Kat's Rats

by Michael Beals

  “We’re almost there. Don’t let that bitch die on us!”

  The driver twisted around as something steely, sharp and wet tapped his shoulder. Inches away, a drenched vampire rested her chin on her hands and batted long lashes at him.

  “Don’t worry. The party’s just getting started. So what’s this about mortars?”

  Without touching the brakes, the young Waffen SS trooper ripped open the driver’s door and bailed out, leaving only a scream behind the wheel.

  “Now that’s the fastest I ever lost a date.” Kat shimmied her scrawny butt through the narrow rear window and snagged the wheel. She twisted hard to the right a split second before plowing into a grove of pines hugging the coast. As she jackknifed through the dust cloud, a German rifleman in full battle-rattle popped out of the trees.

  He bounded across the tractor trail and pounded on the driver’s door. “What the hell are you doing? The firing position is supposed to be a damn secret! Just get the prisoners to the…”

  Kat kicked the steel door open, cracking his upturned jaw. She landed on his face as he fell, using his still-strapped helmet as a convenient bucket while she stomped his skull into so much pulpy ground round.

  A rather sour Kraut shouted from the treeline on the other side of the truck. Kat whistled a jazzy tune while unburdening the dead fella of his grenade-stuffed load-bearing vest. Finally dressed, she snapped off the four extra benzine fuel cans strapped to the rear and dragged them to the front.

  “Be right with you boys. Just couldn’t find a thing to wear.”

  Kat tossed a wave in the moonlight at the two SS men standing square-headed at the entrance to a clearing a hundred yards away. They raised, lowered, and raised their weapons again while she lashed the fuel cans to the truck’s bumper. By the time they’d screwed up enough courage to violate their orders, Kat revved the engine and dropped the clutch.

  “Ah, there we go!” Kat switched the radio mount to plain text and fiddled with the knob until she found a civilian station. She kept tracing fast figure eight’s in the dusty field, the raging sand storm sending all the incoming fire wide. Swinging her shoulders with the big-band blaring out the speakers, she weaved ever closer to the gap in trees peeking out of the cloud.

  “Bah, bah badda, bump!” The 5-ton jerked about as she lanced out of the cloud and bounced off the spines of the wannabe marksmen lying prone on the road. Fifty meters deeper in the clearing, four nondescript cargo haulers circled the wagons around some odd shadows.

  “You naughty boys.” She shifted aim until her headlights silhouetted a gaggle of Stormtroopers fussing about two stubby 120mm mortars in the center. Both mini-artillery pieces already pointed southwest, back towards the Jewish-held village less than three kilometers away.

  She slid her butt into the floorboard and gripped the steering wheel over her head as 9mm stingers shredded the windshield. Both side mirrors sheared off as she squirted through the narrow gap between two of the parked trucks. The second the screeching stopped, she tucked and rolled out the door.

  All while flinging a frag grenade from each hand in mid-flight. A fleeing German cushioned her fall as she crashed into his back.

  “Nice catch.”

  Kat heaved the breathless soldier over her chest as the driverless 5-ton careened through the mortars, ripping both tubes from their base plates, as well as a few NAZI limbs from their base. The ravaged fuel cans on the bumper splashed a couple of dozen liters of benzine all about before the truck impaled another parked truck — right against its side-mounted, 200-liter fuel tank, just as the five-second fuses clacked on the still airborne grenades.

  The SS man above recovered and pinned Kat’s arms down, as the first zinging shrapnel stabbed his back. He grunted and wrapped both hands around her neck.

  He kept torquing down on her throat even as the inferno lifted the night’s skirt behind his flaming shoulders. With most of the German survivors rolling and writhing on the ground, two were in good enough shape to run over and help. One tossed a blanket over her mysterious strangler, slapping the flames away, while another tried to pry him off.

