Mac wingate 2, p.19
Mac Wingate 2, page 19
“I got only a couple, Captain.”
“I thought you used them all up at the dump.”
“I was holding these in case we needed them after—with all them Germans coming at us.”
“I noticed. Well, I am glad you have them. You got any of those damn fuses?”
“Yes, sir.”
“We need half-hour fuses.”
“We’ll just have to take our chances on that, Captain. You know what happened the last time.”
“I know.”
Wingate turned to Peter.
“Thank you, Peter. I want you to go find Korabe. Tell him what’s up. He might want to clean up what we leave here—one way or the other.” As Peter turned to move off, Wingate took him by the arm. “And thank Ruza for me, too.”
For the first time, the boy smiled. Then he nodded and ran off, vanishing almost immediately in the darkness.
Wingate turned to the corporal. “Here’s what we’re going to do,” he said.
Striding toward the hollow where he had left Annie and the two partisans, Wingate called out softly, “Annie! You there?” There was, of course, no response.
“It’s me!” he called softly. “The corporal and Sergio bought it! I’m the only one left to go back. You all right?” By this time he could see Annie’s head, but not the gag that had been wrapped around her mouth. It was too dark. He could also see the two dead partisans that had been propped up beside her.
“Annie?” he called again, allowing some hint of alarm to creep into his voice. “What’s the matter? Anything wrong?”
Up from the hollow rose a dark figure, his submachine gun glinting in the moonlight. It was aimed at Wingate’s midsection. Wingate stopped immediately.
“What the hell ...!”
“It is me, Captain,” said Halil, striding through the darkness toward him. “You must drop your weapon in the grass. Do this now. Or we will kill the woman.”
Wingate threw his submachine gun to the ground. He did it quickly, almost eagerly. The impression he wanted to create was surprise, followed by panic. When he heard Halil’s chuckle, he knew he had succeeded. Another shadowy figure darted from the hollow and snatched up the discarded weapon.
“Now come closer, Captain,” said Halil. “You must tell the pilot to land when he comes over. You must tell him it is safe. If you do not do that, we will kill the woman.”
“All right,” said Wingate, moving reluctantly into the hollow. “But take that gag out of the woman’s mouth. She’s probably having trouble breathing. I won’t do anything if you don’t do that.”
A rifle butt crashed brutally into the back of his head and sent him hurtling to the ground. For a sickening moment, he teetered on the brink of consciousness. Then the nausea faded. He shook his head and sat up.
“Do not tell us what to do, Captain,” said Halil. “We will tell you what to do.” He smiled coldly down at Wingate. “You see? I did not like the way you ordered me and Draja around when we go to blow up German dump. You treat us like children and then give us bombs that blow up too soon. You try to kill us, I bet.”
“You’re crazy,” said Wingate. “Those bombs went up too soon for all of us. We were all in there together, don’t forget.”
“Shut up and listen to me. Stay quiet and wait for plane to come over. Then you speak to pilot on radio. Tell him it is all right to land.”
“I was going to set fires on both ends of the strip, too. These two men you killed were supposed to help me do that.”
“They have already made ready the fires. This man beside me will light them when it is time. All you do is talk to pilot.”
“Sure. But I want you to take that gag out of Miss Mitchum’s mouth. And you can hit me again if you want for demanding that. But if you do. I’ll be unconscious and unable to talk the plane down.”
Halil turned to his companion and said something in Albanian. The fellow stepped forward, and with rough fingers ripped the cloth from Annie’s mouth. She spat out a wad of cloth and looked at Wingate. Tears were suddenly welling in her eyes.
“Thank you. Mac,” she said. “I was having trouble breathing. It was awful.”
“This is my fault, Annie. I should have figured that Zogu would do everything he could to stop me from returning with what I know.”
“It is hard to understand such treachery as his, Mac. This is all a different world entirely. Tribe against tribe. Religion against religion. Moslems against Christians. Eastern Orthodox against Roman Catholics. Communists against royalists.” She shook her head. “I could go on.”
