Hell no!” Major Trufflefoot knocked his chair over while jumping to his feet. “This girl has been through too much. I’ve heard of the SOE. Also known as the Ministry of Ungentlemanly Warfare. Nothing but assassins and pyromaniacs. Modern-day pirates! She’s earned the right to go home. You leave Kat out of this!”

  CD chuckled and tossed over some shoulder insignias, with two diamond pips under the royal crown. “Now that’s a fine way for her new section chief to talk, eh, Colonel? I love free thinkers in my Command, so I’ll mind my own business. Hope you give Katelyn here the same courtesy.”

  Kat cooed and snuggled up to Trufflefoot. “Back in the saddle again!” The freshly minted Colonel stuttered and dropped his head.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Kat slid close to CD. “OK, boss. I’m sold. Where’s my rank?”

  “Oh, good Lord, no! The British people would never tolerate a woman in the military. To the outside world, you’re still just a civilian auxiliary. You both continue with your current jobs and consider this a fun little side hobby. Now, I didn’t come empty-handed. I do have something even better than pretty decorations.”

  He snapped his fingers. One of the henchmen from outside popped in and handed over a humble suitcase.

  “Here’s our standard welcome packet for new agents, courtesy of Section IX. No budget issues in wartime. Have you ever used a silencer or a sleeve gun before?”

  Kat bounced up and down as she caressed her lethal presents. She toyed with a bomb detonator disguised as a fountain pen while CD crossed his arms.

  “That’s about it. Colonel, you’ll have detailed instructions on how to reach us and a list of priority targets in North Africa waiting when you return to your unit. Everything else is up to your discretion. Keep the body count high, and you’ll never hear a peep out of us. Oh, and Katelyn?”

  CD slipped a small sheath out of his pocket. Kat caught it with a gasp and flashed the scratched yet still scalpel-edged Shanghai stiletto out into the light.

  “Hope that brings you better luck the next time around. Now there is one caveat to all of this, though. Next time you want to torch Buckingham Palace…”

  Trufflefoot perked up. “What the—!?”

  “… raid Rommel’s headquarters or blow up an entire port, please let us know first.”

  “Ah, ha. There’s always a catch.” Kat gave her long-lost friend a kiss and strapped it around her ankle. “So you want to approve my missions first?”

  CD fired up a cigarette and sauntered outside.

  “Of course not. No paper trail, remember? With a little advance warning, my staff can get you all the C4 you could ever dream of. Just send us a coded wish list with where and when you want supplies or reinforcements airdropped.” He whistled as he raised the flap. “Wait… Who’s on my team?”

  CD shrugged. “Whoever you want to recruit. I’m not a details guy. Why don’t you talk to your boss?” The spook and his entourage faded away without another word, only CD humming a tune as he strutted off.

  As soon as the guards outside left, Dore charged in with his fists raised, Capson and Atkins tight on his heels. “What the bloody hell was that all about? We heard shootin’.”

  Kat flicked an eyebrow at Trufflefoot. He sagged his shoulders and laughed.

  “Do what you want, you will anyway.”

  She pranced around like a schoolgirl while Dore gawked on. “If someone doesn’t tell me what is going on…”

  “Have a seat, fellas. Have I got a fun opportunity for you!” Kat skipped over to a warm coffee pot, positively singing as she chatted.

  “Did you ever play pirates as little boys?”

  Atkins bolted for the tent flap, babbling in pure terror. Capson snagged him by the collar and dragged him into a seat.

  “Come on, hotshot. You said you were tired of being a hero. This sounds like it’s right up your alley. What’s the racket, ma’am?”

  END OF “SLAUGHTER IN THE DESERT”

  Acronyms/Slang/Terminology

  .50 Caliber, .50 caliber (12.7mm) machine gun. Large and heavy, usually mounted on a vehicle since it requires three soldiers to carry the weapon, tripod, and just a small supply of ammo. Less accurate and has a slower rate of fire than smaller machine guns. Still, its ability to throw a half-inch slug with enough kinetic energy to penetrate a brick wall or light-armored vehicle at over a mile makes it an extremely popular weapon, even in the 21st century.

  ANZAC (or Digger), Officially the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps from WWI, but often used as a catchall term for any Australian and New Zealand troops.

