At Some Disputed Barricade_ A Novel - Anne Perry [118]
“Not because it’s me,” Joseph corrected him. “As you say, that’s nothing. It’s the circumstance. To shoot an armed soldier is one thing, albeit he’s a mirror image of yourself. To shoot your priest is different. Ask Snowy.”
Snowy rose to his feet slowly, the sun catching his pale hair. He looked older, his young face etched with tragedy.
“Stand still,” Morel ordered him.
“Or what?” Snowy asked, lifting his shoulders and letting them drop. “You’ll shoot me, too?”
“Because I damn well ordered you to!” Morel snapped.
“What’s the matter, Captain?” Snowy said quite casually, although his voice shook a little. “Don’t you approve of men thinking for themselves when it’s a moral issue? What’s that, then—mutiny?” He took a step forward, then another.
Morel raised the gun a little higher. “Don’t be stupid!” he warned. “Whatever he’s come for, he hasn’t deserted. He’s here to get us to go back, and you know as well as I that if we do, we’ll be court-martialed and shot. There’s no way on earth they’ll let us get away with killing Northrup.”
“Did you kill him?” Joseph asked, doubt in his voice.
“No, I didn’t!” Morel said with sudden anger. “But it’s academic. I arranged the mock trial and I was in charge. It’s my responsibility. That’s how the army works. It’s how life works. You want to lead, then you take the glory—and the blame.”
“True,” Joseph conceded. “To do less is without honor. Did Snowy shoot Northrup? Did Trotter?”
Trotter was still sitting in the rubble, staring from one to the other of them. There was a bandage on his arm, but it had bled through.
“No,” Morel replied.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m bloody well sure!”
“How can you be?” Joseph persisted.
“Don’t be idiotic!” Morel’s patience was shadow thin. “You know Snowy. He fires high at the bloody Germans. He couldn’t kill anyone except by accident.”
“And Trotter?” Joseph’s voice wobbled a little with fear of failure, now that success might be so close. It was hot here in the sun, and quiet. They were miles from the guns; they could hear them only in the distance.
“Are you sure about him?”
“Yes, I am! It was Geddes who killed Northrup.”
“Why?” He had to say something, and he wanted to know, to be certain.
“I’ve no idea, and I don’t care,” Morel replied, still holding the gun steady. “And the court-martial won’t care, either. Don’t soil your dog collar by lying, Captain. I’d rather take my chances in Switzerland than come back and be shot by my own. Can’t go home anyway, so it’s all pointless.”
Snowy took another step toward Joseph.
“Stand still!” Morel snapped at him, jerking the gun toward him. “Think, Snowy! It might be all very heroic and honest to go back, but if they shoot us, what do you think that’s going to do to morale, eh? Do you want a real mutiny? All along the line?” His voice caught and there were tears on his face. “The Germans would make mincemeat of us—those of us that are left of the Cambridgeshires. Is that what you want?”
Snowy froze.
“They’ll shoot Cavan anyway,” Joseph pointed out. It was so quiet now that they could hear birds singing in the summer sky.
Snowy Nunn walked slowly over to Joseph. Not once did he turn to look at Morel. “I want to go home,” he said simply.
Joseph waited.
Morel put the revolver away. “They’ll shoot all of us,” he said again, but there was an exhaustion in his voice so intense that pity gripped Joseph like a vise.
“General Northrup wants to reduce the charge,” Joseph told him, his own voice gravelly, slipping out of control. He explained what the general had said.
Morel shrugged. “It won’t make any difference. What a bloody fiasco. We must be the stupidest people on earth. You won’t get Geddes back so easily, supposing you ever find him.”
“Where are the rest of you?” Joseph asked.
“I’ll tell them what you said,” Morel smiled bleakly. “They can make up their own minds. You go for Geddes; he’s the one you want.”
“Did he go on to Switzerland?”
“That was his intention.” Morel