No Flowers for the General (A Mike Faraday Mystery Book 3)

by Basil Copper

  Right now a sapling sixteen millimetres wide would have seemed enough after being out in the open. A tommy gun operating on exposed ground makes a man seem a mile high and at least forty feet wide. Clark was panting. I figured he was hurt worse than he had told me. He wasn’t short on guts, that was for sure.

  ‘How in hell do you work this thing?’ he gasped.

  I showed him. The Schmeisser’s barrel was clogged with earth and it looked like it had struck a rock when Clark fell out of the back of the ambulance. I cleared the barrel. The tommy gun fired again while I was doing this. The bullets stitched across the edge of the thicket and went whining into the trees. One of the saplings near to us caught fire momentarily and then smouldered into darkness. The noise of the helicopter was nearer now. All the while we were stuck down here they could move the General to the machine without us being able to interfere.

  ‘Keep the tommy gunner busy,’ I told Clark. ‘I’ll try and work my way round behind.’

  I had only gone a few yards off to the left, still within the cover of the thicket, when the Schmeisser barked. Clark only got off two or three shots. Then I heard his angry whisper through the trees. I crawled back towards him.

  ‘The damned thing’s jammed,’ he said in exasperation.

  ‘Try the single shot setting,’ I said. I couldn’t remember how many a machine pistol clip held but every burst was wasteful and we had to make each shot count. Clark fiddled about with the pistol. Then he sighted up towards a shadowy figure near the tree on the top of the bank. The pistol coughed once and I saw the tommy gunner duck back behind the tree.

  ‘Get going,’ said Clark with satisfaction.

  I worked back through the small wood and a long way over to the left. It was growing too light for comfort and the helicopter still seemed to be searching around a little to the north. Twice more I heard Clark’s gun and once a burst of tommy gun fire. By this time I was well over and the plantation and a shoulder of ground masked all my movements. I crawled cautiously up the rising slope and found myself back on the road again.

  Keeping into the trees and tall grass which skirted the narrow highway, I gum-shoed quietly back towards the ambulance. I kept it between me and the gunner behind the tree. There was no sign of Hernando. I hoped he had gone on to signal to the helicopter but I couldn’t bank on it. I got down on my knees and looked along towards the ambulance. It was about a hundred yards away now. Someone, probably Salivar, had closed the rear doors so I couldn’t see inside. The General was keeping quiet.

  So far as I could make out there was no-one hiding behind the big vehicle. Then the tommy gun hammered again and lances of flame licked out down towards the small wood where Clark was hiding. Bullets hummed like angry bees and made bright sparks on the stones. While the gunner was busy with his burst I ran in a fierce pulse of energy, keeping the ambulance between me and the tree. I looked around and then saw another flare lob up from the field several hundred yards ahead. That took care of one of the men. I couldn’t have fixed a better time. I worked my way round the ambulance.

  Clark wasn’t firing now. I slowly raised my head over the edge of the driving cab window; I could only see the upper part of the tree. I held the Smith-Wesson in my right hand, safety catch off. With my left hand touching the tips of the grass I eased quietly round the front end of the ambulance. The gunner was down below me, with the tree between. I couldn’t get a shot from here because of the lie of the ground and the way the branches spread but I could see enough to identify Salivar. Then the roar of the helicopter sounded louder; it swept over the tree-tops about a quarter of a mile away, looking like a gigantic mosquito looming out of the mist, its red and white navigation lights glowing like an insect’s eyes.

  Salivar turned his head to watch it. I chose that moment to jump. I hit a low branch of the tree with my head and deflected. I felt a blinding pain in my left arm as I hit the ground and then I landed on top of Salivar’s legs. He went stiff with surprise and fear and we both slid forward down the bank. In the excitement I tried to hit him over the head with the Smith-Wesson. I missed but the barrel caught his knuckles a glancing blow and the sub-machine gun went bouncing down the bank before us.

