Kat and Die Wolfsschanze

by Michael Beals

  “I thought I was supposed to charm him.”

  “You’re a Schutzstaffel Leutnant, not a chorus girl. Behave yourself.”

  She huffed and looked away. “Only testing the waters.”

  At that moment, a gleaming Major General strode into the foyer with an entourage of young Officers. As he passed by, he glanced at Capetti, seemed to hesitate, then continued to the reception desk, glancing back at them.

  “We should go,” Kat whispered. “That man looks dangerous.”

  “He’s just curious. A Colonel is a high rank, especially in a town like Pisa. Either that, or he doesn’t like the Gestapo.”

  “Who does?” she snorted.

  Nevertheless, she stood up, and in a loud voice, said, “We’re going to be late, Colonel. We should leave.”

  “I was going to discuss our next move,” he whispered, getting to his feet.

  “In the car?” she suggested.

  Capetti shook his head and followed her out to the car. A second staff car parked at the foot of the steps, a black, Mercedes W150. Streaked with mud, its driver still at the wheel. His eyes followed them as they got into the Daimler, and Kat wondered if it had been wise to drive such a remarkable car.

  CHAPTER 13

  Army Headquarters was in city hall, a classical, three-story building with peeling window shutters, arched steps that reminded Kat of Amsterdam, and a small bell tower.

  “What time is it?” Capetti asked as she pulled up at the foot of the steps.

  She looked at the cheap, Zenith watch that Commander Fleming pulled from a drawer. Always keep track of the time, Major. She wore it ever since.

  “1115.”

  “Perfect. Hungry people are always nervous.” Climbing out of the car, he studied the front of the building and scanned the square. “I wonder where they hid the dynamite?”

  “Gramigna didn’t say.”

  “Well, I suppose he knows what he’s doing.” Puffing out his chest, which reminded her of when she first met him, he slammed the car door. “Shall we go?”

  The reception area was lofty and echoing. Its marble floors reflecting ancient murals painted the ceiling. A lone desk positioned at an angle and, behind it sat a thick-necked Army Sergeant.

  “Good morning sir,” he said, brightly. “How can I help you?”

  “I’m Oberst Kreutzer. We’re here to see Oberleutnant Heydrich. He’s expecting us.”

  The Sergeant smiled and consulted a list of names. “Certainly sir. May I see your ID?”

  “No, you may not,” Capetti snapped, haughtily. “You will take my word for it.”

  The Sergeant straightened, his mouth gaping open as if short of breath. “Yes, sir! “If you follow the corridor…”

  “If I follow the corridor?” Capetti said, angrily. “You expect me to go looking for him?”

  The Sergeant started. “No sir, of course not. My apologies.” Getting up, he peered into an adjacent room. “Manheim!” he yelled. Moments later, a breathless Private appeared. “Please escort Colonel Kreutzer to Oberleutnant Heydrich’s office.”

  “Yes, Sergeant. Follow me, sir.”

  They followed the young man down a corridor lined with offices with a hum of voices, German Officers poring over charts or talking on the phone, young women tapping away on typewriters. Heydrich’s office was the room at the end of the hall, the one with the closed door.

  Oberleutnant Heydrich, a spectacled young man with fair wavy hair, a pronounced Adam’s apple, and a short Hitler mustache. Leafing through a bundle of documents, he didn’t look up when the door opened.

  The Private coughed. “Excuse me, sir. You have visitors.”

  Heydrich continued to read. “I’m busy Private. Tell them to wait.”

  Cocking his head to suggest that the Private disappear, which he did, gratefully, Capetti stood there for a moment, gathered himself, and in a quiet voice, said, “Would you like to be busy on the Russian front, Leutnant?”

  Heydrich’s headshot around, and when he saw the SS insignia on Capetti’s collar, he visibly jumped. Getting quickly to his feet, he saluted. “Sir! No, sir!”

