Heat Noir
by Minstrel164
Author's Note:
Hello everyone, I'm back. While I have away I have not been idle. In fact I been busy writing away on this story.
I have always wanted to write a 'noir' story. For some time now I have been wanting to write a story inspired by one of my favourite Castle episodes The Blue Butterfly.
I love the stories of Raymond Chandler and Dashiell Hammett and their famous characters Philip Marlowe and Sam Spade. I also love those Film Noir movies of the 40s and 50s. This story is my attempt at that genre. Whether I have succeeded or not remains to be seen.
This story is very AU and is set between 1945 and 1946, and could go beyond that. I don't know because the story is not finished yet even though I have quite a few chapters written already. As usual the characters have taken control and run with it. What started as a story about a murder and a stolen piece of jewellery in post war Germany has become one where there is murder, mobsters, spies and crooked politicians as well as out heroes. There is a whole cavalcade of characters.
One of the fun parts in writing this story has been researching mid 1940s New York. I hope I have been reasonably accurate.
I was going to call this story The Curse of The Blue Butterfly but that title seemed to long and that piece of jewellery is only a small part of this story, so hence the title Heat Noir.
One final thing, I would like to thank shutterbug5269 whose story A Castle In Fortress Europe gave me the jolt of inspiration I needed to start writing this story.
I hope you enjoy it. Whether you like it or not please let me know what you think of it.
Con
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Chapter 1
Morning of 6th June 1944
Normandy, France
Rick Castle could not believe he had landed in a pond. He had a whole field in which to touch down on but he ended up in a pond. He could only thank his lucky stars, the Universe or whoever, the pond was not deep. It only came up to his waist. He did not want to think what he would have done if the pond had been any deeper. Being heavily laden with gear, it would have been a difficult task to get out. Almost next to impossible. Worse case scenario, he could have ended up drowning. No, that definitely would not have been a good outcome.
Castle remembered the briefings he had attended back in England. The briefer, a prim and proper English officer with a neatly trimmed handlebar moustache and wearing the maroon beret with the winged insignia of the parachute regiment, had shown on a scaled and detailed map the areas where there was swamp or marshland and made it a point to everyone present that these areas were to be avoided at all costs.
The water was cold, that was the first thought that passed through Castle's head after he had silently berated himself for landing in a pond. It was damn near freezing. Well, he had no one to blame but himself for that. He could have worn the long drawers that had been issued to each man but had chosen not to. The long drawers had been treated with chemicals he could not even begin to pronounce in case the Germans attacked with chemicals. Castle had taken one whiff of those long drawers and decided not to put them on. He would take his chances with a German gas attack.
It was bad enough jumping out of a plane into the freezing cold morning and not being able to see the ground because of ground fog, now he had to suffer the indignity of standing in waist deep freezing water because he had landed in an area he had specifically been told not to land in. He would not be able to live it down if his men could see him now.
High above him the drone of aircraft continued. Looking up into the overcast night sky he could see the canopies of the parachutes as they caught the air and deployed. The sky was exploding with flak. Tracer bullets rose up from the ground in single streams of continuous fire. Castle did not envy those men up there. In the few minutes it took to reach the ground those men up there were helpless, just sitting ducks for the Germans to pick off from below.
Castle knew exactly what they were going through because he had endured those few minutes of shear terror watching as the tracer fire rose up from the ground trying to get him or the fizz of pieces of shrapnel as they whizzed past his head and body. He had been scared many times in his life but it was nothing compared to what he had experienced as he had floated to the ground.
One piece of shrapnel had whizzed past above his head and severed one of the risers that secured him to the parachute. It sent him off course and it took more than a few minutes of desperate effort to get the parachute under control with the remaining risers. It had been real heart in the mouth stuff as his descent had increased because of the damaged parachute. He had landed with a heavy splash in the pond. That he was now on terra firma was a miracle in itself.
Castle quickly looked about him. He had been the last of his stick to jump when the green light had come on in the cabin. They had been packed in like sardines in the aircraft and could not move. When they had been on the ground they could hardly move, they had been weighed down with so much equipment.
When the red light had come on everyone had struggled to their feet, forgetting their airsickness and their fears over the coming battle. Almost forgetting about the flak that was exploding all around them jostling the aircraft. They just wanted to get out of the aircraft. Like they had been trained, each man checked the parachute equipment of the man in front of him eagerly and hooked up their rip cords to the wire that ran the length of the aircraft cabin and waited for the green light be switched on.
