'Taggart!' a voice yelled out. 'Give yourself up in the name of the Crown!'
That was Carrick, and although I thought him a smart policeman, I wasn't sure this was the best choice of words. The only reply was a volley of fire.
'Taggart,' another voice boomed out. 'This is Dan Boyle. Give up now, man, there's nowhere for you to go!'
'Damn you all,' Taggart screamed back and began firing again. This time it was an assault, not a standoff. I caught a glimpse of Taggart, waving men on. He had the sniper rifle and a half dozen or so BAR-wielding gunmen followed him, blasting away at the jeeps and the few RUC huddled behind them, along with my Uncle Dan. I stood and fired at Taggart, and Slaine did the same, but the distance was too great for accuracy. We dove for cover as one man sprayed BAR fire in our direction. Bullets smacked into tree trunks and ricocheted off rocks as we covered our heads.
A new source of heavy fire broke out, driving the IRA men back. It was Masters's group, running and firing as they came alongside the RUC, dropping two BAR men in their tracks. Then Sergeant Farrell's men arrived from the other direction, creating a deadly cross fire. The IRA gunmen scattered, seeking shelter among the rocks.
'Get down,' I said, pulling on Slaine. 'There's too much lead flying around.'
'My bloody weapon is jammed anyway,' she said, banging on the bolt. We kept our heads down, listening to yells and howling voices while M1s and Thompsons overwhelmed the staccato sound of the BARs. It was extraordinarily loud, the way combat is when men shoot at each other up close, seeing the look on their enemy's face as they pull the trigger, rage, fear, and blood lust ripping screams from the throats of the living and the dying. Emerging from the all-enveloping sound was a new one, a man thrashing his way through the undergrowth, branches snapping, boots pounding on uneven ground, grunts and gasps as he strained at vegetation in his way, drawing nearer as the sounds of the fight below dwindled. I held my automatic at the ready, trying to pinpoint the direction of the sound, swinging it back and forth as to ward off a wild beast from the woods. Slaine ejected the jammed rounds from her weapon and scrambled to put in a new clip, her eyes wide with fear.
Taggart burst through the bushes, his face covered in blood, his mouth twisted in rage. He held a revolver in one hand, the other covered with a hasty bandage, soaked red.
'You! Goddamn you both!' Spit flew from his mouth as he cursed us. He looked like the devil, blood staining his skin red, the wild look in his eyes as maniacal as it was gleeful. I pulled the trigger but the shot went wide. I pulled it again and got nothing but the click of an empty magazine. Taggart grinned, and then pointed his revolver at Slaine, empty Sten gun in one hand, full clip in the other. He pulled the trigger, shot her in the chest, and grinned even wider. I watched her fall as he aimed the pistol at me and fired. I saw the blast, a bright orange flame shooting out, but I didn't feel a thing. I looked at my left arm and saw a neat hole just above the elbow, black scorched edges turning red.
'Next one will be in the head,' Taggart said as he grabbed me by the collar, dragging me along with him. I tried to find Slaine but everything was hazy. I've been shot, I kept saying to myself. He shot me. I felt blood dripping thickly down my arm. He did it on purpose, I thought. Just enough to put me in shock yet keep me on my feet. Smart guy, I had to give him that, as he propelled me down the path, right to a gaggle of armed men who wanted him dead. I felt the hot barrel of his revolver pressed behind my ear as he jammed it against my head, his other hand firm on my shoulder. 'Try anything funny and I'll take you with me,' he hissed.
'Don't shoot!' Taggart yelled. 'Don't shoot or the Yank is dead.' He hid behind me as much as he could, tightening his grip on my shoulder. As sweat streamed across my face I felt his hot breath, smelled blood. His hand was covered in it. It was warm and sticky against my neck, and for a second I wondered if he really was the devil, carrying me off to hell. I knew it was shock but I felt strangely in his power, this bleeding demon driving me through the woods.
