by Tim Wheat
The farmer sat up, massaging his genitals where the smaller man had squeezed them.
“All I wanted to do was get home and get some dinner. Now I’m going to be up all night dealing with this.”
He rose to his feet, and fifty yards away Hans was spinning the Model K around, startling the other vehicle, which had slowed to a crawl. Throwing rocks all over, the big Lincoln found traction, and shot toward the bridge.
“Squeeze my nuts off. Little punk.”
The farmer, who could hit a running rabbit at fifty yards, took aim, and fired his remaining two rounds with amazing speed and accuracy. The first slammed into the Lincoln just in front of the passenger’s window, skipping across the windshield. The second, however, peppered the side of the vehicle in a six foot area, shattering the passenger’s window, and sending glass flying into the Lincoln.
A smile crossed the face of the farmer.
“A couple pieces of birdshot in your face to remember me by.”
***
Just east of Oxford Avenue, Hans pulled the black Lincoln into an empty driveway and exited the vehicle. Scanning the street, and finding it to be devoid of traffic, he began to make his way back to the Model A.
As he walked, he took one last look at the Lincoln he had used to its maximum capabilities. The passenger’s side had numerous small holes where the farmer’s buckshot had impacted, and the driver’s side was a mess of dented steel. Whoever owned the car was going to be angry in the morning. He grinned at the thought.
Making his way down the avenue, Hans could hear quite the commotion from a street over. The reaction to his handiwork from earlier, had been swift. Patrick Castle was a very important man, and when he had put in a call to the chief of police, they had reacted. He couldn’t resist visiting the scene on his way back through, so Hans made a quick detour.
The scene was an absolute madhouse. Neighbors crowded the street, as the news of young Mary Elizabeth’s murder had spread. One rumor was that her father had made a deal with the mob that had gone south. Another was that she was decapitated and her head stuck on a pike. Hans drank it all in, enjoying the moment. It wasn’t often he was able to see the results of his work. He didn’t want to seem like he was lingering, though, and made his way back to the parking lot near Conant Hall.
Henry Ford made fantastic automobiles at a reasonable price, and Hans enjoyed driving the Model A. He drove as inconspicuous as he could, and within twenty minutes was already nearing the hangar. Rounding a Fairchild 24 model G, he could see his destination, but decided to park a distance away.
Something about his meeting with Dietrich Hoff earlier still bothered him, and the fact that both Dietrich and Anelie Hoff’s personal aircraft still sat in the hangar, was upsetting. He approached on foot and found himself peering through a gap between the door jam and the metal exterior of the dilapidated building. Closing his eyes and letting his other senses process the scene, Hans found himself to be quite tired. It had been a long day, and he would look forward to some rest.
Opening his eyes, and satisfied that nothing seemed amiss; Hans trotted back to the Model A, put it in gear, and drove it into the hangar. A large, stern looking man greeted him.
“It’s about time; you look terrible. What took you so long?”
Hans had forgotten that his appearance must have been a sight. He knew he had been bleeding, and cursed himself under his breath for his detour through the crime scene. Someone might have alerted his disheveled presence to the police. Unease tinged his voice as he replied.
“Murder isn’t always simple. Something I hear you might have had some experience with.”
The surgeon had met and worked with Hans on a number of occasions, and though he was undersized, and not an intellectual, his fervor for killing was unmatched. He decided to diffuse the situation by brushing off Hans’ reference to the death of the squad.
“Well, there isn’t anything I can do about that now. You and I are headed to Arizona. We have a quick stop to pick up some men, and then we are due in the desert in the morning.”
Not expecting the news, but also not shocked by it, Hans replied in a cold tone.
“Why are we standing here chatting then? Did you pack my bags for me and retrieve my instructions?”
Dietrich Hoff didn’t trust anyone to pass on orders, and Hans knew he would have left implicit details. He wasn’t disappointed.
“Your bags are packed, and your instructions are on the plane. You may read them on the trip.” The surgeon gestured to the plane behind him in the hangar. “Shall we?”
For the first time Hans noticed the huge aircraft behind the other man was not one of the standard planes they flew. It was double the average size, and featured four powerful looking Pratt and Whitney engines. As they approached he ran his hand along the wings, feeling the metal skin of the airframe. Was it aluminum, steel, or something else exotic? He never underestimated the power of Dietrich Hoff, but this bomber must have set him back some serious cash.
“Where in the world did we get this big mama?” Hans asked.
“This big mama is the B17 Flying Fortress. The military doesn’t even have these operational yet, and here we are taking her for a spin. She barely fits through the hangar doors over there. Believe me, I had a helluva time getting it in here.”
“I believe it.”
Hans made his way around the aircraft, marveling at its simplicity in design, but obvious deadly intentions. It had a plexiglass nose, with a machine gun built in, a dorsal machine gun position, a tail gunner position, a belly gunner position, and bomb bay doors that looked like they could deliver the gates of hell to someone’s doorstep. What could they be doing that would involve this monstrous aircraft?
