Look Behind You (The Order of the Silver Star) (7 page)

Once they had exchanged introductions and greetings and were in the car headed back to London, Hamer sighed. “I gotta confess, gentlemen, I’m surprised at y’all invitin’ me over here like this. Nobody’s even told me what it’s about; Governor O’Daniel was rantin’ and ravin’ about how he cain’t even use the Rangers the way he wants to, and here I am on loan to the King of England.”

“You’ll receive a full briefing in London,” Nimrod replied. “But for now, I can tell you that we need the aid of the Order of the Silver Star.”

Hamer gave Nimrod an appraising look. “You know Himmler’s trying to claim that the SS is the next Round Table.”

“I do. The trouble is, Himmler’s code is ‘Might
is
right.’ That doesn’t even have the dubious dignity of ‘Might makes right’—the notion that your ideas are right because you can enforce them. These physically weak twits like Himmler and Hitler worship power for its own sake. But King Arthur’s code was ‘Might
for
right.’ You get a lot further fighting for the right thing than you do trying to force others to think a wrong is right.”

Hamer shrugged. “I guess the fact that we understand that explains why we never tried to claim that mantle for ourselves. The ones who have those kinds of fantasies usually wash out. The rest of us just do our jobs.”

“And that’s precisely why I recommended you. We’ve no shortage of glory hounds. We’ve no shortage of good, steady men, either, police and military, but they’re not at your level. You’re the best, but you’re generally not arrogant. That’s what we need.”

Hamer nodded slowly. “Well, then, we’ll see what we can do.”

Nimrod smiled, and Chris was relieved.

#####

6
Thanks be to God.

#####

*****

Matt sighed as he walked outside after breakfast on St. Patrick’s Day and looked out across his parents’ ranch. The fence needed mending down by the creek, thanks to a flash flood a few days earlier, but the fog that had rolled into the Castell area during the night was so thick that he could barely see the garage from the back door, never mind the barn. Driving down to the creek was going to be out of the question. Not that he minded riding all that much—he did like his horse and had ridden a lot of hot, dusty miles out in West Texas with the Rangers—but he hadn’t been looking forward to spending the morning out in the damp and the mud to begin with. Had he been able to take the truck, at least the job would have gone a little faster.

There was nothing for it, though. The fence had to get mended today, both for the sake of the cattle and because the phone was connected through the top wire. Sighing again, Matt ran a hand through his dark hair, slapped his hat on, and stomped toward the barn to get his horse saddled.

Truth be told, he had been in a bad mood for over a week now, ever since Congress had decided the right response to Churchill’s “Give us the tools” speech was this stupid Lend-Lease Act. Matt still didn’t understand why the State Department had nixed Hamer’s plan in ’39, but it would have been his only shot at doing something in this war; he was too old to enlist if and when the US did get involved. Knowing that Chris was probably over there somewhere doing who knew what for the OSS didn’t help, either. Matt didn’t exactly regret that his father had had a stroke back in ’36, causing Matt to retire for good and move home before he could decide whether to rejoin the Rangers and brave the hiccups and headaches that went with the early days of the Department of Public Safety. For all the grief he’d felt at the time, he loved the old
Heimplatz
and the community in these parts, and ranching during bluebonnet season sure had glories of its own. But there were times when he missed being in the fabled Frontier Battalion, and this was one of them.

Hitler was a psychopath, dammit, a menace to society—no, to civilization. Just seeing his face in the newsreels they played at the Lantex over in Llano made Matt’s trigger finger itch. Somebody needed to see that crook either locked up or shot. And it galled Matt that those fatheads in Washington would let London take some guns and bullets and buckets-o’-bolts but not a handful of private citizens who happened to be the best in the world at what they did, who could put that... that...
Stinkkatze
where he belonged:
7
either behind bars or six feet under.

By the time Matt had pounded his frustrations into the last fencepost, however, the air had grown thick with the scent of early bluebonnets, and the sun had come out but hadn’t yet burned through the still-impenetrable fog. The creek seemed blanketed in fragrance and liquid light. He squared his broad shoulders and looked around, his skin prickling with that odd sense that told him something was about to happen.

And suddenly, something did.

“Top o’ the mornin’ to ye, Matt,” said a female voice with a lilting Irish accent.

Matt spun to see a tall woman, nearly a match for his own height, standing next to his horse. She was dressed in a flowing, medieval-looking dress that was some kind of emerald green silk trimmed with gold, her curly red hair cascading down her back and her green eyes dancing with more laughter than her small smile might convey. His brain supplied
Fairy
, but that didn’t make any sense. She looked human enough—though he had no idea where she’d come from. The fog looked undisturbed, and she didn’t seem to be damp from it at all.

He cleared his throat and removed his soggy hat. “You have the advantage of me, ma’am. Do I know you?”

She laughed, which sent a shiver down his back. “No, we’ve not met, and no, you needn’t ask my name. Even if I gave you a name, it mightn’t be the right one.”

“Um. Well. Can I... help you with something?”

“
Nil, mo chara
, I have come to help you.”
8
She stepped up to him, and before he could shy away, she fastened a golden necklace with a green gemstone pendant around his neck. “So long as you wear this stone, no harm will come to you in battle. But with the gift come these
geasa
:
9
tell no one whence it came; wear no orange; and never bend your knee or raise your arm to Hitler, even in jest.”

“Not even to shoot him?”

“Well, for that, sure,” she replied with a chuckle, stepping back a bit. “But ye know what I mean.”

“That—dumb salute.”

“Indeed.”

He tucked the necklace inside his shirt collar, thinking he felt the stone thrumming with some kind of music he couldn’t hear, and shivered again. “Is... ma’am, do you know something I don’t?”

