by Pilot
They had run into a German patrol. Garrison had tried to run a bluff, but he had been unsuccessful. Raising their weapons and firing on the run, the two men had tried to escape. The Lieutenant would never know what made him turn around. When he did, it was just in time to see the brunet crumple to the ground.
"No!" He screamed as he scrambled to return for his fallen companion. Bullets flew all around him, but Garrison saw only Chief. Reaching the young man, he grasped him by the arms and began dragging the unconscious Indian away from their pursuers. It was a futile move and they were quickly surrounded by the Germans. Falling to his knees, Garrison pulled Chief to him. Wrapping his arms around the other man's chest and shoulders, he was bound to protect the younger man to the last.
One of the enemy soldiers, an officer, came forward. Looking coolly at the two men, he asked in his native tongue, "American, do you speak German?"
"Yes," the Lieutenant said in flawless German. "He's injured, he needs medical attention."
"You will come with us. If he can not walk..." He pointed his pistol at Chief's head.
Garrison glared at the man, but said nothing about the threat. Looking down at the injured con, he spoke quietly and quickly. "Chief, you've got to wake up. Chief!"
"Warden?" Black eyes fluttered open.
"Chief, you're gonna have to get up and walk. If you don't the Nazis are gonna kill you right here and now. Do you understand me?"
"Yeah," The young man said softly. "Warden, I...I d-don't think I can..."
"The hell you can't! Don't you give up on me, damn it!" Garrison yelled from fear more than anger.
"He can walk?" The soldier asked shortly.
"Yes," the Warden replied with more conviction than he felt.
"Very well, but if he cannot keep up, he will die," the man snapped.
Lifting the Apache to his feet, Garrison kept his arms around him. Feeling Chief's legs begin to buckle, he tightened his grip. The Nazi ordered them to move. He felt the other man stumble as they started off. He didn't have much hope that the brunette would make it.
"Stay with me, Chief. You've got to stay with me," Garrison commanded with all the authority he could muster.
"Try...tryin'...War...den..." the young man slurred. His breathing turned to a wheeze and he trembled fiercely.
"Listen to me, Chief. You've got to stay with me. I know it's hard, but you've got to keep walking. If you don't they will kill you."
"Bleedin'...bad..." the Apache gasped the words out.
"I know, but I can't do anything about that right now. If I try to stop, they're going to shoot you. Just hold on, okay? Put as much of your weight on me as you can. Keep moving." The only response he received was a feeble nod. Garrison continued talking, a tireless litany to keep the young man next to him focused. They continued their forced march.
~'~
Against all odds, Chief managed to stay on his feet. They were taken to the very compound they had been on their way to investigate. Each breath the young Indian took was labored. He shuffled and stumbled next to the Lieutenant. His legs threatened to give out at each step. Still, he managed to put one foot in front of the other.
They were ushered into a small room that contained rudimentary medical supplies and gear. Garrison lowered the young man to a medical table. Chief collapsed almost immediately into unconsciousness. The enemy officer barked a sharp order to one of his soldiers then turned to the American.
"A doctor will tend to your man shortly. You will come with me."
Garrison stood firm, one hand on the Chief's shoulder. "I will not leave until I know he's being taken care of."
In answer, a bullet ploughed into the table next to the unconscious man's head. Turning to the blond, the Nazi said evenly, "you will come with me."
~'~
They had been questioning the Lieutenant for over an hour while he was helplessly bound to a wooden chair. They had not been delicate. Garrison's face had begun to resemble so much ground beef. His neck, chest and shoulders all throbbed from the abuse two soldiers had focused on him. Despite the pain, the soldier had given them nothing other than his name, rank and serial number. His mind was focused on another room in the building. He could only pray that the young con was alive and being cared for.