  Capetti moved into the room, stiffly, sternly. And Kat could see that it wasn’t merely an act. He looked irritated, disgusted that an arrogant little jerk like Heydrich would be in charge of rounding up Jews.

  “I’m Colonel Kreutzer. I believe you’re expecting me.”

  Shrugging into his jacket, Heydrich hurriedly did up the buttons. “We thought you were arriving tomorrow, sir.”

  “So I see. Is this why the deportations are so chaotic?” Capetti demanded. “Because you’re shut away in your office?”

  Heydrich frowned, clearly racking his brain for a suitable answer. “The deportations are on time, sir. The next batch leaves tomorrow morning. It’s all under control.”

  “Is that so? Where are the deportees being kept?”

  “At the railway sidings, sir. The cattle sheds. We have twenty-four-hour guards.”

  “Cattle sheds? You incarcerate civilian families in cattle sheds?”

  Heydrich squinted at the Colonel. He began to recover from the shock. “We had no choice, sir, and the sheds are not in use. There’s also water. We filled all the troughs.”

  Capetti’s expression hardened contemplating women and children sleeping on the filthy ground, drinking water from cattle troughs.

  “I want to see,” he growled. “Take me through the whole process.”

  “Yes, sir. Of course.” Heydrich hesitated. “If I may say, sir, there are no women in the latest batch, and these people are prisoners. The Führer considers them the enemy.”

  “Does he?” Capetti grated. “The Führer wages war on Italian civilians? Show me. I want to see.”

  Putting on his cap and looking more confident now that he was moving, Heydrich led them back down the busy corridors to the reception area. The Sergeant argued with a group of businessmen. The Germans arrested their employees for no apparent reason, and they wanted to know why.

  “I’ll organize a car,” Heydrich said, signaling the Sergeant.

  “There’s no need,” Kat said, smiling warmly at the Leutnant. “We have a car.” Taking his arm, she led him out into the sunshine. “We had a difficult journey,” she whispered. “He’s not normally this grumpy.”

  Accompanying the Leutnant down the steps, Capetti stalking ahead of them, she opened the front passenger door, making it clear that only the Colonel would sit in the back. It was another tactic, another way of putting Heydrich in his place. Walking around to the other side and climbing behind the wheel, she smiled at him again. She played the good cop.

  “Guide me, Leutnant. We’re from Berlin. We’ve never been to Pisa before.”

  “You have to follow Via Bonnano Pisano,” he said, pointing to the far side of the piazza and looking a little calmer. “The railway sidings are on the other side of the river.” In an attempt to further ease the tension, he said, “So where are you staying?”

  “At the Grande Hotel. We’d intended to invite you for dinner, but now we have meetings.” Remembering the high-ranking Officer they’d seen in the foyer, she added, “The General flew in this morning.”

  “You’re meeting with General Hausse?” he said, clearly aware of the General’s presence in Pisa.

  She gave him an apologetic smile. “Sorry. We’re not supposed to talk about it.”

  “No, of course you’re not. Please turn right at the next junction. It will take you onto the bridge.”

  Complying with Heydrich’s instructions, she turned right. She felt like gigg
ling as they crossed the bridge. Capetti sat in the back, dressed as a high-ranking Gestapo Officer, and she, his friendly driver. Heydrich was being driven through Pisa by the enemy.

  Kat was surprised when they arrived at the railway sidings. She’d expected them to be small. However, they were surprisingly large. There were six branch lines, two engine turntables and expansive storage yards, all serviced by a complex of dirt roads and loading bays. Quaint little donkey engines were shunting carriages into the sidings, groups of Italian soldiers were orchestrating the unloading of vehicles, and German Officers looked on as if they weren’t to be trusted. There was no sign of loading farm goods into the cattle sheds. They were large, barnlike structures and abutted one of the main lines. German guards with MP40s roamed the immediate area, and more guards looked down from two watchtowers.

