"Let's see what's in the truck," I answered. I took off, staying low and taking cover as best I could as I tried to shut down my nostrils and blink away the flies swarming the sweat dripping down over my eyes. Harry followed, apparently deciding his orders covered a peek under a truck tarp.
We were one store away from the truck and the car. I could see LE BAR BLEU painted above the rear door of the building up ahead. The foul, yeasty smell of spilled wine and the sharp smell of urine mingled with the other odors in the alleyway and I had to work at not gagging. Broken bottles littered the ground and wooden barrels were stacked up against the wall in front of us. I could hear the muffled sound of voices and of doors slamming from inside the bar. Then one shot was fired. Harry and I both looked around, unsure of where the sound came from. Two shots followed, then a burst of machine gun fire, coming from out front. We looked at each other, wondering if Banville was in trouble. But what we heard wasn't the stuttering metallic hammering of a Sten gun. It was the throaty, rapid sound of a large caliber machine gun, and it was getting closer. I could hear the ricochet of bullets off stone, and the sound of pistol and rifle fire from inside the bar. From the uneven sound of the firing, I knew what was going to happen next. I rose and aimed my Thompson at the rear door.
Five seconds passed before the door flew open, and three civilians wearing black armbands spilled out, trying to get out of each other's way as they rushed toward the truck. They each carried wooden crates with "U.S. Army" stenciled on them in big black letters. That got my attention almost as much as the "SOL" on the civilians' armbands. I took a couple of steps forward, holding the Tommy gun pointed at the guy in the center.
"Halt!" I hoped it meant the same thing in French. The lead guy was almost to the truck, and he skidded to a stop as he looked over his shoulder and saw me. His two pals were a second slower and jammed up against him, knocking him off balance. He righted himself and faced me. Now the three of them were in a row looking at each other, and me.
Holding a gun on a guy with his arms full wasn't the easiest way to make an arrest. It has the value of letting you know where the guy's hands are, and that he's not holding a gun, but it does give him options, like throwing the stuff he's holding at you, which had happened to me once. This was familiar territory, except I didn't know how to say "hands up" in French, which was probably a good thing, since their hands already were up. I asked Harry if he spoke French.
"I can order a meal and a good bottle of wine," he offered.
"No thanks, not hungry."
With the barrel of my gun, I gestured to the ground so they would set the crates down. The first guy said something in French, and they began to bend. Another flurry of shots came from the front and the next thing I knew the three of them dove in front of the car and popped up, revolvers in hand and firing. Bullets hit the wall to my side and I felt one whiz by my head. Then I let go with the Thompson and at the same time Harry opened up with his Sten gun. That drove the SOL guys to ground in between the sedan and the truck. Our bullets riddled the sedan. Glass shattered and flew in every direction. We emptied our clips, then hugged the wall while we jammed new ones in. I signaled Harry to go up the right side while I went up the left. We took off and there were more shots. At least two of the SOL guys were still alive and firing through the broken front windshield. We let go again, stitching holes in metal from one end of the sedan to the other. Now I was mad. Shots from the front of the bar mingled with the noise from our guns. All I could hear was firing and the pounding in my head. Then there was a sudden silence when I ran out of ammo. Smoke drifted up from the car and the smell of gas filled my nostrils. As it did, I heard a thin splashing sound, followed by a much smaller sound, a tiny whump and I knew we were in for it. I dove to my right, knocking Harry down as the gas tank exploded, sending a ball of flame over us as the car rose a foot or so off the ground. The sedan settled on burning tires, choking the alleyway with thick black rubbery smoke.
I looked down and there were wisps of smoke curling up from half a dozen spots on my fatigues. I swatted at them and checked Harry. His face was black from soot but he seemed okay. Dazed, but okay. He looked at me and tried to focus.
"I think we got them," he said.
"Yeah, and the flies are gone too," I said, coughing out the last word as the smoke surrounding us grew thicker. I stood, dropped the empty clip and shoved in a new one, working a round into the chamber as I tried to see what was happening near the door. Harry yelled as he tried to get up, and held his leg, blood seeping through his fingers as he pressed his hand to his thigh.
"I've been shot," he said, his mouth opening in amazement as if he had never considered such a thing happening to him.
The door opened and three or four more figures came out firing shots in my direction. I saw a flash of long blonde hair through the smoke and flame. More shots. I had no idea where they were coming from. One guy turned and fired back into the bar, then collapsed as shots from inside found him.
"No," I yelled, "no!"
I dropped the Thompson and ran through the flames blossoming from the wrecked sedan, my right arm over my eyes as I held my breath. Red heat tore at my skin and the fire sucked the air from around me as it lashed at my bare hands. It seemed to take forever to run the length of the car. Finally, I stumbled out of the flames and dropped my arm. I saw a man in a blue uniform, the familiar Gardes Mobiles blue, right in front of me. He was holding a woman, half- dragging and half-carrying her to the truck, his left arm wrapped around her waist. With his right hand he raised his revolver and fired into the bar. As he turned to fire I recognized him. Mathenet. I saw the bit of white bandage on his arm, sticking out from his nicely tailored uniform sleeve. All I could see of the woman was her blonde hair. She was dressed in a khaki coverall, and seemed to be unconscious.
Mathenet saw me then. With a startled glance of recognition, he leveled his revolver straight at my chest and pulled the trigger. Click Click again. I launched myself at him as he raised the revolver, then felt it smash down on my head. I fell to my knees, intense vivid pain spreading through my skull. I grabbed at his right leg, feeling myself fading away. I held onto it and he had to turn to kick at me with his left. Then I saw her face. It was Diana. She looked down at me, but her eyes were empty. A smile partially lifted her lips. She looked as though she was surprised to see me but couldn't quite place my face, or didn't really care. Then Mathenet's heel connected with the side of my head and it was lights out.
Chapter Twenty-two
I felt something damp and cool on my forehead and almost woke up.
"What a lump…"
"Careful, he's burned…"
"… more soot than burn…"
"… damn fool."
I wondered who they were talking about. Then I wondered who they were and tried to wake up to find out. I felt water on my face and hands and managed to get both eyes open. My head hurt. Twice in one week. It wasn't a record for me, but it was enough.
I was in a bar. I looked around and noticed I was actually on the bar. A couple of commandos had my medical kit spread out between my legs and were washing my face and hands with a bar rag.
"Thought you was burned right good, sir," one of them said. "But it's mostly soot from the fire, especially them tires. You're a bit red in the face and hands, but it ain't half as bad as it looks. Course, that knot on your head is as bad as it looks, if not worse."
"How's Harry?"
"You mean that RN bloke what got 'imself shot?" the other Commando said. "Just fine. An in and out it was, no bones nicked and no 'eavy bleedin'. If 'e was in the Commandos we'd be asking 'im what the bother was. Seeing as 'ow 'e's Royal Navy, well 'e's entitled to a bit of complaining. Them boys ain't used to using their legs, not like us, right Rodney?"