"Nevertheless, it was a pretty brutal thing you did, Matt. But… but if you're prepared to sacrifice your own life as readily as somebody else's, that does make you look a little better. Much better, in fact."
"Sure," I said sourly. "I'm a great patriot at heart, a silent soldier of the grim undercover war that never ends. Just pat me on the back and call me Horatius, Junior; the guy who holds the bright bridge of Freedom against the dark forces of Tyranny. Shit, if you'll pardon the expression."
She said stiffly, "I was trying to… to understand, darling."
"Well, you're not making much headway. How we look, to you or anybody else, is the least of our worries. But it occurs to me that while I'm pretty well constrained to be a patriotic hero right now, there's absolutely no reason for you to be a patriotic heroine. You've got no reputation to live up to. In fact, it might be better for everybody if you just break free right now-I'll hold on hard enough to make the struggle look good-and then run down there and wade out to meet them with your hands in the air. Tell them breathlessly that just because I'm a suicidal damn fool is no reason why you should-"
"Matt!"
"What's the matter now?" I asked.
Her expression was indignant. "You don't think much of me, do you? Just because I can't hold my lunch down after wrestling with a corpse, you think I'm a a decorative little lightweight, or something."
I said, "You spend more time worrying about what you think of people and they think of you! This is not the spot to brood about appearances, sweetheart! You can't help me a damn bit by remaining faithfully at my side, so you might as well be sitting on that boat under guard, listening to the gunfire."
She said angrily, "Stop being chivalrous! You're not going to send me off to safety like a helpless child-" I suppose it was very brave of her, but actually the idea of having her surrender independently had interesting possibilities. She might even carry Solana's automatic, and turn it over docilely, something Hartford would accept as natural from her but not from me. And however we worked the pistol deal, if I managed to get myself brought captive to the boat without being shot up too badly, it would be convenient to have an ally on board-an ally who wasn't quite as closely watched as I would be.
It was a promising gambit, but I could see that I wouldn't be able to use it, because she wouldn't buy it. Like most amateurs, she had a lot of screwball notions about courage and loyalty, as if anybody gives a damn how brave you are as long as your work gets done..
The boat was now passing the place where a wingtip and part of the tail assembly showed where the plane had settled to the bottom, in water that was shallower than I'd expected. Apparently I'd managed to drop us closer to shore than intended by Harsek, who'd have wanted to bury the debris deeply enough that it could not be seen.
Still holding Carol's arm, I started to run for the higher ground ahead. I picked a nice spot in the dunes overlooking the shore, and pulled out the big Luger, the one weapon in my armory that might have some effectiveness at long range "Lie down," I said to Carol. "Keep your head down. Stick your fingers in your ears if you like. These toys are kind of noisy."
I sat down on the edge of the hollow, dug my heels firmly into the sand, and rested my elbows on my knees, holding the Luger with both hands. It's a comfortable weapon to hold but, because of the skinny, light barrel, a hard one to hold steady. The boat slid past the plane wreckage without pausing, aiming straight for the head of the bay, and me. About thirty yards from shore, I saw the propellers go into reverse. Hartford and his two pals were up forward, preparing to jump. I counted two rifles and one squirt-gun-submachinegun to you.
I waited until they were in the water; then I started to peck at them with the Luger as they waded shorewards holding their weapons high. They must have seen movies of an amphibious operation somewhere, they had the assault style down pat.
My first shot was low. I saw the splash about halfway between the nearest man and shore. I let the front sight ride up in the rear sight notch and tried again, keeping my fire well away from Hartford. The fact that he was carrying the submachine gun kind of confirmed that he was in authority here, and I didn't want to lose him. He might be the only one of them who knew all I needed to find out.
My second shot either nicked the guy on the right, or came close enough that he changed his mind about going ashore. He turned, waving frantically for the boat, which was backing away. The man at the controls threw the engines ahead again. I put a bullet through his windshield but he was brave; he kept coming to the rescue of his embattled comrades. I threw a shot at the man on the left, missing by about three feet, but he didn't like the sound of it ricocheting off the water; he turned back, too.
Hartford was yelling at them angrily. He might be a fairy-although that wasn't proved-but he had guts enough to keep coming until it became obvious that he was also a general without an army. Then he stood there and gave me a burst from his weapon for effect, before he turned back and waded out and was hauled aboard the boat by his friends, who'd negotiated the cruiser's high bow faster than you'd believe it could be done. The steersman threw his engines into reverse again, and the boat slid back out of pistol range.
I said to Carol, "We'd better find a place to make ourselves comfortable. Having tried a head-on assault and been driven back, the enemy will now regroup his forces and advance systematically from the flanks..
There they go. One guy on the point to the right, two on the point to the left, converging towards the middle, us. That's what we call strategy, sweetheart. How do you feel?"
"Scared," she said frankly. She stood up, brushing at her clothes. "Do bullets always make that horrible screaming noise?"
"Wait till you hear one really close," I said. "That guy on the right, now. I feel he's superfluous. I don't want to have to watch him, sneaking up behind me. He's apt to shoot me in the back while I'm putting on my act for the other two. Let's pull back a little- there's a better foxhole up behind us-and you keep an eye on them. Here. Try an occasional shot with this.380; it doesn't kick much. Keep them under fire and tell me what they're doing while I get rid of this lone-wolf character…"
I built up his confidence, first. I used Priscilla's gun, which I had no faith in; it had too short a barrel for long-range accuracy, and she hadn't looked like the kind to be careful with her firearms, anyway. I was right, the.38 shot way low and left, but I managed to put them close enough that they guy knew he was being shot at, while still staying far enough away that he soon lost respect for my marksmanship. I heard Carol fire, and gasp.
"I thought you said this gun didn't kick!"
"Wait till you work up to a.44 Magnum," I said. "How are they doing?"
"They're taking it very slowly. I think they must want your man to get into position first."
"Well, he's coming right along," I said. "He's Sergeant York taking on the whole German army single-handed. Ouch!" I ducked, as my man put a rifle bullet a couple of feet away, stinging my face with sand. "So my amigo knows how to shoot. That means he'd better not get much closer."
I fired the last shot in the.38 as the man darted from a clump of brush to the shelter of a dune. The bullet came only close enough to encourage him in the notion that he was invulnerable, at least to my lousy marksmanship. I dropped the revolver, and took out Harsek's big German automatic once more, and made myself a steady rest for my hands, lying there.
He came out of hiding fast, and dove for cover again after a weaving ten-yard sprint. I didn't shoot. This made him feel neglected, I guess, because after a little he looked out. I put the sights on him, taking a coarse bead to allow for the range, but I held my fire. He wasn't presenting quite enough target for a certain hit.