David Golemon: Legacy

“What were you going to do after you shot Goetz?” a strong voice asked as he was pushed toward the open door of an idling car. “Take the honorable way out and blow your head off?”

Ben was pushed through the open door as the man hurried around to the driver’s side of the idling car and smashed the accelerator down. The car sped away.

“I thought I taught you better than that. You live to fight another day, dumbass!”

As Ben tried to get his breathing under control, the rear window exploded inward and the driver swerved as he twisted the wheel hard to the right. Hamilton risked a look up at his rescuer. All he could see was a large bandage. Blood was seeping through as Colonel Garrison Lee turned toward him and angrily looked him over.

“Are you hit?” he asked. He then turned the wheel in the opposite direction and slammed on the brakes, throwing Ben up against the dashboard. “Are you hit, Hamilton?” Lee asked again, looking through the rear window frame.

“They said you were missing,” Ben stammered, checking for any leaks he may have sprung.

“Not missing-just beat half to death and cut up some. Now, are you hurt?”

“I don’t seem-”

“Good, we’ll talk later about how there seemed to be just about an entire SS regiment in your country of responsibility and you not knowing about it,” Lee said. He removed the empty clip and inserted another into the handle of his. 45. He tossed Hamilton another ammunition clip. Then, as Ben watched, Lee laid his head against the steering wheel. He took some deep breaths. Blood had started a pretty good flow through the thick gauze across the right side of his face.

“Are you all right, Colonel?”

Lee laughed with his forehead still on the steering wheel.

“Do I look all right, Hamilton? I mean, I thought you were a Harvard grad.”

“What happened back there?” Ben asked, nervously looking through the windowless panel in the back.

“I don’t know, Hamilton,” Lee said, straightening as he heard the train pulling out of the station. “Do you have any idea what in the hell was so important to Goetz that he risked being shot or captured thousands of miles away from home?”

“Well, sir, there’s the crates-”

Lee looked over and finally a smile broke out across his shattered face.

“Really, Hamilton. You think so?”

Ben caught on quickly that the colonel was making light of his obvious observation and he felt embarrassed having made it. Lee, with blood starting to course down his right jawline, put the car in gear and sped off in the direction of the eastbound train. Hamilton saw how gingerly the colonel was working the brake and the gas pedals, then he saw why. There was another bloodstain on his right pant leg at the calf. So the report was true. The colonel had indeed been ambushed and almost butchered in Argentina. How he could be doing what he was doing was far beyond what Ben could imagine.

“Look, we have one chance at this. You have to get on that train and stop it. The only thing I would be good for is throwing the car in front of it,” he hissed. He turned onto the narrow gauge tracks and started riding the rail, with two wheels on and two off. The ride was bumpy and with each jolt Hamilton could see Lee grimace. “What has your training taught you?”

Ben charged a round into the. 45 and then thought about what he had to do. “Can you run the front bumper of this thing right into the ass end of the train?” he asked as he rolled down the right-side window.

“That’s my intention, Hamilton, and you can’t jump onto that damn thing sitting in here.”

Ben tucked the Colt into his waistband and then took off his thick jacket. As the car rumbled down the tracks its wheels were catching the ties, sending shockwaves through the suspension of the battered Ford. Hamilton slid easily if bumpily out of the window. He used his hands and feet and started to kick and pull.

“Hamilton? What in the hell are you doing?” Lee called out, trying to focus on ten things at once.

Ben glanced back inside as the car jumped once, then twice, almost throwing him from the Ford. He finally braced himself. “I’m getting ready to jump onto the train.”

“Damn it,” Lee said, shaking his head. Then he took the wheel with his left hand and with his right brought his own automatic up and fired three times into the windshield on the right side. Then he started punching the glass with the barrel of the gun until the glass was gone. “That may be a little easier, don’t you think?”

Hamilton slid back into the car and then, feeling like a scolded school kid, pulled himself onto the hood. Ben immediately saw that this wasn’t going to be like the serials at the movies. With the car being jolted first left and then right, and also up and down, he was finding it hard to stay in one place on the hood.

“Look out!” Lee shouted.

Ben turned and saw a man step out onto the back platform of the train to light a cigarette. It was one of the men who had opened up on them from inside the train station. His eyes widened as the match he was using blew out. He had started to reach for a sidearm when Ben, his reactions this time far faster, aimed his Colt and fired four rounds. The first three hit nothing but air as the car was jolted from side to side. The fourth caught the German in the center of his chest. Lee watched as the man’s weapon fell. Then, in slow motion, he leaned over the small railing and plummeted from the train. Ben was almost thrown from the hood when the car ran over the man’s body.

Lee gunned the engine. As steam started spewing forth from under the hood, partially blinding Hamilton, the Ford’s front bumper slammed into the train. Ben was thrown forward, losing his grip on the single windshield wiper. He started sliding down, unable to grab on to anything because of his gun hand.

Garrison Lee saw what was about to happen. He slowed the car until there was twenty feet of distance and then accelerated once more with the engine screaming in protest.

“Get to your knees and get ready,” Lee shouted. “Hold on to nothing.”

“What! Are you nuts?” Hamilton pushed the Colt back into his pants, then stooped and faced forward, following his orders no matter how crazy they sounded.

The last ten feet between car and speeding train was covered in less than ten seconds. The front bumper slammed into the train once more. The impact was so hard that without a handhold Ben was shot forward like a catapult. His eyes widened as he passed through the steam of the overheating engine and then the railing was right there. He grabbed at it as Lee backed the car away. With his heart racing faster than the car’s engine, Ben hung on to the thin railing as his feet bounced from railroad tie to railroad tie. Finally, he started to pull himself up as Lee’s car bounced once, twice, and then hopped the tracks to the right side of the caboose. Ben started climbing up the railing to the platform. As he slid to the floor he tried to catch his breath. Looking around, he wondered how he was going to get inside with at least ten armed men waiting for him. Then he saw the answer.

Garrison Lee was using the last of the car’s momentum to catch up with the passenger cars. As he looked to his left with his good eye, he saw the shocked face of the small SS general, Goetz, widen in astonishment. Lee grimaced, raising his. 45 and shooting into the windows of the Pullman. Glass was flying as at least three of the wildly placed bullets hit their targets. The unsuspecting Germans never saw it coming. Lee didn’t know if he had hit Goetz, but suspected he hadn’t.

Ben knew when to act. He took a deep breath and then stood. His legs were no longer shaking and his heartbeat, while still fast, had calmed enough that he could put his makeshift plan into motion.