Portals in Time 2

by Michael Beals

  The other grinned and clucked his tongue. Kat let the blanket slip a tad lower, sealing the deal. Both men lunged forward as Kat slammed her knees together.

  “Uh, uh. One at a time. I’m a shy girl. The other stands guard in case your Sergeant comes looking for you.”

  She slipped deeper into the darkness and beckoned. The first hungry private stacked his rifle against the door frame and raced to catch up.

  The other blocked the door and scanned down the alley, chuckling at the banging going on inside. He searched his pockets for his last rubber and lit a cigarette. Before he was halfway through, a warm, tender hand slipped around his chest and massaged his neck.

  He leaned back against the warm breath on his ear. “That was quick, you spicy little minx.”

  “Oh, sweetie. Flattery will get you nowhere.”

  She wrapped one hand a little too snugly over his mouth when he tried spinning around. He didn’t get far since something sharp and impossibly rigid impaled him between his third and fourth ribs on his left side. Kat kicked her prey in the back of the knees, forcing him down on the blade. She rammed it ever deeper inside, twisting the handle the whole way, while cooing in his ear.

  Thirty minutes later, Kat rapped on the door of an abandoned farmhouse outside of Benghazi and tried to catch her breath.

  Dore and Trufflefoot popped up from behind a pile of debris nestled in the corner of the courtyard and ran over. Captain Steele and two of his men tore off a camo net covered in rubble, giving birth to a well-armed Chevy truck. Dore’s eyes widened at the girl’s rare but apparent excitement.

  “Kat, are you all right? How’d it go?”

  While Dore wrapped her in a bear hug, Trufflefoot frowned at the blanket she shrugged off, now bundled inside out. He hefted up the hem and fingered the copious fresh bloodstains. “Any problems we should know about?”

  “Piece of piss, as the Kiwis would say. Where’s the rest of the unit? We’ve got to strike soon. Right after dusk.” Steele cocked an eyebrow as she led the charge to the truck and pounced into the back. She tossed a sack of dates at him and pounded the deck.

  “What are you waiting on? Go already!”

  The driver roared off into the wide-open desert while Dore tore into the bag of palm fruit.

  “No wonder you don’t have a man. You never keep your dates.”

  Kat laughed far harder than he expected. Even gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

  “Oh, sweetie, I do have a hot date. Not so tall, but still handsome and mysterious. That fancy mosque is a hidden headquarters...”

  Steele drummed his fingers on his machine gun and worked his jaw.

  “Tempting, but I don’t know. Everyone’s held up in camp, about ten minutes away. Let’s get back, debrief, and make a plan together. We won’t hit ‘em until well after midnight, anyway. No point in taking unnecessary risks.”

  “Risks? I come bearing gifts. I didn’t even tell you the best part…”

  She filled the guys in without taking a breath or letting them get a word in edgewise. By the time they reached the patrol base, Dore was bouncing up and down on the side-runner in ecstasy. He dived off before the driver even touched the brakes.

  “Capson, Atkins! Get all the ammo you can… Lock and load, boys. We’re going huntin’!”

  Captain Steele plucked at his beard. He interrogated Kat for a solid minute without saying a word, both of them locked in a non-blinking contest.

  At length, he quietly skipped out of the truck and huddled with his Executive Officer and senior NCO’s for a good ten minutes. Kat strolled off to grab a quick meal and help her crew prep, drumming her foot the whole time.

  Trufflefoot nudged her shoulder as she pulled the machine guns from Capson’s gun mount and ran yet another function check.

  “Relax. Please be tactful. Some men don’t handle taking orders from a woman well. Remember, we need them more than they need us…”

  “We need more ammo.” Kat stomped off towards the patrol’s clustered trucks.

  “Less than an hour until nightfall, Captain. You boys ready to dance?” Kat rifled through their supplies and draped a belt of .30 Cal ammo over her shoulders. She also helped herself to one of the LRDG’s many demolition satchel charges.

  Steele threw an arm over the spare tire and scratched his chin. “Look, Kat. I’m just as full of piss and vinegar about this as you, but we need to be surgical out here. We’ll happily ransack the supply depot you found and raze it to the ground, but we can’t just run off on a half-baked suicide mission because you thought you saw the boogie man.”

