Shoot Angel! by Frederick H. Christian Page A

put
rifles to shoulders. Angel decided it was time to move. He turned,
cutting across an open stretch of ground. Yards away thick brush
offered scant shelter. Beyond lay broken stretches of crumbling,
eroded rock.
    ‘ Angel!’
    The whispered call came from
Angel ’s
right. Birdy’s scrawny figure dragged itself out of a clump of
thorny brush. He looked extremely sorry for himself.
    ‘ You’re liable to get your ass shot off if you don’t get
moving,’ Angel told him brusquely.
    Birdy managed a wry grin as he fell in beside
Angel.
    ‘ Hey,
we got company, Angel! Did you know? Friend of yours!’
    Angel followed
Birdy ’s
finger. Moving in their direction, obviously intending to conceal
himself in the brush, was Capucci. He glowered in Angel’s
direction, seemingly offering to fight Angel if he even threatened
to make any kind of objection.
    ‘ Capucci’s a son of a bitch,’ Birdy said conversationally,
‘but he’s a hard one. Trench ain’t going to let us go easy, Angel.
The way things might get we might end up being grateful Capucci’s
along!’
    ‘ We?
I’m starting to get the feeling I’ve suddenly got more friends than
I ever realized,’ Angel grunted.
    They reached the brush and plunged on
through, ignoring the clawing bite of thorn tendrils clutching at
flesh and clothing. The sporadic gunfire coming from the distant
rise behind then was spur enough to keep them moving.
    ‘ Won’t
take ’em long to find a way down that hill,’ Birdy yelled. They
come after us they’ll be shootin’ first and sayin’ sorry while they
bury us!’
    ‘ Yeah?’ Angel managed a tight grin. ‘They do tell me you got
to catch your bird before you pluck it.’
    Capucci, who was close enough
to hear Angel ’s words let go a derisive snort.
    ‘ Easy
enough to talk—Mister Angel!’
    Angel didn ’t reply. Even so he admitted
that Capucci was right. Talk was easy enough. Backing up those
casual words was where the difficulty arose.
    The brush thinned out just before the first
outcropping of rook. Angel led the way in amongst weathered stone
already too hot to touch. The jumbled mass of stone contained the
oppressive heat and it radiated up off the ground and from the
curving walls of rock. It sucked the moisture from their overheated
bodies, leaving them damp and sticky with sweat.
    Angel called a halt. Each man
selected himself a place where he could sink down on his heels. For a time
there was silence, broken only by their harsh breathing as tortured
lungs fought to supply weary bodies with life-giving
air.
    ‘ Shit,
Angel, this is crazy!’ Capucci suddenly exploded. ‘What the hell we
doin’ sitting here like it was a Sunday picnic? Trench’s boys ain’t
going to be standing around playing with themselves!’
    Angel raised his head. Sweat glistened on his
brown face, mingling with the grimed filth to give him a savage
expression.
    ‘ Let’s
get something straight, Capucci. I didn’t ask for company. Right
now I’m in enough trouble to keep me going for a long time. The
last thing I need is you round my neck. If you don’t like the way
I’m doing things, mister, all you have to do is leave!’
    Capucci half-rose from his position, then
paused, as if something had caused him to hesitate. Indecision
clouded his face, then he resumed his former pose.
    ‘ Angel, hey, Angel,’ Birdy said. ‘Take us out of here,
Angel. You can do it!’

Chapter Eight
    Phil Sherman shouldered his way past Amos
Cranford the moment the judge opened the door of his neat,
white-painted house. Cranford closed the door and walked down the
passage, entering the room he used as his office. He ignored
Sherman while he closed the door, crossed the room and seated
himself behind his desk. Leaning back in his large leather armchair
Cranford surveyed the panting, sweating sheriff calmly.
    ‘ Something wrong, Phil?’
    ‘ You
better believe it, Amos,’ Sherman almost yelled. He pulled a
crumpled sheet of buff paper from his hip