part 3
"The contact will meet us about two miles from the drop zone." He didn't like this, didn't like going in with no time to prepare. He tried to tell Wilhoitz that over the phone when the call had come in at oh-two-hundred. The man didn't listen, cut him off and just ordered him to get his team in the air and do the job. Nothing like going out in the middle of the night with no sleep, no warning, no prep. And, probably no back up. "We'll have to move fast, they want that place knocked out by sunrise, before the bombers make their run."
"Does this guy think we're magicians or somethin'!" Casino looked at him with astonishment, and there was a hint in his voice that tipped Garrison off to the fact that the east coast thief was beginning to believe he was lining up against them by taking on all of the jobs Wilhoitz handed them.
Garrison knew what the Colonel thought they were... criminals, cons, 'no good low lifes' who could be sent out on every hopeless, poorly planned mission that came across his desk with little concern and no guilt on his part for what it would cost them. "I don't care what he thinks." He'd said that to them once before, when Reynolds had been willing to let them be sacrificed over in Italy. They'd gotten through that mission and had managed to turn Reynolds into an ally, but he didn't have any hope that would happen with Wilhoitz. And he was lying, he did care what the Colonel thought. He had to care about it, to find a way to counter it, but they didn't need to know, at least not right now. "That only leaves us ninety minutes to get in there, lay the charges and get out of the way. The contact will be providing the explosives."
"God damn it!" Casino had every right to be furious and he was going to make the best use of that right and tell the Lieutenant just what he could do with this damn mission. "If they've got the fucking explosive why can't they use 'em to blow up that damn radar?!" The rest of the guys were thinking the same thing, he could tell by the looks he was getting, they were just too tired to ask the question.
"They don't have an explosives expert." There was a warning sound to the Warden's voice. "We do."
"Yeah! Well I just quit!"
"Schei�e! Genug!" The Warden glared at him. "Then you just stay back out of the way and I'll handle the charges!" Garrison turned away from the fuming east coast thief, shouldering him out of the circle as he continued to try and plan this job with the others. "Chief, Goniff. I want you two to get around the base and come in from the north. The radio transmission tower is there and we'll need to take those antennae out too. Actor, you're on me. We'll take out the radar tower. There'll be a truck parked in an abandoned barn two miles further in. They won't expect us to go that direction. We'll use that to get out to this airstrip," He tapped the paper to indicate its location. "They're going to arrange a touch and go landing. We'll have to be ready to jump on board when they get there."
Garrison studied the men gathered around him. They were beat.., too tired, he didn't know if they'd even heard what he'd just told them. "The confusion caused by the explosions and the bombing should cover our escape." He hoped he had more confidence looking back at them, than they had when they glanced up at that pipe-dream.
He'd been sketching out the layout of the installation on the back of the map, using X's and squares and circles to represent the targets, adding physical features like the low hills that lay to the north, and the small stream that ran in a gully along the western edge with waving and jagged lines. Sweeping arrows showed their movements through the grounds...Casino was craning his neck to see over the Warden's shoulder. It looked like some damn fool football play drawn out during a huddle.
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When they'd rolled out of the plane the winds scattered them all over the sky. They lost valuable time hooking up on the ground and had to double time it to get to the rendezvous with the contact on time. The effort was telling on all of them, but most evident in the Warden. His face was nearly bloodless as he tried to control his breathing and the pain that stabbed through his chest under his arm. The contact was trying to show him the supplies, explain about the explosives when Casino stepped up and took over. Actor translated for him and after a few terse questions he set to work dividing the explosives and making up the charges. Garrison sat back against a tree and watched.
Everything was ready to go. The charges had been packed down in field packs that they'd use to haul them into the site, leaving the men's hands free to protect themselves if they were spotted. Casino divided the stuff up into three batches. Those radio antennae wouldn't take much to bring down. One pack would go with Chief and Goniff. The radar tower, that was another story. They'd've put that together outta concrete. Two packs would go there, big ones. Even that might not bring the thing down, not if they had a decent engineer build the damn tower. Casino walked over to give the Warden the low down. He frowned as he walked up on him. The guy was sitting stock still, just staring up at him. "You OK?"
