Dore grumbled, “Great… I’ve gone from Sergeant Major to a bloody Sergeant Waiter…”
“If you keep bitching, you won’t get a tip.”
Dore handed her a beer, “I may be a Sergeant Waiter, but yer a Major Pain…”
“I not your Commanding Officer anymore?” Capetti asked, in a hurt tone.
They were sitting in Dore’s hotel room. Beer, cigarettes, and cigars were delivered by room service, and even with the windows wide open, the room was heavy with smoke.
“Sandro, we never really had a Commanding Officer. Even when Trufflefoot was around, and he was a Colonel, we didn’t really listen to him. We’re a guerrilla team. We play everything by ear.”
“Mission need planning. We not go half-cocked.”
“Half-cocked?” she retorted. “You sound more English every day. Anyway, we won’t go off half-cocked. We’ll be planning by committee. We always do.”
“What we always do,” he shot back, “is follow your crazy ideas.”
“Sandro, Fleming made me a Major so I could pick my team… to kill my stepfather... If you were my Commanding Officer, how could you order me to do that? I have to do it willingly and on my terms. Anyway, there’s a get out clause. Anyone who doesn’t want to come to Vienna, can stay in Italy.”
“I don’t know what you’re complaining about,” Kelly interjected. “I’m the one with the problem. Pernass is my uncle, so I’m certainly not going to murder him. I also can’t let Kat go on her own.”
“I won’t be on my own,” she retorted. “At the very least, I’ll have Jock, Harry, and Atkins.”
“Ya, I’ll carry the mortars. I have some experience in that… Right Sarge?” Atkins remarked.
“Ay. Yer a good monkey, Corporal.” Dore squinted his eyes and said, “and I suggest ya put back all the stuff you stole from the hotel room.”
Stewart looked at Dore, “maybe next… you’ll be promoted to an Officer.”
“No thanks, sir. If anything goes south, I would no longer be able to blame ya.”
“See?” she said, poking Capetti in the ribs. “You’re needed. Who the fuck wants to Command this bunch of undisciplined morons?”
“I thought ya did Major Lassie,” Dore said, banging the top off another bottle of beer.
“Jock! If you don’t stop,” she said, glaring at him. “I’ll demote you from Sergeant Waiter to Bellhop! Anyway, just to remind everyone, we’ll be wearing Gestapo uniforms again. If anyone has rank preferences…”
“Great!” Atkins whooped. “I’ll be a Captain.”
The following morning, they were back at RAF Northolt, only this time they were dressed in SS uniforms, which cheered Capetti up to no end because he’d been given the rank of Major, whereas Kat had no rank at all. And then there was Kelly. He must have been in one of his humorous moods because he made the ground crew nervous by speaking to everyone in German. Which set Capetti off and he followed suit.
“Schnell! Schnell!” Capetti shouted as they boarded the plane. “Wir haben nicht den ganzen tag zeit!”
Dore glared at him. “Jumped up pastry cook,” he growled.
Fleming supplied them with a Junkers 52 again, and it looked brand new. As usual, there were no identifying numbers, but iron crosses had been painted boldly on the wings and fuselage. It also possessed comfortable seats and, since it wasn’t full of bullet holes, when they finally became airborne, it was relatively warm.
Their destination was the biggest problem. Gramigna and his team were holed up in a country house, twenty-five kilometers north of Florence. Parachuting into the surrounding fields was all very well, but Capetti needed to put the plane down somewhere. There were no mountains for it to crash into, and the nearest unpopulated area was Casentinesi Forest, thirty kilometers to the south.
“Land it in a blood field,” Dore suggested. “Or a vineyard. That should slow it down.”
“You know how difficult make wine in middle of war?” Capetti argued. “I not ruin crop.”
“Then, just jump out. It’ll come down somewhere.”
“Si. In Firenze. Kill many Italian.”
Kat held up a hand. She kneeled on the floor, studying a map of Italy. “Sandro, it’s easy. Set the automatic pilot due east at 20,000 feet, and let it run out of fuel. Then you can jump out of the plane with us. It’ll come down in the sea, just east of Ravenna. It might even hit a German ship.”