Castle had watched as his men shuffled towards the door and with a tap on the shoulder or a hard shove from the jump master the men leaped into the dark unknown. He was not a very religious man but as each man leaped into the darkness they went with a silent prayer from him.
On the flight from England he had looked over at the men that were sitting on either side of the fuselage, and could not help but wonder how many of them would survive. In another briefing he had been told by planners what the casualty figures were expected to be. It had been a sobering figure and one he did not convey to his men. The men had enough to worry about leading up to D-Day.
When Castle had reached the open door and was about to jump out that was when the plane had been hit by a shell knocking out the starboard engine. He had almost fallen backwards into the cabin but had stopped himself in time by gripping the doorway with both hands. The plane itself banked violently and started to loose height. Without a second's thought Castle just threw himself out the door. The last he saw of the plane that had carried him and his men from England was to see it trailing fire from its damaged engine as it fell towards the ground.
Now as he stood in the waist deep water he felt the tug of his parachute pulling him backwards almost as if it wanted to drag him under the water. His heart was still beating rapidly with the adrenalin rush of jumping into a combat zone once again and having survived it, again. The tug of his parachute was a sharp reminder that he had work to do.
Quickly Castle unbuckled his parachute harness and shrugged it off, letting it drop it into the water. If he had landed on solid ground his first task would have been to roll up the parachute and stow it somewhere out of the way but he let it sink into the water, it was not longer needed. The reserve parachute was unbuckled and was also dropped into the water.
Castle started to reach for his Thompson submachine gun which he had slung around his neck and had it resting on his reserve chute. Most of the men had broken down their weapons and stored them in bags attached to their legs to be retrieved and reassembled once on the ground. He had chosen to have ready access to his weapon just in case he landed close to enemy soldiers.
In his last combat jump, which had been in Sicily, he had broken down his M1 Grarand rifle and stowed it in a canvas bag attached to his left boot. He lost the canvas bag containing his rifle somewhere between jumping out of the aircraft and landing, something he only discovered when he found himself under fire from the enemy and him desperately searching for a weapon that was no longer there. Castle vowed to himself he would always jump with a weapon close at hand.
The Tommy gun was gone. He let out a silent curse at having lost his weapon. He could not believe it, he had lost his weapon in a combat jump again. Immediately he reached for his side arm and almost let out a sigh of relief when he felt the .45 automatic. He pulled it out of its holster and released the safety, ready to use it. The last thing he wanted was to be wandering around in the dark unarmed.
Feeling a little better now that he had a weapon in his hand Castle started to look around, trying to get his bearings. There was not too much to see. The ground mist was still hanging around and was thick in some directions. One thing he was certain was that he had landed nowhere near the intended drop zone. At the moment he had no idea where he was. There was the sound of heavy fighting off to the west from where he was standing. From the sound he could not tell how far away it was.
The next order of business was to get out of this pond he was standing in, check his map to see where exactly he might be, and then find his men. He had to find his men. He had no doubt that they had been dispersed all over the place. They all needed to regroup, get their bearings and then push on to the targets they had been given by their commander. Many people were expecting the paratroopers to do their job today.
As he searched his surroundings Castle saw the mist lift a little off to his right and reveal a bank some twenty feet away, like some exotic dancer revealing a hint of bare leg. That was the spot, he decided. He commenced to wade through the water towards the bank.
The moment he put weight on his left leg he felt a sharp pain lance through his left leg and up the side of his body. He let out a loud grunt as he faltered but forced himself to continue moving, taking one step after another. He grunted again, the pain was steady but he would manage. He had to manage, he told himself. He stumbled, his boots slipping on something underneath, and almost fell face down in the water. Throwing his arms out he managed to regain his balance and continued moving forward but treading carefully with each step.
With each step he took Castle looked either side of him with his pistol raised on the look out for danger. The Germans would now be well aware that allied paratroopers were landing in large numbers and would have turned out their soldiers. German soldiers could be anywhere.
Just as he reached the bank Castle stumbled and slipped on some pebbles and collapsed in the water's edge, half out and half in. He took a moment to catch his breath as he had not realised the effort it took to cover the short distance to reach the bank. Even though he had removed the parachute harnesses he was still weighed down with equipment.