He realized suddenly that there was no fresh pain, no points of new attack. Pulling his mind back from where it had gone to ignore the torture, he looked up at the German soldiers. They were huddled together in whispered conversation. One of the men, the officer that had been in charge of their capture, turned to him with a look of disdain. Nodding to the other German soldiers, he ordered, "Take him to the cell. We will allow him to...spend time with his wounded fellow and think about his options for a time."
Garrison could only breathe a sigh of relief at the news that Chief was still alive. The soldiers untied him and pulled him to his feet. He stifled a groan as his body screamed in protest. The blond managed to move along between the two soldiers that escorted him from the room. They walked to a tiny room on the top floor of the building. One guard held him while the other unlocked the door. Then he was pushed unceremoniously through the doorway. Just barely catching himself before falling, Garrison spun and treated the men to a singularly black look of hatred. They simply shut and locked the door.
The tiny room was virtually empty. A thin mattress and blanket lay in one corner. He sighed in relief when he realized that beneath the blanket lay the wounded young con. "Chief," he said with a relieved sigh. Stepping to the mattress, he eased himself to the floor next to it. He laid one hand gently on the Indian's face. It was cold and clammy to the touch. The young man's breathing was shallow and rapid.
"Warden?" The word was delivered so faintly that Garrison thought for a moment that he had only wished to hear it.
"Chief?"
"Mmmm...." He mumbled, running his tongue across dry lips, "wh-where..."
"We're in a German installation. The one we were coming to case," he unconsciously fell into the vernacular of his men.
"Pri... soners?"
Garrison sighed and nodded. "For the moment, son. For the moment." He carefully pulled back the blanket to check the young man's injuries. A bandage was wrapped around his chest. Gingerly rolling the Indian to his side, Garrison saw dried blood on the bandage, very near his spine. The Lieutenant shuttered to think of what could have happened if the bullet had been any closer.
"They managed to remove the bullet I am told," a voice, speaking English with a thick German accent, informed him. Jumping slightly, the man turned toward the door, one hand still holding onto Chief.
"I am sorry, I did not mean to startle you...Lieutenant?" The young woman at the door continued. She was young, blond and green-eyed. Her petite figure was dressed in blue-grey slacks and shirt. She was holding a pitcher and bowl, a variety of cloths draped over one arm.
"Who are you?" Garrison demanded.
She smiled and approached the two men. Settling the pitcher and bowl on the floor, she sat down next to the Lieutenant. Pouring water into the bowl, she dipped one of the rags in it and wrung it out. Reaching out, she moved to wash the blood from the American's face. He pulled back, eyeing her suspiciously.
"Who are you?" He repeated more forcefully.
"My name is Anna," she told him, "my father...commands this place."
"He sent you here to gain our trust," the soldier said disdainfully. "If they can't get information by force�"
"He does not know that I am here," she answered calmly. "If he did, I would no doubt be... punished. No Lieutenant, I have come on my own."
"Why bother?" Garrison questioned stubbornly.
She looked away. "Because I do not share my father's conviction that we should be at war. I do not believe that we must treat you badly because you may have information that my father or others deem important to the war. In short, I do not believe in the taking of life for any reason, Lieutenant."
The look that Garrison gave her told the young woman that he still did not believe her. She only smiled. "It does not matter that you do not believe me, sir. I do not come here for your friendship." She once again reached out to bathe the blood from his face, but again Garrison stopped her. Undeterred, she lay the rag aside and picked up a second one. "Very well, Lieutenant. Do you forbid my tending your companion as well?"
The Warden looked at Chief. The young man was feverish, tossing weakly in a troubled sleep. "I can tend to him myself," he answered in a tone of finality.
She nodded, not completely successful in keeping the hurt out of either her face or her voice. "Very well, Lieutenant. I will take my leave then. I will try to return if I can, later, to see if you need anything."
"With all due respect, miss," the blond said, "the only thing we need is a way out of here."