  “Who gives a damn about gas and ammo?” Kat counted to five-under breath, not keeping the annoyance dripping from her tongue. “If we kill Rommel, there’s no genius left to put all that firepower to good use. Even if I’m wrong and he’s already left, surely we’ll find a bunch of his senior staffers there. We don’t have to bag the big enchilada to slow these fascists down.”

  Steele grunted. “I’m sorry… no. The supply dump is our number one focus.” He tossed his map onto the driver’s seat.

  “Do you think we’re all a bunch of cowboys out on a war safari? I have orders, reports to file, higher-ups to answer to. We can’t target religious structures without express permission from a two-star General or higher. Lord knows we have enough enemies out there already. Don’t need to go about pissing off the natives.”

  Sergeant Dore, always a step behind Kat, threw his hands up. Several Kiwi soldiers clustering around their Captain did the same. Steele raised his voice, louder than all the murmuring.

  “I don’t care how tempting it is, but a suicide strike against a fortified target isn’t what we’re out here for. We’ve got a long and juicy list of targets for the flyboys to pound. Getting that intel back to HQ is our primary objective at this point.”

  Steele’s Executive Officer, Lieutenant Stewart, crossed his arms and tugged at his gaunt chin. The emotionless, rail-thin man nudged the Captain and grunted something in his ear.

  Trufflefoot parted the crowd, shuffling between Steele and Kat. He cleared his throat theatrically.

  Steele whipped a knife-hand his way. “As the senior ranking combat Officer in this patrol, I’ve made a decision. Are we going to have a problem?”

  Steele flashed a wicked grin as Kat slid into a fighting stance and tried to burn him down with her gaze.

  “With that said, I’m not above having a little fun. Executive Officer, what was your idea?”

  The usually quiet and reserved lieutenant took a large pinch of his ever-present snuff and held his folded map up high.

  “I’m sure this old mosque hasn’t been renovated recently. Do you recall any signs pointing to the nearest air raid shelter?”

  Kat shut her eyes for a long moment before squealing like a schoolgirl. “You sneaky rats! Yeah, there was one across the plaza. About two hundred meters of wide-open concrete between there and the headquarters. Not the slightest cover around…”

  “So we need to figure out how to take the depot without firing a shot, and then I’m sure we can do a fair job simulating an airstrike.” The Captain buried his nose in his map. “I’m thinking we’ll infiltrate in six teams. Alpha hits here, then Bravo—”

  Kat unfolded her old Bedouin blanket and dumped out a pair of Wehrmacht uniforms with tactical gear. All in excellent condition, except for the dark stains on the shirt backs.

  “Why do men have to complicate everything? I’m tired of sneaking around. Let’s just walk in the front gate.”

  Afrika Korps Auxiliary Command Center

  Benghazi, Libya

  W hen his Command Car screeched to a halt, Oberführer Pernass ripped his map in half trying to hold on. The terrified private in the front seat pounded on the horn.

  “I’m sorry, sir. That damn bitch came out of nowhere.”

  Pernass flicked his eyes over the raggedy Bedouin woman coming to her senses and rushing off. He caught a glimpse of dirty red hair as she spun around. Insti
nctively, his hand flashed to the Luger on his belt. A pair of nearby riflemen on patrol charged after her, one tossing up a salute as he dashed past.

  “We’ll teach her a lesson, sir!”

  When the SS Oberführer’s weapon came out, the driver gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles burned white. “S-sir, looks like the field marshal is already inside the new headquarters.”

  Pernass tucked his gun away and folded the remnants of his map together. He eyed the spritely woman’s back for a moment as she rounded the corner, a deeper frown than usual etched on his owl’s face. “Then what are we waiting for?”

  Two minutes later…

  Pernass cleared the outer checkpoint and halted in front of the wide double doors to the Atiq Mosque. The senior German security NCO outside, sporting civilian clothes like the other six guards, nodded deeply instead of saluting.

  “Good day, Oberführer.”

  Pernass dangled his ID booklet. “You don’t check papers anymore? Can any guerilla just meander in here?”