  “We got her, Heiko. Break her legs if you want, but no reason to…”

  As soon as she had that smidgen of free space, Kat flicked up her liberated MP40 and emptied the magazine through Heiko. At least half the rounds ripped out his smoking back and perforated his buddies. She levitated to her feet, slapping in a fresh magazine and slamming the bolt shut before any of the bodies hit the dirt.

  “Hello! Am I boring you guys?”

  The handful of Stormtroopers still on their feet ignored her completely while they rushed headlong into the flaming truck wreckage. She squinted and backed into the shadows as they sacrificed themselves simply to throw every mortar round clear of the flames. As soon as they cleared the last of the ordnance and rolled around enough to put the worst fires out, the four survivors rushed to an un-wrecked truck.

  “What the hell are you guys up to?” None said a word as they ripped open bags and tossed hoods over their heads. Kat snapped her weapon up and picked the unarmed men off en passant as she stomped over to the nearest supply truck. Leaping on the tailgate, she flicked the tarp back enough to let in some of the bonfire’s light.

  Except for a high-stacked pallet of green mortar rounds, the cargo bay was empty. Kat leaned closer and shrugged at the double strapped pallet of munitions. She set her foot down and half-climbed back out when a glint of yellow on one of the shells snapped her around.

  “Good God…” A river of sweat that had nothing to do with the fire raced down her neck as a skull and crossbones emblem grinned back at her.

  Right above the stenciled “SARIN.”

  Crack!

  “Get down from there, or the next one’s going in your psychotic brain!”

  Kat dived for the ground and whipped her sub-machine gun up at the voice. There was nothing in range. Another shot raced in a foot from her nose, splattering her face with dirt.

  Behind the muzzle flash over a hundred meters down the farm road, a young SS Corporal limped out from behind a tree and chambered another round in his long rifle.

  “This time we’re doing things a bit different. Drop your weapons and come here. There’s a duffel bag in the front seat of that truck. That’s the only thing you’ll carry. I’m going to march your crazy ass all the way back to the rendezvous point. If you come within fifty meters of me, you’re dead.”

  Kat rose and brushed the dust and a bit of dried blood off. She flicked her gun away and tossed her hair back towards the roiling flames at her back. “Sorry, darling. I couldn’t hear you. Why don’t you come closer?”

  “The Oberführer can’t say I didn’t try.” The SS man dropped to a knee and took a careful bead on the war paint slathered above her pearly whites. He creased his finger over the trigger and squeezed…

  He caught a brief flash of a hairy tree trunk swinging his own rifle back into his chest, the oak buttstock shattering into as many shards as his ribcage. The giant man above him suddenly was under him as he followed through the swing, whipping the skinny kid six feet up in the night sky.

  With his collapsed lungs whistling in the wind, the Kraut couldn’t even gasp as Sergeant Dore stuck out his knee and snapped the falling boy’s spine like a dry twig.

  Kat whistled and collapsed against his chest as he ran up. “Took you long enough, Wolfman. Always fashionably late. What a prima donna. Where’s everyone else?”

  “Nothing I could do. Even with Karsenty’s lockpick, I barely made it out. Was halfway back to the village when I heard your little war kick off.” Dore patted her head with his paw and growled. “Got to move though. I wasn’t the only one. Saw a long line of half-t
racks packed with infantry heading this…” A pair of long-range .50 Caliber’s raked the treeline. Dore snagged her arm and dragged her away from the mammoth tracers ricocheting off the truck.

  “Let’s hoof it back to the village. They’ll gun us down a mile away with the trucks.”

  Dore sprinted off south. Kat skidded to a halt as she ran past the nearest truck’s open cab door.

  “Go! Get at least 300 meters upwind. I’ll catch up in a second.” She ripped a gray gym bag out and dumped the contents.

  “Kat, you doffing—”

  Kat wagged her head as she tossed an oversized rubber poncho over her.

  “Trust me. Have I ever let you down before?”

  “Hell yes!” Dore lunged for the mask she fumbled with. She skipped out of his reach. A tight burst of half-inch slugs from the onrushing assault team snapped between them.