Looking even more pained, she shook her head. "That I cannot give you. I am sorry. I cannot even break free from this place myself." With that she favored him with another smile, this one tinged with sadness, and hurried from the room. He saw her stop and exchange a few whispered words with the young soldier who was guarding the door before moving away.
As the door was pulled shut Garrison turned his attention back to Chief. The usually dark complexioned young man was frighteningly pale. His face and chest glistened with perspiration. He continued to toss fitfully and feebly, in the grip of a pain-induced nightmare. Taking up the rag the woman had left Garrison dampened it and began to gently bathe the other man. Slowly Chief quieted, responding to the cooling effect of the water. The soldier shut off all but a small portion of his mind, letting his ministrations become his focus.
~'~
Craig Garrison was not certain how long he had sat there, tending the badly injured con. It had to have been some time as his muscles, already aching from his earlier ordeals, felt knotted and stiff. He stood slowly, carefully stretching to ease the pain. Walking to the heavily barred window, he peered out. The sun was just beginning to set. He looked forward with dread to the oncoming darkness.
A soft sound drew his attention away from the window. Chief was showing signs of waking. Returning to his seat next to the mattress, Garrison gently touched the other man's shoulder. "Chief? Can you hear me?"
"Warden?" The response was faint.
"Yeah, it's me. How ya' feelin'? He tried to keep his voice light.
The ebony eyes opened and stared unfocused toward the blond. He ran the tip of his tongue across his lips before trying to speak. "You...tell me..." He mumbled.
Garrison smiled with more cheer than he felt. "You'll be fine soon. We...we just need to get you out of here and back to England."
"Yeah..." was all Chief said as he drifted back to sleep.
Sighing, Garrison returned to keeping the young man cool. The night crawled past. The Warden divided his time between running damp rags over the Chief's body, and looking out the window for any sign of rescue. Just before dawn, the young man grew cooler and calmer, much to Garrison's relief. Only then did he allow himself the luxury of drifting to sleep, curled up next to the mattress on the cold, bare floor.
~'~
He wasn't certain how long he had slept. When he struggled back to consciousness, the sun was lighting the room once more. With a groan, he pushed himself to a sitting position. Yawning and scrubbing a hand across his face, the blond tried to ignore his empty stomach. He wondered briefly if they would be given food and drink. It would not be surprising if they denied them both, in an attempt to wear them down. He could manage for a time, but Chief would need to, at the very least, be allowed some water. His injuries and the fever had certainly left him seriously dehydrated.
Garrison was startled from his dark thoughts by the sound of the door behind him being opened. Once again the young blond woman appeared. She was carrying a basket and more blankets.
"Good morning, Lieutenant," she said brightly. "How did you and your comrade sleep last night?"
"We're both still alive," he answered shortly.
"That is something at least," she responded. "I have brought some food and water. I would have brought coffee if I could have. Unfortunately, it is dear to come by and would be missed in the kitchen. Water is a poor drink to begin the day I'm afraid." She sat the bundles down and opened the basket. She pulled out an earthen jug and two mugs. Another container held a warm mush. The basket also held bread and cheese. Producing a spoon, she opened the mush.
"This is for him," she nodded toward Chief. "I will feed him if you would like to eat, but only if you say it is alright."
Garrison weighed his options. After thirty-six hours without so much as a drink, the things she offered looked like a royal feast. At the same time, he still did not want to trust this gregarious German.
"Warden...you eat..." Came a soft voice from the mattress.
"Chief," Garrison said, leaning forward. The young Indian was looking up at him. His dark eyes were still fever bright and filled with pain, but they seemed a little clearer. "How are you?" The Warden asked once again.
"Better...tired..." he paused to take a raspy breath before continuing. "You need...to eat..." the young man looked meaningfully up at Garrison.
Hesitating only briefly, the soldier nodded to the young woman. "Yeah, alright, go ahead," he paused, adding, "Thank you."