"Yeah. I'm fine."
Casino gave a snort. There was that word again. Who'd the Warden think he was kiddin' anyway. "Right."
"Thanks."
"Don't thank me! We'll probably get ourselves blown apart." He dropped down next to Garrison and stared off into the trees. "I don't like this stuff. It's not stable. I tried to pack it down solid, that ought a help. But we're not gonna know how good a job I did until it goes off." Turning to look at his commander he finished. "And I don't suggest bein' very close to the stuff when that happens."
The Lieutenant nodded his acceptance of the risk. "You have a suggestion for a safe distance?" he asked quietly
"Sure." Casino looked back at him, cracked a fatalistic grin and pushed himself up onto his feet reaching a hand back to the Warden. "How 'bout London?"
"I don't know." Garrison shook his head as he held out his hand and accepted the help offered. "We'd have to run pretty damn fast, and I just don't think I'm up to it right now."
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The radio tower went down first. The explosion caused them to turn and look when they should've been running. Every second counted and they were seconds too close and were blown off their feet when their first charge went up. They were out in the open as bits and pieces of the block tower started raining down around them, and then the second charge blew. They lost three of the underground group that helped them get into the site, killing the German guards for them so they could get in close, and then covering their backs while they set the explosives. When the echoes faded and it was safe to raise their heads and look around them they were all bruised and bleeding from being pelted with falling debris.
Garrison was the first to struggle to his feet. He moved to the closest man, pulling him up and then headed for Actor. There was a gash on the back of the con man's head and he was stunned. "Come on! Can you get up?" Pulling him over on to his back he waited for him to focus his eyes and look around him. He tore open the first aid pack the con artist always carried and pulled out a hand full of gauze, pressing it against the wound as he helped the man sit up. "Are you all right? Can you go?" At the older man's nod the Warden tied the gauze in place and hauled him to his feet. When he was sure he'd be able to stay upright on his own he moved away from him, searching the field for Casino. Panic had just started to edge its way into his head when he heard a familiar voice call out.
"Jeeze! Would somebody get me the hell outta here?!"
Turning and following the muffled sound of grousing that usually irritated the devil out of him, Garrison tracked it to the side of the field, and a gully that had been used to bring water here when the crop had been wheat, not radar towers. Peering over the edge he saw his explosives expert pinned in the mud by a door that had been blown off the building, frame and all, or rather half the frame. The side that held the latch hadn't made it, leaving the top of the thing free to bury itself deep in the dirt and pin his man down, pressing him into the mud. Garrison's heart rose into his mouth. That thing could have just as easily buried itself in the safecracker's chest, or driven through his skull. He moved up a few steps and jumped down into the ditch, sinking into the soft ground. Bending down he 'opened' the door and looked down at the mud stained face. His mouth quirked up in a smile of relief. The cursing and complaining reported on his man's condition, and a quick survey confirmed it. Before he could stop himself he'd said it. "Knock, knock?"
Casino narrowed his eyes and growled. "Will you shut up!" Reaching his free hand up he started to wriggle out from under the frame that still rested over his left arm. "Get me up outta this muck, damn it!"
By the time he'd helped Casino up out of the ditch the rest of them, the ones who'd made it, had assembled around them. They were a sight. Bruised, broken, mud stained and bleeding. They didn't have time to do anything about that, they still had people on the other side of the installation to check for, and they'd probably have to fight their way over there... Garrison made a quick assessment of their injuries and sent the worst of the lot off toward the barn with two of the underground men. Actor was in that group, protesting, loudly, all the way off into the trees.
The rest of them, wiping the mud and dirt from their eyes, shouldered the rifles they'd brought with them, and the ones they'd taken from the guards. Pocketing the grenades the dead men had on them they moved out, skirting the field, working their way around to the north, to what was left of the radio tower. They'd scout the area, make sure Chief, Goniff and the others had gotten away, and then head for the barn and the truck.