“You don’t need to. I understand perfectly.”
As he and Annie talked, Wingate had slowly shifted his position, so that he was facing both Annie and Halil. The fellow was watching him carefully, his submachine gun held at the ready. Wingate had no doubt that he was carrying the weapon with the safety off. The other one, Wingate saw now that he was facing him, was a small Italian in full uniform. The wily mountain chieftain had managed quite an alliance, at that. The thing was, he was going to find he would need a lot more than the Italian troops to defeat the Waffen SS.
“I am sorry about the corporal, Mac. And Sergio, too. I liked him.”
“Yes. I did, too.”
Halil was listening closely to their conversation. This was what Wingate wanted. For his plan to work, it was essential that Halil and his Italian soldier be convinced that he had approached this airstrip completely alone.
Wingate glanced at the luminous dial of his wristwatch. Almost fifteen minutes before the plane was due. McCauley should have finished planting his Lewis bombs by this time, he realized. And even as he thought this, he saw something moving in the shadows behind the Italian soldier.
A signal had already been agreed upon. Wingate was supposed to stand up and shade his eyes, as if had heard the plane’s motor and was trying to see its lights in the night sky. As soon as he raised his hand to shade his eyes, the corporal would hit the one nearest him. Both men would have to be taken without firing a shot.
Wingate got slowly to his feet. “I think I hear a plane’s motor,” he said to Halil. And then he put up his hand to shade his eyes.
The Italian uttered a strangled cry and crumpled under the corporal’s huge bulk. At the same moment, Wingate swung his upraised hand around and knocked Halil’s weapon to one side. His other hand reached into his fatigue pocket and pulled out his .45. As Halil staggered back from Wingate’s first assault, Wingate followed up and brought the .45 down upon the man’s skull with all the force he could muster.
Halil dropped without a sound. Bending over him, Wingate saw that he had crushed the man’s skull. Surprised at the fury he had just exhibited, he was grimly satisfied as well. In his line of work, he had to be capable of such action.
McCauley rose from the grass. The Italian soldier did not stir. Wingate did not think it was necessary for him to ask the corporal about the Italian.
Annie had looked quickly away as soon as the action started. Her gaze was still averted when she said, her voice thin, close to hysteria, “Those poor men. They were dreadful, both of them. But ... it was so terrible what you had to do.” She looked up at Wingate. “Was ... there no other way?”
“No, Annie. And we’re not out of this yet. You’re in the middle of a war. Try to keep that in mind for the next half hour. Our lives may depend on that.”
She took a deep breath and brushed her hair back off her forehead, her face growing hard. “All right, Mac. I’ll remember that.”
“That’s the girl,” Wingate said.
The plane was right on schedule. At 0530 its faint mutter was clearly audible. Bent over the radio, Wingate flipped the dial, found the frequency. Pressing the headphones gently to his ear, he told the pilot how pleased he was to hear his motor. Then he told him to circle until he saw two bonfires—one on each end of the runway.
“How the hell long do you expect me to sit up here?” the pilot demanded unhappily.
“Over and out,” Wingate said, pulling off the headphones and frowning up at the black sky.
Then he glanced at his watch. Now would be a hell of a time for those fuses to go off.
“Stay here, Annie. We’ll be right back.”
She nodded.
Wingate headed for the gun crew at the north end of the airstrip, the corporal started for those at the south. The corporal had warned Wingate that the machine gunners at the north end were restless, somewhat noisy. They were Italians, it seemed, who would much rather be home or at an opera—instead of a war. There were four of them. And McCauley had planted the Lewis bomb in between their two boxes of ammunition.
As Wingate crept up on the gun crew, he could hear the men’s voices. They were boastful and somewhat nervous now that the plane was overhead. They were all watching its lights as it started to circle. Just then the Lewis bomb went off.