  Pulling up by the nearest cattle shed, she got out and scanned the surrounding area. Dilapidated three-story houses overlooked the railway sidings, houses that at one time had been expensive and possessed gardens, were now run down and in the wrong location. The houses were a hundred yards from the watchtowers, perfect for Gramigna’s men. She wondered if, at this very moment, Kelly and the team were watching her.

  While Heydrich took Capetti on a tour of the cattle sheds, she studied the possibilities. The engine they were going to use to deport the prisoners, already in place, steam drifting up from its pistons. There were no passenger carriages, only cattle cars with ramps and sliding doors, already open and ready for tomorrow morning. She gazed up at the watchtowers. Gramigna’s men would bazooka them when they blew up the train. Shooting the guards from that distance would be difficult without also killing the prisoners.

  Capetti and Heydrich returned. Capetti frowning, walking beside Heydrich in silence.

  “So you have 215 prisoners?” Capetti asked.

  “Give or take,” Heydrich replied.

  “And they’re all local to Pisa?”

  Heydrich pursed his lips and squinted at him, perhaps wondering why the Colonel would want to know such a thing. “As far as I know. I have a list in the office.”

  Kat smiled. By lunchtime tomorrow, Heydrich wouldn’t have an office, let alone a list. With any luck, there wouldn’t even be a Heydrich.

  Dropping the Leutnant off at Army Headquarters and agreeing to meet the following morning, they headed for the cathedral. They had some serious talking to do.

  “Why did you cancel dinner?” Capetti complained, as they pulled up in front of the church and made their way into its silent gloom. “I was going to get rid of Heydrich tonight.”

  She shrugged. “I saved you the stress of sitting through dinner with him. Anyway, we can top the bastard at the railway sidings.”

  “That might not be so easy,” he whispered. “We’ve been asked to stay by the car. Heydrich doesn’t want us anywhere near the prisoners.”

  “Oh really? When Gramigna’s men blow up the train and bazooka the watchtowers, all hell’s going to break loose. We can go where the hell we want.” She held up a finger. “Then again, staying by the car isn’t such a bad idea. We’re going to need our weapons.”

  They stopped speaking as an elderly woman made her way over to the votive candle tray, lit one, and strolled towards the altar.

  “We kill guards?” Capetti whispered, staring at her.

  “Have you got a better idea? The General’s men won’t be able to kill them. Not from that distance.”

  “We not get out alive!” he hissed, glancing at the old woman again. “There’s a platoon of Germans at station. They’d be all over us.”

  “Get a backbone,” she snorted. “They’re a quarter of a mile away. No one’s going to see who’s shooting who, in all that chaos. Anyway, you’re an SS Colonel. Who would dare to question you?”

  Capetti frowned. “And the prisoners? How they escape? Italian soldiers everywhere, railway sidings surrounded by brick wall.”

  “Sandro, for God’s sake!” she hissed. “Stop being so negative. The Italians aren’t going to stop their people escaping. As for the wall, all Gramigna has to do is blow a hole in it. Now can we please get back to the hotel, I’d like to shower before dinner.”

  With an air of refinement about it, the hotel restaurant reminded Kat of Shepheard’s. Waiters in uniforms, intimate lighting, the delicate aroma of food blending with coffee and cigars. Most of the hotel’s clientele were German Officers.

  “You hear from General Gramigna?” Capetti asked when the waiter left with their order. They both asked for pollo sorpresa. The chicken seemed the safer option with all the food shortages, although they’d been surprised to see beef on the menu.

  “Yes. We’re meeting him at a café in about an hour.”

  “He bring Kelly?”

  “I think so. Why? Is that a problem?”

  Capetti grimaced, “I prefer he bring Jock.”

  “I don’t see why,” she retorted, knowing full well the reason. “Jock’s just following orders. Anyway, Jock doesn’t speak Italian.”

  Taking a sip of water, he gazed around the room. “Jock very experienced, more experienced than Gramigna. If he see problem, he say.”

  “Why? Do you think we have a problem?”

  For a moment he didn’t speak, tapping his fork against the table cloth. “Tomorrow just you and me,” he whispered. “We kill guards. We kill Heydrich. We have no support if something go wrong. I prefer Jock with us.” He shrugged. “It feel safer.”

