Gunner Kelly

Benedikt moved cautiously. There was a silenced Heckler and Koch pistol in the road, lying beside the Metro’s toy-like nearside wheel. Then he saw Kelly.

“He is dead?” More foreign words.

“I dunno. An‘ I don’t much care, neither.” Blackie’s voice was matter-of-fact.

Benedikt looked at him.

“Down by the stream, we were.” Blackie drew breath. “An‘ the message come—to stop ’un. An‘ Old Cecil drove the tractor, an’ I sets on the back. We got ‘ere just before ’im.”

There were sounds in the distance.

“‘E says to Old Cecil ’Open up the road‘ . . . An’, for an answer, Old Cecil just gets off the tractor.” Another breath, almost a sigh.

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“An‘ ’e says again, ‘Open up the road’. An‘ Old Cecil says ’No‘.

An’ then there’s this . . . like a thump, as I was a-comin‘ round the side.” He looked straight at Benedikt. ’“E didn’t give ‘im no chance. An’ I didn’t give him none, neither.”

Benedikt went to where the shot-gun blast had blown Kelly, on the opposite verge. Blackie must have been very quick to have got that shot in like that, against an expert; and, more than that, because with killing it needed will as well as reflexes. But the old soldier’s training must have reinforced the poacher’s instinct in that instant, so Kelly had been unlucky at the last when he was almost clear.

He knelt down beside the man. The blast had taken him midway, and not spread much, but there was a lot of blood. The unmarked face was grey-white, and old. He thought. . . old men shouldn ‘t die like this—

And then the eyes opened suddenly, and the chest moved, blowing a bubble of blood.

“Captain.” Kelly looked up at him, expressionless as Blackie.

“Ahh . . .”

With a wound like that ... it was hard to tell if there was nothing to lose—or anything to gain?

Nothing to gain of value now, he estimated coldly. Only curiosity was left now.

He bent a little closer. “Why did you kill them?”

Kelly gazed at him. “Told you. Personal matter.”

That wouldn’t do. “No . . . Alloysius.”

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Just as suddenly as they had opened, the eyes were no longer without expression. “Ahh . . . You knew?” Now they were sharing curiosity. “How long?” Almost a frown now.

Truth? “Minutes.” Truth. “The long gun—the 17-pounder . . . The Old General wasn’t there, he was away sick at the time. So you lied. But you had no reason to lie ... Or you weren’t there yourself, either . . . And that made me think of other things ...” Yet—what other things? wondered Benedikt. Because it still didn’t add up.

“Ahh . . .” The frown was smoothed away. “True story, though—

Michael’s story . . . Had to be Michael, for you . . . little mistake—

big mistake. Clever—too clever.” Almost imperceptible nod.

“Michael always said . . . Jerries clever.” Against the odds the voice was stronger. “Forgot that.”

And, even more strangely, the voice was no longer Irish, but had no country. “It was Michael who was killed?”

Another tiny movement of the head. “Bad luck. Both going . . .

running . . . Spotted one of them—can always tell . . . bastards . . .

Michael had talked of going to the Squire—safe with him ... I went instead.”

And that was where it didn’t make sense. “And he accepted you?

As Michael?”

“Michael?” Aloysius Kelly closed his eyes, and for a moment Benedikt thought he had lost him. “Ahh ... I was Michael—

Michael Kelly . . . 834 Gunner Kelly, sir!” Another frothy bubble expanded, bigger than the rest. “Best troop in the battery, best battery in the regiment, best regiment in the brigade, best brigade dummy1

in the division, best fucking division in the whole fucking army!

834 Gunner Kelly, Sir! ”

He still couldn’t believe it. “The Old General accepted you as Michael?”

The eyes opened. “What?”

“He-accepted-you-as-Michael?”

“Accept me? The Squire? Never!” There was blood at the corner of Kelly’s mouth. “Told you true . . . told him true . . . not all of it, of course—couldn’t do that. . . But told him I was done with it— their lies, my lies—over and done with for ever, and no going back in this world . . . Told him a lie—told him Michael had gone back to Ireland, where he’d be safe—not him they were after, only me—