Kat and Die Wolfsschanze

by Michael Beals

  “I’m done,” he said, stepping over her again. “We can switch.” Checking all the instruments, he set the autopilot and then peered out of the window. “Coming up to the drop-off zone,” he called. “Get ready, Harry.” Tapping the back of the seat with his finger, he began counting off the seconds. “Ten seconds… five, four, three, two, jump!”

  Kat swallowed as Stewart disappeared into the void. It didn’t matter how many times she parachuted out of an airplane, it always felt like committing suicide. Now she parachuted into hostile territory and into a meadow that looked like the size of a goddamn postage stamp. The next thing she knew, Sam stood beside her.

  “Now, Kat. Jump now.”

  She jumped, holding her breath as the wind tore at her hair and eyelids. After ten seconds, Kat pulled the cord.

  A familiar rattling sound. A violent tug as the chute opened. Then Silence.

  She descended incredibly slowly, the DC3 getting smaller and finally disappearing in the distance. She could see Rastenburg in the distance, a tiny patchwork of buildings amid the vastness of the forest, which seemed to stretch for miles. Not far away, a lake glistened, and when she looked around, she saw two more. The meadow wasn’t quite as small now, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She looked up to see if Sam was nearby, but her chute blocked her view.

  She looked down at the meadow again. It seemed too far off to the left. She knew how to guide a parachute. All she needed to do was pull on the cords. She pulled the cords to her right. She peered at the meadow again. It seemed to be correct now. She could see Harry pulling in his shoot as he joined the others. Thirty seconds later, she was down, running through the grass, checking her sideways drift.

  They didn’t bother to bury the parachutes. They were German chutes and anyway, the meadow was completely wild. There were no people here. They stayed in the meadow for a few minutes to make sure the radio still functioned, unpack, and distribute gear and equipment. Each carried two Panzerschreck rockets in their backpacks along with ten pounds of Nobel 808, food, ammo, sleeping bags and other items they brought. With the help of Kelly’s compass, they knew which direction to go. They were approximately twenty miles from the bunker.

  Kat grumbled as she struggled to put on her backpack, “should have brought Atkins! He was the pack mule of the group. God is this heavy!”

  “I’d like to be reasonably fresh when we attack the bunker. I saw lakes when I was parachuting down,” Kat said.

  “It’s not a bad idea,” Dore said, heaving the radio onto his broad shoulders. “It would also be a good idea to camp by one of them. We’d have water.”

  “Fine by me,” Kelly said, shouldering the Panzerschreck. “We can trek half the distance and then stop for the night.”

  With everyone in agreement, they grabbed their MP40s and set off across the meadow. It was a strange experience. With all the buttercups, and horse chestnut trees shading the meadow, it looked like a scene from Tudor England, it didn’t feel at all like Poland, and for a while, Kat forgot that they were here to kill Hitler.

  CHAPTER 29

  As they made their way through the forest, Kat asked Harry Stewart to lead the way. Armed with Kelly’s compass and notorious for navigating the Sahara Desert, nobody in the team could surpass his uncanny sense of direction. Skills he’d learned from Bagnold’s sun compass when he was with the Long Range Desert Group, surfing the sand sea. Even large meandering lakes didn’t seem to bother him. He would sight a distant shore and work his way round to it.

  Noticing the mooring marks on nearby trees, Stewart found a medium-sized river launch and, judging from its rotting canvas cover, had been there for quite some time. The engine wouldn’t start. However, there were paddles in the galley, and the rudder still worked.

  “You think we can get this to the other side of the lake?” Kat asked. “It must be three or four miles away.”

  “Better than walking twenty,” Capetti said, cutting the mooring line. “If we paddle, you can steer.”

  It was a beautiful lake, and Kat imagined families camping here in peacetime. There were small islands that wild geese were using as nesting grounds, no doubt to protect them from all the wolves and wild boar roaming the forest.

  “How far from the bunker are we?” Kat asked.

  “About six miles. Not very far.” Stewart replied.

  “It’s just that the sun’s going down, and if there are wolves…”

  “Wolves won’t come near us,” Dore panted. “There too many of us.” He shrugged. “I think…”

  “Even so. We’ve got no tents. Wouldn’t we be better camping on the boat?”

  Dore stopped paddling. “Take a break, guys!” Sitting down next to Kat, he wiped the sweat from his forehead. “Ya don’t want to get a bit closer before we make camp?”

  She thought about it. In the forest, six miles was approximately a two-hour trek, not so long in the greater scheme of things, but far enough if they wanted to be fresh for the attack. Three miles would be a better distance. Then again, three miles might be uncomfortably close to the bunker. No way to know how far the defense system stretched. What if checkpoints and guards surrounded a wider area?

  “I wouldn’t want to be any closer than four miles, and if there’s no water at that point…”

  Dore nodded. “So ya’d rather camp by the lake.”

  “I wouldn’t mind… if that’s okay with you.”

  “I suppose it makes sense. Also, I imagine you’ll want to use the radio at some point. The Germans won’t be able to triangulate the call, the area’s too remote.”

