Run through the whole charade again. Vic, I think, he never figured he was doing all that much harm, you see. The Krauts would ruin the tunnel, maybe toss somebody in the cooler for a week or so. Mostly, what Vic figured, was that nobody was getting hurt and everybody was getting ahead. Especially him. Only thing that wasn't happening was nobody was getting out. Which might be a good thing, we'll see.
Anyway, it like to kill old MacNamara and Clark. They started digging deeper tunnels. Longer tunnels. Harder tunnels. Those two figured that if they didn't manage to get at least one of us out of here, they would be failures as commanding officers.
Wouldn't never be able to face one of their old West Point buddies after the war. Why, Tommy, you can see that. And they didn't know for sure what Vic was doing. No one did, because Vic, he kept these things pretty close to his vest. He thought he had it all figured out.
Playing everybody against everybody. Weren't that just like Vic?
Anyway, he figured he had it all doped out. And he did. He was some sort of operator, Vic. Until those two guys died in that tunnel…"
The band leader stopped, took a deep breath of the thin harsh air surrounding them, then continued.
"They was my friends, those two. That one boy was the sweetest clarinet I ever heard. Back home in New Orleans, people like to sell their souls to be able to play one note half as good as him. And they wasn't supposed to be down there, not at night, you see. Vic hadn't figured on anyone digging that late. But MacNamara and Clark, they ordered round-the-clock digging. Two tunnels. That one and this one.
Only that one caved in with my friends inside when the goddamn Krauts drove one of their trucks right over the top. They wouldn't have known where to do that if it weren't for Vic."
Tommy nodded.
"Revenge," he said.
"There's one reason.
And betrayal, too, I guess."
Murphy looked over at Tommy.
"Best reasons of all," he said.
"The sorry bastard. All he did was make one mistake.
You shouldn't go around making deals with the devil, because he might just come back and ask a higher price than you want to pay. That's what happened. Funny thing, you know. Vic was a fine flier. Better than fine. A real hotshot. A brave man in the air. Deserved every medal he got. It was on the ground that he couldn't be trusted none."
Tommy slumped back, trying to sort through everything the band leader said. Like a deck of cards being shuffled, details started to fit together, stacking one after the other neatly.
"So," the band leader continued, "there you have it. Vic got me the knife, just as I asked him, and then I turned around and I used it on him, while Murphy here kept him occupied from the front. At first we figured to pin the whole thing on one of the ferrets, you see, make it look like Vic got killed when some big old trade went wrong, but your boy Scott made it so damn easy. Weren't no special hardship framing him up for the killing. And it sure as hell kept the Krauts from poking around none, too. You think old Lincoln Scott realizes what a service he's provided? I don't suppose he'll take much comfort in that."
"Why didn't you tell the truth? Why didn't…"
The band leader held up his hand.
"Why, Tommy, you ain't thinking this through. What the hell good would it do me, and my Yankee helpmate here, if anyone knew the truth? I mean, we'd just be facing charges back home, wouldn't we? All this trouble to escape, only to get back to the States and be charged with Vic's murder? Not very likely, I think. Not after all this trouble."
Tommy nodded. He knew instantly that unsaid in what the band leader implied was a single necessity: Lincoln Scott would have to be blamed, tried, convicted, and shot. It was the only way the men in the tunnel escaping could actually be free.
"MacNamara and Clark," Tommy said slowly, "they didn't want the truth, did they?"
The band leader grinned.
"No sir, they did not. I doubt they'd have wanted to hear it, even if it'd come up and smacked them in the face. They wanted Vic taken care of.
They didn't want nothing to do with it. The truth. Tommy, as you can hear, is right messy for all involved. Trader Vic was a hero, and the army don't like its heroes tarnished none. And blaming Scott, well, that particular lie, well, it was working real fine for just about everybody. Everybody save Scott, that is. And I don't know this for sure, but I'm guessing right about now Clark and MacNamara didn't count on this quiet boy from Harvard making such a mess and all, either."
"No," Tommy replied.
"I guess they didn't."
"Well, you sure have. There you have it. Now, I need that ax," the man said. His voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried both threat and urgency.
"Either you let me dig us out of here, or go ahead and kill me, 'cause one way or the other, I will be free by the time the sun comes up!"
Tommy smiled. It was a great word, he thought, the word free. Four letters that meant much more. It really should have been a great, long, exultant word, a word with power and strength and pride. He paused and realized that he had to find a way to accommodate everyone that night.
"Stalemate," he said abruptly.
The band leader looked surprised.
"What you mean by that?"
"I mean, no ax. I mean, maybe I'll raise my voice. I don't know what the hell I'll do. Maybe kill you, like you tried to kill me. And then dig these other men out." This was a bluff, Tommy knew. But he said it nonetheless.
"Hart," the band leader said sharply, "it ain't just us. There's seventy-five men heading out tonight. And ain't none of them waiting behind us done anything to deserve losing their chance at freedom. They worked long and hard and dangerous for this chance tonight. You can't be taking that away.
And maybe what I've done ain't perfect by all accounts, but I ain't sure it's altogether wrong, either."
Tommy eyed the man carefully.
"You killed a man."
"I did. That's what happens in war. Maybe he deserved to die. Maybe not. Only I don't want to be blamed for it. I don't want to dig my way out of this Kraut hellhole to face an American firing squad."
"True," Tommy said softly.
"So, how do you want to solve this, because I'm not leaving here until I know that Lincoln Scott isn't going to face the damn firing squad!"
"I want you to hand me that ax."
"And I want Lincoln Scott to go free."
"There's no time," Murphy piped up.
"We gotta get going!"
Silence filled the tiny space, closing in on the three men jammed into the area, covering them like a dark wave closing over their heads.
The band leader seemed to think hard for a moment. Then he smiled.
"I guess what we'll all have to take is some chances here," he said slowly.
"What do you think, Tommy? This is a good night for taking chances.
You ready to take some risks?"