Laying face down on the ground Castle took several deep breaths before he hauled the rest of his body out of the water. The pain on the left side of his body was now a lot sharper than it had been when he was in the water. Her rolled onto his right and slowly sat up a little to inspect the wound.
He found a large tear in his trousers that ran from just below his webbing belt down to his thigh. There was a dark patch around his still wet trousers. It took him a moment to realise that it was blood. Pulling open the tear he saw that he had caught some pieces of shrapnel. He could not remember getting hit but then he had other things occupying his mind when the shrapnel was flying about. The wound was throbbing, reminding him that it needed tending.
As much as he wanted to ignore the wound and just push on Castle knew that he could not do that. He had to patch himself up as best he could and hope to find a medic eventually. Patting his pockets in search of the first kit that he had been issued with, he thought he had lost it. He found it eventually in the right thigh pocket of his trousers. He pulled it out and set it on the ground.
Castle removed his helmet and turned to inspect his wound again. He frowned when he saw several jagged pieces of shrapnel sticking out of his upper thigh. He did not have a pair of tweezers that he could use to pull them out so he had to resort to using his fingers.
He winced and gritted his teeth at the sharp pain as the first piece of shrapnel slowly came out. He tossed away the offending piece of metal without even looking at it. The second piece refused to come out, buried a little deeper than the first one had been. His fingers slipped off each time he tried to pull on the piece of metal. His fingers were covered in his blood making gripping the piece difficult.
After several attempts he gave up, cursing the shrapnel in his leg, cursing the pain that was radiating from the wound and cursing the Germans for causing the pain in his leg. The other pieces he did not even bother with because they were too deep.
Castle closed his eyes and took a deep breath, riding out the wave of pain. He ran the back of his hand over his forehead and wiped the sweat that had formed. He reached into the first aid kit and took out the sachet of sulphanilmide powder. He tore it open with his teeth and sprinkled the powder over the wound. It stung and he let out a loud hiss as another wave of pain surged through his leg. Throwing away the empty sachet he took out the large field dressing.
It took him several long minutes to tie the dressing around his thigh and a couple of attempts until the dressing was reasonably secured. He could imagine the look of disgust from the regimental doctor if he saw this kind of slap dash kind of handiwork. He could live with the regimental doctor's displeasure.
"Next time pay more attention at first aid lectures." Castle muttered to himself.
Castle packed away the first aid kit and returned it to the thigh pocket. He had considered using the shot of morphine that was in the first aid kit to dull the pain in his thigh. It was bad but it could be a lot worse. That could still come, he reminded himself. Better to leave it until the pain got too bad and really needed it.
He picked up his helmet and shoved it back on his head. Then he gathered up his gun. Carefully he got up. He put all his weight on his right foot for a few moments before he was game to test his left leg. His face contorted at the pain that shot up his left leg.
Once more he carefully looked about him. One thing he had noticed was that the sounds of battle had intensified. One moment he could hear a sustained exchange of gunfire and another moment there was intermittent exchanges, as if people were taking pot shots at each other.
Fifty feet directly ahead of him he saw a hedgerow. From what he could see he judged the hedge to be a little over seven feet in height. Slowly he started shuffling towards it. He figured there might be a road or path on the other side of the hedge. That would be a good place as any to get his bearings. If his luck was in, there might be a farm house of some sort near by.
As Castle neared the hedgerow the sound of battle eased off a little. He heard some rustling coming from the other side of the hedge. Immediately he threw himself to the ground. He landed heavily and almost knocked the wind out of himself. He had to clench his teeth to stop the cry of pain that wanted to escape from his mouth. He scrambled forward a little and raised his gun ahead of him to where the rustling was coming from. His first instinct was to shoot first. He didn't though.
Back in England the paratroopers had been issued with cricket noise makers. These cheap little children's toys were perfect for identifying friend or foe once the paratroopers were on the ground in France. As an officer Castle had been given a clicker but he had passed it to one of his men who did not have one. There had not been enough cricket clickers to go around. Castle gave his away figuring he did not need to have one as he would have some men around him when he was on the ground in Normandy.
Now as he lay on the ground staring at the hedgerow and pointing his pistol, wondering whether it was a German patrol on the other side of the hedge and should he fire, Castle was also silently chastising himself for having given away his cricket noise maker.
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