blowing it apart.
“That’s enough, for Christ’s sake,” Leets called from the ridge.
Roger rose, spattered with blood and tissue.
Leets came tiredly down the slope and over to the body.
“Congratulations,” said Roger. “You get both ears and the tail.”
Leets bent and heaved the body to its belly. He pried the rifle off the shoulder, working the sling down the arm, at the same time being careful not to break the cord to the power pack.
“Here it is,” he said.
“Bravo,” said Roger.
Leets pulled out the receiver lockpin and the trigger housing pin. Taking the butt off and holding the action open, he held the barrel up to the sun and looked through it.
“See any naked girls?” Roger asked.
“All I see is dirt. It’s a mess. All those rounds he ran through it. All that pure, greasy lead. Each one left its residue. The grooves jammed. It’s smooth as the inside of a shot glass in there.”
“Yeah, well, he nearly threaded my needle.”
“Must have been your imagination,” Leets said. “At the end the rounds were veering off crazily as they came out the muzzle. No, the Vampire rifle was useless in the end. It amounted to nothing. A man with a flintlock would have had a better chance this morning.”
Roger was silent.
But something still nagged Leets. “One thing I can’t figure out. Why didn’t Vollmerhausen tell him? They were so good at the small stuff. The details. Why didn’t Vollmerhausen tell him?”
Roger knitted his features into what he imagined was an expression of puzzlement the equal of Leets’s. But he really didn’t give a damn and a more rewarding thought presently occurred to him.
“Hey!” he said in sudden glee. “Uh, Captain. Sir?”
“Yeah?”
“Hey, uh, I did okay, huh?”
“You did swell. You were a hero.” But he had other heroes in his mind at that second, dead ones. Shmuel the Jew and Tony Outhwaithe, Oxonian. Here was a moment they might have enjoyed. No, not really. Shmuel hated the violence; no joy in this for him. And Tony. Who ever knew about Tony? Susan? No, not Susan either. Susan would see only two beasts with the blood of a third all over them.
“Well, now,” said Roger, grinning, “you think I’ll get a medal?” He was supremely confident. “I mean it was kind of brave what I did, wasn’t it? It would be for my folks mainly.”
Leets said he’d think it over.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
STEPHEN HUNTER, the author of the acclaimed novel
