The Scarlatti Inheritance by Robert Ludlum

at executing them himself. Further, the captain suspected him of being less than enthusiastic about being shifted from a reserve division to the combat area. He also held it against his second lieutenant that throughout their reserve assignment—the major portion of their stay in France—he had been sought out by any number of ranking officers, all only too happy to have their photographs taken with him. It seemed to the captain that his second lieutenant was having a hell of a good time.
    On this particular November morning, he was delighted to send him out on patrol.
    “Scarlett. Take four men and scout out their positions.”
    “You’re insane,” said Scarlett laconically. “What positions? They’re hightailing it out of the whole area.”
    “Did you hear what I said?”
    “I don’t give a God damn what you said. There’s no point in a patrol.”
    Several of the men were sitting in the trenches watching the two officers.
    “What’s the matter, Lieutenant? No photographers around? No country club colonels to pat you on the back? Get four men and get out there.”
    “Go shag,
Captain!
”
    “Are you disobeying your superior officer in the face of the enemy?”
    Ulster Stewart looked at the smaller man with contempt. “Not disobeying. Just being insubordinate. Insulting, if you understand the term better.… I’m insulting you because I think you’re stupid.”
    The captain reached for his holster, but Scarlett swiftly clamped his large hand on his superior’s wrist.
    “You don’t shoot people for insubordination,
Captain.
It’s not in the regulations.… I’ve got a better idea. Why waste four other men.…” He turned and glanced at the soldiers watching. “Unless four of you want to be candidates for Schnauzer bullets, I’ll go myself.”
    The captain was stunned. He had no reply.
    The men were similarly and gratefully surprised. Scarlett removed his hand from the captain’s arm.
    “I’ll be back in half an hour. If not, I suggest you wait for some rear support. We’re quite a bit ahead of the others.”
    Scarlett checked the magazine of his revolver and quickly crawled around the captain to the west flank, disappearing into the overgrown field.
    The men mumbled to each other. They had misjudged the snotty lieutenant with all the fancy friends. The captain swore to himself and frankly hoped his second lieutenant would not return.
    Which was precisely what Ulster Scarlett had in mind.
    His plan was simple. He saw that about two hundred yards to the right of the wooded area in front of Company B was a clump of large rocks surrounded by autumn-foliaged trees. It was one of those rough-hewn spots that farmers can not dig out, so the fields were planted around it. Too small an area for any group but ample space for one or two individuals to hide themselves. He would make his way there.
    As he crawled through the field, he came upon a number of dead infantrymen. The corpses had a strange effect upon him. He found himself removing personal items—wristwatches, rings, tags. Ripping them off and dropping them seconds later. He wasn’t sure why he did it. He felt like a ruler in some mythical kingdom, and these were his subjects.
    After ten minutes he wasn’t sure of the direction of his refuge. He raised his head just high enough to orient himself, saw the tips of some small trees, and knew he was headed toward his sanctuary. He hurried forward, elbows and knees pounding the soft earth.
    Suddenly he came to the foot of several large pines. He was not in the rocky knoll but on the edge of the small forest his company planned to attack. His preoccupation with the dead enemy had caused him to see what he wanted to see. The small trees had actually been the tall pines above him.
    He was about to crawl back into the field when he saw, about fifteen feet to his left, a machine gun with a German soldier propped up against the trunk of a tree. He drew his revolver and remained still. Either the German had