Family Matters
by Dale Harsh
When it had become apparent that Garrison was going to pace the hospital hallways, or the floor in his room, rather than get the sleep the doctors said he needed he'd been released to come back to the estate with explicit orders to rest. The fact that he was in his quarters now had less to do with those instructions than it did with the difficulty he had making the climb up the stairs. That had worried the men enough that they'd set a 'guard' on him and it was the second story man's turn to keep an eye on the Warden for the next few hours while the others were across town at Mrs. Reid's place, keeping their promise to visit with the kids.
Garrison took a deep careful breath. It felt like he had one of Chief's blades between the ribs under his arm again. Goniff was right, and he'd been worrying about just that as he lay there in the bed, sweating out the fever. "I know. Go down and get my briefcase out of the office for me."
That wasn't exactly what the little thief had in mind, but the Warden had that no nonsense look in his eye and without the others around to back him up Goniff found it easier to do what he was told. He'd try and clean up any trouble it caused later. He went into the office and brought back the heavy leather case, setting it down on the bed within Garrison's reach. "That's not gonna help any!" He watched the forms and pen come out and shook his head as the Warden pulled the case onto his legs to use it as a desk. "You'r 'spose t'be restin'."
"I will, I promise. But I have to get this done first." Starting to write he seemed to forget the little cockney was in the room. The first set of paperwork had gone through faster than he had expected and he'd been asked to provide more information, which he'd done, this was the second request. He had to get it out. He knew if Reynolds were around he would follow up, but with him out of it now he was afraid the whole thing would die if something happened and he couldn't see it through. Wilhoitz couldn't stop it, couldn't stop him from responding to the requests, but he certainly wouldn't follow it up himself. Besides, Garrison laughed silently, Wilhoitz was having enough trouble dealing with the 'epidemic' of food poisoning Rawlins and the other team Sergeants had arranged, to worry about something like this. Good man, Rawlins, spoke some Italian and German too� too bad his accent was so atrocious. With a devious mind like his he might be valuable on their trips across the channel.
Operations had ground to a halt and, while he was still in charge, Colonel Wilhoitz and his methods were under investigation. Findlay was waiting to be rotated home and he would probably be issued out of the service. Garrison got that from Dr. Philips when the man had come to him in the hospital before he'd been shipped back to the estate and thanked him for alerting them to the 'stress' Dr. Findlay was under due to the condition of his wife.
He was shocked that he'd been able to pull that act off. While he was sympathetic to the wife for what had happened to her and a part of him could certainly understand Findlay's deep anger over it, the greater part of him, especially the part centered in his hands, just wanted to wring the doctor's neck for trying to get him and his men killed to satisfy his need for revenge. Actor had been in the room at the time he very earnestly expressed his concern about the good doctor Findlay to Dr. Philips. Knowing the consummate con artist had to step out so that he could have a good laugh in the hallway had done nothing for Garrison's concentration. Philips hadn't seemed to notice his lapse, or maybe he just put it down to the fever.
Goniff watched him through the first page and into the second before he got up and headed for the door, wondering at the grim smile that crossed his face. It was no good. Whatever the Lieutenant had in his head he was stubborn enough to see it done, no matter what. The little thief wandered back down to the kitchen, wishing again that it'd been Actor left behind today instead of him. At least the big Italian had a possibility of conning the Warden into doin' like he was 'spose to. He didn't stand a chance, and he knew it.
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The Warden caught him in the hallway a couple a days after he was up on his feet and they'd finally let him come back downstairs. He'd worked through the papers that had built up while he was flat on his back. The stuff that wasn't marked with the military codes that demanded his attention even if he was sick had been left on his desk and he'd just found the orders. A quick phone call to confirm them and Garrison had given him the word. �. The final papers had come through, it was really official now.
Casino hadn't wanted to tell the guys, not until he was absolutely sure it was going to happen. They'd all been in the library when he walked in and told them the plan, the Warden leaning in the doorway behind him as he explained. Jeannette would ship out for the States and his younger sister would take care of her. Mrs. Reid had tried to find a family for her here in England, but with the stress of the war right on their doorstep no one seemed to want to take on the additional responsibly of a child with her special needs. That was fine by him, he'd known he wanted her as a part of his family the moment he'd seen her� Now he was getting exactly what he wanted, what he hoped they all needed.
The groups' enthusiasm for the idea was genuinely warm and heartfelt. They'd all taken to the little girl as soon as she'd arrived at the estate. Watching him with her they knew there was a special bond between them. Their safe cracking expert might put on a tough guy act for the rest of the world to see, but they'd worked together long enough to know him for what he was. Square built and tough, as likely to take a swing at you as grab you up in a bear hug. Temperamental and quick to anger and just as quick to laugh. Opinionated, belligerent, aggressive, argumentative, quarrelsome, loud mouthed and cantankerous he was always spoiling for a fight. As soon as you thought you had him figured as someone just watching out for himself he'd reach out and take a child into his arms to comfort them over a skinned knee. No matter how hard he tried to hide it Casino was the softest touch around.