While Garrison hungrily ate and drank, Anna helped Chief to eat the warm mush and drink some of the water. She had propped him up on a tightly folded blanket and tucked a cloth beneath his chin. She spooned the food carefully into his mouth, allowing the weakened man to set the pace. By the time he had taken in a little more than a third of the mush, his eyes began drifting shut.
"Thanks...miss...I'm full..." he mumbled softly.
"You did well," she said brightly as she bathed his face and settled him back onto the mattress. "You seem to have more color today. That is a good sign."
Chief simply smiled up at her and then drifted back to sleep. She tucked the blankets tighter around him, adding another from those she had brought in. She left the other one folded at the foot of his meager bed. Turning, she found the other man watching her. Smiling shyly, she said, "I think perhaps you may begin to trust me yet, Lieutenant."
He smiled briefly, but became quickly serious. "I'm sorry miss."
"Anna, please."
"Anna, I'm sorry for being so rude. Frankly, I hope that I'm wrong; that you're being honest. But I just cannot afford to trust anyone."
She nodded. "I understand, Lieutenant. Believe me, I understand. This damned war makes it impossible to lead any semblance of a normal life. Do not apologize for protecting yourself and your companion. You must do this, just as I am driven to do the things that I do for the men that are brought here."
"You've done this before, then?" Garrison asked.
She nodded. "Yes. Whenever someone is brought in as you were. I cannot simply sit by and do nothing when I know that there is someone suffering and I have the ability to help them."
"How long have you been giving aid and comfort to the enemy?" The Warden asked.
"Oh goodness, is that what you call it?" She giggled. "I only call it caring for other human beings." Her face became serious then as well. "Lieutenant, not every German wishes this war to continue. I am not the only one who feels that what is happening is wrong. There are others, including some of the soldiers under my Father's command. But even then I must be careful. You are right in not trusting easily, Lieutenant."
"So that's how you're able to come and go so easily; the guards feel as you do?" Garrison asked. He wondered then exactly when he had begun to believe her words.
"Some of them, yes. I must make certain that specific soldiers are on duty. There will be times that I am unable to visit. But I will be here whenever possible. I am sorry that this is so. However, one does not always know when someone they trust will...be persuaded to change their mind.""
"Don't apologize for doing what you must to protect yourself," the blond soldier said, turning her words back on her.
"Wise words," she quipped. She gathered up everything but the water jug and mugs, and showed him a false floorboard used to hide supplies. With a final smile she left the tiny room.
~'~
A second night fell, bathing the room in moonlight and shadows. Chief had faded in and out of consciousness throughout the day. Garrison had expected to be called out at any time, to be interrogated once again. However, the two Americans had spent the day alone. He had pulled the jug and one of the mugs from their hiding place three times during the day. Lifting the dark head from the mattress, he coaxed Chief to drink. Acknowledging his own thirst, he allowed himself only a single sip each time.
The wounded man was beginning to look better and better. He had regained some measure of color. His eyes looked more and more clear, although pain and fever still shone in the dark orbs.
The young woman had not come back. Garrison had a good idea as to what was going on. They were going to be left alone in their tiny, isolated cell long enough that it would break down their reserves. Then, when the Nazis began their next interrogation, they would be able to get the information they sought with much less effort.
The Lieutenant had also spent the day wondering where the other three members of the team were, and what they were doing. He was certain that they were looking for both he and Chief, if they had not already located their prison. He also knew that they would be working on a plan to spring them. It was almost a certainty that Actor would have taken over as leader. As typically happened when Garrison was absent, the intelligent and level-headed Italian would more than likely take charge. For the most part, the other cons seemed content to follow his lead.
A soft groan drew the Lieutenant from his musings. He reached out, touching the young man's shoulder. "You alright?"
"Yeah," came the reply," just...moved wrong..."
"Let me help you if you want to move again," the blond admonished lightly. Changing the subject, he said, "Do you need anything?"
