“Or let Flint get near him. Let’s go.”
We scuttled to the building, watching the windows for any sign of movement. This was dangerous, too; I wouldn’t shoot at a shadow for fear of hitting Danny, but a shadow might not worry about shooting me. We went flat against the rough stone, Harding ready by the door. Kaz and I crouched and went to the rear of the building, hiding behind the jeep. It was splattered with muck, the identification on the bumper hidden by caked-on mud. Flint was a smart one, all right, but his luck was about to run out. I wiped the mud away and saw VI-37Q. It was enough. I nodded to Kaz, gripped my carbine, and made for the door. When I pressed my back against the wall and went for the latch, I noticed the door hadn’t been fully closed. I pushed at it with the barrel of my rifle, just a touch, to get a look inside. I needed to signal Harding, and a silent entry wasn’t going to do that. Once I got a peek, I’d kick the door and go in like gangbusters.
I didn’t get a peek. Instead, I got the muzzle of an M1 Garand in my face.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Two force men pinned me to the wall as two others advanced on Kaz, Thompsons aimed at his head. He wisely laid his revolver on the seat of the jeep. They dragged us both inside, where Harding was seated in the kitchen, disarmed. His colonel’s eagle insignia seemed to be buying him a bit more respect than my lieutenant’s bars were. A sergeant stood behind him, arms folded, holding a. 45 pointed at the floor.
“Who the hell are you?” the sergeant said, to none of us in particular. “ Sprechen Zie Deutsch? ”
“Sergeant, I am Colonel Samuel Harding, of General Eisenhower’s staff. These two work for me.”
“Yeah, right. Ike’s in London last I heard. You tellin’ me he sent you down here to sneak up on us? You with that British general snoopin’ around? Or have we caught ourselves some Kraut spies?”
“General Eisenhower did send me,” I said. “To catch a murderer. Sergeant Amos Flint, last seen driving that jeep outside.” I saw the men exchange glances.
“Murder? Who’d he kill?”
“His own lieutenant. A doctor, a captain, a major, a POW, and at least one sergeant from his own platoon. He stole that jeep and we think he’s headed into enemy territory. What line did he feed you?”
“Big tall guy? With a skinny kid tagging along?”
“Yeah, that’s him,” I said. “Hey, if you’re sure we’re not Germans, how about giving us our weapons back?”
Harding stood and held out his hand. The sergeant gave him his. 45 back. Our other weapons were laid on the table.
“They were here earlier this morning. Gave us a story about bein’ on the lam from the MPs for slugging some desk jockey who got a bunch of his men killed for nothin’. Seemed believable.”
“He’s a practiced liar,” I said. “Damn good at it, so don’t feel bad. He let you have the jeep?”
“We swapped. Had an old Italian ambulance, a Fiat truck, that we used for transporting wounded. Most times, the Krauts don’t shell ambulances on their own. But we liked the jeep and that. 30 caliber, so we suggested a trade. Thought it might help him blend in.”
“Did he say where they were headed?”
“Back to his outfit, he claimed, in Le Ferriere. Said they’d lie low for another day or so until the dust settled, then show up to get the lay of the land.”
“How well is the line defended along here?”
“Well, you got the Hermann Goering Panzer Division over there, but they pulled back pretty far. You can cross the canal any time you want and get nothing more than wet feet. It’s more of a big drainage ditch than any canal I ever saw.”
“You have outposts along the canal?”
“Colonel, our outposts are way across the canal. That’s why the Krauts pulled back. They don’t like waking up in the morning to find sentries with their throats slit.”
“ Das dicke Ende kommt noch,” Kaz said.
I was sure the calling card that the Force men left behind would appeal to Flint. “Did you give him any of your stickers?”
“Yeah, a souvenir, sorta. He didn’t like hearing about that Limey any more than we did. No offense, lieutenant,” he said to Kaz. “Seeing as you’re Polish.”
Kaz, who wore the red shoulder flash that proclaimed Poland on his British uniform, nodded in acceptance.
“We have to get to Big Mike,” I said. “Fast.”
We hotfooted it out of there, all of us worried about Big Mike and Cosgrove now, not to mention Danny. Flint had a new vehicle, one that gave him an edge. The red cross on the Italian ambulance was like a free pass. GIs would wave him on, the Germans would hold their fire, and Big Mike wouldn’t know what hit him.
“Big Mike, come in,” Harding said into the walkie-talkie, holding down the press-to-talk switch. “Big Mike, come in.” He released the switch. Nothing.
“Keep trying, maybe they’re out of range,” I said as I started the jeep and pulled out into the road. We were clear of the trees in a few seconds, and I prayed that whatever German up in the hills had his binoculars trained on us couldn’t be bothered to call in fire on one measly jeep.
For the second time today, I was wrong. Really wrong. I heard the whistle of incoming shells, and stepped on it. For the third time today, wrong again. The salvo hit just ahead of us, and if I’d pulled over I could have avoided going through it. Bright flashes shuddered against the ground, sending dirt and smoke everywhere, blinding me as I lifted one arm to shield my eyes, holding onto the steering wheel with the other.
The next thing I knew, I had a mouthful of mud. I was in a ditch by the side of the road, a thin rivulet of water soaking me. I tried to get up and clear my head. I saw a blurry figure standing over me, got up on one knee, and blinked my eyes until I could make him out.
“You all right, Colonel?”
“Leg’s banged up a little, but I’m fine,” he said, taking my arm and helping me up.
“Where’s Kaz? What happened?”
“He’s looking for the walkie-talkie. We hit a shell hole and rolled the jeep. We’re lucky it didn’t come down on top of us.”
The barrage had stopped, but I heard shelling farther up the road. “That could be Big Mike and Cosgrove getting hit,” I said. “Or Flint and Danny.”
“The radio is useless,” Kaz said, pointing to the jeep on its side in the ditch. The pieces of the walkie-talkie were pinned underneath.
“See if you can get some help to right the jeep,” I said, grabbing my carbine. “I’m going up there.” I started to run, hearing Harding and Kaz yelling at me to stop, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t wait by the side of the road like a stranded motorist. I had to move, to get to Danny before everything went wrong. If it hadn’t already.
The first thing that went was my helmet. Too damn heavy. Then the canteen from my web belt. I wasn’t wearing the ammo bandolier, so all I had was the fifteen rounds loaded in the carbine and my. 45 automatic. If that wasn’t enough, I was in bigger trouble than I thought. My Parsons jacket went next, and then I settled into a run, remembering track team in high school. Danny used to come watch me practice. I did the hurdles and the long jump. Not all that well, but it had been a hell of a lot easier without combat boots, an automatic flapping on my hip, and an M1 carbine at port arms.
I could see puffs of explosions in the distance, rising above the shrubs and trees that lined the canal. If there were Force men hidden along the canal, they didn’t show themselves. From what the GIs we’d met told us, most were on the other side, hiding out until nightfall. I ran, focusing on lifting my legs, getting the most out of each stride, keeping my breathing regular and my eyes on the horizon. Get into the rhythm, Coach used to say. Don’t stare at the ground in front of you, it’s all the same. Look ahead, to where you want to be.
I ran.