Capetti brightened. “Si. Is good idea. Thank you, Major.”
“Hey, don’t get smart, Sandro.”
Settling back, she tried to sleep, but Pernass and Kelly kept wriggling into her thoughts. Sam would never let her go to Vienna without him, and in all likelihood, he’d find a way of stopping the assassination. It was a problem. He wasn’t good at killing at the best of times, but murdering his uncle, a NAZI monster, was a bridge too far. She didn’t notice him easing into the seat beside her.
“Don’t worry about me, Kat. I’ll be fine.”
She turned to look at him and how handsome he looked in a German uniform. “I’m not worried about you. No more than usual, at least.”
“Yes, you are. You think I’m going to sabotage the assassination.”
“And you’re not?”
“Of course I’m not, but it could be a very dangerous mission. The Germans aren’t stupid, and if my uncle’s keeping an eye on you…” He paused. “Do we know where the Generals are meeting. I mean, where exactly in Vienna?”
“We believe they’re meeting at the old Arsenal Museum. It’s now a Military Headquarters. Commander Fleming will give us a date of the meeting when he finds out.”
“God Almighty, Kat. That place is enormous. We’d never get anywhere near it. Why don’t they simply bomb the place?”
She sat up. She obviously wasn’t going to get any sleep. “We’re not breaking into Military Headquarters. Pernass will almost certainly be staying at the Hotel Imperial, and so will some of the Generals. We’re either going to take him out at the hotel along with some of the Generals, or on his way to the meeting.”
He stared at her for a long time, and she could see his brain working overtime. Eventually, he said, “What do you look like in a dress?”
She laughed. “Absolutely stunning. Why are you asking?”
“Have you ever been to the Hotel Imperial in Vienna?”
“I haven’t.”
“It’s fabulous, Kat. It’s like a palace. I can imagine you and Capetti dressed up as an Italian Count and Countess. We’ll be your entourage. I’ll be your Personal Assistant, Dore and Stewart your bodyguards and Atkins, the driver.”
“Ya,” she joked. “All I’ll need is a tiara and a Rolls Royce.”
He grabbed her arm. “Hey, that’s a terrific idea. I don’t know about the tiara, but I’m sure Fleming could source a Rolls Royce in Vienna.”
“You have a vivid imagination.”
“Gramigna can probably find the fancy clothes. In fact, he’d be a perfect Italian Count if Capetti doesn’t feel up to doing it.”
“If anyone interested, is Genova over on left!” Capetti called back. “Put on parachutes please!”
“You heard him, you lazy scum!” Kat shouted, leaping to her feet. “Put your frigging parachutes on! Move your goddamn arses!” she laughed. “I just love being a Major.”
CHAPTER 8
Kat watched as Kelly disappeared into the night, an icy wind blustering in the Junkers’ open doorway. She shuddered. Now her turn to jump, in the distance, Kat saw the lights of Florence. If she left it too long, it would be too late. Gripping the doorway and taking a deep breath, she launched herself int
o the darkness. The first few moments of a jump were always scary. The buffeting wind pulled at her eyelids, the lights of Florence seeming to float in the void. She’d always been told to count to ten before pulling the ripcord. She didn’t see the point. The Junkers 52 now long gone, she pulled the cord. A loud rustling, a sharp snapping sound, and a violent tug as the parachute opened. Abrupt silence as the moon stabilized and the wind stopped, lights sparkling below her, a soft breeze, that dreamy feeling as she drifted, the ground taking forever to get nearer.
She loved jumping at night. Apart from the first terrifying moments, it was like a living fairy tale, and it always made her wonder what it was like to be an owl, hunting in the darkness, swooping out of the night sky to snare her prey. To the south, the lights of Florence sparkled like a jewel. Immediately below her, she saw a toy car making its way north, its baffled headlamps illuminating the road with two miniature fans of light. To the east, she could barely make out Ravenna, the moon’s reflection glistening on the sea. There was only one way to see what she was seeing, yet how many people got the chance to do a parachute jump over Italy on a moonlit summer’s night?
