Murder At Zero Hour Read online

  *

  I woke up. I was stretched out on a bunk in the backroom of our headquarters. The pale light of day was shining through the open door in the other room. Lurching out, I found Carter sitting at the map table. His lips were taut, and his hollow eyes were staring at the wooden wall. He didn’t even notice my presence until I cleared my throat.

  “Where is Lyons?” I demanded. My voice was hoarse. I could barely say anything above a whisper.

  Carter waved his hand in the direction of front lines. He said, “If he had any sense he would be back in England. But he’s somewhere out there getting the wounded together.”

  “What are you doing?”

  He shut his eyes and mumbled, “I’m just resting.” His head fell onto his hands on the table, and he began to sob.

  I went over and patted him on the shoulder. “So how did it go out there?”

  “It was murder,” he said through his tears.

  “Yes it was,” I replied harshly and left him there. I needed to see what was left of my men. I needed to get out and breathe again.

  We spent that day burying our dead and moving our wounded to the casualty station. The Germans kept oddly quiet that day though they could have walked right through our defenses with only token resistance. We had been decimated, and morale was at an all-time low.

  With the help of two of my men, I took the body of Sergeant Owens up to the hills behind the village and buried him deep in the forest. He would have liked being there instead of being amongst the rows of faceless graves. He was a better man than most, suited for spending his days with God’s Creation. I placed his body near an old oak tree, not too far off the little path we had walked before. As the men watched in silence, I said a prayer that I had learned from my father.

  That night I spent a lonely supper writing a letter to Owens’s mother telling her what a brave soul he was. Rain began to fall heavily against the windows and only added to the painful misery I was feeling. Lyons walked into my room. His eyes were black circles of exhaustion.

  Leaning against my doorway, he let out a sigh. “Word is we are to be pulled out soon.”

  This news was hardly surprising considering the over fifty percent casualties we had suffered from yesterday's attack. “Any idea where?” I asked.

  “Some village called Tremont.”

  “Never heard of it.”

  “It will be a chance for us to rest. You don't have anything to drink do you?” he asked hopefully.

  “Afraid not,” I said honestly.

  He coughed and looked nervously about my room. “I've been drinking whiskey, a bottle a day, and I've pretty much run out. I don't know how you keep your nerves so steady.” His sudden compliment made me feel a little more relaxed than before.

  “They aren't – trust me.”

  He smiled and said, “Most of the officers I know are heavy drinkers. I can highly recommend it. It's the only way you can stop yourself from going crazy with worry. At this rate we're all becoming a generation of alcoholics.”

  “If we should live so long,” I said.

  “Ha! You're not doing anything to help your longevity. I saw what you did yesterday. What gave you the fool idea to directly charge that enemy trench like that? You're looking to get yourself killed with that sort of bravery. It’s madness, pure and simple.”

  “And what were you doing?”

  “Keeping myself from being shot since that machinegun fire was simply too murderous. I lost too many men to go any further. After I saw you and Owens go down, I didn't want any more of it, so I had the men pull back. We even took casualties doing that. Of course that fool Bryant accused me of cowardice, but I soon set him to rights on that idea.”

  “How's that?” I asked. My own voice felt stiff and far off. It took all the energy I had to concentrate on what Lyons was saying.

  “I told him to go ahead and bloody-well lead the men across. Quite the row we had, but that fool daren't go out and actually do it. In the end, he gave in and said nothing to Smythe. Of course I would shoot the bastard if he did.”

  I nodded in agreement. I would have done the same.

  “Now you haven't told me what happened out there,” he said.

  I told him about charging the machine gun nest and how I was pushed me into the safety of the shell hole. I then went on and told him about Corporal Reese and how Owens saved my life at the very last moment.

  When I finished my story, Lyons took a deep breath. “So they sent that bully-boy of theirs to take care of you. I'm sorry I didn't believe this conspiracy of yours in the first place. But you must admit on the face of it, it seemed quite fantastic.”

  Even in my gloom, I was happy for him to finally admit that he had been wrong. If only he agreed to help me then I would have a chance of getting the guilty punished.

  “What is going to be your next step?” he asked.

  “At this point I'm not too sure. Perhaps the military police could investigate.”

  “The Red-Caps?” he scoffed. “Well, old man, there is the matter of evidence - it isn't likely that we can go out there and haul Reese's body back. It's too dangerous. They will want something a little more solid that just your word. No one is going to believe that staff officers would try to kill you. Wodenhill has the book you found, and Corporal Childs has gone to join him at headquarters. If they keep their stories straight, you will look like a fool.”

  “I would like to march over there with my rifle and shoot those bastards,” I said testily.

  “I’m sure they would like that – good chance to have you arrested and shot for insubordination. No, we must get something on them. But at this point I can’t think of what.”

  “Then why did they go through the trouble of making an attempt on my life?” I asked weakly. “If they know I can’t prove anything, then why take the risk of having me killed?”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “Perhaps they just want to wrap up any loose ends. You must have them worried that you are holding a piece of evidence back that they aren’t aware of. Though honestly, I would never have though that Wodenhill would have it in him. He always struck me as the cowardly type.”

  “I’m not sure it was just Wodenhill and Childs in the middle of this mess.”

  Lyons raised an eyebrow and said, “Surely you can’t suspect Smythe of being the ringleader?”

  “How quickly you come to the point,” I smiled. “Wodenhill reports to the colonel, and Reese was the colonel’s man. Who else could order him to take a chance like that in No Man’s Land?”

  “You’re just guessing at this point,” he said calmly and opened his cigarette case. He fished one out and lit it.

  “And I thought you were on my side,” I said sarcastically.

  “Smythe is a respected man. Why would he embroil himself in a black market scheme? He’s from a wealthy enough family.”

  “How do you know this?” I asked.