"No...I'm okay..." he paused. Garrison knew the brunette well enough to read the sigh that followed. The young man was struggling with that damned independent streak of his.
"Chief, what is it?" The blond prompted.
"I'm thirsty," he admitted.
Garrison hoped the Indian couldn't see him clearly in the shadows as a sympathetic smile crossed his face. He knew that even that small admission of need caused the often too- proud young man dearly. Shelving those thoughts, he retrieved the earthen jug and one of the mugs. The sound of the liquid hitting the bottom of the mug gave him a sharp reminder that he was thirsty as well. He did his best to ignore it, knowing his companion needed the liquid much more than he did.
Lifting Chief's head from the mattress, he pressed the mug to the man's lips. The young Apache sipped the tepid liquid, finally nodding to indicate that he was finished. Gently returning him to the mattress, Garrison once again allowed himself a single sip of water. Returning the things back to their hiding place, he tucked the blankets back around the young man.
"Thanks," Came the whispered reply.
Garrison gripped his shoulder in response. Then a faint sound drew his attention toward the window.
"What is it?" Chief whispered.
"Shhh," the Warden cautioned. Creeping to the barred window, he carefully peered around the sill. He nearly laughed aloud when he realized the source of the sound. Goniff hung suspended from a rope, just beyond the window.
"What took you so long?" Garrison said with a broad grin of relief.
"Nobody ever shows appreciation," the Englishman quipped. "It took a bloody while to figure out what 'ad 'appened to you, Warden. No offence, but you look like hell. Are you okay?"
Unconsciously touching one of the many bruises on his face, the soldier nodded. "I'm okay, but Chief�"
"What's wrong with Chiefy?" Goniff said in alarm.
"The krauts shot him," Garrison informed him.
"How is 'e?"
Garrison glanced back toward the corner where the young man lay in shadows. Shaking his head, he looked back toward Goniff. "He's in bad shape."
"Damn," the little blonde exclaimed quietly. "Alright, listen Warden. I just dropped in to let ya know we're workin' on a plan, okay? We'll figure somethin' out. Tell Chiefy to 'ang on. We'll spring ya both."
"Hurry Goniff," Garrison whispered, "hurry."
"You got it Warden," he replied.
Garrison watched the lithe second story man disappear back up the rope before creeping back to where Chief lay. Finding the other man still awake, he filled him in on the visit.
"F-figured they'd b-be sh-showin' up p-p-pretty soon," Chief stuttered.
"What's wrong, Chief?" The soldier asked with concern.
"C-c-cold..." the other man admitted.
Pulling the spare blanket up over the shivering form, Garrison tucked the layers tightly around him. The minutes that followed found little relief from the chill the Apache felt.
"I-it'll be o-ok-okay," the brunet reassured him as the Lieutenant continued to fuss around him.
"There's one other thing I can do...but don't tell the others," the Warden warned. He could only imagine the look on the dark face as the man's head turned toward him quickly. He could also imagine the ribbing he would take from the other men if they found out what he was about to do, no matter how necessary it was.
"W-warden?"
"Take it easy," Garrison said reassuringly. Rather than explaining farther, he eased himself between the other man and the cold stone wall. Slipping beneath the blankets, he wrapped an arm around Chief's chest. Slowly he was rewarded by a lessening of the tremors that wracked the injured body next to him.
"Better?" Garrison.
"Yeah," Came the weary reply.
"Go to sleep, then. I can't imagine they'll ignore us for another day."
~'~
Garrison was right. Just as the sun was beginning to warm the room, the door creaked open. The soldier pushed himself wearily up onto one elbow and blinked owlishly in the light. Half expecting to see the petite blond woman, he was surprised when a rather burley Nazi entered, machine gun at the ready. He looked slightly shocked to find the two men together. Easing over the sleeping form next to him, Garrison put himself between Chief and the Nazi.
"You will both come with me," the man ordered in German.
"I'll go, but he's too weak "
"You will both come," he insisted.