Not far below, she could see Kelly’s parachute, and what she judged to be fifty yards away, Dore’s. There was no sign of the plane. It might be over Faenza by now, hopefully with an empty cockpit. And she couldn’t help thinking what a waste, a brand new plane, dumped into the sea. She concentrated on the ground. Nearer now, she could see what looked like a large country villa, rambling gardens a ghostly gray in the moonlight. The house was huge, and there were no lights on. It must be Gramigna’s. Tugging at the parachute’s cords, she guided herself towards a nearby field and tensed as the ground rushed up to meet her.
Thump! The wind knocked out of her, the parachute dragging her through the long grass.
Whispering shadows surrounded her, shadows that helped her to her feet, gathered her parachute and helped her out of her harness, Gramigna’s men, chuckling a welcome. She smelled freshly mown hay, cicadas chirruping in the still night air. She was down and safe.
“Typical,” Dore called as he gathered his parachute and made his way over to her. “Ya already got people working for ya.”
“The benefits of being a Major,” she quipped. “Have you seen Sandro?”
“He came down in the next field.”
They waited as the team made their way over to them. First Kelly, grinning in the darkness as he gathered up his chute, along with Stewart, Atkins, and finally, Capetti, grumbling about something in Italian. Bundling the parachutes into a small van, they followed the men in single file until they reached the high wall that bordered the villa’s gardens. Kat smiled as they filed through the tiny door, set into the wall. It reminded her of Alice in Wonderland. The gardens were another world. Elegant statues peered down at them, topiary-pruned shrubs, an elaborate fountain, and rolling lawns, the grass already turning to seed. Gramigna appeared carrying a hurricane lamp.
“Welcome to Villa Marcello,” he whispered, giving Kat a hug and shaking everyone’s hand. “Come into the house. We have a local wine that puts hair on your chest.”
They followed him through peeling French windows and into a lofty living room. Regal paintings of long-dead ancestors hung from the walls, a high marble fireplace, the remains of expensive furniture. The house had been abandoned, or the owners were taken away by the Germans. Kat imagined servant’s quarters and kitchen staff, a team of gardeners to manage the grounds, all gone, leaving the house to gather dust and slowly crumble.
“Wow. How did you find this place?” Kat asked. “It’s beautiful.”
Gramigna grimaced and cocked his graying head. “There are many places like this. The war has ruined Italy. This is a very old family house. Three generations of children grew up here, and they’re all gone. I don’t know what happened to them. I think they were Jewish, so they’ve probably been sent to Bergen-Belsen, which means they’ll never come back.”
“Three generations? And all gone?”
“All of them. The local people tried to hide them, but it was hopeless.”
Kat grimaced. “That’s terrible. It sounds like it’s time to cause a bit of chaos.”
Gramigna grinned. “Well, you’re certainly good at doing that. Did Commander Fleming tell you what we’re doing?’
“Something about landmines.”
He laughed. “It’s a bit better than that. The Germans are moving north, and they’re mining the roads as they leave. So we watch them, dig up the mines after they’ve moved on, and replant them, so they run over their own mines.”
“How do you know where they’re going?”
“Oh, we know where they’re going. There are only so many roads they can take. Right now they’re camped at Pistoia. When they make their next move, they’ll be heading for Porretta Terme. So we’re going to ambush them. When they run over their own mines, we’re going to finish the job by hitting them with bazookas.
“Really? Why don’t we just creep into the camp and hit them with grenades, the way we did last time?”
“Because ever since your little operation in Bergamo, they’ve gotten wise to us. The tanks have twenty-four-hour guards. Anyway, I like the idea of hitting them with their own shit.”
“Can’t argue with that. How good are your men with bazookas?”
Gramigna shrugged and pursed his lips. “They’re okay. Why do you ask?”