There was a brief, unexpected, firefight at the shattered building. A knot of German guards and technicians had made it through the blast somehow. It hadn't lasted long, the members of the underground group that had the transmitter as their objective helped catch the survivors in a deadly cross fire. They hadn't remained survivors for long. Pierre Clermont the leader of the group, and the man that headed the attack on the transmitters came to them when the fight was over. Speaking urgently to Garrison he pulled him away towards the north, towards the barn. Looking back over his shoulder the Warden shouted to Casino. "Both of them are hurt! Clermont's already sent them ahead with some of his people," and he started off after the Frenchman at a run.
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It was quiet in the barn, except for the groans of the wounded. The rest were grimly going about the business of helping their injured comrades. Splinting broken bones, scrubbing the dirt out of wounds. Garrison had just twisted Chief's left shoulder back into place, the young man still leaned against him, sweating, breathing hard and swearing under his breath. After letting him rest against his shoulder a few moments he propped him back against the side of the truck and started securing his arm to his side with a coil of cord one of the men had unearthed in the corner. Actor's wits had settled and he and Casino were looking to Goniff.
"That's the second time you've dislocated that arm." Garrison said as he finished binding the young man's arm in place. "You'll need to keep it still."
Chief used the sleeve of his jacket to wipe the sweat from his face and looked up at his commander. "S'OK. You better get over there." Nodding towards the other three. "I think he might be hurt pretty bad. I found him half buried under debris and had to shove a chunk of cement off his middle with my legs. He wadn't bleedin' anywhere, not where I could see it, but he kinda curled in on himself as soon as I got that weight off him. If those two guys from the underground hadn't run up on us and hauled us off into the trees we'd a been taken out by the guards that started shootin' from what was left of the building we blew up." Since they'd reached the safety of the barn all the poor little guy'd been able to do was wretch.
Garrison squatted down next to Actor. They'd cleaned Goniff up, washed the dirt and muck off his face and turned him onto his side to try and make him more comfortable. He was worn almost into a faint but still grimaced and moaned in pain. "How's he doing?"
Actor shot a look along his shoulder. "He's fine, can't you tell?" At the Warden's stricken look he relented, pressed a hand over the bloody bandage on the back of his head and rocked back on his heels. The wound in his scalp throbbed and his ears were still ringing, he was dizzy if he moved too fast. "I don't know. He hasn't been throwing up blood, that may mean that there's no serious internal damage." Carefully shrugging his shoulders instead of shaking his head he continued. "Or it could just mean that the damage doesn't include his stomach." Heaving a sigh he met Garrison's worried stare. "He won't be running to catch any plane." Casting an analytical eye around the group he added. "None of us will."
The Warden ran a hand through his hair and nodded before pushing up on his feet again. He went in search of Clermont. They'd need a radio to arrange another way out, and they'd need to find help, real medical help.
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The help they found was a local vet who worked with the underground. Since the war had started he'd expanded his practice to include human patients and had helped Clermont and his group several times in the past. The man came to them that night, bringing along the limited supplies he had, sorting carefully through his bag for the things that would not do them any harm. He was allowed to carry nothing for pain, no one considered 'dumb' animals needed any such comfort, and he couldn't help with that. He checked the fractures and sprains though, setting some of the more serious before rechecking the wounds and stitching some... Actor had come in for that attention and sat stoically through the procedure after complaining bitterly about having the hair on the back of head clipped. Chief's shoulder had been re-wrapped after a good dose of liniment had been worked in to ease it. Casino's deeply bruised arm received the same treatment, but by the safecracker's own hand after he'd accepted the jar of ointment and waved the man away to more serious injuries, like Goniff's.
"Lieutenant, I believe he has only been badly contused. Your own man's observations help me think this." Nodding towards Actor who sat with them he continued. "There has been no sign of blood in the vomit or urine, and his heart rate has not changed. But the solid organs in his abdomen may have been damaged. We can only let him rest, and keep watch over him." To Garrison's considering frown he added. "I would not suggest moving him for several days."