  By this time he had my gun hand and I was groping for his throat with my left; we went down through a bed of bracken and the flare hanging in the sky above us expanded until it filled the whole universe as I caught my head on a stone. My grip on Salivar’s throat relaxed as we came to a halt in the scree. He got up with a sobbing cry. His boot, heavy with nails, stamped on my wrist and forced it into the mud. The Smith-Wesson fell from my fingers. Salivar went over and picked up the tommy gun while I fought for consciousness. He was quite deliberate about it. He came and stood over me and the smile on his face spread until it filled all my world.

  The double crack of the explosion seemed to rip through my body. The smile faded from Salivar’s face. A long necklace of dark blood descended from his mouth towards the ground. He clutched at the spreading stains on his chest as his knees buckled. The tommy gun and his body hit the scree at the same time. I struggled up as Clark scrabbled into view nursing the Schmeisser.

  ‘Thanks,’ I panted. Clark looked white. The blood was pumping from his leg. He had to sit down. I went over and stuffed my handkerchief over his thigh. He got out his own handkerchief and bound that round it. It seemed to stop the bleeding.

  ‘Take it easy,’ I said. He nodded. I found the Smith-Wesson and cleaned the mud off it against my trousers. I went off along the bottom of the slope to where the light of the second flare was burning out in the smoky dawn. The air seemed split with engine noises. The big helicopter was down. It looked like an Army job; I should have estimated it would have held about ten or fifteen men. It was crudely camouflaged in the regulation brown and dark green affected by the military the world over.

  It had no numbering or identification marks on it but then I wouldn’t have expected it to have. The great rotor blades chopped at the dawn sky and the grass for yards around was blown flat by the rush of air. Hernando was half-leaning into the cabin talking to the pilot. In the stronger light which was creeping into the east he saw me coming. He loosed a shot with his automatic but it went wide.

  Then he spoke to the pilot and the helicopter went straight up into the air and hovered, several hundred feet from the ground. Hernando set off running along the top of the bank. I cursed. I knew what he was going to do and I could have guarded against it. I hoped Clark would see him coming and get in a shot. I started uphill in the general direction of the ambulance, hoping that I could head Hernando off. It was a pretty forlorn hope what with the terrain I had to cover and my groggy condition. But at least I knew the General was alive or Hernando would have lit straight out with the helicopter.

  He must have known Salivar was finished. The chopper didn’t make any attempt to follow us but simply hovered above the level ground; there was a steep shelf of rock farther on which descended into a ravine and the bank and belts of trees at this end made the spot where it hovered about the only practical landing point for some while.

  I slipped and tore my way through the scree and the soaked grass. I could see Hernando now, bent double as he crossed the skyline obliquely in front of me. I risked a shot but it only sent stones scuttering a good two or three yards behind him. When I got on the level with bursting lungs Hernando was going like hell only a short way from the ambulance. There was no sign of Clark. I got up close to the big vehicle as I heard Hernando bang against the back doors. I went round the end at a reckless speed and made a right-angle turn.

  Hernando was leaning half-in, half-out of the rear doors. I grabbed his leg and pulled him off balance. He clung on to the door-handle as he came out with it. I fell to the ground as Hernando’s gun crashed, filling the interior of the ambulance with smoke. A bitter sense of failure mingled with a sort of fury as I twisted Hernando’s leg and smashed it against the metal steps at the rear of the ambulance. He gave a high scream and then the ha
nd holding the automatic caught me across the throat and made me let go. The gun tinkled against the steps as it went down.

  Hernando hesitated; the scar on his face twitched as he glared at me and then Clark came hobbling into view. He couldn’t shoot because the Cuban was standing so close to me and the bullet would have gone into the interior of the ambulance. He did the next best thing and fired wide. Hernando shouted something in Spanish and set off running with jerky steps back towards the landing field. I got up, found the Smith-Wesson and pounded in pursuit. I saw Clark start limping after us.

