The Stein & Candle Detective Agency, Vol. 2: Cold Wars (The Stein & Candle Detective Agency #2) by Michael Panush Page B

the Germans?” He was a Cajun, a hulking man who moved with slow and easy purpose. He stood head and shoulders taller than Candle. Tiny manned the .30 cal, if he had time to set it up, and the Browning Automatic Rifle if he didn’t.
    “Come on inside, Tiny. You’ll hear all about it.” Candle stepped over the small bits of cover and entered the church. Tiny and Elkins followed him. The rest of the squad was there. Newt and Dutch, the two riflemen, were playing cards, their carbines slung over their shoulders. Newt was tall and thin, Dutch was short and fat. Dutch was easy going and Newt seemed to hate everything in the world with equal passion. They got along great.
    They ended their card game and joined Elkins and Tiny. The medic, Charlie, walked out from the small green tent they had set up near the altar. Charlie was from an upper class family in Connecticut. He had left his place in medical school to join the army, and the army had sent him to the Airborne. He had ginger hair and a smattering of freckles, with an easy smile and a quiet manner. The squad liked his bedside manner and his coolness under fire.
    Candle nodded to Charlie. “How’s the kid?”
    “He’s sleeping, sir. Cried a little bit, when he thought I wasn’t looking, but then dozed off.” Charlie had been seeing to Weatherby Stein, the pint-sized objective of their squad. He liked Weatherby’s awkward formalness and endearing gratitude a great deal. All of the squad did. “What’s up?”
    Sergeant Candle looked at his men. They had been together since Normandy. They had stormed across France, battled in the little villages and the hedgerows and in the cities of Holland. They had shed their blood together, and taken the lives of countless German troops. They were a family, the only one Morton Candle had ever had, and the only one he ever wanted. His parents had emigrated from Calabria, changed their name from Canete to Candle at Ellis Island, and promptly died in Brooklyn. Candle had spent his youth in orphanages and reform school, and it seemed like the Airborne had always been waiting to strap him in a uniform and send him to war.
    “Listen up, ladies,” he said. “Here’s the score – Von Koch offered to let us slip away, if we handed over Weatherby, so they could torture every bit of occult info out of the poor kid. I told that bastard to climb his own thumb.”
    The soldiers looked at each other. Their khaki uniforms were tattered and their eyes were dim and weary. But no one disagreed. Newt even cracked a smile. “The hell with them. Those Krauts can try all they want. I’ll slaughter the bums.”
    Tiny, as usual, was pragmatic. “We ain’t got much ammunition left, sir. I don’t know how long we can hold them off, I truly don’t.”
    “No ammo or weapons, eh?” Candle shook his head. “Don’t worry, boy. Jerry’s coming by and he’s bringing plenty of guns and bullets with him. All we gotta do is give him a good welcome and pry them from his dead fingers.” He looked back at his soldiers. “Now, I’m gonna speak truthfully here. There’s not much chance of all of us walking away from this. We can fight it, and we can even win it, but not without a cost. So I need to know that you fellows will stand with me – for Weatherby – until the bloody end.”
    All of them nodded. Charlie was the first to speak. “I won’t let him down, sir. I won’t let you down.”
    That was all that they needed to say. “Okay.” The soldier in Morton took over. “I give them about a couple of hours before they show. I want this place fortified like Fort Knox. Dutch, Newt, you can dig a trench around the church. Tiny, make sure the .30 cal’s got plenty of belts, and a good range of fire. Elkins, set up a sniper’s nest in the steeple. Take up every shell you’ve got.” He narrowed his eyes. “And set up a place for captured heaters. Sub-guns by the first pew, rifles next to them. Let’s move it, ladies!”
    He leaned against the