The group had left the barn as soon as they'd given initial care to their wounded and were secure in the hills now, in the caves that served as Clermont's base of operation. Garrison went in search of the man to make sure it would be safe for them to stay.
"Yes, of course, my friend! We have enough space and supplies for your small group to stay with us for as long as you like. We know these hills and caves very well. It will be quite safe for your injured men to be quiet here until they are strong enough to travel."
So they'd stayed. Four days of rest for Goniff, Chief and Actor. Garrison could judge their improvement by the complaints he got from them about being left behind while he and Casino went out with Clermont and helped the underground leader in his efforts to disrupt and destroy as much of the enemies plans and supplies as he could manage. Casino worked with the group, teaching them about explosives, how to create them from the supplies they could find, or use the stuff they could steal. Garrison helped extend the guerilla fighter's network of contacts by putting him in touch with others in the area that he had worked with in the past.
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The others had been taken back to the estate by truck, under guard, after they'd been checked out. There was no other way to describe how the new soldiers treated them, looked at them, when they'd climbed into the back. The only reason he'd let them go was Rawlins' presence in the cab of the truck. He'd managed to get a call out to him, and he'd come along to see them back, back to their prison on the grounds. Garrison stayed at the hospital with Chief and Goniff, ignoring the order to report for debriefing. He didn't trust anyone anymore, didn't trust them to take care of his men or get them back to the estate. Wilhoitz could wait, damn it!
It hadn't taken Findlay long to examine them, hardly long enough to step into the room and see who they were. The man was standing in front of him now, calmly turning them back over to him. "You can't release them!" Garrison stood staring at the medical officer.
"I have released them Lieutenant. That half-breed of yours sprained his shoulder. A handful of aspirin and an ice pack will take care of that just fine. You can keep wasting that horse liniment on him if you want to. As for the other one... If he'd stay off the booze he wouldn't have any pain in his gut. I see him in here again and I'll cut him loose for the lush he is. Is that what you want, Lieutenant? Because if it is, I'd be happy to arrange his ticket back to the States right now!"
"No, sir!" Garrison forced himself to calm down. "I'll take them back to the estate with me." He snapped off a salute and turned to go collect his men.
He'd have to find someone willing to risk a trip over the wall to get them the help they needed, but by God they'd get it! He knew the word was out in the town and surrounding area. The locals knew they'd be arrested for trespassing if they were found on the estate, but he hoped they'd made friends with one or two who would be willing to risk it. When he walked in he was relieved to see they'd at least provided Chief with a sling. The young man got to his feet when the door opened, knowing what the stiffness in Garrison's spine and the grim set of his jaw meant. "Come on. We're getting out of here."
Chief moved over to the table Goniff was stretched out on and waited for Garrison to step up alongside him. The little pick pocket had been sick again, throwin up. He was pale and sweaty and miserable, usin' his hands to press down against the ache in his belly that he got when he was on his feet too long. The Warden slid his hand under Goniff's neck and helped him sit up on the side of the table, then slipped under his arm and wrapped his hand around his waist as he stood. Chief steadied him from the other side with his good hand. They weren't even gonna waste a damn wheelchair on him. He gave the Warden a grim look. "We should a given ourselves up over there. We'd a got better treatment from the Krauts."
Garrison's head dropped and his eyes closed, he nodded before looking up and squaring his shoulders. He started Goniff easing toward the door, leaving Chief to open it for them. He was thinking the same thing. And, God help him, he'd considered it. If they'd been in uniform... he might have done it. When they'd made it outside he carefully helped Goniff into the back of the jeep he'd procured. He had a lot to think through and he used the slow careful ride back to the estate, and the quick violent drive back out to face Wilhoitz for the delayed debriefing to do it. Just before he'd left them in their quarters Garrison asked Chief for the name of the woman who'd taught him about the herbs that she used to come onto the grounds to collect, and where he might find her. He stopped on the way and talked to her. If she agreed, Casino would meet her out at the back of the property and get her inside. He couldn't believe they were having to run an operation on their own home ground.