The detonation was terrific and Wingate was grateful for the large tuft of grass behind which he was able to duck his head. But as soon as the blast wave passed, he was on his feet, emptying a clip at the four torn bodies. It was over in less than a minute.
But not on the south end of the airstrip. The stutter of McCauley’s Sten carried the length of the field. And then it halted. There was an awesome silence. The night became a vast, waiting ear. Abruptly, the Sten barked again.
At once came the detonation of the second Lewis bomb—this one set off by the corporal’s gunfire. Now there were two leaping fires burning with savage intensity at both ends of the field, fires punctuated by the sound of exploding shells.
Each gun emplacement had become the incoming beacons for Wingate’s plane.
The C-47 came in steeply, straightening out only at the last possible moment, and landed with a sudden, high-pitched roaring of its motors. As Wingate, Annie and the corporal left the hollow and hurried across the field toward the slowly turning plane, they saw the side door being flung open. The copilot stood in the doorway, beckoning to them, urging them to hurry.
Wingate reached the plane first. He slapped his hands down onto the floor, found a ridge to grab, and hauled himself in. Annie called his name. Wingate turned and reached out. The plane had slowed only slightly, Wingate realized. For a moment Annie could not keep up. The corporal gave her a boost from behind and Wingate was able to grab both her arms and pull her on board.
Then it was McCauley’s turn.
Machine gun fire from a patch of timber alongside the airstrip slammed into the fuselage and abruptly yanked the corporal out of the doorway. Wingate leaned far out and saw the corporal bouncing as he hit, then rolling over and coming to rest on his stomach—while the plane continued to move on down the runway at an increasing rate of speed.
Wingate spun about. The copilot had watched all this without a word.
“What the hell’s going on here?” demanded Wingate.
“We were given strict orders, Captain. We were to land, turn and take off. We are deep in Axis-held territory, and this aircraft is vitally needed elsewhere. In fact, this mission was almost scratched.”‘
“I see,” said Wingate bitterly. “And we were almost abandoned. Is that it?”
The young man shrugged, almost disdainfully. “We have our orders, sir.”
Wingate took out his .45 and released the safety and pointed it at the young man. He looked very neat and very dashing in his full officer’s uniform, especially the rakish peaked cap with the wings.
“Do you understand what I mean to do with this gun, Lieutenant?”
The man swallowed and took a step back. “Sir, you’re an officer. You wouldn’t ... shoot a fellow officer!”
The gun roared and a hole appeared in the fuselage just behind the copilot’s head. “I missed that time, Lieutenant. I may not miss the next time. Get back to that pilot of yours and tell him to slow down and come around again ... and again, if need be. I’m not leaving this country without that corporal—and you’re not leaving the ground without either of us. Is that clear?”
When the fellow appeared ready to argue the point, Wingate fired a second time.
“I understand, Captain!” the copilot fairly shouted. Wingate turned to Annie and handed her the gun.
“Go up to the cockpit with this kid, Annie. Don’t be afraid to use this. If you have to, just shoot up the instruments. We’re not leaving without McCauley. We had to leave Sergio. But we are not going to leave the corporal. You understand, don’t you, Annie.”
“Yes, Mac,” she said soberly. “I do.”
“Okay.”
Annie hurried up to the cockpit, and Wingate felt the plane slow, then turn. He looked out the door. They were heading back down the runway. He could just barely make out the corporal’s still form lying in the deep grass alongside it. Moving out of the timber toward McCauley were at least five men with rifles. He could not be sure in the darkness, but the uniforms resembled those worn by the Waffen SS, the mountain troops. The sudden burst of activity had brought them to this field to investigate.
The plane had slowed enough by this time to allow Wingate to drop to the ground safely. Still carrying the MP-40 he had taken from the dead German, he dropped to the ground—and found himself only a few feet from the corporal. He hurried to the man’s side and rolled him over.
McCauley’s eyes opened. He seemed confused.
“Where you hit?” Wingate asked.