  APC, Armored Personnel Carrier. Lightly armored/armed vehicle used for support tasks. It differs from armored cars by being larger but less heavily armed. Usually six or eight-wheeled vehicle. Examples, Armored ambulances, mobile command vehicles, combat engineer transports.

  Argy-bargy, British for heated confrontation.

  Armored Car, Light, fast wheeled vehicle, with enough armor to stop shrapnel, rifle, and low-caliber machine gun fire. Usually four-wheeled and equipped with a turret mounting a heavy machine gun or light cannon. Used primarily for reconnaissance or escort missions, and rarely for Major combat operations.

  Army Banjo, Shovel, specifically the foldable entrenching tool an infantryman plays furiously with when taking fire.

  Auto Saharan Companies, The Italian (Compagnie Auto-Avio-Sahariane) version of the ANZAC Long Range Desert Group. Similarly equipped and organized as the LRDG, with the same deep reconnaissance mission, they were most often deployed in a defensive role, though, particularly charged with hunting down the LRDG, Arab insurgents, and other Allied Commandos. They do have the distinction of being the only Axis military unit to ever defeat an LRDG patrol in battle, twice actually. Still, both battles were quite costly for the Italians.

  Birdmen, British slang for pilots and aircrew.

  Bf-109 Messerschmitt, The most common German fighter/bomber of the war. Standard armament consisted of two 13mm MG’s and a 20mm nose-mounted cannon in the air-to-air role.

  As.42, Italian jeep/light truck vehicle. Larger than a Willy jeep, it has an armored car’s undercarriage and similar specs to the LRDG’s Chevy WB trucks. An open-top vehicle without a turret, but can mount a wide variety of weapon systems.

  Command Car, Generic term for a jeep, light truck, or impressed civilian automobile being used to haul around officers or other non-combat support tasks. The vehicles are rarely armed in this role, though occasionally a light machine gunner rides along for security.

  Commonwealth Forces, Broad term for the millions of troops drawn from the British Empire’s many dominions, colonies, and protectorates that made up the majority of its combat power throughout the war. Includes Canadian, South African, Australian, New Zealand, Indian, Arab, Persian, African, Indo-Chinese, and Oceanian forces, whether operating independently or integrated with “regular” British units.

  COMSEC, Communications security. Referring specifically to the daily/monthly changing cryptographic code groups used for encrypted radio communications.


  Corker, Someone, or something that’s outstanding.

  Crew Serve, Generic term for any fixed weapon mounted on a vehicle. Such as machine guns, cannons, or grenade launchers.

  Doofer, Any unnamed thing, doodad, thingamajig, whatchamacallit.

  Devil’s piano, Machine gun, for obvious reasons.

  Eagle Squadrons, Three Royal Air Force fighter squadrons drawn from American volunteers before the US entered the war. Fought valiantly in the Battle of Britain and the North African campaign, but suffered heavy losses at the hands of the more experienced Luftwaffe pilots.

  EFP, Explosively formed penetrator. A particularly lethal type of shaped charge IED that can be detonated up to 100 meters away from a target, with the projectile still striking at hypersonic velocity. It can penetrate all types of armored vehicles. Only the forward turret sloped armor of the heaviest tanks can stop these slugs, which means little since these IED’s are usually fired against the weaker sides or undercarriage of the target.

  FRAGO, Fragmentary order. A modification to the original mission plan that doesn’t alter the core objectives, just how they should be achieved.

  Gestapo’s Department E, Responsible for security and counterintelligence in the Reich, this small group of elite Gestapo agents held supreme authority over the SS and regular military. Hitler’s personal “troubleshooters.” The best of the worst.

  Half-track, A large truck with standard wheels on the front, but tank tracks in place of the rear axle. Allied half-tracks were usually unarmored and primarily used for support or infantry transport, but German half-tracks were often armored and armed like APC’s.

  Hawker Hurricane, Older and slower British fighter/bomber, but renowned for its ruggedness. The most common armament consisted of 4x 20mm cannons.

  IED, Improvised Explosive Device. Unfortunately, infinite variety in size, composition, triggering mechanisms, delivery means, and concealment methods. Fall broadly into three categories,