"Are you sure Casino?" Goniff hurried along before the man could get mad, "I mean, is your sister gonna be able to take care of a little tyke like her?"
"You mean 'cause a the braces, and the wheelchair?" When he turned he'd been ready to deck the guy, but when he looked into his eyes all he saw was real concern and it threw water on the anger that was ready to boil up in defense of the little girl he'd already grown to love. "Marika and Chris know all about that Goniff. It doesn't make any difference to them."
"But she'll need special stuff, doctors and things� Will they be able to get it for her? I mean, I could chip in if�" Goniff sent money to his Mum and Molly over in New York, but he didn't have anything else, anyone else. If he had enough in his pockets for a beer or two down at the Doves that was enough, he'd be glad to send the rest along for the little girl, and his willingness showed on his face.
Goniff had been trailing him along the hallway as he made his way to the door, he was headed out to give Jeannie the good news. Casino stood there in the entrance to the mansion they called home for a minute before he could answer. "It's OK Goniff. Chris's got a good job and Marika's in tight with a bunch a doctors. They can take care of her." He swung away and then thought about what the little guy was offering and turned back. He grabbed the pick pocket in a quick violent hug. Releasing him he gave him a resounding slap on the shoulder before he turned and walked down the steps to the jeep that waited to take him across town.
Goniff watched the vehicle as it pulled away. Reaching up he rubbed at the spot that was tingling on his arm from the safe cracker's friendly blow. When the barrier dropped closed down at the gate he turned to go back into the house, and found Chief and Actor watching him from the doorway.
"You gonna be OK?" the young man asked, amusement in his voice.
The little burglar walked past them, flexing his arm and wiggling the fingers of his hand, he shrugged, grinning. "I think so."
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Operations had started up again, teams that had been cleared by the medical staff at the hospital were going across the channel again, but their unit was still sitting at home in the English countryside just outside London. Chief and Goniff, both recovering from their injuries, continued to play up their pain and weakness so the Warden wouldn't get any funny ideas. They were actually close to being fit for duty but had decided to turn the Lieutenant's concern for them against him, to put off the trip they knew would eventually come, until his stubborn insistence that he was 'fine' came closer to being the truth.
Garrison chafed at not being able to go back to field work, but Goniff and Chief still needed some time. Philips said neither one of them was strong enough yet to take on another mission. That left him nothing to do but paperwork. Wilhoitz might have been tamed enough by the ongoing investigation to turn his hostility away from setting the team impossible assignments in the hopes that they'd fail, or worse be captured or killed, in order to remove the men from the Special Forces section, but it didn't keep him from sending every sheet of paper he could find in Garrison's direction. After all, evaluating, interpreting and translating was considered light duty, and that's what the doctors stuck him with. They were wrong though. He was fine. He was ready to go back.
Garrison shook his head as he packed the briefcase with the papers he'd been studying and headed out for his meeting. He knew getting all this stuff ready was vitally important. The teams he sent over there had a right to expect every bit of information he could give them, and every idea he could dredge up to get them through their assignments. And they'd get it. Garrison was responsible for three units and they'd get everything it was in his power to deliver,,, he just wished he was taking his own group out. He hadn't realized until now how hard it was to stay behind and just wait for word,,, wait to see if the people he sent over there would be coming back.
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For once his intelligence gathering instincts had failed him. He didn't realize that Wilhoitz had been harassing the other teams. The unique nature of his own group made it easier for the colonel to threaten them, and harder for Garrison to establish supportive relationships with the other team leaders. They had yet to use his unit in a combined mission, and the time that he had at headquarters to get to know his fellow officers was almost always cut short as he raced back to the manor, into town, or up into London to bail the cons out of their latest predicament. While Wilhoitz had been threatening his group with renewed prison terms, he'd been using the close knit relationship all teams develop against them by threatening to break them up if they didn't tow the line and do things his way. With the danger they faced and the intensity of the missions they undertook most of the units had developed close ties, family-like ties that mattered to them, mattered deeply. And while none of the men would admit it, no one wanted to see their unit fail and be disbanded.
The meeting was being held in one of the large conference rooms rather than Colonel Wilhoitz office. That was fine with Garrison, he hated to go one on one with the man.