"I'm telling you, he is too ill to move. I will come with you," Garrison continued to insist.
In answer, the soldier raised the rifle and sprayed bullets just above the two men.
"Warden!" Chief cried out, startled awake by the noise.
"Take it easy, Chief, it's okay." He assured the young man. "Do you think you can walk if I help you?"
"I...I guess, " the man answered, still half-asleep and confused.
Pulling back the blankets, Garrison gently lifted the con to his feet. Chief clung weakly to his commanding officer, his chest heaving at even this small exertion. The Warden held him tightly, supporting most of the man's weight.
"You will come, now!" The soldier ordered.
"Look! He's injured, give him a minute," the American responded angrily.
"Warden...it's o-okay..." Chief said. While he understood no German, he had guessed the gist of the exchange.
Pulling Chief's arm over his shoulders and wrapping his own around the young man's waist, Garrison carefully lead him from the room.
They were taken along narrow passageways to a room on the ground floor. Getting the seriously wounded con there was difficult to say the least. By the time they reached their destination, the Indian was out on his feet. He managed to stumble along next to the soldier, but time after time his knees buckled. Only Garrison's strong grip around him kept the young man upright.
Once inside the room, any sense of control over the situation was yanked from the blond. He was forced away from Chief and into a chair. Bound tightly, he glared furiously at the officer that was directing the action; the same one who had conducted their capture.
"Let him sit down, at least!" He growled at the Nazi.
"I do not think that you are in a position to order anyone about, Lieutenant Garrison," he replied calmly.
The soldiers forced Chief into the middle of the room. Any move on his part resulted in a gun barrel against his neck, or a gun butt rapped across his shoulders.
"Damn you, let him sit down!" The Lieutenant screamed in red-faced anger.
The officer responded in maddingly calm tones. "If you wish us to allow your companion to sit down, you shall answer my questions. If you do not, then..." he trailed off with a shrug.
"Warden... don't... say... nothin'..." Chief mumbled breathlessly. His eyes were squeezed shut, his hands clenched against the pain.
"My my, what an impressive display of bravery," the words came from the doorway. Garrison turned to see a pair of familiar figures entering the room. They wore uniforms of the SS. The taller one, almost regal in appearance, strode quickly toward the interrogators and spoke in rapid German.
"I am Major Bruenner. I have orders to take charge of these prisoners. They are to be delivered to Colonel Marx immediately." Briskly the officer handed an envelope to the Nazi Major.
"I must protest, Major! These men are my prisoners." The soldier said even as he took the proffered envelope.
"You may protest if you wish, Major. However, my papers are in order, and I must insist that I be allowed to leave with these men immediately." The tall man replied in a voice that clearly said he expected compliance.
"I will verify these orders before I release the prisoners, Major," the arresting officer said coolly.
"How dare you question my authority!" The SS Officer barked. "I must have these prisoners delivered to the Colonel before sundown this evening. Would you like me to explain that I did not bring them in time for him to extract this information he must have within two days, because you questioned the Colonel's orders?!"
The other officer seemed to shrink at the tirade. Gathering his nerve, he continued in a much more conciliatory tone. "My good Major, would you wish me to be so lax in my duties that I submit without question?"
"I expect you to cooperate so that I may do my duty. If these men are not persuaded to divulge certain information within the next 48 hours, it could very well cost Germany this war."
This second admonishment seemed to do the trick. The officer bowed his head slightly and saluted the big man. The second officer went to Garrison and quickly untied him. The 'Major' spoke brusquely in English. "You will both come with us now."
"You'll get nothing from us," the American replied.
"You will accompany us, Lieutenant, and you will give us the information we seek."
"Like hell I will!" The Warden lunged at the SS officer. The big man grabbed him and pulled him close. Noses nearly touching, he whispered, "nice touch, Warden."
A smile twitching at his lips, the soldier turned it into a snarl as Goniff pulled him away. "You'll get nothing from us but name, rank and serial number."