'Hold,' Carrick said. 'Don't move.'
'Oh, I'll move, I will, or you'll be picking up the pieces of this bastard Yank's skull.'
'You'll be dead within seconds if you do that,' Carrick said reasonably as he walked closer, casually reloading his Webley revolver. Uncle Dan was behind him, his gun hand down at his side, his eyes darting everywhere. He moved two steps to his left.
'We all have to die,' Taggart said. 'I don't care, it's as simple as that. It would bring me joy.'
'Why don't you care?' Uncle Dan asked. 'You have all that money you stole.'
'Ah, you must be the enforcer from Boston. I've heard about you. Working with the RUC, are you? Strange bedfellows, eh? Now put down your weapons, and order your men to do the same.'
'Where can you go?' Carrick asked. 'We'll find you.' He hadn't put his gun down.
Masters and his men had rounded up the wounded IRA men and those who hadn't gotten away. They were on the other side of the bridge, too far away to intercede. Two RUC constables were closer, and looked to Carrick for direction.
'No, I'll find you,' Taggart said. 'And you'll pay, you'll all pay.'
'For your wife and children?' I asked, struggling to get the words out. He ground the barrel of the pistol against my skull.
'No, he's nothing more than a crook,' Uncle Dan said, taking one step forward. 'He was stealing from us long before they died.'
'Stop!' Taggart said. 'It's everything, all of my wrongs. My family, my mother, killed. My half brother, hounded out of Dublin for who he was. We were going to get even for all the failures, all the deaths, the senseless brutality. You have no idea what I saw in Spain. What I did there, what I did here. What was it for? So the Irish could live like contented sheep? Or serve the British? When Breeda and the kids were killed by the bloody Germans, that's when I decided to bring you all down, to let you all feel the pain. And you will, whether I live or die. The money would have been nice but you can't have everything. I've come to prefer chaos myself.'
'Just one question, Taggart,' Uncle Dan said. 'Just one.'
'What?' He spoke through gritted teeth, eager to get on either with his escape or his big exit.
'Do you know Sammy Bazzinoti?'
I felt the muscles in Taggart's hand tighten. I went slack, dropping my head and letting my feet fold at the ankles, trying to be deadweight. I saw Uncle Dan raise his gun hand, closed my eyes, and waited. I heard the shot, thunderously loud, and felt the spray of hot blood at the back of my head. I fell out of Taggart's iron grip and went down on my knees, praying the blood wasn't mine.
'My God,' I heard Carrick say. 'Quite a shot.'
'Slaine,' I managed to get out. 'He shot her, up there.' I tried to point but pain stabbed through my left arm as I tried to raise it. I turned to use the other. Carrick sent out a constable, followed by a couple of GIs with medic packs. Uncle Dan kicked the pistol from Taggart's hand but it was nothing more than a routine cop gesture. The shot had gone neatly through his right eye, exploding out the back in a much messier fashion.
'How bad is Subaltern O'Brien?' Carrick asked. I noticed he was bleeding too, holding a handkerchief to one leg.
'I don't know. He shot her point-blank, then hit me in the arm and dragged me down here.'
'And who is this Sammy character?' Carrick asked Uncle Dan.
'Sammy Bazzinoti owns a nice deli back in Boston. He was robbed at gunpoint, and it went bad. A cop was coming in just as the guy was pulling his gun. Young rookie name of Billy. The guy takes Sammy hostage, puts a gun to his head. I get called to the scene, and Billy's got it all contained, all the other customers are out. So I go in to see what I can do. Sammy sees me with my gun out and faints dead away. The guy loses his grip and I plug him. End of story.'
'He shot him in the right eye,' I said.
'Steady hand you've got there,' Carrick said as he stared at Taggart's corpse. 'Too bad you didn't get to recover the money you came for.'
'I didn't come for money,' Uncle Dan said, gazing at the corpse.
Then I felt dizzy. Someone tried to keep me from falling but it was lights-out.
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE