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When Wilhoitz finally let him go it was after four in the morning. She was still there when he opened the door to the large room the men shared. She'd brought a small case with her, filled with books and herbs and salves. While he'd been gone she'd seen to all the cuts and bruises, soothed away the aching joints and the sleeplessness, fought the headaches and nausea. She still sat at the table, sipping tea and keeping watch. When the door opened she looked up expectantly, smiled and beckoned him to join her. Settling silently in across from her he accepted the cup she slid into his hand and brought it up close where he could inhale the fragrance. It smelled like peppermint and summer grass. The large clock in the hall struck five as the door opened. Looking up from his mug Garrison watched Sergeant Major Rawlings glance around the room.
"Civilians aren't allowed on the grounds, sir. I'm sorry, regulations."
He looked down, studying the amber liquid in the cup a moment before before bring the cup to his lips and taking a long deep swallow. When he sat the mug back down on the table the Lieutenant looked up and said quietly. "I don't see any civilians here Sergeant. Do you?"
Rawlins cast another glance around the room. "No sir. My mistake, sir." he said quietly as he closed the door again and left the Lieutenant to his vigil.
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"You'll take your whole team as ordered Lieutenant."
"No, sir. You may assign the missions to whichever unit you choose, but the team leaders determine which of their men are required, and Chief and Goniff aren't fit to go back over there. None of them are." It had only been a week! They were barely on their feet.
"Damn it Garrison, you are right on the edge. You'll follow my orders or I'll have you reassigned!"
"Go ahead, sir! I'll be glad to finally have a superior who'll listen to me when I report on the condition of my men." He'd kept his voice reasonable, but just barely.
"Your men won't be going with you Lieutenant, they'll be going straight back to prison where they belong!" Wilhoitz had gone red with fury and sweat beaded across his forehead, running down the sides of his face.
"Fine! We'll all go! Sir!" You bastard, he thought. I'll take all of them over there but I don't have to take them on this wild goose chase. They can sit it out with our contact in France... He'd figure out a way to leave them all over there too, until he found a way around this man. "Colonel Wilhoitz." Garrison came to attention and stared straight ahead as he waited for the Colonel to return his salute. He didn't care if it ended in a court marshal, he'd find some way to protect his men from this idiot.
When he left Wilhoitz he'd headed directly to the medical unit and put in a request to see Doctor Phillips. They'd dealt with him before and he hoped he could explain about the men and get him to certify them as unfit, keep them here under his care and protection until the assignment was over and he could get back to watch out for them himself. When the door to the consultation room opened all hope of that vanished. Findlay again. He might as well be dealing with Wilhoitz himself, the doctor held the same opinions about the team and seemed willing to do anything he could to get them discredited and sent home. "Sir. I thought I was seeing Doctor Phillips."
"Forget it Lieutenant. I've left a standing order that I'm to be called any time you or one of your men need something." The doctor faced him with a sneer. "What is it this time? Your pickpocket have a hang nail? Somebody have a belly ache? Or maybe that con artist of your has a little laryngitis?"
So that's how they were doing it. "No sir. Nothing. Nothing that you'll listen to."
"Good. I'm glad to hear you're all doing so well." The man moved to the door of the exam room. "I'll just see you off then, shall I?"
Garrison didn't move. He sat staring at the man's back and asked quietly, almost to himself, "Why?"
Findlay turned to face him, leaning his back against the door. "Why, what Lieutenant?"
"Well, you're a doctor. You took an oath to take care of people." He looked at the man standing in front of him, at that moment he didn't even have the energy to be angry with him, he just didn't understand. "Why are you insisting on sending them out when they're in no shape to go? When they'll stand a good chance of getting killed because they aren't fit to go. Why?"
The Major leveled a stony glare at Garrison as he answered. "A bunch of goons just like yours got into my home before I came over here, Lieutenant. I had a wife... I have a wife... but when they were done with her... She doesn't recognize me anymore. She doesn't even know her own name. I'm not even sure she knows she's still alive. They never caught any of them. They're still out there somewhere." He turned and put his hand on the door knob but looked back along his shoulder. "As far as I'm concerned Garrison the Germans can kill every one of your men, and welcome. They'll just be doing us a service." He opened the door and waited. "I'll escort you to your car, now Lieutenant." And a moment later added, "That's an order, not an offer."
