By the Blood of Heroes (24 page)

Jones’s bravado was gone now. His face turned pale, and Burke watched a single line of sweat roll down the side of it.

“I’ll shoot you myself if you disobey another direct order, is that clear,
Private
Jones?”

The other man nodded.

Reducing the man one grade in rank was a trivial punishment, particularly as it had no real meaning out here behind enemy lines, but Burke needed to keep Jones’s head in the game and avoid any smoldering resentment at the same time. The truth of the matter was that Burke needed every gun they had at their disposal. That was why he was so annoyed at the incident in the first place. Jones should have known better.

Satisfied that his point had been made, Burke stepped back and turned his attention to the body of the German pilot. A quick search through the man’s pockets didn’t turn up any information relative to who he was or the unit, or Jasta as the Germans called them, to which he belonged. Nor did Burke recognize the personal insignia, a knight’s head with two lances crossed behind it, painted on his plane. Knowing someone somewhere would want to know what happened to him, Burke ordered the insignia cut from the aircraft and stuffed it into his back pocket for later delivery to the Red Cross.

They didn’t have time to bury the pilot nor did they want to call attention to themselves by lighting a funeral pyre, so they arranged his body in a burial position and left it in the shade of his aircraft.

Manning was still unconscious, but Burke knew they couldn’t stay put.
What if someone came looking for the missing aircraft and its pilot?
They needed to be long gone before that happened, so the decision was made to carry their wounded comrade. Each man would take turns, starting with Charlie, until either the big game hunter woke up or they reached their destination.

As they left the clearing behind, Burke took one last look back at the wreckage of the German aircraft.

One hell of an amazing shot.

Chapter Thirty

RENDEZVOUS SITE

A
n hour later, Burke crouched with the rest of his men at the edge of the tree line and stared out at the farmhouse ahead of them. The sun was just setting, casting long shadows across the yard and the stone walls and wooden shutters of the one-story structure. He stayed still for several long minutes, watching, wanting to be certain the coast was clear before he sent someone over to make contact.

Truth was, he didn’t like what he saw. There was no smoke coming from the chimney, nor could he see any movement behind the window’s partially opened curtains.

That wasn’t right. They might be late but at least they were expected; someone should have been watching for their approach.

Even worse, the house felt empty. Not just empty, but deserted. As if it had been that way for a long time.

Something’s wrong.

He glanced behind him, caught Charlie’s eye, and waved him over.

“I don’t like it,” he said, when the other man slipped up beside him. “There should be somebody down there, waiting for us.”

Charlie studied the rear of the building for another minute and then said, “Maybe they’re just lying low. Trying not to call attention to themselves.”

Burke turned the idea over in his head a few times. He had to admit that it was possible. Lord knew he wouldn’t want to do anything to attract attention living this far behind enemy lines. There were simply too many things that liked the taste of human flesh these days to get careless.

The explanation made sense, but it didn’t fit the situation.

Or at least, it didn’t feel that way to him.

“I’m going to check it out. Once you see me go inside, start counting. If I’m not back out by the time you reach thirty, skip the rendezvous and head for the POW camp on your own.”

It was clear that Charlie wanted to go with him, but they both knew that wasn’t going to happen. Someone had to lead the team if Burke got into trouble, and the best man to do that was Charlie.

“Good luck,” Charlie finally told him as he settled himself into position to provide cover fire in case Burke needed it.

The captain clapped him on the back and then turned to the others. “Williams, you’re with me. The rest of you keep your eyes peeled and get ready to join us when I give the signal.”

One last long look and then Burke took off running, Williams on his heels.

The twenty yards from the tree line to the farmhouse felt like half a mile. Burke’s world narrowed down to just the back door and the windows to either side of it, his gaze never leaving them as he rushed forward, watching for any flicker of movement, some sign that they weren’t alone. With his heart pounding in his chest and the sound of his own harsh breathing in his ears, he raced toward the door ahead of him, expecting at any moment to hear the crack of a shot and to be thrown to the ground as the bullet slammed into his body.

Thankfully, that didn’t happen.

He reached the rear of the house and threw himself against it to the right of the door. A second later Williams did the same on the left.

