James Benn - The Rest Is Silence

“Maybe he is waiting for someone,” I whispered. “Let’s get closer.”

I led and Kaz followed, both of us swiveling our heads like mad, watching for a threat from any quarter. We froze at the sound of movement ahead, only to see a big rat run across our path seconds later. We sprinted to the edge of a wooded patch, the motorbike now sounding only yards away.

We stood still, regaining our breath, waiting for footsteps or a voice. Nothing came, nothing but the steadily idling engine. I motioned Kaz to go flat, and we began to crawl through the underbrush, skirting tangles of vines and branches, finally getting close enough to smell the exhaust fumes. Either my eyes were getting used to the fog, or it was thinning out. Kaz nudged my arm and pointed with his Webley.

There it was. On the edge of a clearing about ten yards out. No one in sight, just the monotonous engine noise filling the empty space. Then it began to sputter and cough. It ran ragged for a few minutes and then conked out. The silence encompassed us, the absence of sound suddenly frightening. Now we had to be really quiet; there was no cover to muffle our footsteps in the forest. We moved apart, circling in on the motorbike. I could feel the warmth from the engine, see where the kickstand dug into the loamy earth.

It was as if we were meant to find it.

“Look,” Kaz whispered, pointing to a canvas musette bag hanging from the handlebar. He stepped forward to lift it off, and as he did Crawford’s words about his service in the last war flooded my brain.

I was a sapper … setting charges … laying mines and booby-traps .

Kaz pulled the musette bag by the straps, but it only gave a few inches. I heard a metallic snap and rushed at Kaz, leaning in low to hit him with my shoulder, lifting him and rolling into the bushes, keeping his body covered with mine.

The explosion blasted over us, the force slamming my face into the ground as I felt a red-hot sensation in my legs. I opened my eyes to check on Kaz, shaking my head to clear it from the shock and the concussive noise.

“Are you okay?” I managed, grasping him by the shoulders and pulling him up.

“What happened?” Kaz answered, wincing as he righted himself.

“It was booby-trapped,” I said. “Are you hurt, Kaz?” I tried not to shout, the ringing in my ears still loud.

“No, I think not. Sore but unhurt,” he said, picking up his revolver and checking it. The motorbike was a twisted lump of metal and burning rubber, the smoky flames flickering in the darkness, sending shadows dancing at our feet. I felt warmth in my boot and knew that I’d caught some shrapnel. The back of my trench coat was ripped, and I could feel the tears in my wool pants above the boot. I’d have scars on top of scars before this thing was over.

“Let’s go,” I said, ignoring the squishing between my toes.

“Billy, you’re injured,” Kaz said, spotting my leg.

“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “Now we have an advantage.” I took off at a gimpy trot, making for Crawford’s cottage.

“What, that our heads were not completely blown off? And thank you, by the way. Mine would have been if you hadn’t tackled me.”

“Anytime,” I said, crouching behind a thick tree trunk. “The advantage is that Crawford thinks we’re dead, or close to it. The idling bike was a ruse to draw out anyone watching.”

“It is about time we had the upper hand,” Kaz said. “Let’s make good use of it.”

“We need to hurry,” I whispered, checking my watch. The sky was beginning to lighten at the horizon, the harbinger of a dawn drawing close.

“I am tempted to leave him here,” Kaz said. “To the justice of a naval and air bombardment.”

“If we didn’t need him, that’d be fine with me,” I said. But we did, and I wanted the indispensable Crawford alive and uninjured for the job I had in mind for him. We worked out a plan to approach the cottage from both sides, staying out of his line of sight from the doorway. I figured he had valuables stashed in some secret spot, and it was time to dig them up and hightail it out of here. But all I cared about was one gold ring with the Pemberton coat of arms.

I went left and Kaz went right, each of us in a low, careful duckwalk, scurrying across the lane guarded by the gutted tank. Fog hung close to the ground, rising from the damp earth and making sudden movements dangerous; there was no way to tell if you were about to stumble into a hole or fall across a log. The air was thick with moisture and fear as we moved in on the cottage, flattening ourselves against the whitewashed walls on either side.

I heard sounds from inside. The gritty scraping of a heavy stone being moved. The shuffling of feet, a slight grunt, the exhalation of breath. I signaled with my automatic to Kaz. He leaned out from the corner of the cottage, his Webley at the ready. I glanced at the sky, worried that I could see Kaz so clearly, then gave my watch a glance. Already after three o’clock, according to the luminous dial. Plenty of time, I told myself. As long as nothing goes wrong.

I took the flashlight from my pocket, gave Kaz a wave, then stood up at the edge of the soot-blackened window frame. Automatic held out straight, flashlight held high. I took a deep breath and clicked the light on.

“Crawford! Hands up!” I swept the burned-out room with the light, keeping the.45 steady. He was on his knees at the hearth, or what was left of it. A pry bar had lifted a large flat stone away from the chimney, where Crawford knelt, gripping an open knapsack. He dropped it, one hand going up to shield his eyes from the light, the other scrambling for something on the floor. “Don’t do it,” I warned.

He did. In spades. Rising up, he hoisted a Thompson submachine gun and let loose a volley in my direction. The muzzle flash was lightning bright, and the noise inside the stone cottage was eardrum shattering. Rounds chewed the window frame, whizzing over my head as I ducked. The first few shots were close, but then he went high, unused to the kick of the Thompson. I fired one wild shot through the window and then pressed myself against the wall a few feet away, listening for movement, my ears still ringing.

Another burst came through the window, then several more through the door and other windows. I hadn’t heard Kaz, and Crawford was probably unsure if anyone was with me. The sound of the bolt being worked told me Crawford had loaded a new clip. I went to the corner of the cottage and aimed at the door, then pulled back as I saw Kaz do the same. Great minds think alike, but in this case we were more liable to hit each other than Crawford.

Before I could reorient myself, he flew out the door, twisting and turning, firing the Thompson and sending me diving for cover. I heard two single shots, Kaz firing his Webley, and I rolled out from the protection of the cottage wall, my automatic ready, searching for a target.

Nothing.

Was he hit? Or waiting for us to make a move and get peppered with.45 slugs for our trouble? The fog cloaking the ground was beginning to thin out, providing all of us with lessening cover. I was beginning to feel naked, flat on my stomach in the mud, nothing but swirling grey air between me and a tommy gun. Kaz darted past me and I followed, huddling at the base of the abandoned tank. We waited quietly, maybe fifteen minutes, watching for any sign of movement.

“See him?” I whispered. Kaz shook his head. I motioned for Kaz to stay low and pointed to the stone wall fronting the field to our right. He nodded and I stood, working my way slowly along the other side of the tank, scanning the ground ahead.

The Thompson spat rounds from dead ahead, ricochets zinging off armor plating as I went as flat as I could against the side of the tank, firing my automatic in the general direction of the burst, hoping Crawford would duck for long enough for Kaz to get to the cover of the stone wall. I did my own ducking in time to avoid another volley that stitched a line in the mud inches from where I laid. I stuck my hand up and fired off my last shots, hoping it kept Crawford focused on the tank. I loaded a fresh clip and worked the slide as I backed up, worried about Crawford getting the same idea for a flanking move.