He'd once simply been Matt Helm of Santa Fe, New Mexico (with a few choice bits of attitude about Texas and Texans, I must add). But for Captain Matthew Helm, United States Army Reserve, World War II is about to get a whole lot more interesting. And personal.
So I can't really speak for anyone but myself, but I remember the shabby little office -- like all the subsequent shabby little offices in which I was to make my reports and receive my orders -- and the compact, grayhaired man with the cold gray eyes, and the speech he gave while I stood before him at attention. He was in civvies, and he hadn't called for any military courtesies. I didn't know his rank if he had any, but I wasn't taking any chances.Somehow, I already knew this outfit was for me if they'd have me; and I wasn't too proud to take what advantage I could get from a good stiff back and liberal use of the world "sir." I'd already been in the Army long enough to know that they'd practically give the joint to anybody who could shoot, salute, and say "sir." And anyway, when you're six feet four, even if kind of skinny and bony, the word doesn't sound humble, merely nice and respectful.
"Yes, sir," I said, "I wouldn't mind learning why I've been assigned here, sir, if it's time for me to know."
He said, "You've got a good record, Helm. Handy with weapons. Westerner, aren't you?"
"Yes, sir."
"Hunter?"
"Yes, sir."
"Upland game?"
"Yes, sir."
"Waterfowl?"
"Yes, sir."
"Big game?"
"Yes, sir."
"Deer?"
"Yes, sir."
"Elk?"
"Yes, sir."
"Bear?"
"Yes, sir."
"Dress them out yourself?"
"Yes, sir. When I can't get somebody to help me."
"That's fine," he said. "For this job we need a man who isn't scared of getting his hands bloody."
He was looking at me in that same measuring and weighing manner as he went into his talk. As he explained it, it was merely a matter of degree. I was in the Army anyway. If the enemy attacked my unit, I'd shoot back, wouldn't I? And when the orders came through for us to attack, I'd jump up and do my damnedest to kill some more. I'd be dealing with them in the mass under these conditions; but I was known to be pretty good with a rifle, so in spite of my commission it wasn't beyond the realm of possibility that one day I'd find myself squinting through a telescopic sight, waiting for some individual poor dope to expose himself four or five hundred yards away. But I'd still just be selecting my victims by blind chance. What if I was offered the opportunity to serve my country in a less haphazard way?
Mac paused here, long enough to indicate that I was supposed to say something. I said, "You mean, go over and stalk them in their native habitat, sir?"
This is not the "Matt Helm" of those silly Dean Martin movies.
I'd heard of Matt Helm before, and was vaguely aware of the books. Everyone knew about the Dean Martin movies. But then, as a suave, debonair seventeen-year-old, I read these words in the April 1977 issue of The Objectivist Calendar:
Another old favorite of mine -- Donald Hamilton -- has survived. He is still writing, though not quite as entertainingly as he used to. (His novels are adventure stories more than mysteries.)
Once again, Ayn Rand steered me right: I read a bunch of Hamilton's Matt Helm novels, which were still in print at the time. I think I read all of them. I do recommend the same for you: tightly plotted, well-characterized, they reward the reader.
The first novel in the series, Death of a Citizen from 1960, begins fifteen years after the end of World War II, with a murder on Helm's own Santa Fe property. Using one of his own weapons. Involving a party guest and a wartime colleague. Ignore the comments about Texas: Hamilton is entitled to as much poetic license as any other scribe.
One last thing: all of the novels are told in the first person voice, and Helm/Hamilton capitalizes "Martini," which is just about the way things ought to be.
UPDATE: Ayn Rand's comments on Donald Hamilton, Agatha Christie, Dorothy L. Sayers and other, from the April 1977 issue of The Objectivist Calendar, can be read in The Ayn Rand Column, available here.
Posted by Craig Ceely at October 10, 2004 01:47 AM