From his current position Burke could see that the door was slightly ajar. Catching the younger man’s eye, he held up the fingers of his mechanical hand and counted down from three, then shouldered the door open and rushed inside, his Tommy gun at the ready, his gaze flicking this way and that as he searched for a target.

They moved through each room—kitchen, living room, and bedroom—quickly and efficiently, covering each other as they went.

The house was empty.

Satisfied that they were alone and that no one was going to suddenly pop up from behind the couch and start shooting, Burke stuck his head out the back door and gave the signal for the rest of the squad to join them.

Once the men had assembled inside, with the unconscious Manning laid out on the farmhouse’s only bed, Burke split the rest of the team into pairs for a more detailed search of the property. He didn’t want any surprises in the middle of the night, and the best way to avoid that was to know exactly what they were getting themselves into.

Right away they discovered evidence that someone had been there before them, and recently, too. Williams found an empty bottle of wine, a few drops of liquid still clinging to the inside of the glass, under the bed where someone might have kicked it accidentally. According to Sergeant Moore, the coals in the fireplace were no more than two, maybe even only one day old. The big find of the day, though, was a sack that contained a slab of cured meat, several potatoes, and two bottles of wine; they were discovered when Corporal Compton noticed a loose board in the floor of the living room and pulled it up to see what was hidden underneath.

From a tactical standpoint the farmhouse had some pretty solid advantages. It was isolated, standing in a small clearing all by itself, with a clear line of approach on all sides. It would be nearly impossible for anyone to sneak up on them. A single forest road provided access, ending in a small clearing in front of the house. Tire tracks in the mud of the clearing showed that there had been at least one, possibly two large vehicles parked there recently. Charlie thought the tracks looked like those from a two- or three-ton lorry, but Burke wouldn’t have known the difference even if he’d had the actual tires right there in front of his face. He took his sergeant’s word for it and let it go.

There was a porch attached to the front of the house, and beyond that a small yard enclosed by a stone fence that stood about waist-high. There was an opening in the fence that lined up with the front door and served as a gate. When Burke paced off the distance between the fence and the house, he found it was about thirty feet, which gave them some room to defend themselves if the need arose.

Out behind the house was a chicken coop, currently empty, and a toolshed. Judging by the state of disrepair of both structures, they’d been that way for several months at least.

Given that it was already nightfall, any smoke coming from the chimney would be hard to see, so Burke gave Sergeant Moore permission to use the fireplace to whip up some dinner for the squad. Charlie immediately took control of the entire bundle of food that Compton had discovered and got to work making a stew, using one of the bottles of wine as a broth, leaving the other to be shared with the meal. While the meal was cooking, Clayton Manning finally regained consciousness, and, much to Burke’s relief, he seemed to have avoided serious injury.

“What’s your name?” Compton asked him, as Burke looked on from the doorway.

“Clayton Charles Xavier Manning the third,” the former big game hunter answered and with that one reply managed to eliminate any concerns either Doc Compton or Captain Burke might have had about his mental faculties.

No way could he be suffering from brain damage if he can remember a name like that,
Burke thought.

Compton ran through a few simple tests of dexterity and motor function—asking Manning to tell him how many fingers he was holding up, having him touch the forefinger on each hand to his nose, and walk across the room in a straight line—before pronouncing him fit enough to travel. Sergeant Moore’s initial diagnosis had been correct; Manning had woken up with a terrible headache, but otherwise he was fine.

Dinner was eaten in shifts with those not gulping down their portions of the meal guarding the property. From Burke’s view, all the evidence they’d uncovered so far in the house suggested that whoever had been here most likely intended to return. To make sure they weren’t caught with their pants down when that happened, Burke set up a rotating watch schedule for the rest of the evening, with two men awake at all times, one watching the front of the house and the road while the other monitored the rear approach through the woods.

The night passed quietly. When it was his turn to sit watch, Burke settled into a chair in front of the window in the kitchen and watched the road, his thoughts on what was to come. They knew the location of the camp, so if the partisans didn’t show by midmorning, Burke intended to set out on their own. Every day Jack spent in the company of the enemy was one more day that the enemy had to discover his connection to the president. Hell, for all Burke knew, Freeman’s secret had already been discovered and everything Burke and his men had done to date had been for nothing!