“My leg. Jesus, Captain! Where the hell did you drop from? I thought you were long gone!”
“Can you walk on it?”
“It’s the calf, I think. I don’t think the bone’s been hit. I can try, Captain, but I can’t do any running. I know that for sure.”
“I’ll help you then. Get ready.”
Wingate glanced toward the woods. The Germans were much closer now, but they were advancing cautiously. They had seen Wingate drop from the plane and knew he was in the grass, watching them. Wingate jumped up and fired a long volley at the SS. They immediately dropped to the grass and returned the fire.
Wingate went down on one knee as the bullets punched through the air over his head. He saw the plane, at the far end of the runway now, turning slowly to make another run for it. Wingate slung the MP-40 over his shoulder, then looked quite coldly at his wounded companion.
“When I say go,” Wingate told the corporal. “Move it! I’ll support you as best I can. But you are too big a man for me to carry. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Another thing. Annie has a gun on the pilot and copilot. If you can’t get back on that plane, it is not going to take off. That means the whole damn lot of us will most likely spend the rest of the war in a stalag. Do you get my meaning?”
“Yes, I do, Captain. We’ll make it to that plane. I promise you.”
“Good! Let’s go!”
The plane was hardly moving as it passed by the two men, but that was not the problem. The Germans’ fire was the difficulty. Bullets whipped past them with awesome frequency, and the fuselage of the plane began to resemble a sieve. But Wingate was unable to return the fire while he was helping McCauley. At last, Wingate had boosted the corporal into the plane. The big fellow turned and reached out for Wingate. Wingate grabbed his hand; the corporal yanked. Wingate thought both arms were leaving their sockets as he fairly flew into the plane.
Then he unlimbered his burp gun and turned. As the plane began to pick up speed, he got off a couple of short, wicked bursts that cut down at least two of the Germans. But by then the SS troops were dropping far behind, and were soon swallowed up in the predawn darkness …
Fifteen
Colonel Erikson was upset about something, but he was trying not to show it. Wingate had a pretty good idea of what it was that was eating at the man. But he had no intention of bringing the matter up himself. He leaned back in his chair and watched as Erikson paused suddenly in front of the window and turned to address him.
“As I say, we’ve all read your report. The entire staff, as a matter of fact. We find much in it to admire, I must admit. The loss of that supply dump was a great blow to the Nazis. There’s no doubt that as a result of that attack, they have concentrated even more divisions in the lower Balkans, Albania especially.”
Erikson paused.
“And that joint attack on the SS brigade with that group of partisans was certainly a shock to the Germans. They lost considerable men and materiel. And, of course, this also served to convince the German High Command that an attack was perhaps being contemplated through Albania. All in all, I must admit, a most successful mission.”
“But ...”
“Yes, Captain. There is a but. You fired at a fellow officer—the copilot of the plane that had been sent to bring you out.”
“I explained that in the report, sir.”
“I know you did!”
“Then you know I had no alternative.”
“Yes, Captain. I know that, too.”
“So what’s the beef?”
Colonel Erikson took a deep breath. “That is just it, Captain. I don’t have a beef! When General Patton heard about it, he laughed, and said it was about time someone told those fly-boys where to head in. They’ve been dropping paratroopers too low, dumping them in the sea—raising hell in general. They’re a bunch of prima donnas. That’s what the general thinks. But, damn it, Wingate, you can’t go around doing that!”
Wingate got to his feet.
“All right, Colonel. I won’t do that again. Not unless I really have to. That’s a promise.”
Erikson sighed and shook his head. “You’re incorrigible, Wingate. But I suppose that’s why we need you. One more thing. Patton is not happy about your assessment of the political situation in Albania—and in the Balkans, in general.”
“Neither am I. But don’t rely on me. Colonel Holloway is quite an expert, I gather. And he says about the same thing.”
“We know. And perhaps you are right. But it’s not a pleasant prospect for after the war—all those nations going Communist.”