  The Cuban was still going well, despite the roughing I’d given his leg. Long before I came up I saw that the helicopter was down, its rotor blades ticking over, as it waited for Hernando. It was quite light now and thin wisps of mist came up from the soaked ground and the long grass. I fired once at Hernando but my aim was erratic and he didn’t slacken his stride, though he doubled about to put me off. Clark was a long way behind. I only hoped the heli pilot wasn’t armed. The Cubano was my one ambition now that the General had gone.

  I had three shots left and there was no time to re-load. The motor of the helicopter revved higher as Hernando drew near; the pilot lifted her and hovered about six feet above the ground. He meant to make as much height as he could straight away. I figured he would make as difficult a target as possible instead of giving us a side-on shot if he travelled backwards or forwards. I increased my pace. I was still more than a dozen yards away when Hernando jumped for it. He’d stuffed the automatic in his pocket and he caught the edge of the open door with both hands. The big machine was already lifting clumsily as he half-pulled himself inside.

  Clark was closer now. I covered the last few yards. The helicopter was gathering speed and lifting but still no more than thirty feet above me. Hernando’s feet were disappearing through the door. I chanced a shot, aiming for the tank. Every second decreased the chances. I squeezed the trigger, the Smith-Wesson coughed; metal spanged on metal with an angry scream I could hear even above the chopping of the blades. The perspex on the pilot’s cabin blister starred. Clark dropped to his knees and started pumping deliberate single shots into the belly of the machine.

  I sighted with care again and gave the heli my last two shots, not with any real hope; I don’t know whether it was my slugs or Clark’s that were responsible but there was a change in the note of the motor. It gave a high protesting whine as metal grated together and the big blades stopped chopping the air. I could see the heads of the pilot and Hernando silhouetted against the clear dawn sky.

  Then bright crimson flame grew like a rose from the body of the machine and enveloped it all; it fell with increasing velocity. The blades were turning now from the pressure of the air upon them; the machine hit the ground almost without sound and crumpled before spinning over into the ravine. The flame spread out like fluttering pennants and the whole thing went over into the tree-tops. A second or two later the thunder of the explosion reached us. I fell or was knocked down by the blast; tiny pieces of burning metal descended from the sky. I winced as one of them burned my cheek. None of them was bigger than a finger nail. I sat and looked at the oily smoke which ascended a hundred feet into the sky and waited for Clark to come up.

  *

  Macklehenny was still alive when we got back to the ambulance. Clark lifted him out tenderly from the back of the ruined machine. It was a real battle-painting in here, with bullet holes pocking the planking among the blood and twisted limbs. Macklehenny groaned once or twice as we set him down. Clark propped him against the side of the ambulance and felt among his clothing. He’d been shot twice in the gut.

  ‘Take it easy, Charlie,’ said Clark like he was talking to a child. It was only the second time I’d heard him use Macklehenny’s Christian name.

  ‘Sorry about that, Tom,’ said Macklehenny, moving his eyes. Then he turned his head and died. A little pink froth formed and ran out of his lips. Clark got a handkerchief and wiped off the froth with great deliberation and put the handkerchief over Macklehenny’s face. Then he sat down with his back to me and stared out across the field, saying nothing. I got up and searched about among the mess in the back of the ambulance.

  The General’s chair had turned over on its side and presented the splintered spokes of its wheels to my gaze. I crawled in and felt about under the blankets. The General lay on his side and the front of his jacket was a mess of scarlet. As he felt my fingers on his shoulder he slowly opened his eyes.

  ‘Don’t die, General,’ I said. I figured I’d had about as much as I could take.

  The General opened his eyes completely and the ghostly suspicion of a smile started gathering in the corners of his mouth.

  ‘I have no intention of doing so, my dear sir,’ he said, beginning to wipe the tomato ketchup off his shirt front. ‘And if you will assist me out of this confounded thing I’ll be much obliged to you.’

  Clark got up quickly when he heard me shout; like me he took a bit of convincing. We got the General and the remains of his chair down out of the ambulance and set him up where he was looking at something peaceful. It was a bit difficult for whichever way you looked, it was like a slaughter house.