  “Damnit, you batshit crazy Lassie! All right, I’ll cover you. Be out of here in two minutes!”

  While he trotted off into the dark wild, Kat fiddled with the straps on the gas mask, fitted for someone much larger, tight on her face. She donned the hood, boot covers and gloves before covering the mask’s charcoal air inlet with her palm. Her breath caught as she choked for air. Perfect. She had a proper seal. Dressed for the party, Kat checked on her attackers.

  The first half-track was only a hundred meters away.

  There wasn’t time for finesse.

  Kat jumped up on the truck’s tailgate and wedged her only incendiary grenade snug in the middle of the first pallet. Looping a roll of field telephone wire through the pin, she tore off running, feeding the line behind her. Kat made it to the second truck before a shot cracked over her head.

  “Check fire! Take her alive!”

  Kat yanked on the cord as the first Kraut came around the lead truck. Five seconds later the thermite grenade detonated, showering the cargo bay in sparks. The men recoiled reflexively, then laughed.

  Kat strolled towards them. Hands held high. More of the SS men gathered around.

  “Silly girl, you think that stuff is going to protect you from us?”

  As the first Kraut grabbed her wrist, she reached to her mask and clicked the microphone. The Darth Vader voice couldn’t hide her grim satisfaction.

  “Oops.” She tilted her head towards the burning truck.

  It didn’t take long for the thermite bomb, with plenty of iron to oxidize for fuel, to reach 4,000 degrees. The scorching grenade melted through eight of the shells at once. For safety, the sarin nerve gas was separated and stored in a binary mixture. Once the walls of each containment unit disintegrated in the heat though, the individually harmless agents swirled together into a potent cocktail, a creeping mist that was tasteless, odorless, colorless… and pitiless.

  The three SS troops closest to the truck, busy hosing it down with fire extinguishers, couldn’t hear Kat’s laughter. Within milliseconds, they shook uncontrollably. All three shit and pissed themselves. One lucked out and died of an immediate heart attack. The other two fell to the ground, hugging themselves tight, finding no solace. Their bodies convulsed wildly, smashing their faces against the dirt while they screamed in helpless terror.

  From the depths of the inferno, the conventional propellants in the shells cooked off, the small explosions, coupled with a slight wind, kicked the lethal fog out farther, coating everything within a hundred yards.

  “What the hell have you done?”

  The soldier next to Kat wiped an inky droplet off his face. The SS Officer raised his weapon towards her head. Before he could shoot, the rifle twitched out of his hands. Every one of his bodily functions went into overdrive. His face broke out in sudden acne as every pore opened up, all while his glands sweated out a liter of water in seconds. He doubled over and projectile-vomited on her boots.

  “Now that wasn’t very gentlemanly of you.” Kat glared into his contracting pupils as the nerve agent turned his own central nervous system against him.

  The German snagged the radio mic from the Sergeant collapsing at his feet with a pale, quaking hand. He could only drool on the mic. Between his hyperventilation and streaming tear ducts, all he got out was a whimper. Even after multiple brain aneurysms finally put him out of his misery, his body kept flopping around for several minutes. The twisted dance ended only after every last neurotransmitter sparked out.

  Despite being the only person around safely dressed, Kat got out of the kill zone as soon as she could. Even her jaded heart fluttered at this invisible killer all around her, only a charcoal filter made by the lowest bidder keeping her on this side of hell.

  Kat took a long route back to the attacker’s half-tracks. She wrenched a rifle away from a sweating man crawling into the driver’s door. Must have only received a low dose.

  Kat stuck the machine pistol under his helmet and splattered his teeth all over the radio mount. A single gravelly voice yelled over the radio. “What the hell’s going on? Is the female secure? SITREP!”

  Kat crushed the mic in her gloved hand. “Hey, Papa. Nice to see you care. Why don’t you come down here and pick me up yourself?”

  “How about you come home, Katelyn. I have three of your teammates… but I only want you... Seems like a fair trade.”