"We shall see," the Italian con artist said coolly from behind his disguise. "You will assist your comrade and we shall leave." With that, he nodded haughtily toward the Nazis and led the way from the room. Garrison followed, nearly carrying Chief. Goniff brought up the rear, automatic weapon pointed menacingly toward the two 'prisoners'.
The trip from the building seemed to take hours. Chief was trembling, exhausted, but gamely moving along next to Garrison. They eventually reached the staff car outside, where Casino sat behind the wheel. Ushering the Warden and the injured Chief into the back seat, Goniff slid in beside them. Actor climbed into the front seat, and Casino shifted the car into gear.
As they pulled away from the building, Garrison caught a movement at one of the windows. Glancing up, he saw Anna watching them, one hand pressed against the window pane. Not daring to do anything that would betray her, he simply stared at her as they left. She was still an enigma, but something told Garrison that she was sincere. He swore that as soon as he got Chief to safety, he would look into getting her away from her prison.
"Warden?" Goniff called his attention back to the moment. "Somethin' the matter?"
"I hope not, Goniff," he answered, "I hope not."
~'~
Two weeks had passed since the three cons had rescued Garrison and their cohort from the Nazi headquarters. It had been a very difficult journey for the young con. He had nearly died before they reached medical help on the ship that came to return the elite force to England. Once in the hospital, though, he began to rally. He had been released the day before, under strict orders to rest. That had lasted until Goniff had helped him into the estate house that they called home. Now he was lounging in one of the heavy chairs in the common room. The young con had lost considerable weight and his face was pale and haggard. He also seemed far more content than he had for quite some time.
Garrison sat nearby; the other cons were lounging around the room as well. The war had allowed them a brief respite, although the four other men had completed a mission while Chief was in the hospital. Now they were regaling the young con with tales of their exploits. On his part, the Indian was laughing more than any of them had witnessed since they had known him.
A sharp rap at the door silenced the group while the Lieutenant answered it. He came back to his seat with an envelope.
"Oh no, Warden. Tell me that ain't more orders!" Goniff moaned.
"No," Garrison said softly. He had become serious once more.
"What is it?" Actor prompted.
"I asked for information on Anna...the young woman who helped Chief and me while we were prisoners... right after we returned. That's what this is," he explained.
"What's it say?" Chief asked, leaning forward.
"I haven't looked at it yet," Garrison explained. He couldn't explain the sense of foreboding that had come over him.
"Warden," Actor interjected, "would you like me to read it?"
"No," he said," That's okay Actor, thanks." He took a deep breath and tore open the envelope. Taking out a single sheet of paper, he read the information. His face went pale. He dropped the paper and stalked to one of the room's windows.
"Warden? What is it?" Chief asked with concern.
The blond soldier didn't answer. Actor retrieved the paper and scanned it. He sighed deeply before speaking. "The report says that the young woman was executed...by her own father. He found her guilty of giving aid and comfort to the enemy."
"Us," the Apache said miserably.
"Among others," Actor assured him. "Evidently they have been watching her for some time, gathering information on her activities."
"Her own father?" Chief said with a mixture of pain and anger in his voice.
"Yes. Evidently her activities embarrassed him...threatened his position as an officer."
"So he murdered her. His own daughter, " Casino said angrily.
"God, this bloody war," Goniff growled.
Silently, Chief had left his chair. He stole quietly to where Garrison stood at the window, one fist clenched and silently pounding against one of the bars that reminded the cons of their status. The young Indian put a hand on the soldier's shoulder and squeezed briefly. "It ain't your fault, Lieutenant," he said to the other man's back.
"Yeah," Garrison said without conviction, "sure."
Both men were quiet, staring out the window. Neither saw the English countryside. Instead, they were seeing a pair of laughing green eyes and an impish grin. Garrison felt a part of his heart break.
The End
