Kat and Die Wolfsschanze

by Michael Beals

  “Sam!” she screamed. “Harry! Take out that fucking tank!”

  Seconds later, Harry and Sam obliged. The gun turret of the fourth tank swung free as it exploded.

  There seemed little point in continuing. There were too many Germans firing rifles, although what they were shooting at was anyone’s guess, it rained so hard, it was impossible to see.

  “Guys!” she shouted. “We’re out of here.”

  “Wait for Jock!” Capetti shouted. “He throw grenades!”

  Dore ran at a crouch towards them. Grabbing whatever they could carry, they headed up through the trees, scrambling over rocks and clawing their way through the dripping vegetation, rain pounding on their shoulders. Kat became aware of the .45 slapping at her hip. She hadn’t even taken it from its holster.

  When they reached the trucks, the gunfire almost stopped, and they could still see the smoke rising from the valley. There was no sign of Gramigna. His men were probably helping him up the hill. She wondered who’d been in the staff car and whether the General managed to kill him.

  CHAPTER 12

  Kat and the team were already drinking coffee on the terrace when Gramigna returned. The storm passed, shafts of misty sunlight were dappling the valley, and it affected everyone’s mood. Even the General looked cheerful as he walked over to them.

  “You Scotsmen are good at throwing grenades,” he said clapping Dore on the back and slumping into a seat. “I don’t think I’d still be here if it hadn’t been for your team. That damn machine gun pinned us down.”

  “Just doing our job, General,” Dore replied. “Ya all get back all right?’

  “Every last one of us.”

  “And did we succeed?” Kat asked.

  Gramigna squinted at her. “What do you mean, did we succeed? Of course, we succeeded. We left the convoy in shreds.”

  “I meant from a personal point of view. You don’t normally go on missions, so it crossed my mind that you were targeting a specific person.”

  Gramigna frowned at her. “That’s very astute of you. Yes, I’m targeting a particular person, but that wasn’t the reason for the mission. It was just a bonus. We got word that a certain Officer would be traveling with the convoy.” He shrugged. “I wanted the pleasure of killing the bastard.”

  “Can I ask you who?”

  Gramigna grimaced and poured himself a coffee. “His name is Heydrich, SS Oberleutnant Heydrich. He’s in charge of rounding up all the Jews in the area. He’s an obscene human being.”

  “Did you manage to kill him?’

  Gramigna shook his head. “No. He was in the staff car, and we ran out of rockets.” He took a sip of coffee. “Don’t worry. We’ll get him. His base is in Pisa.”

  She glanced at Dore, who merely shrugged. “General, you do realize what we do for the SOE?”

  Gramigna hesitated, peering at her. “You’re a sort of… Tactical Commando Unit.”

  She shook her head. “General, we are, but we’re much worse than that. We’re the most hated kind of insurgents in the war. The Germans would execute us if they could catch us.”

  Gramigna stared at her. “You’re… you’re spies?”

  She smiled that Kat smile. “I’m afraid so. We also do our fair share of Commando jobs. That’s why we’re here to help you out while we’re waiting for orders for our next mission.” Rubbing her hands on her thighs, she gazed at the dappled sunlight drifting across the hills. “While we’re here…”

  Gramigna shifted in his seat, a look of excitement growing in his eyes. “You would find Heydrich?”

  “We can do more than that. We can kill Heydrich and blow up the trains he uses. That should send a message to the Germans.”

  “Hmm,” Gramigna growled. “I’m not sure if Commander Fleming would agree to that.”

  “Commander Fleming?” Kat retorted, feeling her hackles rise. “What’s Fleming got to do with it? He’s the one who sent us to Italy. What we decide to do while we’re here is our business, unless he wants to direct the war in Italy.”

  “It’s just that he was very specific. I’m not to put you in serious danger. Your next mission is too important.”

  “You’re kidding,” she scoffed. “This morning didn’t put us in danger?”

  “That’s why we stayed in the hills,” he said, defensively. “If I’d had more men, we’d have gone for complete defeat.”

  “General,” she said patiently. “Our unit isn’t what Fleming thinks it is. He keeps giving us Commanding Officers because he wants us to have a leader. But Commanding Officers don’t work with us. We make all our decisions by committee. It’s too dangerous not to. If we decide to help you with Heydrich, I’ll be asking the team if they agree. I won’t just order them to take him out.”

  Gramigna let out a hesitant laugh, “You ask your team if they want to go on a specific mission? What if they say no?”

  She shrugged. “Then we don’t go. Don’t get me wrong, Fleming orders us on missions, but in reality, he has to ask as well. You can’t order people to put on enemy uniforms, which we all know would mean certain execution, then infiltrate the enemy as if we’re Germans.”

  “That’s how you’d kill Heydrich?”

  She pulled a face. “I can’t think of any other way. Three of us speak fluent German and Italian, our papers are indistinguishable from the real thing, and so are our uniforms. That’s why so many of us are Officers. I’ve never understood why spies try to pass as civilian businessmen. They’ll always be under suspicion when the Germans don’t give their Officers a second glance. They’re above suspicion.” She laughed. “Stupid, isn’t it?”