She gestured towards Kelly, who was enjoying a glass of wine instead of listening. “Because Sam here is an ex-Spitfire pilot and a genius with bazookas. He can hit a tank at a quarter of a mile.”
Kelly almost choked on his wine. “Kat! I have to live up to those kinds of stories.”
“It’s not a story,” she said indignantly.
Gramigna glanced at Dore, who just shrugged, and poured himself another glass of wine.
She turned back to Gramigna. “Anyway, Sam’s pretty good with bazookas, and so is Jock.” Pouring herself a glass of wine, she decided to change the subject. “Did the Commander tell you about Vienna?”
“Yes, he did mention it. How are you planning on getting there?”
“We don’t have much choice. We’ll have to drive.” She gave him one of her puppy dog looks. “You don’t really need that beautiful Mercedes… do you?”
“I’ll have you know that that car’s a valuable heirloom,”
“Ya, I know, a stolen heirloom.”
Kat told him about the Generals and the Hotel Imperial in Vienna, about the refined and expensive clothes they’d need, and a Rolls Royce. Gramigna lit a cigar and listened to her patiently, every so often glancing at Dore for confirmation that they all knew about this, that Kat hadn’t completely lost her mind.
“Kat, do you have any idea what security’s going to be like at the Hotel Imperial? A mouse couldn’t get through. And who did you have in mind to play the Duke?”
She gave a sly grin, leaned forward and kissed Gramigna on the cheek. “You’d be perfect, Grammy, an Italian Duke with real credentials. And think of all the luxury you’d have to suffer.”
Gramigna burst out laughing. “Me? Play and Italian Duke so that you can risk your lives trying to kill a man like Pernass. It would be easier to kill Hitler. No. Absolutely not. Anyway, what’s wrong with Major Capetti?”
“Nothing at all. He even speaks German. But you’re older. You look more distinguished.”
“No, no, no!” he said, waving a hand at her. “It’s out of the question. I have to organize the Resistance. They need me here. I might know where you can get a Rolls Royce in Vienna, I can even help with suitable clothes, but I’m not coming with you.”
“It’s okay. I just thought I’d ask. I’m sure Sandr
o will make a perfect Duke.”
They settled down to eat. One of Gramigna’s men laid out a buffet of salad, bread, cold pork and an assortment of fruits, a banquet by wartime standards. They talked about the sleeping arrangements. The house had fifteen bedrooms, and most of them with beds, sheets, and blankets. The Germans wouldn’t return to the house. They’d already been here and plundered all the silver and valuable paintings. Thankfully, they’d missed the wine cellar.
CHAPTER 9
Kat woke to the sound of cows lowing. She’d been allocated a bedroom at the top of the house, with a spectacular view, so for a while, she just laid there gazing at it. Villa Marcello overlooked a deep valley. Beyond the field where they’d landed, a motley patchwork of vineyards stretched up the steep hillside, and in the distance, a low range of misty mountains. She smelled the jasmine in the already warm day. How beautiful it must have been before the Germans came.
A knock came at the door. Sam poked his head in. “You awake?”
“I’ve been awake for ages. Come in.”
Easing himself onto the side of the bed, he gazed through the window. “Wow. You’ve got a fabulous view.”
“Yes, I know. It’s beautiful. Is everyone up?”
“Ya, they’re all downstairs, talking. Gramigna’s planning a raid. The road from Pistoia isn’t far from here. He says that once all the tanks have passed through, the Germans will be laying mines. When they’ve gone, he wants to dig them up and replant them en route to Bologna. Which is where we’ll bazooka the whole convoy.”
“A whole convoy of tanks?”
“Ya, I know. Does seem a bit of a stretch.”
“I’ll say.” Getting out of bed, she climbed into a pair of shorts and began brushing her hair. “Is he doing this because we’re here?”
“Probably. Perhaps we should tell him the truth.”
“What truth?”
“That I’ve only fired a bazooka once in my entire life and Sandro’s never even fired one. Which leaves Harry, Jock, Atkins… and you.”
Kat and Die Wolfsschanze Page 7