  “Uh, well, sir… I assumed the perimeter guards… Of course, it’s you, after all, sir…”

  The NCO’s pasty Aryan skin blinked translucent as Pernass squinted. “Ja wohl, mein Herr!”

  Two fidgeting privates uncovered their machine pistols and steadied them on the SS Oberführer while their Sergeant hastily examined his papers. The man struggled to keep the Oberführer’s unflinching gaze as he disarmed the SS legend and gave him a quick pat-down.

  “Clear to pass, sir. Here’s a check ticket for your sidearm.”

  With a slow spin, Pernass locked eyes with every guard around. “I don’t care if Hitler himself comes strutting through the door. You give anyone you don’t know a detailed anal cavity search. Hell, from what I’ve heard, he might enjoy it.”

  The squad barked in laughter, but immediately clammed up in angst. Pernass gave a thin-lipped quarter smile. “Relax. You have nothing to fear as long as you give your duty 100%. Fuck up though, and I can make those dark dreams of yours a reality.”

  Pernass slipped inside the mosque without another word. His knee-high boots echoed throughout the five-hundred-year-old columns. Except for Rommel and his senior Commanders huddled in the far corner, the rest of the bustling Command Center hit the mute button. Pernass marched to the middle of a roped-off section of desks near the exterior door leading to the detached minaret. He folded his hands behind his back and waited. The oldest of the blackshirts in the counterintelligence section stretched and came over.

  “You’re early, Pernass. Wasn’t expecting you until the morning.”

  The Oberführer and the Colonel were technically the same rank, but the graying Wehrmacht Officer struggled to feign calmness under the Gestapo legend’s glare, even as they shook hands.

  “Stole a ride on a bomber to speed things up. Berlin gave me 72 hours to solve your little problem. I need to finish this in 48. Still have a lot of work to do in Ukraine.”

  The staffer forced out a grin. “Any other Officer would kill for a chance to take a break from the Eastern Front… Well, it’s good to have your, um, assistance again. These ANZAC raiders are far more trouble than any native uprising. My staff should have the full briefing by breakfast. In the meantime, Uwe!”

  A young orderly rushed up and stood at attention. “Please show the Oberführer his room at the hotel. You’ll enjoy it. We took the city mostly intact. Even the bar is well—”

  “Do I look like I came here for a drink?” Pernass nodded at Uwe.

  “Private, put on some coffee. It’s going to be a long night.”

  He snapped his fingers at the Colonel as well. “We’ll conduct the briefing right now.”

  “Ah, but we have other operations in the works. What about those new bombs they’re sending us from the University of Hamburg? In just a few days, we’ll change the whole strategic picture.”

  “Damn Hitler and his ridiculous, magical wonder weapons.” Pernass snickered while the whole intelligence section went white and glanced sheepishly around.

  “Maybe if he ever let the scientists finish their work first, instead of acting like a spoiled brat that has to play with his toys right now, then these secret weapons might actually be useful for once.”

  Pernass tossed his pitch-black, skull, and crossbones studded field cap on the desk and loosened the Iron Cross around his neck.

  “Anyway, I’ll tell you the same thing I told him at the Wolf’s Lair. None of these operations are half as important as stopping the Long Range Desert Group. Yes, these Commandos are only at battalion strength, but all of them operate behind your lines. So right now, they’re more dangerous than a whole armored division to the front. Your vaunted field marshal is a victim of his own success. He’s gone so far, so fast that the supply chain just can’t keep up. If these weapons work, logistics will only get worse. In such a self-made trap, losing a few fuel trucks is far more than a mild inconvenience. It’s checkmate.”

  Pernass helped himself to the Wehrmacht Colonel’s chair and turned his hawk nose up.

  “In practical terms, it means going before the Fuhrer himself and explaining how you, the head counterintelligence Officer for the Afrika Korps, snatched defeat from the jaws of victory. Do you think golden boy over there is going to take the blame? Swallow your pride and do exactly what I say, and just maybe you won’t have to swallow a gun.”

