Tyreen said, “You’ll feel better, Eddie.”
Kreizler said huskily, “I’m dying, David. Because that’s the way I want it. Dying only means one thing to me right now. Not being tired anymore. Not feeling like a bastard. I remember when I was a kid, we used to go to church, and we had a real Fundamentalist preacher in those days. According to him the Devil’s ultimate goal was to take a man’s soul and give him nothing at all in exchange. The Devil has got to all of us. Do you remember I asked you if you’d ever heard of a Judas goat? A Judas goat’s what they use to lead sheep into the slaughterhouse, because sheep are dumb enough to follow any animal with gumption enough to lead the way. And a goat is just dumb enough to lead the way. That’s me, David. That by God is me. And I’ll be grateful to you if you keep your damned hands off me and let me die.”
Kreizler’s voice had sunk to a hoarse whisper. Saville made a gesture; he was about to get up. Tyreen stopped him. “You can’t mess with a man’s fear, Theodore. You’ve got to let him do that for himself.”
Saville said, in his considered way, “I don’t think he’s afraid, David. I don’t think that’s it.”
Kreizler looked at Tyreen with a crooked grin. “David, you’re a one-of-a-kind original. You go around like a character trying to kill fleas with a shovel. You’ll never have a thing to show for your Goddamn honor and guts except some threads on your shoulders where your insignia used to hang. You and your puking paralyzed upper lip.” His head turned away, and he said absently, “I wish I had some G.I. soap right now. I’d like to wash off some of this dirt before I have to start paying real-estate taxes on it.”
Saville regarded him dismally. Tyreen said, “He’ll think a different way when he gets well. He’s pretty sick right now.”
Kreizler turned around angrily. “I hope I’m sick, David. I hope to God I’m sick. Because I’d hate like hell to feel this way if I was well. But that doesn’t change anything. You come banging up here with your Goddamn worthless dignity and your principles like Genghis Khan. You let yourself get euchred into this stunt because you thought you were doing a good thing. If you’d known what it was really all about, you’d have told the General to go diddle himself. Which is exactly why he lied to you. Am I right, Colonel? You bet I am right. Dead right. You’d do anything at all if it was orders, but this was a volunteer job, wasn’t it? You can’t even use a war criminal’s excuse. You didn’t even have to come. David, you’ve got loose brains. You’ve got your left foot and your right foot, and you don’t need any other enemies.”
Kreizler seemed to sag. He touched a bandaged fist to his chest. “I’ve got a sour lump right here,” he said. “It won’t go up, and it won’t go down.”
“So,” he said after a little while, unable to think of anything to add.
Tyreen sat brooding across the path. He said, “Maybe we all deserve better than what we get.”
Kreizler said, “Sentiment is an amateur’s weakness, David.” He lay frowning, earnestly scratching one buttock with stubborn determination. He said, “I never trusted Old Ironbutt. Even when I was his exec, back in Korea. He’s got too many teeth in that alligator smile of his. I should’ve figured him for something like this. Just as sure as there’s a hole in your ass. He likes these jobs. He gets his kicks that way — vicarious. I guess he’s like most of us. Everybody likes to be a killer, but it’s unfashionable to admit it.” He cackled harshly, like a hen. “Okay. You throw the dice, they come up crap-out. But if you get back, David, do one thing for me. Remember Old Ironbutt. He’s the heavy.”
Kreizler moved his arms and lay with his hands behind his head, looking at the treetops as though printing poems on the sky. His voice clacked abruptly: “You can’t take me along on this train caper. I can’t chase after a train or jump off a train. You’ll have to ditch me somewhere. Might as well be right here.”
“We’ll see,” Tyreen said. “We may leave you at the water tank. But we’ll be back for you. I promise you that.”
“Sure,” Kreizler said. “And if you’re not back in twelve hours, I’m to call the man from U.N.C.L.E. I don’t believe you’ll make it, if you want my honest opinion. I don’t think you really know the odds against you.”
“I don’t play the odds,” Tyreen said.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake take off your blindfold. You could blow up a thousand bridges, and it wouldn’t change a thing.”
Tyreen said slowly, “I’m in command, Eddie.”
“In command of what? Everything but yourself.”
There were times when a man had to make a quick decision and then stick to it for the rest of his life. Tyreen sat silent, measuring the flow of time and fixing a limit after which he would step away and lead them into the jungle.
Kreizler said, “I guess it’s too late for you to start thinking.”
You had to fight, and you had to believe there was a point to it. If that was blind dedication, then Kreizler was right, it was too late to worry.
Kreizler said, “I like to hope, too.”
Theodore Saville said, “We’re not paid to think about things, Eddie.”
Kreizler’s eyes flicked around. “Live long enough, Theodore, and you’ll decide to let some other fool do the dirty jobs.”
Tyreen said, “I always thought it ought to be the other way around.”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Kreizler said disgustedly. “David, today means more than yesterday. Why don’t you get Theodore and those other two out of here while you can?”
Tyreen said, after a moment, “There are worse things than dying, Eddie.”
“For me. Not for you.” Kreizler moved himself around on one hip. “Last night I was going to lift Theodore’s gun. To get it over with, get myself out of your way. But I just couldn’t do it. I guess they’ve made oatmeal out of me.”
“They?”
“Colonel Trung and Old Ironbutt. Not much choice between those two. But that doesn’t matter, not to you. You’re thinking about that Goddamn railroad bridge, and as far as you’re concerned it’s just one more river to cross. One last bridge to blow. David, you ought to have your Goddamn head kicked in. You’re a gentleman, and that’s a puking tragic thing. There’s no place left for gentlemen. Who do you think you are, David — General Robert E. Lee?”
The pupils of Kreizler’s eyes were pinpoints; the irises around them seemed enlarged, and a bright glint pushed out of them. His face was flushed, and earnest taut anger was ground into the pain-tracked lines around his mouth. He reached out and took a powerful grip on Tyreen’s wrist. “Get them home — before you have them on your conscience, too.”
Tyreen gave him a bloodshot look. Kreizler removed his hand, and Tyreen’s face hardened. Kreizler said, “You’ll never square it with that conscience of yours.”
Tyreen got up. He made a low whistle, and J. D. Hooker’s head swiveled around inquiringly. Hooker nodded and picked himself up and walked forward. Tyreen reached for his pack. His submachine gun lay on the ground. Saville said, “I’ll carry the pack.”
“I’ll lug it awhile.”
He picked up the pack and got one arm into the harness, and then Kreizler was rolling over, grabbing up the submachine gun. He lurched to his feet and hobbled across the trail with his legs apart; Tyreen dropped the pack and swung toward him. Kreizler’s gun swayed toward J. D. Hooker, and Kreizler started to talk very fast, not making any sense. His finger whitened on the trigger, and he sprayed bullets into the ground. Their geyser-tracks marched toward Hooker’s feet and Hooker, roaring with rage, whipped his chopper up. There was a tearing blast of submachine gun fire. It lifted Kreizler off his feet and slammed him back against the trees. He fell down with his mouth open.