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"So that's it?!" Casino's voice was raised in anger. He couldn't believe they were gonna be forced over there again.
"I can't get around either one of them." Garrison admitted, disgust with himself evident in his voice. "Wilhoitz has got something to prove, Findlay's carrying one hell of a grudge, and they're the two I have to deal with. When I can get passed them, I run right into Carlisle." He'd tried that, called through to the general's office and as soon as he'd admitted he did not have Wilhoitz' permission to make the call he'd been advised to take the issue up with his immediate superior. The general did not 'condone stepping outside the bounds of military protocol.'
"What'r we gonna do?" They were gathered around the table, the bottle and glasses sitting, ignored in front of them.
"We'll go over and do our job like we always do"
With a fatalism that was new to him Goniff studied the man that sat across from him. "But that ain't gonna be enough for them, is it Warden? They're not gonna be satisfied until we quit."
"Or one a us doesn't come back." Reaching out and finally picking up the drink that sat in front of him Casino knocked it back in one burning swallow.
Garrison kept his eyes locked on the glass in front of him. "None of you are coming back." he said quietly
"What!?"
"You're staying over there until I can get this sorted out." He was staring down into his drink, talking to it, rather than them. He might be able to convince Wilhoitz the team got separated, that he'd searched for them but had to return on his own....
"Jump ship?" Casino sat forward, reached out and picked up the bottle, slopping another measure into his glass. He wasn't sure what he was hearing, didn't know if he wanted to hear it, more was riding on his deal with the Army now than just his promised pardon... "You mean go AWOL?"
There was an edge of anger creeping into the Warden's voice. "I 'mean' stay alive!"
"But what about you? What if you..."
"Get court marshaled!? At least we'll all be out of it." He looked away "You can work with the underground or... or make your way back to the States. They'd probably break me and send me back to North Africa or over to Italy."
"Or Leavenworth!"
"So I'll break rocks for the rest of the war!" The men watched him, what he was suggesting could get him a front row seat with a firing squad and they all knew it.
"Is that really what you want us to do?" Actor asked quietly, waiting for his reply, judging what it would be from the look on his face as the Warden thought about it.
"No." He didn't want them scattered to the winds over in Europe, didn't want them to go back on the streets in the States. But he was too tired, he didn't see any other way. Garrison was sure if Wilhoitz managed to send them back they wouldn't just go back to the prisons he'd taken them out of. They wouldn't just pick up their sentences where they'd left off. Wilhoitz would see to it that every infraction he'd dredged up and written in his damn ledger would be held against them, stacked against them. And he wouldn't put it out of the man's scope to use some of the things they'd had to do to get their assignments done over on the continent against them. They sure as Hell wouldn't be getting their pardons at the end of the war for 'services rendered'. The Colonel'd do his best to get them longer sentences than they'd started with. Death sentences if he could managed it. "But the way things are we're too..."
"...Easy to blackmail? That's why you've been goin' over on your own ain't it? Because he's been threatenin' us?" Chief's voice held an edge of accusation.
The look on the Warden's face was the only answer they needed but he still tried to deny it. "There was no reason for any of you to go on most of those. Besides," and his mouth quirked up in a sarcastic smile, "I was trying to throw his damn statistics off."
"D'you mean that bastard's keepin' score!!?"
"Oh yeah!" Garrison snorted in disgust. "He's got a very elaborate point system all worked out. How many men. How many days. How much in supplies... He even rates how valuable the information coming back is. Same thing for anything we destroy over there. Calls it a 'strategic value factor.'"
Goniff shook his head, wishing he had the courage to try a drink. The lingering pain in his middle told him that wouldn't be the best idea, but the situation sure called for it. "That's crazy!"
"That's right." Garrison picked up the bottle and filled their glasses again. "And that's what we're dealing with."