He entered the plane, and before he had explored the interior, the pilot fired up the engines and maneuvered the craft out of the hangar. Within minutes they were on their way west, and Hans settled into the copilot’s seat to read his orders. His dreams for a day off dashed, he read the five page document, tore it into tiny pieces, and deposited it in the waste bag behind his seat.
“Can just the two of us handle this job?” he asked, assuming the pilot had received similar instructions to his.
“I don’t think that matters. We must.”
Of course the surgeon was right, and Hans closed his eyes, reliving the events of the day. He hadn’t been in a car chase in quite some time, and Rex Chase had proven a very capable beginner. A slight smile pursed the lips of the cold blooded killer as he drifted to sleep.
“Rex Chase, a worthy adversary,” was his last thought before his subconscious took the reins of his mind.
*******************
39.
Rex Chase had ejected from a vehicle traveling at almost sixty miles per hour. He had flown through the air, cart wheeled across a huge pile of straw, and landed on his side a yard from the small stream. Being knocked unconscious for the third time in less than twelve hours, the darkness had a firm grip on him this time, but he fought against it with all the ferocity of a bull entering the ring. As stubborn as a prize fighter, refusing to stay down, Rex Chase began his ascent back into the light, coaxed by a friendly voice.
“Son. Son. You alright there, son?”
Chase opened his eyes, and the pain greeted him first. Moaning, and not yet able to form his thoughts into words, he attempted to roll from his side to his back.
“Shhhh. Take it easy son. Take it easy son. Something is wrong with that shoulder you’re laying on.”
The farmer was understating a very obvious injury from the crash. Chase’s left shoulder, weakened from his initial run in with the Model K, hung grotesquely out of place. His mind beginning to function at a higher level, Chase looked to his left, and took notice of the problem himself.
“Dislocated. It’s dislocated. We need to put it back in before it gets too swollen. I hurt it once when I was younger, and now it slips out sometimes. You need to help me up.”
“Son, if all that is wr
ong with you after that is a dislocated shoulder, I’d say you hit the jackpot,” related the farmer, trying to comfort the younger man. In his years during the Great War he had always stayed cool under fire, and his experience there lent well to this situation. “If you feel OK, though, I’ll help you up.”
“Please do. Trust me, I’m feeling quite a bit better already and we need to get ahead of this shoulder thing.”
The farmer helped Chase to his feet, and for the first time Rex looked at his body to check for more injuries. It seemed there were none.
“You look fine, son, so what do you need me to do?”
“I need you to grab me with both hands, by my left arm, around the bicep, and try to pick me up. I’m gonna try to be tough, but I’m telling you it’s gonna hurt, and it’ll give way all of a sudden with a loud pop,” Chase’s voice filled with trepidation.
“OK, on three?”
“Three is as good a number as any.”
“Alright. One. Two…”
Without waiting for the number three, the farmer bent at his knees, secured the young man’s arm in his grip, and drove upward. Grimacing and grunting in pain, Rex Chase hung in the air, his feet a few inches off the ground. As fast as he had reached the zenith of the farmer’s grip, though, his shoulder gave in and popped to its normal position. Chase howled, and the farmer lowered him to the ground, supporting the young man’s weight, and allowing him to catch his breath. After a few seconds, the younger man’s breathing slowed, his body relaxed, and he managed a smile.
“You didn’t get to three.”
“I never was any good at counting,” came the farmer’s witty reply. “You feeling up to telling me what in the hell is going on around here? You’re a lot nicer than the other young man.”
For the first time since coming around, Chase noticed the carnage around him. The Packard lay imbedded on the far bank of the stream, and the Model K was nowhere to be found. His disappointment was evident as the farmer continued.
“I do believe he was quite intent on killing you.”
“Yeah,” Chase now stood under his own power and managed to flash one of his famous smiles. “I gathered that too. I just met him today, but I think our friendship went downhill quick.”
The farmer admired the courage of the young man. He would have made a fantastic soldier.
“Well, he tried to shoot you while you were lying over there, and most days I don’t get involved in other’s private business, but this time I decided to step in, your being passed out and all,” the farmer cracked a smile. “Mind if I get your name son?”
“Rex Chase, sir, and thank you,” came Chase’s appreciative reply.
“You’re quite welcome, Rex Chase. My name is Tim Wheat, and I think we should get to my place and give the sheriff a call.”
“I can’t disagree with that. It seems as though I may have some explaining to do.”
“I’d say you hit the nail on the head with that one.”
***
Almost an hour had gone by since Chase and the farmer had arrived at the Wheat residence. He had found them to be gracious hosts. The man had a very quaint home, and Chase imagined if he had lived in the countryside, he would have enjoyed growing up here. Two young sons, who had tackled their father upon his return home, had questioned Chase with more thoroughness than the local police would. Rex had enjoyed their company while he waited.
The older of the two boys had blond, almost white, shaggy hair, and at the age of six was working with multiplication, and adding complex numbers. He had read Chase some difficult books, and introduced him to the family dog as well. The younger boy looked to be three or four years old, with fiery short red hair, and a sweetness his brother didn’t possess. He seemed to be taking everything in, and unlike his brother, was shy. When the older boy took the lead, the younger would follow, and mimic his brother. Chase appreciated their innocent company, and it didn’t seem so long ago when he had been a precocious bundle of energy.