  “And what if Heydrich tries to speak to him, or one of the guards?”

  A bottle of wine arrived, a one-year-old Matarocchio that the waiter took the trouble of decanting before asking them not to drink for ten minutes. Capetti ignored the instructions. When the waiter departed, he smiled and poured wine for both of them.

  “Is no sediment in one-year-old vinegar.”

  Sipping the wine, she laughed. “Ya, I can imagine you’re a bit of a connoisseur. Sandro, we can’t change the arrangements. I’d like to have Jock with us as well, but we need him to take out the watchtowers. Don’t worry. We’ll be fine.”

  They ate in silence, occasionally glancing at each other and smiling when they heard someone complain about the wine. Capetti wasn’t the only connoisseur in the restaurant. When the meal was over, she worried about making Gramigna wait too long. They didn’t bother to wait for the bill. Leaving 10,000 Lira on the table, they left the hotel and went looking for the café.

  The backstreets were surprisingly busy. German and Italian soldiers sauntered with newly acquired girlfriends, families with their scampering children, teenage girls, loudly gossiping. The war disappeared in the evening. Everything was normal again. Streetlamps glistened on the cobblestones. Shop mannequins wore the latest fashions. Couples kissed. They could even hear music coming from somewhere.

  “I think that’s it,” Kat said, pointing to a small café further up the street. “I’m going to let you and the General do the talking. My Italian’s pretty good, but I have an accent. You never know who’s listening these days.”

  When they entered the café, it was full of Germans. They were drinking beer and telling bawdy jokes about Italian women. It wasn’t hard to spot Gramigna. He was the only man in an Italian uniform and drinking coffee.

  “Sorry we’re late,” Capetti said, in Italian.

  “I can’t stop long,” Gramigna said, looking around. “The company’s unpleasant, and we have things to do.”

  “You’re getting into position tonight?”

  “Of course we are. The whole town is tense when the Germans deport people, so they patrol the streets.”

  Capetti explained his concerns in whispered conversation, Gramigna li
stening in silence, occasionally glancing at Kat. The Germans ignored them. Kat doubted any of the Germans spoke Italian.

  Eventually, Gramigna said, “We can blow the wall, that’s not a problem, but I can’t give you Dore. We have three targets to take out, and we need him. You’re right. It will be difficult for our men to shoot the guards without killing civilians. You’re just going to have to manage.” He leaned closer. “Kat, I have a message for you from London.”

  She squinted at him. “From Fleming?”

  “Of course from Fleming. I’ll give you the message tomorrow. Right now, I want you to concentrate on your target. I wanted to kill that bastard personally, but I can’t, so I’m relying on you.”

  “You want me to kill him?”

  “Of course, you. You were nice to him, so he trusts you. It’s going to be a bloodbath tomorrow. So first, I want you to rescue him.”

  “What! What on earth for?”

  Gramigna smiled. “So that he feels safe. I want that evil little shit to feel safe… before you kill him.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Kat shifted into a more comfortable position. It felt strange waiting for Heydrich to appear. They sat in the plush gray seats of the Daimler, the sun warming her legs through the open window, the Italian townspeople going about their daily routines. When all the while, 215 people, who yesterday took their children to school, or setting off for work, were locked in cattle sheds at the railway sidings waiting to be shipped to a concentration camp. It felt particularly strange because it was Italy. The Italians were warm and friendly people, and she had many beautiful memories of touring in Tuscany, skiing in Aosta, swimming off the coast of Varazze.

  Getting out, she opened the trunk and checked the weapons. No longer in suitcases, they were laid out and ready to grab at a moment’s notice, two MP40s, a box of ammunition, six grenades, the all-important distress flare. She slammed the trunk shut again. She wanted to shoot Heydrich on the way to the railway sidings. She couldn’t. They needed to rescue the prisoners first, and they needed to destroy City Hall.