'Thanks for lending a hand. Sorry you were shot. Doesn't that hurt?'
'It will when the morphine wears off, you can count on that. Listen, you boys ever need anything from the Army Air Force, you look me up. Bull Dawson, at your service. OK?'
'We may need your assistance sooner than later,' Carrick said from behind us. 'I just ran into Major Cosgrove, and he's demanding that I arrest you, Daniel.'
'What?' Dawson said.
'It's a long story, Colonel,' I said. 'This is my uncle, Dan Boyle. He's a police detective from Boston, and it will be a whole lot easier if you don't ask what he's doing here. But he needs to get out of the country, pronto. He's a little lacking in the paperwork department.'
'I've been to Schweinfurt and back, Lieutenant. I don't give a damn about paperwork. You get a telephone in here and I'll have your uncle on the next C-47 flying home. And if he needs to hide out until it takes off, leave that to me.'
'See, Daniel, this is how the Royal Black Knights look out for each other,' Carrick said, a grin lighting up his usually dour face. I'd seen that look before, the strain and tension vanishing from a policeman's face after a case was successfully solved. Relief for a brief moment, perhaps long enough to get drunk or spend time with your family, depending on your inclination, until the next corpse turned up.
'Saints preserve us,' Uncle Dan said.
I left them to plot Uncle Dan's escape and went in search of Slaine. I found her room and waited by the door as a doctor checked her with a stethoscope and felt her pulse. He wrote notes on her chart and left, brushing by me without a word. I pulled up a chair and sat by her bed, watching as her eyes focused and found me.
'Billy! What happened? Tell me, please.' There was energy in her voice but she looked weak and withered against the white sheets. A thick dressing covered her chest, and tiny drops of sweat beaded her forehead. Her hair was damp and flattened against the pillow, the curls faded and limp. I tried not to show my surprise.
'I'll tell you everything, don't worry. You look pretty good for having been shot and left for dead.'
'I guess not all Irishmen have a way with words but thank you. I feel horrible, though. Tell me, what's happened?'
'It's all over. Guns recovered, Taggart dead.' I told her the whole story, starting from when she was shot and finishing up at the truck with Grady hugging the last BAR to his chest.
'It was last night that I was shot? I'm so confused.' She tried to raise a hand to her head but let it drop halfway.
'This morning, actually.'
'And you, you were shot too, weren't you?'
'Yeah, right through the arm. Hurts like hell, but I'm fine.'
'Major Cosgrove came to see me,' Slaine said. Her lips pressed together, and she blinked her eyes, determined not to shed a tear.
'He have anything useful to say?'
'That I should take all the time I need to recover, and that he'd find an easy posting for me when I was ready. Out of the way, I suppose.'
'Maybe I can help. I do have friends in high places. When you're better, we can arrange a transfer.'
'I don't know, Billy. All I know is Ireland. I wouldn't be much use elsewhere. But never mind that, I think it'll be a long time before I'm out of this bed, if only to judge by the look on your face.'
'It's just a shock seeing you all bandaged up.'
'You're very diplomatic,' she said, forcing a weak smile.
'I may have to leave soon,' I said. 'We need to get Uncle Dan out one step ahead of Cosgrove, and once that's done I should report back to General Eisenhower.'
'Yes, of course.' There wasn't any way around it but I could see the sadness in Slaine's eyes. She'd be left alone, disgraced, without a job of any consequence, and maybe facing charges. I doubted that DI Carrick would open up that can of worms but it was a worry nonetheless. I tried to think of something else to talk about, other than Cosgrove or MI-5.
'Remember back in Jerusalem, you told me there was one Irish-American you thought highly of? Who is that?'
'Oh, I'm sorry, Billy. I can be rude sometimes, I know. I think the world of you, and what you accomplished here. You saved many lives.'
I knew she was right because I'd come to learn the arithmetic of war. Some deaths now equaled fewer deaths later. It all made sense but when it was you pulling the trigger, you only focused on the deaths now, not the lives saved later.
'Thanks. But who is this other guy anyway? I think I'm jealous,' I said, making a joke of it.
'My father read a lot of history, and he left quite a collection of books. He enjoyed reading about your American Civil War, and I picked up his interest when I was older. Did you know that the Irish fought on both sides?'
'Yes, the Fighting 69th, right?'
'On the Union side, yes, they were called the Irish Brigade. There were Confederate Irish regiments too. A boy named Michael Sullivan fought with the 24th Georgia, mostly Irish. At Fredericksburg, commanded by General Meagher, the 69th charged the heights against the 24th, both sides knowing they were fighting and killing fellow Irishmen. It didn't say in the history books but I can imagine that they wept as they fired and reloaded.'
I looked at the floor, unable to meet her eyes, having done all those things myself. 'What happened to Michael Sullivan?'
'The Irish Brigade retreated back across the Rappahannock River, leaving behind their regimental banner. It was the green flag of Ireland with the golden harp upon it. Michael Sullivan, who had killed his share of Irish brethren that day, came upon the flag. He wrapped it around his chest, hiding it under his shirt, and swam the Rappahannock to return it to the Union Irish. His own men, thinking he was deserting, fired on him, wounding him in the leg. When he was taken prisoner, he asked to be brought before General Meagher. Once there, he removed the regimental banner and presented it to the general. Meagher was so overcome he had Sullivan's wounds treated, and offered to release him anywhere within Union territory. Sullivan declined, asking only to be taken to the river, so he could swim back to his own lines, which he did. He was an Irishman to admire. Loyal to all, even when divided by war. And always faithful to his duty.'
The story had drained her, I could see. She was pale, and her face bathed in sweat. I took a washcloth from the bed stand and gently ran it across her cheeks and forehead. I struggled to speak, the sadness of the slaughter fresh in my mind. Today's and yesterday's as well.
'Hell of an Irishman' was all I could say.
'My father wrote much the same thing in the margin of his book. That's why I always remembered the story,' she said, a glow of excitement showing in her eyes before they nearly closed. A minute passed, and she struggled to keep them open. 'I'm sorry, I have to sleep now, Billy. Will you come back to see me before you go?'
'I'll stay right here for now. Sleep. I'll be here when you wake.'
She smiled, a faint, childlike smile, as she closed her eyes. I pushed the chair against the wall, leaned my head back, closed my eyes, and let sleep find me as well.
'BILLY, WAKE UP, lad.' I sat up, not knowing where I was or who was speaking to me. It was Uncle Dan, his hand on my shoulder. 'I've got to go now, Billy. Dawson has an aircraft leaving tonight.'
'Quiet,' I said, motioning him out into the hall. 'She's sleeping.'
'Wait a minute, Billy,' Uncle Dan said, his hand still on my shoulder as he watched Slaine. 'I don't think so.'
I went to her side as Uncle Dan called for a doctor. It wasn't necessary. No pulse, no breath, her lips pale. I held her hand and there was no warmth, no life, no movement or response. She was dead, whether from Taggart's bullet and the damage it had done, or the wounds, loneliness, and guilt of a lifetime. It didn't matter which had killed her. Agus bas in Eirinn.
It was time to leave. I placed her hand on her breast and turned away as the doctor and nurses rushed in,