  She’d forgotten about the radio. She should really contact Fleming if it were possible. Not that she knew how to do it. In fact, it was questionable that the radio would work in the middle of nowhere. And then she remembered Rastenburg and the bunker. They would have a radio signal. She’d have to ask Capetti. He’s the technical nerd.

  “You think we should moor up at one of the islands? You guys can take a break, and I can call London. There are no hills out here. We should get a clear signal.”

  “If you want to.”

  She looked around. They were two hundred yards from a small island. Geese were swimming amongst the reeds and were nesting on the island, “why don’t we camp there?”

  Guys!” he called. “We’re moving.”

  Making their way over to the island, they moored the boat to an old willow tree and unpacked the radio. Climbing out of the boat, careful that she didn’t step on a nest, she sat down under a tree. The geese weren’t in the least bit bothered, some of them even came to her looking for food.

  “You look worried,” Kelly said, sitting down beside her.

  “What makes you think that?”

  “You always sit on your own when you’re worried. Are you bothered about Fleming?”

  “A little. I told him we were hiding in Italy. I was quite rude to him.”

  Kelly grinned. “And now you’re in Eastern Poland on a mission to kill Hitler. I’d have thought you had the upper hand.”

  “You don’t get the upper hand on a British Naval Officer, who works for the SOE, and wants you dead.”

  “Kat!” Capetti called. “I have SOE on radio!”

  “What!” she cried, shocked by how quickly he’d got the radio working. “I’ll be right there!”

  Scrambling to her feet, she reboarded the boat. Capetti assembled the radio in the galley which stored the explosives and Panzerschreck rockets, MP40s lying across the seats. Clearing a space for herself, she put the earphones on.

  “This is Major Wolfram. Who am I speaking to?”

  “We don’t give out names, Major. Why are you co
ntacting us?”

  “I need to speak to Commander Fleming. It’s urgent.” She waited, listening to the static, the seconds ticking by.

  “Commander Fleming.”

  “It’s Kat, Commander.”

  “Good God. I thought you’d be treading grapes in Sardinia. Where are you?”

  She hesitated. “I’m in Eastern Poland.”

  “You’re in Poland!” he exclaimed, audibly shocked by the news. “What the hell are you doing there?”

  Again, she hesitated. “Is it safe to talk?”

  “This call is being scrambled.”

  She glanced at Capetti as he cleaned his fingernails with his stiletto switchblade knife. “We’re here to kill Hitler.”

  The following silence was almost audible. “You’re in Poland to… to kill Hitler,” he croaked. “You’re not serious.”

  “Deadly serious. I thought you were trying to top me, so I’m on a mission… for Pernass.”

  “Pernass?” he exclaimed. “You’re with Pernass?”

  “Not exactly. I’m with the team. We’re planning to attack the bunker tomorrow morning.” She fell silent for a moment. “I thought you should know.”

  “Kat, I don’t want to sound ungrateful, your patriotism is truly admirable, but you can’t just… kill Hitler.”

  “Why not? It would end the war.”

  Fleming coughed one of his long, phlegmy coughs. “Kat, this is a terrible idea. We need the Germans to kill Hitler. If the British kill him, it could be a disaster.”

  She laughed. “Oh, believe me, we don’t intend leaving any witnesses.”

  She could hear Fleming talking to someone. A man’s voice shrieked, “What!” and then other voices, people arguing. When Fleming came back, he sounded a little breathless. “Kat, I need you to speak to someone.”

  “For God’s sake. Who?”

  “Winston Churchill. Hold on.”

  She froze. Winston Churchill at SOE Headquarters? Calming herself, she decided that Fleming was up to his old tricks again. Unless mistaken, today is Sunday. Winston Churchill would be pruning his roses.

  A man’s voice came on the line, a very English voice. “Major Wolfram?”

  “So I’m told. And you are the Prime Minister?”

  “To the chagrin of the Liberal Party I can assure you.”

  “No doubt. Nevertheless, you’re going to have to be a bit more convincing for me to believe you.”

  “Isn’t the word of your Commanding Officer sufficient?”

  Kat laughed, “the man tried to kill me. His word doesn’t exactly hold a lot of weight with me at the moment.”

  “Commander Fleming apprised me of the situation. Is there anything I can say to convince you?”

  Kat thought about it for a moment then suggested, “repeat a little of the speech you gave about fighting on the beaches and streets and such.”

  “And that will convince you?”

  Silence on the radio.

  The man chuckled, coughed, then began… “We shall defend our Island, whatever the cost may be; we shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender...”

  “Holy crap! That was the best fucken Churchill I’ve ever heard… I’m still not convinced, because Commander Fleming is an asshole, and putting an actor on the line to stop me from killing Hitler, is something I would expect him to do. But… after that excellent rendition, I am willing to listen to whatever you have to say.”

  “Major,” he began, “you can’t kill Hitler. It would be a catastrophe.”

  “And why’s that?”

  The man claiming to be Churchill, cleared his throat. “Very simple really. Hitler’s a very poor tactician, which is why Germany is losing the war. If you kill Hitler, not only will he become a martyr, he’ll be replaced by someone who might be a brilliant tactician… and the war will drag on.”