  ‘I must confess I have a shrewd suspicion of the feelings of Lazarus,’ he said drily.

  When Hernando had shot at him he’d pushed the chair over; the shot had smashed the partition of the driver’s compartment. He’d already used the ketchup to make it look as though he’d been hit, for he knew they would come back to finish him if they couldn’t get him off in the helicopter. Enterprise was always the General’s trade mark. He’d heard all the shooting but had still played dead when we lifted Macklehenny out as he wasn’t sure who had come back to the ambulance.

  He sat up and looked at the sun which had come up over the edge of the trees. Clark fetched a blanket and covered Macklehenny over.

  I felt drained of all life. I went and sat down. Then I put the Smith-Wesson on the grass and started to retch. I was still sitting there like a child when the field started to fill with cars. The place was full of big men in leather windcheaters; they had loud voices and rough hands and the kindest faces in the world. They brought hot coffee and whisky; they wore guns at their hips and State Trooper badges on their chests and they knew all about clearing up messes. I drank two cups of coffee and two slugs of whisky and then I couldn’t take any more kindness and I passed out.

  Chapter 15

  Friendly Town

  The last time I was in Mudville it was nearly Christmas and I had a few chores to do. The town looked about the same, no more no less than when I’d first set eyes on it. Yet there’d been so much mayhem the publicity had changed it in such a way that it would never be the same again. Not that I cared; it was one place I wouldn’t be making a habit of.

  I drove up to Patti Morgan’s place; we’d met a couple of times in L.A. This time her people were at home. She introduced me. The father was a mild-faced, nice old guy with silver hair and tortoise-shell spectacles; the mother much younger and very sleek. I could see where Patti got her poise and grooming. They were pleasant people though and certainly knew how to make you feel at home. I left a small parcel when I came away.

  ‘Not to be opened until Christmas,’ I told her.

  ‘I’ll be seeing you before then,’ she said with a smile. ‘It’s a secret.’

  I shrugged. I went out to the car and came back with a package. It was a large cabinet portrait of Carmen Benson, blown up from the picture the Bensons had liked. Dame Dora had arranged it. I’d fixed it with Patti that she would take it along to the Bensons. Not at Christmas time, of course. Round about March, when the sting would have gone. We stood talking at the door. A young man arrived before I left. He gave me a suspicious look as he went by.

  ‘Timber business?’ I said.

  She laughed. ‘I’m a pretty practical girl. I figured the competition in L.A. was too stiff.’

  She was talking about Stella. She brushed my cheek with her lips.
‘See you, Mike,’ she said and went indoors quickly.

  I drove on down town. The weather was bitterly cold. It had been trying to snow all morning. Dame Dora’s cheque rested snugly in my wallet. It burned a nice warm hole in the lining of my double-breasted.

  Sheriff Clark was genuinely pleased to see me. ‘Come on in, Mr Faraday.’

  A plump-looking young man grinned and held out his hand to me. He sat at the other desk and pounded on his typewriter. Clark got out his old briar and stuffed it with tobacco. He fished up a bottle of bourbon from the recesses of his desk and poured generous shots for the three of us.

  ‘Compliments of the season to you,’ he said.

  Presently we drove out to The Palisades. The lodge was still manned but the gates were wide open and there were no sentries. The General sat in a braided jacket and seemed very happy to see us. He insisted on serving the drinks himself. The short, broad-shouldered aide I’d seen before had been promoted to Rodriguez’ place.

  The General gave me a very handsome present before he left and wouldn’t take no for an answer. He insisted on demonstrating his archery too. His aim and sight seemed as good as ever. When we went away at last it was already dusk. The housekeeper came running after us with a small brown paper package. When I opened it I found it contained my holster and the Smith-Wesson silencer. Clark grinned. He drove me downtown again.

  ‘Who’s your new assistant?’ I said.

  ‘Macklehenny,’ he said. Seeing the surprise in my eyes, he went on, ‘John Macklehenny, Charlie’s boy. It runs in the family up here.’