I was cold, chilled to the bone. I was still half asleep, and I carried my head tilted forward and a little to the side in a hopeless attempt to minimize the vast throbbing ache from the furrow across the back of my neck.
Richthofen, Goering and I stood together under spreading linden trees at the lower end of the Royal Game Park. It was a few minutes before dawn and I was wondering how a slug in the knee-cap would feel.
There was the faint sound of an engine approaching, and a long car loomed up in the gloom on the road above, lights gleaming through morning mist.
The sound of doors opening and slamming was muffled and indistinct. Three figures were dimly visible, approaching down the gentle slope. My seconds moved away to meet them. One of the three detached itself from the group and stood alone, as I did. That would be Bale.
Another car pulled in behind the first. The doctor, I thought. In the dim glow from the second car’s small square cowl lights I saw another figure emerge. I watched; it looked like a woman.
I heard a murmur of voices, a low chuckle. They were very palsy, I thought. Everything on a very high plane.
I thought over what Goering had told me on the way to the field of honor, as he called it.
Bale had offered his challenge under the Toth convention. This meant that the duelists must not try to kill each other; the object of the game was to inflict painful wounds, to humiliate one’s opponent.
This could be a pretty tricky business. In the excitement of the fight, it wasn’t easy to inflict wounds that were thoroughly humiliating but definitely not fatal.
Richthofen had lent me a pair of black trousers and a white shirt for the performance, and a light overcoat against the pre-dawn chill. I wished it had been a heavy one. The only warm part of me was my neck, swathed in bandages.
The little group broke up now. My two backers approached, smiled encouragingly, and in low voices invited me to come along. Goering took my coat. I missed it.
Bale and his men were walking toward a spot in the clear, where the early light was slightly better. We moved up to join them.
“I think we have light enough now, eh, Baron?” said Hallendorf.
I could see better now; the light was increasing rapidly. Long pink streamers flew in the east; the trees were still dark in silhouettes.
Hallendorf stepped up to me, and offered the pistol box.
I picked one of the pistols, without looking at it. Bale took the other, methodically worked the action, snapped the trigger, examined the rifling. Richthofen handed each of us a magazine.
“Five rounds,” he said. I had no comment.
Bale stepped over to the place indicated by Hallendorf and turned his back. I could see the cars outlined against the sky now. The big one looked like a ‘30 Packard, I thought. At Goering’s gesture, I took my post, back to Bale.
“At the signal, gentlemen,” Hallendorf said, “step forward ten paces and pause; at the command turn and fire. Gentlemen, in the name of the Emperor and of honor!”
The white handkerchief in his hand fluttered to the ground. I started walking. One, two, three…
There was someone standing by the smaller car. I wondered who it was…eight, nine, then. I stopped, waiting. Hallendorf’s voice was calm. “Turn and fire.”
I turned, holding the pistol at my side. Bale pumped a cartridge into the chamber, set his feet apart, body sideways to me, left arm behind his back, and raised his pistol. We were seventy feet apart across the wet field.
I started walking toward him. Nobody had said I had to stay in one spot. Bale lowered his pistol slightly and I saw his pale face, eyes staring. The pistol came up again, and almost instantly jumped as a flat crack rang out. The spent cartridge popped up over Bale’s head and dropped on the wet grass, catching the light. A miss.
I walked on. I had no intention of standing in the half dark, firing wildly at a half-seen target. I didn’t intend to be forced into killing a man by accident, even if it was his idea. And I didn’t intend to be pushed into solemnly playing Bale’s game with him.
Bale held the automatic at arm’s length, following me as I approached. He could have killed me easily, but that was against the code. The weapon wavered; he couldn’t decide on a target. My moving was bothering him.
The pistol steadied and jumped again, the shot sounding faint on the foggy air. I realized he was trying for the legs; I was close enough now to see the depressed angle of the barrel.
He stepped back a pace, set himself again, and raised the Mauser higher. He was going to try to break a rib, I guessed. A tricky shot, easy to miss—either way. My stomach muscles tensed with anticipation.
I didn’t hear the next one; the sensation was exactly like a baseball bat slammed against my side. I felt that I was stumbling, air knocked from my lungs, but I kept my feet. A great warm ache spread from just above the hip. Only twenty feet away now. I fought a draw of breath.
Bale’s expression was visible, a stiff shocked look, mouth squeezed shut. He aimed at my feet and fired in rapid succession; I think by error. One shot went through my boot between the toes of my right foot, the other in the dirt. I walked up to him. I sucked air in painfully. I wanted to say something, but I couldn’t. It was all I could do to keep from gasping. Abruptly, Bale backed a step, aimed the pistol at my chest and pulled the trigger; it clicked. He looked down at the gun.
I dropped the Mauser at his feet, doubled my fist, and hit him hard on the jaw. He reeled back as I turned away.
I walked over to Goering and Richthofen as the doctor hurried up. They came forward to meet me.
“Lieber Gott,” Hermann breathed as he seized my hand and pumped it. “This story they will never believe.”
“If your object was to make a fool of Inspector Bale,” Richthofen said with a gleam in his eye, “you have scored an unqualified success. I think you have taught him respect.”
The doctor pressed forward. “Gentlemen, I must take a look at the wound.” A stool was produced, and I gratefully sank down on it.
I stuck my foot out. “Better take a look at this too,” I said, “it feels a little tender.”
The doctor muttered and exclaimed as he began snipping at the cloth and leather. He was enjoying every minute of it. The doc, I saw, was a romantic.
A thought was trying to form itself in my mind. I opened my eyes. Barbro was coming toward me across the grass, dawn light gleaming in her red hair. I realized what it was I had to say.
“Hermann,” I said. “Manfred. I need a long nap, but before I start I think I ought to tell you; I’ve had so much fun tonight that I’ve decided to take the job.”
“Easy, Brion,” Manfred said. “There no need to think of it now.”
“No trouble at all,” I said.
Barbro bent over. “Brion,” she said. “You are not badly hurt?” She looked worried.
I smiled at her and reached for her hand. “I’ll bet you think I’m accident prone; but actually I sometimes go for days at a time without so much as a bad fall.”
She took my hand in both of hers as she knelt down. “You must be suffering great pain, Brion, to talk so foolishly,” she said. “I thought he would lose his head and kill you.” She turned to the doctor. “Help him, Dr. Blum.”
“You are fortunate, Colonel,” the doctor said, sticking a finger into the furrow on my side. “The rib is not fractured. In a few days you will have only a little scar and a big bruise to remind you.”
I squeezed Barbro’s hand. “Help me up, Barbro,” I said.
Goering gave me his shoulder to lean on. “For you now, a long nap,” he said. I was ready for it.