“Quite a lot. But you’ll learn the reason for the gift soon. And when you do, go without fear. I’ll see to matters here. Fare ye well.” She kissed his cheek—and vanished.

Stunned, Matt put a hand to his burning cheek and looked around for some sign that would either prove he’d been dreaming or prove that he hadn’t. The fog rolled back swiftly, but the growing light revealed no trace of anyone having walked up by any path other than the one he’d ridden along on the way out, and the ground where he was standing didn’t give any conclusive evidence of a second pair of footprints… although there might be a little more clover than had been there when he’d arrived. Yet as he straightened again, the unfamiliar weight of the pendant thunked against his breastbone, thrumming as before.

So he hadn’t dreamed it. But he still didn’t understand what had happened.

The fence was finished, so Matt drew a deep breath and put on his hat, gathered his gear, and rode back to the house, still in a daze. By the time he got both gear and horse put away, his watch told him it was time for dinner.

But dinner was sitting on the table when he got inside, and Mama was nowhere to be seen. Papa was apparently having a good enough day that he could feed himself without incident, since he was already eating slowly.

“
Was is los?
” Matt asked as he hung his hat by the door. “
Wo is Mama?
”
10

“
Sie päckt für Dich
,” Papa replied. “Frank Hamer
hat angeruf’n—sagt
‘Brazos.’
11
You’re to meet him in Austin this afternoon.”

Matt gulped, fighting the urge to grab the fairy stone in his shock, and sat down to eat. He tried not to eat too fast, but he couldn’t help wolfing the food down as if he were a teenager again. There wasn’t much time before he needed to head to Llano, fog or no.

Gott sei dank
, he had a train to catch.

#####

7
Skunk (Texas German)

8
No, my friend

9
Bonds or taboos

1
0
What’s going on? Where is Mama? (Texas German)

11
She’s packing for you. Frank Hamer called—says ‘Brazos.’ (Texas German)

#####

*****

“Schneider!” Hamer called over the general chatter as Matt walked into the meeting room at DPS Headquarters. The two men met at the side of the room and shook hands, and Hamer continued, “Saw your brother in London. He said to say hello.”

Matt’s heart leapt. “Chris? Is he okay?”

“Seems to be. Couldn’t tell me much about what he’s up to in the field, at least not that I can tell you, but he’s well. Asked after you.”

Matt’s eyes slipped shut as he sighed in relief. “
Gott sei dank
. We’ve been so worried, but we knew it was too dangerous to write.”

Hamer nodded. “That much I can say: it is now. But we’re gonna change that pretty quick. You get your surprise?” he continued, tapping something under the collar of his own shirt.

“I did, yes, sir. Didn’t get much explanation, though.”

“Well, you’re fixin’ to. Your folks all right?”

“Yeah. Papa’s having a pretty good day today.”

“Good, good. We may be gone a few months. Can they spare you?”

Matt bit his lip. “I’ve... made arrangements.”

“Good. I want you.” Hamer clapped a hand on Matt’s shoulder. “C’mon, sit down. Soon as Lone Wolf gets here, we’ll get started.”

Matt blinked. Manuel “Lone Wolf” Gonzaullas was still an active-duty Ranger, assigned to Company B headquarters in Dallas after spending several years establishing the DPS Bureau of Intelligence and crime lab. “Is he coming with?”

Hamer shook his head. “No, wish he could, but O’Daniel won’t hear of it. Need his input, though. You’ll see why in a few.”

Matt nodded and made his way to one of the few remaining empty chairs. Some of the other men present were former colleagues from Del Rio and Marfa; some were legends of the recent past, like Tom Hickman and Will Wright; a couple were Hamer’s own brothers; some Matt didn’t recognize at all. But as he was drawn into the genial round of shaking hands and giving updates, Matt felt more at home than he had anywhere since Amy’s death. Some part of him, he knew, would be a Ranger until he died.

Five minutes or so thus passed pleasantly until Gonzaullas arrived, impeccably dressed as ever, at which point Hamer stood up at the front of the room and called the meeting to order. “Y’all probably know already that we’re goin’ to England,” Hamer began. “But we’re not going to the Channel ports to intercept spies after all. In fact, we ain’t stayin’ in England for long. The Krauts are fixin’ to invade Russia.”

“And that’s a problem?” Hickman quipped.

“Would you let me finish, Tom?”

“Sorry, Frank.”

“They’re pullin’ as many troops as they can out of France, but they’ve got to have some way to protect the coast—never mind that the Brits cain’t do much right now, even with the supplies they’re gettin’ from us due to the Lend-Lease Act. So Hitler has ordered the SS to set up a wall of the strongest enchantments they can get their hands on to bar the entire coastline. Nobody knows what good that’ll do, but there’s a chance things could get bad for the French. Might not be too good for the Brits, either. So….” Hamer rubbed at where his fairy stone probably hung. “Well, the Fair Folk pulled some strings, and King George wants
us
to go pull down the wall. And we ain’t stoppin’ there. If we can move fast enough, we can go clear to Berlin and put a stop to all this once and for all.”

The room was silent for a long moment after that pronouncement. Matt wasn’t sure whether to whoop or to pray, and he suspected the other men felt the same way.

Finally, one of the older men from East Texas snorted. “Is
that
what this thing’s for?” he asked, holding up his pendant. “I told that damn fairy—”

The pendant leapt out of his hand and dashed itself against the floor, shattering with a resounding crash. Its former owner had the grace to look embarrassed.

“This is no laughin’ matter, Halberson,” Hamer said sternly. “Even Schneider’s brother knows it’s serious, and he’s not one to believe in magic, is he, Schneider?”