  The Colonel glanced helplessly at the Chief Of Staff across the grand hall, the only man short of Rommel that outranked this pit viper. The Chief hustled off in a hurry on some errand without a word. The Colonel gulped and studiously avoided the SS snake in front of him and his unblinking gaze, keeping his eyes on the golden Nahkampfspange badge above Pernass’s heart. More than 50 kills in hand-to-hand combat...

  He’d read about the award in propaganda magazines, but never seen one in person.

  “Of course… sir. How can I help?”

  Pernass rifled through the Top-Secret folders on his desk. “First step is to establish our own quick reaction force. The Italians never let us know they’re in trouble until the survivors have a good night’s sleep, and their Commander can correct the report. Who’s the senior local Waffen SS Officer?”

  “Um, Captain Sparmann. He has fewer than 100 men. They’re busy processing and interrogating all the new prisoners.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” Pernass tugged out his pipe and absently massaged the Luger on his belt holster.

  “Your best killers are screwing around with an enemy that’s already out of the fight? No wonder these Kiwis are making you look like fools. Have the Captain drop what he’s doing and assemble all his troops here in the next three hours. We’ll create a few mobile hunter-killer teams of our own. Worked wonders against insurgents in Poland. Sparmann now has carte blanche access to raid any armory or motor pool he desires. Load up any weapons and vehicles he prefers. Make sure to commandeer two mobile AAA cannons.”

  Pernass smirked at something far away as the staffer squinted.

  “Trust me. It’s the best anti-personnel weapon around.”

  “I’m not sure Rommel will go for all that. He lives by the whole every weapon to the front philosophy. Maybe if we could…”

  “Don’t bore me with the details. Just make it happen, or I’ll find someone who can.”

  The counterintelligence chief ground his teeth, jotting notes anyway. Pernass snatched a red pen and a fresh plastic overlay for the map. He flagged potential ambush sites left and right without glancing at the Colonel shuffling about behind his back.

  “Once they get here, the SS will take over security for the supply routes. Good God, man, your rear area defenses are a joke. I mean, a little while ago, my driver almost ran over a Bedouin woman begging for scraps outside of this very Command Post. Could you imagine if she had been a scout for the Allies?”

  Freedom Square

  Central Benghazi

  S hortly after midnight, Trufflefoot rounded the last alley corner, coming from the ro
ugh direction of the big motor-pools north of Benghazi. He paused long enough to double-check that the stain on his German tunic’s collar was tucked away before advancing on the walled soccer field at the south end of the hilariously named Freedom Square.

  Captain Steele sauntered easily at his side, far more comfortable in the borrowed uniform than him, and hummed a jazzy tune into the silent night. The whole city was under strict air-raid blackout rules. If it wasn’t for the quarter moon, Trufflefoot would have strolled right past the five-meter gap in the wall marking the only entrance into the supply depot.

  “Halt!”

  The Major moved to the edge of the razor wire and yawned. Trufflefoot laughed at the twin helmets peeking over the sandbags. “Evening. Or morning, Christ, it’s been a long day. We’re with C company, 1-41 infantry.”

  One of the supply troops moseyed out of the firing nest and shined a green lens flashlight at Trufflefoot and Steele. “What do you want, Private?”

  “The fan belts and drive differentials, of course. Some more hydraulic fluid would help too.”

  The guard just blinked.

  “Come on! You can’t be serious. Didn’t the battalion quartermaster radio in our order? It’s late enough, and we still have to install everything before daybreak.”

  The young soldier checked his clipboard. “I don’t see any emergency requests.”

  His rifle muzzle twitched a little as he stepped closer towards the strangers. Only the older stranger seemed interested in the conversation. The other tall, freshly shaved private meandered aimlessly around the checkpoint while trying to light a cigarette with a busted lighter.

  The guard’s partner emerged from the sandbags with his rifle at the low ready. He leaned over the wire, offering the newcomer a light. The Wehrmacht corporal in charge of the gate spun back around to frown at the older man interrupting his quiet night.

  “Are you planning to carry the parts back? Where’s your truck?”

  Trufflefoot dropped the charm and spat in the guard’s direction. “If our vehicles were running fine, then we wouldn’t fucking be here, now would we? Goddamn rear-echelon bastards! You sit here in your shady shack jerking each other off while we’re out in the trenches…”