The Second Objective by Mark Frost Read Free Book Online Page B

Me and Ole,” said Grannit.
    “Welcome to the 724. Let me tell you something, pal: You landed in clover. You been to our billet in Paris yet?” Grannit shook his head. “You’ll see. They don’t call us the ‘million-dollar outfit’ for nothing, know what I’m saying?”
    “We heard some talk.”
    “So they put you on the milk run up from Matelot, huh?” Bennings waved to the officers, letting them know he had the situation under control. They headed back to the cars.
    “Who’s the brass?” asked Grannit.
    “Interested parties. We look out for each other in the 724. What the Frogs call ‘es-pree de corpse.’ I’ll explain the drill—what’s your name?”
    “Earl Grannit. Like I said, that’s Ole. Ole Carlson.”
    “Okay, Earl, there’s a side rail coming up on your right about a hundred yards. We’ll switch you over. Take the whole rig onto that side rail. Uncouple the stock you’re carrying after car eight then head into the station.”
    “Just leave ’em?”
    “Right. We’ll take it from there.”
    “What if the depot asks questions, the end of our run?”
    “That ain’t gonna be a problem—”
    “We come in three cars light they might—”
    “I’m telling you, they won’t have a problem,” said Bennings. “You’re covered, okay? This ain’t our first clambake.”
    Earl Grannit toed the dirt for a second, thinking it over. “So what’s our end, Eddie?”
    “Listen to you, all business all of a sudden. This ain’t gonna take long. We’ll hook up on the platform after; you’ll make out. Piece a cake. Easy as Betty Crocker.”
    “Everything after car eight.”
    “You got it, pally,” said Bennings, patting him on the arm and shaking his hand again. He shoved a roll of twenties wrapped around a couple packs of Chesterfields into Grannit’s shirt pocket and handed him a box of cigars. “That’s just a taste. Wait’ll you see the setup in Paris. The 724 takes care of its own, my friend. Our guy Jonesy’ll ride in with you, make sure everything’s square.”
    Bennings bounded away down the tracks after the officers. Grannit heard their cars starting up. The fourth man from the crossroad, Jonesy, a hulking, beady-eyed noncom, walked after Grannit toward the engine. Grannit swung back up into the cab ahead of him and stashed the contraband goods in the tender.
    “You get all that?” asked Earl quietly.
    “The PX cars,” said Ole Carlson.
    “You signal the station?”
    “They’re at least five minutes away.”
    Jonesy climbed up into the cab behind them. Grannit turned to him.
    “Ole,” said Grannit. “Jonesy.”
    Carlson nodded, friendly, ready to shake hands. Jonesy stuck a toothpick in his mouth, and put a hand on his hip, showing the holstered, pearl-handled .45 on his belt. Making it clear he wasn’t there to chitchat.
    “Let’s take her in,” said Grannit.
    Ole Carlson engaged the throttle and eased the train forward at five miles an hour. They passed Corporal Bennings, standing by the switch at the crossroads. He gave a jaunty little wave as they rolled past him onto the side rail. Grannit leaned out of the cab and checked the stock behind them, signaling Carlson to brake again once the last car cleared the main track.
    “You want to let the station know we’re delayed?” asked Grannit.
    Carlson had picked up the transmitter, when two more GIs walked out of the shadows near the engine car, carrying Thompson machine guns. Jonesy grabbed the handset from Carlson and hung it back up.
    “Let ’em worry,” said Jonesy. “Let’s get it done.”
    Grannit jumped down and headed back along the train. Jonesy followed him a few paces back. A dozen other uniforms stepped out of the woods around them, converging on the end of the train. Two five-ton cargo trucks pulled up alongside the last few cars, men rolling up their canvas backing, ready to load in.
    Like vultures,
thought Grannit.
Like they can smell it.
    The first eight cars carried artillery ordnance.