“I think I found him here. The sergeant you just treated.”
“No kidding? Did you give him that whack on the head? Nearly did him in.”
“No, that was courtesy of a German 88, or at least a piece of a farmhouse that was hit by it.”
“He did have some small bits of shrapnel in his legs, but nothing serious,” Cassidy said, leading me to another tent that served as the post-op ward. “He’s got a pretty severe concussion, but that’s it. Not from shrapnel, most likely flying debris, like you said. His helmet must have absorbed most of the blow, otherwise he’d have been a goner.”
“Can he be moved?”
“No, we need to watch him for a day or so, in case there’s any other damage. We’ll know within twenty-four hours.”
“Is he awake?”
“In and out. He’s got one helluva headache, and is a bit disoriented. Is he really the killer?”
“I found him next to a colonel he was trying to strangle, with this in his hand.” I showed Cassidy the crumpled king of hearts.
“A colonel? So he got his major?”
“Yeah, Major Arnold, just before we pulled out.”
“Arnold, now he was a piece of work.” Cassidy shook his head, his grief at the loss of Arnold easily kept at bay.
“What do you mean by that?” I asked as he opened a canvas flap and we entered a long tent, with wood plank flooring and rows of cots along each side, filled with the wounded, who were bandaged in every possible place.
“Like I told you, he and Schleck didn’t believe in combat fatigue. Or I should say, Arnold believed whatever Schleck told him to. And he was a souvenir hound of the worst kind.”
“Hey, everyone wants a Luger or an SS dagger,” I said, interested in what Cassidy thought the worst kind was.
“Yeah, but with Arnold it was business. He took loot from homes, and collected soldbuchs-you know what they are?”
“Sure. German pay books, with a photo of the soldier.”
“Something macabre about that, don’t you think? Collecting pictures of dead Krauts? And all that other stuff- caps, medals-he didn’t exactly pay top dollar for them. I heard he took them for favors. Not right for an officer. Well, it doesn’t matter now. Here’s Sergeant Stumpf.”
Stump had a thick bandage around his neck, and several on his legs. His eyelids flickered open, then shut. I knelt by his cot.
“Stump, can you hear me?”
“What… happened?” His voice was weak and raspy.
“Remember the Tigers at the farmhouse?”
“Yeah. My squad?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Can you open your eyes?” He did, and I held up the king of hearts. “Tell me about this.”
I watched his eyes blink and his brow furrow, as if he couldn’t understand what I was showing him. Then came the sound of artillery, the metal-on-metal screeching sound like hitting the brakes at high speed with pads worn clean away. Every doctor and nurse in the tent instantly covered the wounded with their bodies, leaning over the bandaged men and cradling heads with their arms. I did the same with Stump, just as the first rounds landed- whump, whump, whump -close enough to shower the canvas tent with debris that sounded like hail. I felt something burning my back and stood up, swatting at myself.
“Shrapnel,” Cassidy said, pulling off my jacket. I noticed small tears in the tent, and one patient dousing his blanket with water. “From that far away, it has lost most of its momentum, but it’s red hot.” He shook the jacket and a sharp, jagged piece of metal fell out. Another round of artillery echoed across the sky, but was a good distance away. No one paid it any mind, except for one GI, both arms swathed in bandages, who rolled out of his cot and began scratching at the floor, trying to dig into it with damaged hands. Two nurses took his arms as Cassidy raced over with a syringe, jabbing the screaming soldier in the thigh. He went limp, moaning as the nurses lifted him back onto his cot.
“Thanks,” Stump said, then pointed to the card I still held. I showed it to him again.
“Some colonel dead?”
“No, no thanks to you. This was in your hands when that German shell knocked you out, as you were strangling Colonel Harding.”
“Who? God, my head hurts.” He tried to raise his head and check out the rest of his body.
“Bad concussion, a bit of shrapnel in the legs. Nothing to worry about,” I said. “It’s over, Stump. We got you dead to rights. Found you next to Harding, with that card in your hand. You were trying to strangle him with his binocular strap. Almost had him, too. Then one of the Tigers blasted the farmhouse, and you got hit on the side of the head.”
“Harding? The colonel who got us out when we were pinned down?”
“The same.”
“Why the hell would I do that? You think I’m Red Heart?” He winced, the effort of speaking painful.
“Why would you have this in your hand?” I held up the king again.
“Dunno. Someone put it there?” His voice was weaker, and his eyes closed.
“That’s what they all say, Stump,” I said, leaning closer. “Tell me the truth. Why did you kill all those people? What did you have against them? What did you have against Louie?”
“Louie? Jesus, he was my pal. What happened?”
“Bullet in the back of the head, close range. You fire your automatic out there?”
“Of course not, we were never close enough to the Krauts for that.”
“It was fired. One round gone. I checked it when I found you.”
“Can’t be. Louie, who’d want to kill Louie?” he said, struggling to keep his eyes open. “Was a major killed? Who?”
“Yeah. Arnold, the day we left Caserta. You know that.”
“No. You mentioned him, said he was alive.”
“I just didn’t say he was dead. How’d you do it, Stump? Get him alone like that?”
“I didn’t,” he said. “Why would I?”
“That’s what I want to know. Why strangle Harding after he saved our bacon? Why any of them?”
“You said Harding was choked by his binocular straps?”
“Yes. Do you remember?”
“And that you found me holding that card?”
“Yes.”
“Lieutenant, my head is scrambled, but even I know you’d need two hands free to strangle a guy. You’d grab and twist those leather straps real tight. Hard to do with a playing card in your hand. That one’s a little worn, but it would be badly crumpled if I’d done that. You’d keep it in your pocket until the deed was done. Now leave me alone.”
Maybe that made sense. Maybe I should have thought of it. But I wasn’t taking any chances. I found an MP and had him cuff Stump to the cot. If he was going anywhere, he’d be dragging an army cot along with him.
I wandered outside, wondering what to do next. I could go back to HQ and see if there was any message from Kaz. I could also check with Kearns about Danny’s transfer and see about getting him out of the platoon. It was a dangerous place, with death dealt from both sides of the table. But first I needed some chow. I spotted Cassidy checking charts and asked him where the mess was. He ditched his bloodstained operating gown and said he was buying.
“It’s not much on taste, but there’s plenty of it,” Cassidy said as we filled our mess tins with corned-beef hash and lima beans. The coffee was hot, and there was even sugar, so I couldn’t complain.
“Do you get many cases like that fellow who tried to dig a hole in the floor?” I asked after I got most of the grub down.
“We’re starting to see them. The artillery bombardment has been getting worse real fast. Most of the wounds