Thinking that way’s not going to help anyone,
he scolded himself.
Stay positive until you have reason to be otherwise. These men are looking to you for their cues, and it won’t do to be dragging down morale.

He focused instead on trying to figure out a way to get Freeman back to friendly lines after they broke him out of the POW camp. With the downing of the
Victorious,
the original plan to have the airship return for them was no longer possible. Nor did it make sense for them to try to cover the distance on foot. After busting down the walls of the prison camp, they’d have half the Germany army after them. Eventually, they’d be tracked down and captured.

No,
he thought, studying the map,
walking will never do.
What they needed was some kind of mechanical transport. If they could steal a truck or maybe even a plane, they could cover more distance in quicker fashion, increasing their odds overall. Of course, they’d have to find it before they could steal it.

He was still looking for a suitable solution when he sensed movement to his left.

“Rumor has it that you don’t like him much.”

Burke turned to see Manning standing there in the semidarkness. “Like who?” Burke asked.

“Your brother. Jack.”

Burke scowled. “He’s not my brother.”

“Okay, fine,” Manning said. “Your half brother then.”

Burke looked back down at the map he’d been studying, then back at Manning. “What’s it to you?”

“I’ve known Jack for several years. I’m risking my life to save him. It makes a difference to me that the man’s own brother might not see the value in doing the same.”

“Anyone who’s known Jack for more than ten minutes would know he’s an arrogant jackass who hasn’t had an unselfish thought in decades, so no, I don’t see the value in risking all our lives to save him,” Burke replied.

Manning was silent for a moment, then asked, “So what happened?”

Burke scowled. “Jack happened, that’s what. Now if you don’t mind, I have work to do.” He returned to staring at the map and when he looked up a few moments later, Manning was gone.

The comment lingered though.
“Rumor has it that you don’t like him much.”

No, he didn’t. Didn’t like him at all, in fact. The man’s reckless behavior and irresponsible nature had plagued him throughout childhood and had nearly destroyed him as an adult.

What Manning said was true. They
were
half brothers—they shared the same mother—but that’s where the similarity between them ended. Jack came from a life of wealth and privilege in the Hamptons on Long Island. His father, a member of the country club set who’d met their mother when she’d been working as a chambermaid, had married her on a whim and had just as easily divorced her two years later. He’d taken his son with him when he left, letting the boy be raised by a succession of live-in nannies until he was old enough to go to boarding school. At that time an arrangement was made. Jack would be registered under his mother’s maiden name to help keep his identity secret and in order to not have the divorce affect his father’s growing political career. In return, the boy would spend two months every summer with his mother and his half brother, Michael, at their little house in New Jersey.

Eloise Freeman had remarried by then, taking the last name Burke. Her new husband, Sam, was a solid, dependable sort, a few years older and a good bit wiser than her previous husband, and a man who would have moved mountains for his wife and four-year-old son. Their happiness was short-lived, however, for an accident on the factory floor left her husbandless for the second time in her life and their young son, Michael, without a father.

Things might have been different had Sam lived, Burke knew. His father had a way of reaching people with his strong but gentle manner, and Jack might have taken other paths had he been influenced during those formative years the way Michael had. Instead, Jack’s sense of entitlement and his constant need for approval from his mostly absent father made him an angry, spoiled child, one his mother had difficulty controlling. That attitude heavily influenced the boys’ relationship, for Jack often took his frustration out on his younger brother. As they’d grown older, their differences gained a nasty, competitive flavor, the two men goading each other into behavior that even a blind man could see would never turn out well.

They might have continued that way indefinitely if it hadn’t been for that fateful night in the summer of 1913. Burke had been dating Linda Mae Stevens, Mae to her friends, for two years by then, and they had plans to marry the following spring. They’d been out at a dance hall together when Jack had shown up looking for them. He told them that Eloise had fallen off a ladder, bumped her head, and had been admitted to the county hospital with a possible concussion. The three of them had piled into the car and driven to the hospital, but since visiting hours were over, only family was allowed in to see her. Having already lost one parent and worried sick about the other, Burke agreed to let his half brother drive his fiancée home.