  The man’s words were not only shocking, they also made sense. “You want us to abandon the attack?”

  “No, not at all. So long as you don’t kill Hitler, an assassination attempt would be perfect. It would demoralize the German Army. Stauffenberg tried to kill him this morning but failed. A second attempt would be politically powerful.”

  “Stauffenberg failed?” she cried, wondering whether to be relieved or grieve for the handsome man. “How do you know?”

  “I can’t tell you that.”

  She knew who called the SOE from his holiday home in Rastenburg, with his Studebaker car parked in the garage. “But how do we blow up the bunker and avoid killing him?”

  The man claiming to be Churchill cleared his throat again. “Hitler will have escape routes. Blow it up slowly.”

  “Blow it up slowly?” she exclaimed. “Have you ever blown up a concrete bunker?”

  The man let out a gravelly chuckle. “Not personally.”

  “Well, I can tell you, it’s not easy.”

  “Then don’t blow it up.”

  “What, and waste all that Nobel 808… that we carried all the way from Berlin?”

  “My goodness, Nobel 808. You are resourceful. I’ll pass you back to the Commander. Come back in one-piece, Major.”

  Fleming came back on the phone. “Satisfied?”

  “Not really. Who the fuck was that?”

  “I told you.”

  “Ya, right. And horses will fly.”

  “It’s pigs.”

  “You choose your animal. I’ll choose mine. Are we supposed to half-attack Hitler’s bunker? I could have done that from the air.”

  “Well, perhaps you’ll stay in touch next time, instead of traipsing off with your appalling stepfather. I can’t believe you did that.”

  “And I can’t believe you blew up the hotel in Vienna.”

  Fleming sighed. “So are we square?”

  “I suppose so. You owe my team a proper holiday.” Disconnecting the battery, she murmured, “and you’re still not getting a Christmas present.”

  Kat stood up. “Jock!” she called. “Grab your paddles! We’re leaving!”

  “So, what’s happening?” Kelly asked when they’d boarded the boat again.

  She related her conversation with Fleming and the man who claimed to be Churchill, to the team.

  Kelly looked puzzled, “we’re not going to kill Hitler?”

  She told everyone, Churchill was right. Even if some Germans survived the attack, she and the team were all wearing Waffen-SS uniforms. It would look like an uprising.

  “So, how are we gonna blow up the bunker without killing everyone inside?” Dore asked. “We’ve got enough explosives to blow up half of Berlin.”

  “I don’t know, Jock. Churchill suggested we blow it up slowly. I’ve no idea what that means.”

  “I know what it means,” Capetti said.

  They all stared at Capetti. It wasn’t surprising that the Italian knew about blowing things up. His family had been doing it for years.

  “We’re all ears, Sandro.”

  He shrugged. “We only bury 808 under two walls, then in doorways. Blast go outwards as well as inwards.”

  “We’re also going to Panzerschreck the place,” Kat said.

  Capetti pulled a face. “Bunker made of concrete. Better use Panzerschreck for tanks and soldiers.”

  Kat let out a long sigh. “Well, I guess we’ll know more when we get there. Shall we get going? I don’t know about you guys, but I’m real
ly hungry.”

  It took an hour to reach the far side of the lake where another flock of geese congregated. They set up camp in one of the bays, surrounded by beech and cedar trees. To Kat’s surprise, no one wanted to sleep on the boat. They were quite happy to hunker down beneath the trees. First, they needed to eat, and it didn’t take a genius to work out what Capetti intended to cook on the fire he built. Dore waded through the reeds with a dead goose over his shoulder.

  “Jock, how could you?” she cried. “Those geese make the place beautiful.”

  “And stop us from starving,” he retorted. “Ya really want to eat rations?”

  She changed her mind when she saw Capetti rotating the bird over the fire, and she caught the smell of roasting meat. She hadn’t had roast goose since her last Christmas in Switzerland, and it smelled incredible.

  It was getting dark when the first wolf appeared. They were still eating, and the smell must have permeated the forest. The animal kept its distance at first, disappearing into the trees, and then re-appearing five minutes later, so they ignored it. When two more wolves appeared and gradually got closer, Dore began to get annoyed and threw rocks at them.

  “Bugger off!” he shouted. “Catch your own bloody goose!”

  Rocks did not deter the creature. Creeping ever closer, it began to snarl, causing the other two to move in. Within minutes, all three were yipping and snarling, darting towards the fire and backing off again. Stewart grabbed a branch from the fire and ran at them. The wolves simply circled around him.

  Drawing his knife, Dore stood up. The lead wolf was big, it must have weighed 180 pounds, but it wasn’t as big as Dore, nor, anywhere near as aggressive.

  “Last chance, laddie,” he growled. “I’ll give ya no second warning.”

  The wolf’s legs stiffened, its eyes glowing in the firelight, saliva dripping from its jaws. What happened next was a blur. The wolf charged, Dore grabbed it by the scruff of its neck and hurled it into the forest. The wolf spun around and went for him again. This time he gave the wolf a mighty punch on the head, sending it sprawling. The wolf didn’t give up. It settled back on its haunches, ready to leap.