  “You are also fluent in Italian?”

  “Certo che parlo fluentemente italiano. Mio padre è un enologo siciliano.”

  Gramigna’s eyes widened. “Your father’s a Sicilian winemaker?”

  “I wish he were,” she snorted. “I’d be down there treading grapes for him.”

  It took two days to plan the first foray into Pisa, which would take the form of Capetti playing the part of Oberst Walther Kreutzer from Berlin, and Kat as Leutnant Sabin Müller, his Personal Assistant. As a joke, they titled the mission, ‘The Aryan Solution.” Assuming that Heydrich would now be back in Pisa, they concocted a story that involved SS Oberführer Pernass. Almost all middle-ranking Officers feared Pernass, and it would circumvent the possibility of background scrutiny. They were in Pisa to satisfy executing the Führer’s Final Solution. As per his edict, no stone would be left unturned to rid the country of the great unwanted.

  Of course, this could have the effect of making the situation worse, so whatever happened, Heydrich must be the only Officer privy to the details of the order. He was to personally take Kreutzer through the whole deportation process so he could ascertain its efficiency. They also needed to engage Heydrich on a social level. Perhaps he would show them the historic sights of Pisa.

  “Heydrich sees himself as impervious,” Gramigna said. “He thinks he’s super-important. He literally struts, so you’ll need to work as a team. Sandro, you’ll have to play hardball. Put the fear of God into him. Kat, you do the opposite. Your job is to charm him.”

  “How old is he?” Capetti asked. “What his background?”

  “He’s twenty-five and comes from Stuttgart. He had an average education and isn’t very bright. He was a prefect at school and hated. His father is also high up in the Catholic church.”

  “I thought the NAZIs hated anyone connected to the church,” Kat said.

  “They do. Hitler and most of his cronies are atheists, but that’s the joke. Heydrich isn’t very bright, so they put him in charge of getting rid of t
he Jews in Tuscany. They told him it was a vital and very senior job, so he’s trying to prove himself to the Führer.”

  “Wow. His father must be proud of him,” Stewart remarked, dryly.

  “His father has been accused of sedition. Heydrich no longer speaks to him. He sees himself as a young Aryan master. Wait until you meet him. He’s a disgusting little man.”

  “So… what, we just turn up at Military Headquarters and ask for Oberleutnant Heydrich?” Kat asked. “Without any warning?”

  Gramigna shook his head. “Heydrich will be expecting you. He’ll have received a personal request from Hitler to co-operate with Oberst Kreutzer. It will be stamped and approved by Gestapo Headquarters in Berlin.”

  “You can do that?”

  Gramigna grinned. “We, and by we, I mean the British, have many irons in the fire.”

  “Don’t military orders have to be corroborated?”

  “Of course they do, and they always are. Otherwise, we could order tank battalions to make catastrophic moves. However, non-military requests from Hitler are rarely questioned. Trust me, Heydrich will bend over backward to help you.”

  “Do you know when the next batch of deportations is due?” Kat asked.

  Gramigna consulted a dog-eared calendar. “Tomorrow at noon, so be prepared. My men will be positioned in buildings around the railway sidings. They’ll shoot the guards and bazooka the engine. With any luck, the prisoners will scatter.”

  “And Heydrich?”

  “I want you to help him escape.” Gramigna paused for a moment. “Then, I want you to kill him.”

  “So how do I look?” Kat asked, gazing at herself in the full-length mirror. Unlike the majority of women in the SS, Kat wore full-length patent leather boots and figure-hugging pants, and when she put on her cap, she looked positively evil.

  “You look like something from a sadomasochistic movie. Now all you need is a whip.” Kelly said, then remembered, “oh ya, I forgot, you already have one of those.”

  Kat gave Kelly an evil grin, “and I’m still waiting for my chance to use it.”

  “I’ve already turned you down in Algeria, so don’t look at me.”

  Kat slipped a Luger into her holster, “would you normally carry a gun if you’re Kreutzer’s assistant?”

  “I’m a junior Leutnant,” she said, indignantly, “and I have to protect the Oberst. Anyway, I’m supposed to look attractive.”

  He snorted. “Ya, but not that attractive.”

  There was a pounding of heavy footsteps on the stairs. “Hey, you two!” Dore shouted. “Get yer arses down here! We’re ready to leave!”

  She turned to go. “You’re going with Gramigna to the railway sidings?”

  “Apparently,” he said, following her down the stairs. “Today we’re scouting the best positions. What’s happening tonight?”

  “Sandro and I are staying at the Grande Hotel. We’re probably entertaining Heydrich.”

  “Well, good luck with that. Can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure,” she said, peering at an old oil painting.

  “Have you ever been asked to bazooka a steam engine?”

  Reaching the bottom of the stairs, she turned to face him. “First time. Shouldn’t be difficult. Aim for the top of the engine. That’s where all the steam’s generated. If you hit that, the engine should explode.”

  He gazed at her for a moment. “Kat, I’m not the one in danger. You are.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. I won’t even get the chance to kill Heydrich.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because Sandro will kill him. The guards will be separating children from their parents, which will be extremely traumatic, and you know what Italians are like with children. Sandro will be incensed.”