"Colonel, I'm sorry, sir, but that just won't work!" He had tried for twenty minutes to get his point across to this hard headed son of a bitch and he just wasn't getting it. Damn the near sighted paper pusher! What they needed was a man who'd been out in the field himself. They needed someone who could understand the challenges and dangers they faced to bring back the information and accomplish the assignments they were given. What they needed was Reynolds.
"Don't you take that tone with me Lieutenant! I'm still head of this section, and I say it will work. And what I say goes! You got that!"
Something in him snapped. He wasn't the only one. Several in the room had started to shift uncomfortably as the discussion between them had escalated. A low rumble started in the group of men that went across the channel on a regular basis, risking their necks to bring back the information this man just saw as statistics, numbers on a page, bits of information in a report. He didn't see the people who put themselves on the line,,, didn't count the cost in injuries or loss of life. He didn't care about the danger he put anyone in, just as long as he could fill in the equations on his damn forms.
"Alright! You go ahead and try it your way�sir. You want to know what it will get you?" Garrison didn't wait for an answer. He wasn't going to get the OK to keep going because this jackass didn't want to know the truth. He just wanted to have people blindly follow his orders. How in the hell had he reached this level, and what in the devil was he doing over here!? "Since you're so fond of numbers� What that's going to get you is about a seventy-five percent mortality rate." He could hear the others grumbling their agreement.
Wilhoitz had gotten to his feet and was staring back at him, red faced as always, but speechless for once. "It's also going to show the underground that we don't put any value on their lives, that we are willing to abandon them the moment we get what we want. So you'll get a hundred percent drop in assistance!" His head was pounding and he was breathing hard, sweat had started across his forehead and he could feel it begin to trail down his back. Now he knew that it really was possible to get so mad you couldn't see straight because the colonel was beginning to blur around the edges, and the room was going dark. "Just how long do you think we can keep this operation going without their cooperation anyway? Does your damn fool formula tell you that?! Sir?!"
He didn't hear the chairs scrape across the floor as the others in the room came to their feet behind him. His own angry blood roaring in his ears kept him from hearing the rustle of fabric as they saluted.
"That will be quite enough, Lieutenant Garrison."
He didn't manage to make the turn all the way around to face the door. He didn't see the man that belonged to the voice. But he recognized the voice, just before he passed out and hit the floor.
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Reynolds found what he'd seen and heard as he'd walked into the conference room where the meeting was being held hard to believe. The Sergeant had intimated there was trouble in the group as he drove him in from the airfield, but he hardly expected to see the beginnings of open revolt when he opened the door. It didn't, however, surprise him to have Garrison in the middle of it all. The young man had a way of stepping around the rules, which made him the perfect leader for his group, but the tone of his voice held the warning that his next step could very likely lead to violence.
"That will be quite enough, Lieutenant Garrison." He had other things to say, but the sight of the man as he turned to face him caused the reprimand to die on his lips, and then he was moving forward, trying vainly to break the Lieutenant's fall. As he dropped down next to the young man a ring of his fellow officers formed around them. Searching their faces a moment he asked, "What the devil's been going on here?" His question was met by dead silence as all of them turned to look towards the head of the room, towards Colonel Oscar P. Wilhoitz.
Wilhoitz was red-faced and breathing hard, sweat was beaded across his forehead, anger flashed in his eyes along with a touch of fear. He'd had no word that Reynolds was on the way back. Carlisle had promised him that the control of the section was his. He'd been in agreement with him that things needed to be tightened up in the operating budget and he had been making great headway. He could prove the cost effectiveness of each one of the units with his complex formula, and if this man thought he was just going to waltz back in and take over he had another thing coming. He had friends in powerful positions, friends who'd arranged for him to come over here so that he could get his time in a combat zone and then get his promotion. Reynolds wasn't going to stand in the way of that, and neither was that upstart Garrison, or his little group of 'experts'. Wilhoitz just needed a little more time, a few more entries in his ledgers to prove they weren't as productive as people seemed to think they were.
Reynolds' eyes narrowed in dislike as he gazed at Wilhoitz. He hadn't gotten on with the man when they'd first met. His position was that of a 'statistical expert' and he'd been sent over to see if there was a way to make the operation of the group and distribution of the information they gathered more efficient. It hadn't taken Reynolds long to discover that the man had no feel for the work the section did, and no idea how to handle the men that made it up. He seemed to irritate everyone he came in contact with. Part of that was his overbearing conviction that he was right, and his hard headed determination to prove himself. Reynolds had met and worked with many men who held those attitudes. Young men who shouldered the responsibility for this kind of work had to have confidence and tenacity, the older officers needed the self assurance and conviction to send them into danger. This man lacked those qualities, all he had was self centered, bloody minded stubbornness.
Reynolds glanced at one of the men standing by but before he could give the order one of the team leaders Garrison was currently handling spoke up. "I've sent Bishop for a corpsman, sir. I'll take care of him now, if you like."
