Free On Her Majesty's Behalf by Joseph Nassise Page B

to temporarily reassign Sergeant Drummond to your squad. He’ll act as your advance scout, guiding you across the city to Buckingham Palace along the same route he used to escape from there several days ago. If that path is no longer secure, you’ll be able to fall back on his knowledge of the local area to select an alternate route.”
    â€œFine with me,” Burke replied. Drummond had found his way out of a city crawling with shredders and done it in record time, it seemed. That fact alone was enough to tell Burke that he was more than competent. With Moore currently MIA, Burke needed a new sergeant.
    Even if it was only temporary.
    Burke turned and extended his hand to the other man. “Welcome to the Marauders,” he said, as they shook.
    â€œThank you, Major. I’ll try not to let you down,” Drummond answered with a grin.
    Nichols issued them a set of maps for the city of London and the surrounding area, as well as a series of requisition vouchers that would allow them to gather the weapons, ammunition, and rations they would need to make the trip. Burke handed them off to Drummond, with orders to gather up Cohen and Montagna for a trip to the quartermaster while Burke went to collect their final team member.
    T H E STOCKADE HAD once been a dairy barn and still smelled like one. The individual stalls had been raised to ceiling height and fitted with doors that came with small viewing slots from which to observe the prisoners, of which there were usually a dozen or so at any given time. Most of them were here for minor infractions like being drunk and disorderly or fighting with a fellow soldier. Those who committed more serious crimes might spend a night or two here while awaiting transport to the main correctional facility out of Paris, but that didn’t happen very often.
    The two guards standing outside the facility saluted when Burke approached and then opened the door to admit him. Inside Burke found a third man, the jailer, sitting astride a small stool. From somewhere deeper in the building came the sound of a man singing.
    Singing very badly.
    Burke handed his orders to the jailer, who glanced at them and then leaped to his feet.
    â€œThank you, Lord!” he cried, a wide smile spreading across his face. “And thank you, Major!”
    For a moment, Burke didn’t understand. Then, “Is that . . . ?” he asked, pointing deeper into the building were the awful caterwauling was coming from.
    â€œYes, sir, it is, and can I just say how happy I am that you are taking him away from us?” The jailer was positively beaming at the thought of the prisoner being transferred.
    Jones could have that effect on ­people.
    The jailer led Burke down the center aisle and stopped before a cell about three-­quarters of the way down. The cells all around it were empty; even the army can take pity on ­people sometimes, it seemed. From inside the cell came the strong smell of cow manure and the singing he’d heard earlier, if it could even be called that. It sounded like a moose was trying to mate with a mountain lion and neither animal was too happy about it.
    The jailer stepped closer to the narrow slot cut into the door and said, “Quiet down, number 43. The major here would like a word.”
    Inside the cell, Corporal Harrison Jones went right on singing.
    â€œI said quiet, 43!”
    The singing continued.
    The jailer bent over and glanced through the observation slot.
    â€œYou have got to be fuckin’ kiddin’ me!” he exclaimed.
    Burke bent over to take a look for himself.
    Jones was sitting on the floor of the cell with his back against the rear wall and his long legs stretched out in front of him. He was shirtless, the garment now tied securely around his head and over his ears.
    No wonder his singing sounded worse than usual, Burke thought. He can’t hear himself!
    Burke had first met Corporal Harrison Jones just a few short