  They found everyone out by the trucks. Gramigna’s men were wearing crumpled Italian Army uniforms and looked tired and travel-worn compared to Dore, Stewart, and Atkins, whose German SS uniforms were spotless. Kat watched as they all climbed into the back of the truck, Kelly looking back at her, the last one to board. Behind the truck sat a gleaming Daimler staff car, a NAZI Ensign fluttering from one of the front wings. Capetti stood there with Gramigna, waiting for her. They looked unnervingly genuine in their uniforms, Capetti as Oberst Kreutzer, Gramigna as an Italian Major. It would be the last time they would see each other before tomorrow’s attack.

  “I told Sandro about tomorrow,” Gramigna said. “We don’t know how many guards will be at the deportation. Hopefully, we’ll kill them all. If anything goes wrong, don’t come back to the villa. Take the coast road and drive to La Spezia. Someone will meet you at the railway station.”

  Kat frowned. Gramigna had always been in control of everything. “What could go wrong?”

  “As I said, we don’t know how many guards there will be. It might not be so easy to kill all them all without hitting the prisoners. I’m hoping the people will all run, clearing the area. They’ll have children with them, and if they don’t run quickly enough, they might get in the way. You’re going to help Heydrich escape. If he refuses to go, you’ll have to kill him at the station. If you’re seen doing that…”

  “Why don’t we kill him before we reach the station?”

  “Because deportations are always horrendous. They often separate the children from their parents before shipping off everyone to the camps. When that happens, even the Germans get upset. Without Heydrich there, the train may not leave for hours.”

  “Isn’t that what we want to happen?”

  “No, it isn’t. We want people to escape. Afterward, we’re going to destroy the Army Headquarters. Once that’s gone, they won’t be deporting anyone.”

  Worried about Sam, she said, “How are you going to blow up Army Headquarters?”

  “We’re going to bazooka old fashioned dynamite.” He grinned. “Which is already planted.”

  The drive into Pisa was uneventful. Despite the heavy presence of the German military, there were no checkpoints, so they drove around the town before checking into the Hotel. Unsurprisingly, there were few tourists and, apart from local shoppers and the occasional group of Germans, the town was quiet. They stopped to look at the Leaning Tower. Kat was quite disappointed. It was smaller than she’d imagined, not leaning anywhere near as steeply as in the wide-angle photographs she’d seen, and the large church facing the square was depressingly empty. They headed for the hotel.

  The Grande Hotel was a hive of activity. Bellboys were ferrying suitcases from a queue of cars lined up in the forecourt, and well-dressed Italian businessmen and German Officers were either checking in or occupying the scattering of comfortable chairs in the foyer.

  Making their way over to the impressive, marble-topped reception desk, Capetti brought his hand down on the bell. The handsome young desk clerk did a double-take when Capetti spoke. He sounded more like Italian royalty than a steely German Colonel.

  “I have your booking here, Colonel. How many nights will you be staying?”

  Capetti gazed around as if bored. “Just tonight, thank you. Is my room facing the piazza?”

  “Yes, sir. And you have a private bathroom.”

  “Very good. And Leutnant Müller?”

  “Leutnant Müller is on the floor above you. Is that acceptable?”

  “That’s fine,” Capetti said, stifling a yawn. “I assume the phones all work.”

  “Yes, sir, of course. Will you be eating with us tonight?”

  Capetti raised his eyebrows, looked questioningly at Kat and frowned. “I suppose we should, given all the shortages. May I have a table for four, preferably by the wi
ndow and not too near the entrance?”

  Reaching under the desk, the clerk pulled out a clipboard and studied it, muttering to himself as he ran a finger down the page. “Yes, sir. I think we can arrange that. Do you have a time preference?”

  Capetti glanced at Kat. “Any particular time, Leutnant?”

  She raised her eyebrows, emulated Capetti’s arrogance by looking around, and shrugged. “Eight o’clock?”

  “Eight o’clock is perfect,” the clerk said. “You have luggage?”

  Capetti glanced down at the leather suitcases Gramigna gave them. As well as very basic wash kits, they contained two stripped-down MP40s, 200 rounds of ammunition, six grenades, and a distress flare, in case they had to get out in a hurry.

  “Indeed. Would you take them to our rooms? We have business to attend to.”

  “Absolutely, Colonel. You’re in rooms 6A and 12B.”

  “Thank you.”

  Turning away, he drew Kat towards two vacant comfortable chairs, gazed at them for a moment as if he wasn’t sure, and gestured her to take a seat. Kat took her time to sit down. Every red-blooded man in the foyer gazed at her, and she wasn’t about to spoil the moment. Straightening her back, which had the effect of firming her bottom, she eased her shapely limbs into the chair like a reclining leopard.

  Capetti stifled a smile. He put on a show of patience, stood there for a moment, and then sat down. Extracting a packet of cigarettes from a medal-encrusted breast pocket, he lit a cigarette, blew a plume of smoke at the chandeliered ceiling, and leaned forward.

  “You can’t do that when we meet Heydrich,” he said, in German. “And you won’t need to.” He gave her a thin smile. “You couldn’t be ugly if you tried.”