Reynolds stood, giving way to three men who stepped to Lieutenant Garrison's aid. "Thank you, Peters. Gentlemen this meeting is at an end. Please return to you duties." He watched as the rest of the younger men moved towards the door. After a moments thought he cleared his throat. At the sign they turned and waited his orders. "I will expect an evaluation from each of you on the fitness of your group and a summary of the missions you have undertaken in my absence on my desk by oh-six-hundred tomorrow. Thank you gentlemen, dismissed."
By the time the unit leaders had cleared the room a team of corpsmen was in the hallway. Within moments they had removed Lieutenant Garrison to the small medical unit that was housed in the basement of the headquarters building. Reynolds watched them go, clasping his hands behind his back he turned and fixed a considering eye on Wilhoitz. "Oscar, I believe we have some issues to discuss. Come along with me, will you?" And with that he turned on his heel and stalked to the office that Wilhoitz had taken over when he usurped control of this group.
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"I've been reading some of these reports Oscar, and there seems to have been a rather high turnover in the section since you took it over. The statistics on injury, and illness, have risen dramatically, and I have three requests for transfer..." If this miserable little excuse for a human being was going to stand in front of him and spout statistics again today Reynolds decided he was more that equal to the task of shredding his obstinate insistence in the effectiveness of his management of this group of young officers and men. "Things seemed to have gone especially hard on Lieutenant Garrison and his men."
"You said it yourself! They are expendable. All of them, if the value of the information warrants it! And as for that group of hoodlums� That little experiment should have ended as soon as you had proof those men were able to get past the bars and off their base. I haven't had time to research it properly yet, but I'll lay you odds statistics will show the incidence of burglary and theft has risen in the area around that madhouse. I am of the opinion, Colonel Reynolds," Wilhoitz stopped his pacing and fixed the other man with a defiant glare, "and General Carlisle agrees with me�. I am of the opinion that Garrison's group has not proven themselves to be a practical use of the section's resources." He had the proof, the cost of maintaining those convicts on a separate base, ringed with guards, the cost of the repairs and modifications to the residence itself� modifications that didn't make one instants difference to their just waltzing in and out whenever they jolly well pleased. He'd put an end to all that when he'd sent his own contingent of men out to take over security at that makeshift penitentiary.
"What are you suggesting?" Reynolds' voice had gone quiet, the look on his face mild, expectant. If Wilhoitz had known him better he would have recognized that as a sign of the storm that was about to break over him
"That we cut our losses and send them packing, back to the holes that Lieutenant of yours dug them out of!"
Finding out Wilhoitz had seized control of his section had been a major factor in Reynolds' decision to remain on active duty. Even though he'd had the papers in front of him that, once signed, would have relieved him of further responsibility to the military, he'd found he couldn't turn his back on the men he'd come to respect and admire. He couldn't merely set aside the bond he'd formed with the young men he had in his command and 'let someone else take the responsibility' as his family had urged. Yes, someone else could do the job, if it came to that. But that someone was not O. P. Wilhoitz.
Reynolds had been quietly, coldly furious about the disruption to the units he had worked so hard to develop. While the aides that he had when he was in command had been replaced in favor of people who held the same philosophy as the cretin that was standing in front of him, the NCOs were still there. In his arrogance Wilhoitz had discounted the power and control the sergeants had over the day to day operation of the section, something Reynolds had never taken for granted. He'd found what they had to say about the operating environment and working conditions extremely interesting. He was especially intrigued by the information that had been provided by the quartermaster and cooks as to the quality of the supplies and food Wilhoitz had been utilizing in order to 'bring the section onto a more profitable footing.'
If he'd had an ounce of insight into the workings of another persons mind or emotions Wilhoitz would have realized that the quieter Reynolds became, the more perilous his own position. But the smug look on his face was proof positive that he was blissfully unaware of his danger.
"Let me tell you this, you little twit� As you are fool enough to threaten me with General Carlisle, I remind you that I have had a very long, very cordial, and very 'productive' relationship with General Fremont. And in case it has escaped your notice, General Fremont outranks Carlisle. Further more, I believe that what you have done to Lieutenant Garrison's unit has been nothing short of the vilest sort of blackmail. And that by using substandard food and supplies to cut costs you open yourself to suspicion of embezzling funds from the section, and I will be looking into the possibility of bringing you up on charges. I suggest you gather your paperwork and marshal your bloody statistics, because I intend to launch an investigation of my own into your mismanagement of this section and that unit, and I have no doubt that in the end I will find that you have been neither 'productive' nor 'profitable.' I want you and your books in here tomorrow morning at eleven-hundred Colonel Wilhoitz. Now get out!"