  “Tag, then? I guess I’m it.”

  Kat smashed the mic to splinters against the dash and screamed until her mask choked her off.

  Thirty minutes later, Kat rolled her liberated 5-ton to a stop on the outskirts of the little fishing cove. Dozens of antique bolt-action rifles tracked her from every darkened window while she hopped down and shed her protective clothing.

  “You! What in God’s name have you done!”

  Émile charged out of the picket line. Kat snagged his hand before he touched the truck. “Call it a peace offering. You’re going to need a lot of bleach to decontaminate everything. Looks like the NAZIs were hell-bent on gassing you, even in the wild.”

  The rebel leader’s eyes bulged as he ran his flashlight over the cargo bed, stacked to the tarp cover with bloodstained modern rifles, sub-machine guns, and other naughty toys. He gaped at her sweat-soaked, blood-smeared grin as she pried the gas mask off.

  “What are you?”

  Kat yawned and rubbed her swollen neck. “No longer in your debt.”

  Émile spun around and whipped up his revolver as a giant shadow came jogging up. Dore rubbed his old knees and huffed. “I don’t even get a ride?”

  “Sorry, Wolfman. I made a bit of a mess. All the other masks were contaminated. Unless you were planning on holding your breath.”

  Dore straightened his back and cracked his tree-trunk neck. “Whatever. So let’s get moving. I know where the rendezvous point is. If we haul ass now…”

  “It’s a trap… trust me.” Kat dropped her head against his chest and sighed while he awkwardly rubbed her back.

  “Kat… they’ve got the Colonel. And my boys. If we don’t get ‘em now, how the hell are we ever going to track them down?”

  Kat slipped from his grasp and spun on Émile. “You better evacuate your people. Fifty Marks says you’ll see dive bombers at first light.”

  He hugged himself and nodded.

  “Makes sense… where will you two go?”

  “With you, honey.”

  “I was afraid of that.” Émile ran a trembling hand through his slick-back hair. “No offense, but we have enough problems without bringing a Witch into our homes.”

  Kat winked. “Are you flirting with me? Look, this is a powerful guerrilla army you’ve got, but it’s time to move out of the shadows.” Kat raised her voice as dozens of Jewish rebels clustered around
. “If they want to treat you all like rats, then let’s bring the plague to them!”

  Even Émile let a quarter smile slip. Over the cheering and whooping, he squeezed her arm. “Cute. What’s your real plan?”

  “Do you have a copy of the Old Testament?”

  While Émile squinted, Lieutenant Karsenty stepped forward and dug a small black book out of the coat pocket above his heart. Kat chuckled and traced a finger over the well-worn binding.

  “All the details are in there.”

  CHAPTER 6

  “Green Zone” Government Quarter

  Algiers

  “This still seems like such a risk.” Émile folded his newspaper and nibbled at his honey-dipped maasla cookies. “Our orders were to seize communications and hit the local garrison during the night of the invasion. A bolt from the blue attack on the Vichies all at once with everything we can muster. Showing our hand now only tips them off.”

  Kat snorted into her coffee, sloshing a bit of the dark roast on the café’s outdoor table. “Sounds like a brilliant plan drawn up by some desk Commando in Washington. When the day comes, do you prefer to raid fully manned bases full of fresh troops, or have your paranoid foe scattered in a thousand small guard posts? If we ramp up the mind games, we stack the deck in our favor.”

  Émile shook his head. “That’s some real Sun Tzu stuff. Win the battle before it even begins, right? Worth a shot, I guess.”

  “Sun Tzu? Never heard of her.”

  She looped a finger through her ponytail and fiddled with a long strand she kept tugging in front of her face. “I hate this color.” Squinting, she stared far past the black split ends at the civilian petrol station a hundred meters over Émile’s shoulder.

  Kat blinked hard and flinched as three Command cars rolled up to the pumps. “Contact, ah and these damn contacts. Driving me crazy.”