Read Online Evil for Evil by James R. Benn - Free Book Online

complain about army food, and when you’re eating rations in the field, there’s plenty reasons to gripe. But I had to hand it to these cooks, preparing meals for hundreds, sometimes thousands, every day, in the heat or freezing cold. Dozens of loaves of freshly baked bread were set out, trays of hash and scrambled eggs, urns of coffee, all the smells mingling with the damp green earth and lingering scent of cut pine. I saw one of the guys who had brought the chow out last night and waved. We weren’t exactly buddies but it felt good to have a few faces to recognize in a strange place.
    I loaded my mess plate up with hash and eggs on top of white bread, sugared my black coffee, and found an empty spot on a bench at a table of soaked GIs.
    “Night maneuvers?” I asked as I blew on my coffee. Most of them ignored me after a quick glance determined I was a stranger, clean and shaved, and a mere lieutenant to boot. They returned to the hot chow and talk of showers, girls, and beer.
    “Up Slieve Donard and down the other side,” the guy across from me said, his own lieutenant’s bars barely visible through the drying mud on his collar. “Bob Masters, I have the I&R Platoon. You a new transfer?”
    “No, just here to see Major Thornton. Billy Boyle’s the name.”
    “Welcome to Donard Wood or at least what’s left of it, Billy.”
    “Thanks,” I said, raising my cup in salute. “Intelligence and Reconnaissance Platoon? What kind of intelligence are you gathering in the Mountains of Mourne?”
    “How not to fall off,” one joker said, and laughter rippled along the table.
    “It is a narrow path,” Masters said, grinning to let me know it was he who took the tumble. “Mostly it’s to build endurance and sharpen night infiltration skills. Recognizing each other in the dark, locating the enemy, that sort of thing.”
    “Who’s the enemy up there?”
    “We see the occasional shepherd and other locals. There’s not much cover so I usually send a couple of the boys to follow anyone we spot and see how long they can track them.”
    “How do they do?”
    “Damn good. Last week, Searles and Blakefield tracked a guy leading four sheep down the mountain through the Donard Bog, then to a farmhouse in a forest along the Annalong River. A few days later we met a sheepherder who accused us of rustling some of his flock. We told him about the guy and the farmhouse, and last night he thanked us and said he got his sheep back.”
    “Making the world safe for lamb chops,” the wise guy at the end of the table said.
    “When we finally get into action, you guys will thank me,” Masters said, wagging his fork at them.
    “I heard someone lifted a load of BARs from one of your depots. What’s the scuttlebutt on that?”
    “German agents, the IRA, black marketeers, the Red Hand, you name it, I’ve heard it. I don’t think anyone has a clue. All I know is we were supposed to get one of those BARs.”
    “Are you short one?”
    “No,” Masters said. “Thornton had worked the supply system to get an additional complement of Brownings. He wanted the heavy weapons companies to have more firepower. There were a few extra, and one was for us.”
    “How is Thornton as an exec?”
    “Chomping at the bit for a promotion. His only problem is he’s too good at staff work.”
    “Is he investigating the theft?”
    “Thornton? I guess so. Why are you so interested? Are you one of Heck’s boys?” The air had been full of chatter, friendly ribbing and cursing, but at the mention of Heck’s name the sounds faded as all eyes narrowed and turned on me.
    “No, I’m not. As a matter of fact, he tried to throw me in jail yesterday.” Laughter rose along the benches, and the GI next to me clapped me on the back, saying I must be all right, even for an officer, if Heck couldn’t arrest me.
    “Heck doesn’t have a lot of friends around here,” Masters said. “Probably not anywhere, for that matter.”
    “Why is that, do you