“Boys, say goodnight to Mr. Chase. It is time for you to brush your teeth, say your prayers, and go to bed. We have a lot of work to do tomorrow.”
Both young boys approached Chase, gave him a hug and told him goodnight. They then repeated the process with their mother and father and obeyed, retiring to the bedroom they shared.
“Mr. Chase, it seems that the sheriff doesn’t care too much about your story. He just phoned me, and since no one died he doesn’t want to make the trip out here at this hour. If you’d like to press charges or have an investigation, you’ll have to go see him in the morning. I agreed to clean up your mess out there, since it’s in my field, but something tells me that isn’t your Packard, is it?”
Chase felt his face and neck turn hot, and managed a sheepish smile.
“No sir, I don’t suppose it is.”
“Well, if anyone comes looking for it I’ll leave it somewhere we can get at it. Now, how do you plan on getting home?”
“If I could use your phone I’ll give my father a call. He’ll come out to get me.”
“No, I can’t be waiting up all night. Did I hear you tell my boys you went to Harvard?”
“You did, sir.”
“I can be there, back, and in my bed in an hour, ninety minutes tops. Whatya say?”
“I’d say you’ve more than proven your kindness. I’m forever indebted to you,” was Chase’s honest, gracious reply.
Driving into the city had gone by in a flash. Chase relayed his entire story to the stoic farmer, starting with his run in with the spy at the baseball game, and ending near the stream. Mr. Wheat listened to everything Rex had to say before offering his opinion.
“Sounds like a long day. I’m glad mine wasn’t that eventful, well, except for the Mary Elizabeth part. I’m happy for you there son.” He flashed an easy smile before continuing. “If I could give you one piece of advice it would be this. Hold onto her son. Hold onto her and never let her go. My Candice is the rock that holds my world together. Without her this depression would have swallowed me whole, and it sounds like you have that with your young lady as well.” Saying his piece, the farmer came to a stop outside of Conant Hall, extending his hand to his young passenger.
“Good luck to you, son. I hope you get this all figured out and you and Mary Elizabeth ride off into the sunset.”
Chase shook his hand with vigor, thought of Mary Elizabeth and replied, “That’s what I intend to do sir. That is what I intend to do.”
Rex Chase exited the vehicle, not knowing what he was about to walk into, or that his entire outlook on life was about to be shaken.
***
Though he had many questions and uncertainties about the day, Rex Chase left the farmer’s company with high hopes for the future. He would have to give The General and his father a call, not only to explain what had happened to him, but to turn down The General’s offer. One thing was more certain now than anything had ever been for him in his entire life, and Mary Elizabeth was that certainty. Watching the farmer’s truck disappear into the distance, he wondered if he’d ever see him again, then turned to make his way up the steps to his home. Behind him, though, a familiar voice pierced his thoughts.
“Excuse me, Mr. Chase,” said The General.
“Please sir, its Rex,” was Chase’s instant reply, “It's odd, or should I say funny, that you’re here. Just a moment ago I was thinking about giving you a call. I’m afraid…”
The General interrupted him with the news he carried. “I’m sorry, Rex, but before you say anything more, I’d like to tell you why I’m here.”
“Yes sir. You are correct, of course, however, I’m exhausted, and have had an insane evening. Would you mind if we continued our conversation indoors?”
“I’d prefer to stay out here. It looks as if we still have our privacy, and the night air may do us some good,” The General spoke with an intense layer of foreboding in his voice. Chase could tell that something was very wrong.
“If you think it is best,
sir. What can I do for you?”
The General cleared his throat, and began to speak. “At nineteen hundred hours last night, an unintended, and as of yet, unexplained series of explosions was reported at the mine where George Ahiga has been doing his reconnaissance. When I put him into his latest assignment he was to be on his own. We thought it would help his cover, and until the last few days it seemed that we were right, but now we aren’t sure. On a personal level, though, I made sure that he went into that situation with enough explosives to level the whole mountain.”
“So, is Chief OK?” said Chase, the nervousness in his voice apparent.
“As of now, we just don’t know son. All we are getting are sporadic reports from the men who had been working the mines. They seem to be saying that the camp erupted in explosions, many of the trucks seemed disabled, and most disturbing of all…” the General’s voice choked, and he cleared his throat. “Most disturbing of all, a lengthy gun battle ensued.”
Chase’s mind attempted to process the information, but he had taken too many bumps on the head today. “Look, sir, if you’re attempting to influence my decision about joining The Organization, then I have something I need…”
“Rex, I’m sorry to interrupt again, but I have more to tell you. We haven’t heard from George since the news of all this fighting, and he has failed to show at his extraction site, should things have gone south and he needed to blow the camp. Also, the professor and his daughter have not been amongst the refugees from the site. I fear one, or even all of them are dead.”
Chase let the idea sink in; that his best friend, the man he would choose to stand with him in his wedding, had taken his last breath the night before. He had just had the most trying day of his life, and this report almost sent him over the edge. Without uttering a word, he conveyed how he felt with his demeanor. His shoulders slumped, his smile faded, and his once bright eyes seemed somehow dulled.