  “If you've been around as long as I have, word gets around. Of course you're an American, but we still have some wealthy aristocracy in old Blighty. No one as rich as your Rockefellers, but most of the old families still have some loot socked away.”

  “Except for your family?”

  Lyons gave me a hard stare as if I jabbed at a sore point. “I should hardly think of that as a concern of yours. My family name is better than most.”

  “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend. You seem to take your land and titles without any airs.”

  He gave me a quick smile and said, “I may take that front with old Prentice just to egg him on, but in all truth, I was taught to be rather proud of my background.”

  I didn't even pretend to understand this British class system so I merely nodded. I placated him by saying, “I see. It seems a bit odd that your last name and family determines where you go in life. Men in America are rated by their money and accomplishments.”

  “America has its aristocracy –
oil and train tycoons, and the bankers who loaned the money to them in the first place. Their names are recognized well enough.”

  “True, but if they didn't have the money they would go unnoticed. How does Smythe rate in this aristocracy of yours?”

  He gave this thought before saying, “Colonel Smythe's family has some poor relations in the past. His mother was an actress that his father married suddenly after his first wife died.”

  “So?” I asked.

  “That is reason for scandal enough. Especially the last generation – anything to do with the stage wasn't respectable. It has a tendency to add a bit of tarnish to the family name. I’m sure they were never poor or short of money, but I bet Smythe wishes he had some more.”

  “Who doesn't,” I said. “But still it doesn't seem like it would be a good enough reason to take the risk.”

  “Men do funny things for a bit of money,” Lyons mused. “Now I’ll ask around for you and see if I can find out more of the colonel’s financial state. But I've had enough talk for now. I have to go and scare up a bottle while I can. I bid you goodnight.”

  I watched as he meandered off. I then sat down on my bed and thought of the events of the days before. I tried to tie all the threads together, but my head only hurt with the exertion. Leaning back on my pillow, I realized I was exhausted and needed some sleep before I was called for my watch. I shut off the oil lamp and immediately fell to sleep.

  My dreams were strange – filled with broken bodies and gaping shell holes. The shell holes were filled with a mixture of blood and mud. It covered screaming men as they were attempting to crawl out of the cesspools of muck. There was a sudden boom of artillery shells falling nearby, so I snapped my eyes open. The sound was real and not just a dream. It sounded too close for my comfort. I rolled over and looked at the alarm clock by my bed. I had only been asleep for two hours. The Hun was telling us they were still around and ready for another fight. I wasn't ready for anything but sleep. I found it impossible to even get that now.

  I tossed and turned for another hour before giving up. I got up and went to the kitchen to see if I could scare up something to eat. I found Carter there, sitting on the little low table that was used for food preparation. He looked gloomily up at me.

  “Can't sleep?” I asked as I started rooting through the cupboards.

  “Too much on my mind,” he replied darkly.

  Though we weren't on the friendliest of terms now, at least Carter seemed like an honest chap. “Anything you care to talk about?” I asked.

  “Well, it's this move to Tremont.”

  “Oh, I heard that we were moving out.”

  He coughed nervously and finally said, “You see there is this smashing girl here in the village. Her name is Marie, and she is the most wonderful thing I have ever come across. She's kind and gentle, plus she's a real looker.”

  “Sounds like a nice girl,” I said as I found a box of biscuits that had been sent by Prentice’s mother. Seeing that he was in the hospital, I didn't think he would care if I took a few.

  “Oh she is,” he said brightly. “It's just that I don't want to leave her here. What if the Germans take this village back? Or you never know what kind of regiment could come and replace us. There could be some real scoundrels coming here.”

  “We have enough trouble with our own scoundrels,” I said with a chuckle. “Tell me, doesn't she have some relatives she could move in with? Somewhere away from here?”

  “Her father and mother died last year. Marie came here to live with her grandmother. I'm afraid she doesn't have anyone else.”

  “What about your parents – can they help you out and get her to England?” I asked helpfully as I started eating. Many of these officers were gentlemen of distinction with rich enough parents. I’m sure they could help.

  “Oh, my father is rolling in it. But I’m afraid he is rather old-fashioned. I’m not sure what they will think when I tell them the news.”

  I put the box gently down on the table. “What news?”

  The poor boy actually blushed. He said, “Marie told me last week that she is with child.”

  This explained his sneaking about the day I went hunting. He had been seeing his girl. I could only imagine his fear when he went over the top. Leaving the women he loved behind was bad enough, but if she was expecting, that was an entirely different matter. “I do believe congratulations are in order,” I said with a smile.

  “Are they?” he asked weakly.

  I shoved the box of biscuits in his face. He took one gingerly and held it in his hand without eating it. I said, “At this point there is nothing to do but marry the girl. That's if you want to.”

  He took a tentative bite and nodded. “I guess so,” he said.

  “Once you marry her, your parents will have little choice but to take her in. It is as good as done now.”

  “But what will Colonel Smythe say? We can’t marry without regimental permission.”

  “What can he say?” I asked incredulously. “Damn the regiment. I think it would be better if we didn't tell him a thing. You'll get married without his permission and sneak her out of the country into safety. I suggest you start that letter to your parents and have it posted from Paris so it doesn't go through the censors. Some chap on leave can mail it for you.”

  He stood up quickly. “Thank you very much!” Shaking my hand, Carter slapped me on the back. “I feel like a weight has been taken off my shoulders.”

  “Now go and get some sleep. We'll be pulling out soon, so you will have a busy day tomorrow rounding up a minister.”

  “How can I do that without Captain Bryant finding out?”

  “I'll cover for you,” I replied.

  He shook my hand again and said, “You are the best.” He left for his bedroom.

  I could only shake my head in disbelief as I watched his retreating back. This was a funny place to fall in love.