there’d be a dozen witnesses swearing he started the whole thing, and he’d be the one in the slammer. He buckled at the knees and fell into Charlie, who grabbed his collar and held him up easily with one hand.
“You got an infirmary here?” I asked.
“For white men, sure,” the sergeant said.
“I’ll take him, Sarge,” Charlie said. “Wouldn’t want Sobel to find out we didn’t treat a man hurt after a fair fight.” Charlie looked like a dumb ox, but he knew how to handle his sergeant.
“Okay, okay,” the sergeant said. “Clear out, the bunch of ya, show’s over!” The crowd dispersed, except for a civilian who might have been the caretaker. He wore a cloth cap, Wellington boots, old corduroys, and three-day stubble. He looked thirty or so, but the grin on his face made it hard to tell. A cigarette was crammed into the corner of his mouth, and he puffed and blew smoke without removing it. He stuck his hands in his pockets and walked away, throwing a last glance after us. He didn’t look like the sociable type.
“Who’s Sobel?” I asked as Charlie and I each took an arm and walked Tree to the infirmary.
“Captain Sobel, he’s in charge of the jump school,” Charlie said. “He goes by the book. Real strict.”
“Charlie, did you hit Tree? It looks like you could break him in half with one hand.”
“Tree? Is that what they call him?” Tree moaned at the mention of his name, and gripped my shoulder tighter.
“Yeah, because he’s so tall. You didn’t hit him, did you?”
“No, sir. Sarge wanted me to, but he’d already fought two guys and they got him good a few times. Didn’t seem right. Not sure I could have, the way he moved so fast.”
“Coupla … more minutes … you woulda,” Tree croaked.
“Maybe,” Charlie said. “Maybe not.”
Charlie stayed with us while a medic patched Tree up. Other than commenting on how much blood was pouring out of him, he didn’t mention color, so I figured the sergeant’s comment about “whites only” was all bluster.
“Be best if I put a coupla stitches in that cut above your eye,” the medic said. “You mind?”
“Not if you’re quick,” Tree managed to get out. “And if you’ve done it before.”
“First guy didn’t complain,” he said, cleaning the wound. “But then he was unconscious.” Tree gasped as the first stitch went through, and Charlie looked away. I had the feeling Charlie wasn’t the tough guy his size led you to believe. “Get those out in three days, and keep it clean. Ice would be the best thing for the swelling, but this is England, so good luck.”
“He going to be okay?” Charlie asked the medic.
“Yeah, Charlie. But he’s lucky you didn’t land one.”
“I don’t feel too lucky,” Tree said, gasping as the medic wound a bandage around his ribs.
“You might have a cracked rib, but it looks like a bruise to me. Take it easy for a while and you’ll be fine.” We left and returned to Tree’s jeep, Charlie supporting Tree by the arm.
“Sorry, Tree,” Charlie said. “I wish this all never happened.”
“Who started it, exactly?” I asked.
“Not sure,” Charlie said. “I think I heard Crowley talking to some of the guys about it. He said something about the colored fellow in the jeep being one of the gang that took the girl. We’d all heard about that.”
“Who’s Crowley?” Tree asked, easing himself into the jeep.
“The English guy. He works in the stable.”
“Was he at the fight?” I asked.
“Yeah, he was the civilian. He takes care of the horses. I tried to look at them, but he yelled at me to get out. This place used to be a horse farm, I heard.” Charlie looked happy at the thought of horses, a lot happier than being forced to fistfight. I wondered if the Eastmans had any connections to the former horse farm, so near the graveyard.
“Okay, Charlie. Stay out of trouble, will you?”
“Sure thing, Captain. You too, Tree,” he said, grinning like a kid.
“Not the easiest thing, Charlie,” Tree said.
CHAPTER TWENTY — ONE
They were waiting for us at the bridge. Three British military police in their distinctive red caps. One waved me to the verge and approached.
“Are you Captain Boyle?” He was a sergeant, and should have added “sir” to that question. I didn’t press the point, since I wasn’t much for military courtesies myself, and the look on his face was the type a cop reserved for picking up a drunk and disorderly.
“Yes I am, Sergeant,” I said, dropping a subtle hint. “What can I do for you?”
“You can follow me, Captain. Someone wants to see you, and he’s not used to waiting, so he tells me.” He nodded to his MP pals, and one of them mounted a motorcycle, pulling out in front, while the other started up his jeep.
“Wait, Sergeant,” I said as he turned away. “I’ve got a hurt man here, I need to get him back to his unit.” I pointed my thumb at Tree, his face bandaged and swollen.
“Are you bleeding to death then, soldier?” the MP asked.
“I’m fine,” Tree said.
“Let’s get this sorted first, and then the captain can take you wherever he needs to. Follow the motorcycle. We’ll follow in the jeep.”
“Sergeant, what’s this all about?” I asked. “Where are we going?”
“Hungerford police station, where all will be answered.”
They kept close, the motorcycle proceeding at a stately pace, the jeep riding our rear bumper. I could have broken free at a turn if I’d been inclined, but something about the sergeant’s attitude told me not to show off.
“Can you hang on?” I asked Tree.
“I’m okay,” he said. “Any idea why they’re after you?”
“Hey, this is an escort, a sign of respect.”
“Hell, Billy, looks like you pulled me out of the frying pan and now you got an escort to your own fire,” Tree said, his laugh turning into a wince.
“Just like old times,” I said.
“Except this time the cops are wearing brown. Looks like neither of us has learned very much.” We slowed and pulled in behind the motorcycle as it parked in front of the police station.
“You mean you went into that fight willingly?” I asked.
“I didn’t run,” Tree said. “Decided I was sick of running when I was down South. It was the same on every damn base, every damn cracker town. Walk in the gutter, eyes down. Yessah, nosah, boss. Can’t do it anymore, Billy. That’s why I want to fight. This TD unit is the best thing that ever happened to me, and I want Angry along for the ride.”
“Let’s go, Captain,” the MP said.
“As long as I walk out of here, Tree, I’ll do my best,” I said in a low voice. The MP sergeant looked like he wanted to prod me with his billy club, so I got out. Tree followed, and no one barred the way. I figured if he didn’t have enough sense to stay out of a police station, that was his business.
Constable Cook stood in the hallway, arms folded and a frown on his face. “Glad they found you, Captain Boyle. Now get this over with so I can be rid of that windbag and back in my office!”
“Windbag? I think I know who you mean,” I said.
Cook squinted at the figure following me. “Tree, is that you under those bandages? What happened?”
“A fight,” Tree said. “I’m fine.”
“Wait here,” I said, making for the closed door.
“Nope,” Tree said. “You came to my rescue, least I can do is explain where you been.”
“This is none of your business, lad,” Cook said. “Best leave it alone, is my advice.”
“No, I need Billy to help Angry. I’ll do what I can.”
