"Bury them," said Duffy in French. "There's no point in your dropping off because you're tired. I'd rather have one case and one man than no case and no man."
The young Maquis still attempted to carry two. McGurk slapped him in the face and pushed him toward the line that was wending its way to the night-shrouded forest near the field.
"You can't explain things to these people," said McGurk. "The only thing they understand is a slap in the face."
In two days, McGurk had taught the French Maquis some basic skills with their new weapons. His instructional method was a slap to get attention, then a demonstration, then another slap if the student failed. To test their proficiency, McGurk asked Duffy to stage a preliminary raid, before the Maquis received their first real combat order. Duffy chose a pass in which to trap a small Nazi convoy that regularly plied its way from a Wehrmacht army base to a major airfield.
The convoy was ambushed at noon. The battle was over in less than three minutes. The French drivers and the German guards came pouring out of the trucks with their hands raised in surrender.
McGurk got them in a line. Then he motioned to the worst marksman among the Maquis. "You. Go fifty yards up that hill. Kill someone."
The young Maquis scrambled up the hill and without catching his breath, fired off a shot. It caught a German guard in the shoulder. The other prisoners fell to the ground, covering their heads with their hands and bringing their knees up into their stomachs. It looked like a road littered with grown foetuses.
"Keep going," McGurk yelled up the hill. "You'll fire until you kill him."
The next shot went wild. The shot after that took out part of a stomach. The next shot after that was wild. The young Maquis was crying.
"I don't want to kill like this," he yelled.
"You kill him or I kill you," said McGurk and raised his carbine to his shoulder, pointing it up the hill. "And I'm no crummy frog marksman. I'll take out your eyes."
Crying, the young Maquis fired again, catching the downed German in the mouth. The head was nearly severed from the neck.
"All right, goosy fingers, you got him," McGurk yelled. He lowered his carbine and turned to another Maquis who had been firing rather poorly in practice. "You're next."
Duffy sidled up to McGurk and said in a hushed voice:
"Bill. Stop this now."
"No."
"Dammit, this is murder."
"That's very right, Frankie. Now button your lip, or I'll put you in the shooting line too."
The German guards were dispatched in short order and only the French drivers were left. McGurk waved another Maquis up the hill. He refused to go.
"I will not kill Frenchmen," he said.
"I don't see how you little shits could tell the difference if it wasn't for the uniforms," said McGurk.
Suddenly, a Maquis standing nearby raised his carbine and walked it into McGurk's lean stomach.
"We will not kill Frenchmen."
"Okay," said McGurk. A sudden broad grin appeared. "Have it your own way. I was just testing you."
"We are now tested and you know we won't kill Frenchmen like dogs."
"Hey, I didn't mean to be too rough on you. Hell, it's war," said McGurk warmly. He draped an arm over the Maquis as the carbine lowered. "Friends?" he said.
"Friends," said the Frenchman.
McGurk shook hands and scrambled up the hill, pushing an angry Frank Duffy before him. Eight seconds later, the Maquis with the carbine was cut in half by the explosion of a grenade on his belt. McGurk had pulled the pin when he embraced him. From the top of the hill, McGurk unloaded his carbine at the French truck drivers who were still curled on the road. Bam. Bam. Bam. Heads exploded. No misses. There was quiet on the noon road as the bodies lay motionless; the Maquis band looked up in terror at this maniac American.
"All right, let's pull out," yelled McGurk.
That night, when McGurk was bedding down, Duffy threw a punch at his head, knocking McGurk into a wall. McGurk bounded back and Duffy caught him with a knee, square in his moon face. McGurk shook his head.
"What was that for?" he asked.
"Because you're a sonofabitch," said Duffy.
"You mean because of shooting the prisoners?"
"Yes."
"You know, as your leader, I could have you shot right now with incredible justification?"
Duffy shrugged. He didn't plan on living through the war anyway. McGurk must have sensed this, because he said, "Okay, we'll go cleaner in the future. Hell, I don't want to kill an American." McGurk staggered to his feet and offered his hand.
As Duffy reached forward for it, he kept going into McGurk's stomach. McGurk emitted a gasp. He backed away, putting his hands in front of him.
"Hey, hey, I meant it, friend. I gotta have someone I can't kill. Now, stop it."
"You can't take it, can you?" Duffy said arrogantly.
"Can't take it? Kid, I could wipe you up in a second. Believe me. Just don't come at me again. That's all I ask."
Either from youthful wildness or contempt, Duffy went for McGurk again. He remembered throwing one punch and he awoke with McGurk pouring water on his face.
"I told you I could take you, kid. How do you feel?"
"I don't know," said Duffy, blinking. Throughout the war, Duffy remained the one person McGurk could not kill. Despite logic and moral training, a deep affection grew in Frank Duffy for Bill McGurk, the man who could not kill him. He came to look upon McGurk's cold passion for death as a sickness and, as with any friend who was sick, he felt sorry for him; he didn't hate him for it.
Duffy became wary of picking up slights from anyone, lest McGurk find out about it and shred the person. After the war, it was the same way. When Frank Duffy was running for assemblyman, some hecklers began shaking the speakers' platform. McGurk, then a uniformed sergeant in the police department, formally arrested the offenders for disturbing the peace. Later, they were also charged with assaulting a police officer. On the way to the station house, out of sight of the political rally, the offenders did attempt with hand and fist to strike Officer McGurk about the head. The offenders were admitted to Beth Israel Hospital with fractures of the cranium, facial contusions, and hernias. McGurk was treated for bruised knuckles. McGurk was godfather to Duffy's boy. The two families even managed to get along well enough to share a cabin outside Seneca Falls, New York, where Duffy on this early autumn evening had landed with the dozen bottles of Jack Daniels and a very big problem.
Driving to the cabin in the stillness of the dark country road, the United States congressman opened one of the bottles, took a swig and passed it to the Inspector in charge of Manpower Deployment for the New York City Police Department. McGurk took a swig and passed it back to Duffy.
"I don't know where to begin, Bill," said Duffy. "It's monstrous. On the surface, it looks like a benefit to the nation but when you understand what's happening, you realize it is an incredible danger to everything America stands for."
"Communists?"
"No. Although they're a danger too. No. These people are like Communists. They believe the end justifies any means."
"Sure as hell does, Frankie," said McGurk.
"Bill, I need your help, not your political philosophy, if you don't mind. What's happening is this. A group of people are taking the law into their own hands. Massive vigilantes. Very thorough, almost military. Like those police in South America a few years ago. Trying to fight liberal politicians and lenient judges with bullets."
"Judges here are too lenient," McGurk said. "Why do you think decent citizens can't walk the streets? The animals have taken over. New York City is a jungle. Your district too. You ought to go down and talk to your constituents some time, Frankie, You'll find them hiding in their caves."