by Pilot
They had managed to hold the Germans off at the bridge long enough for the others to get Sister Therese and the children away to safety. Lieutenant Craig Garrison and Chief then escaped on "borrowed" Nazi motorcycles. But disaster struck when Garrison was shot by the pursuing enemy soldiers. Losing control of the motorcycle, the soldier landed in a sprawl on the ground. The Indian rushed back to him. He was leaning over the wounded blond when the enemy soldiers caught up with them.
"Warden?" Chief called out quietly. To his surprised relief, hazel eyes opened in response.
"Chief..."
"Lay still, okay? Just lay still."
"...Germans..." he muttered.
Looking over his shoulder, the young man sighed. "They're already here." Chief felt the Lieutenant grip his arm.
"Help...me up," the wounded man said through clenched teeth.
"Warden "
His protests were cut short by the Nazi officer who now stood over them. The man spoke gruffly in his native language. Chief glanced at the man and then back at Garrison.
"He wants us...in the...car..." Garrison translated. He began pulling himself up. Putting an arm around him, Chief got him to his feet. Garrison surprised Chief even further by pushing him away and walking with a slow but steady gait toward the car. A gun butt connecting with his ribs sent the Apache after the Lieutenant.
They found themselves thankfully alone in the back seat of the German vehicle. Positioning himself in the far corner, Garrison was supported between the seat and side of the big car. He maneuvered his injured arm across the top of the door. He barely made a sound, though Chief knew that he had to be in a great deal of pain.
The Germans had paid little attention to either of the men. Garrison took advantage of that inattentiveness to formulate a plan. "Chief," he motioned the other man over to him. "You're hurt...pretty bad..." The Warden muttered.
The Indian stared at him, wondering if the man had hurt his head when he fell off the bike. "I'm fine, " he assured the blond.
"No...you're wounded..."
"Warden "
"Listen!" He hissed the order. "The krauts aren't seeing anything but two enemy soldiers. I...want you to pretend you're...hurt..."
"Okay," he stretched out on the seat, still unsure of what was going on. Leaning backward, he made certain that he put none of his weight on Garrison. Instead, he became yet another source of support to the badly injured man. They were on the move now, and the driver paid little heed to the ruts and potholes that were in abundance along the dirt road.
"We'll s-stop in the next...the next town," Garrison relayed the information he had overheard to the other man. "When...we do, y-you let them...think you're the one...that's wounded."
"What good's that gonna do?"
"Th-they won't figure...that...you're a th-threat...no...guards...you... "
"I can get away," the plan finally revealed itself to him.
"Yeah," Garrison said, smiling with relief.
"Warden, if I can get a gun, I can come for you. We can get back and... "
"NO! Listen...get a-away...Chief. Get to the farmhouse..." he groaned as the car hit a particularly bad place in the road.
"Warden, I ain't leavin' without you!" the young man's face plainly showed shock at what the other man was suggesting.
"Chief! Y-you...gotta get back..help...get those kids...outta here. I'm sh-shot up too badly...can't make it..." his voice grew weaker with every syllable.
"I'll go back, Warden," the young man said with a tone of defeat. Silently he added 'but we're comin' back for you.'
They reached the German hospital in the next town. The two men found themselves guarded by the driver while the officer who had led their capture went inside. A pair of orderlies hurried out with a stretcher a few seconds later. Without a word Chief, pretending to hold his injured shoulder, climbed out of the car and allowed himself to be carried off on the stretcher.
The two men in frayed white jackets carried the dark-haired man into a small ground floor room. Dumping him unceremoniously onto a metal table, they moved away. One of the men folded the stretcher and left the room. Chief was alone with the second orderly. He had to make his move quickly. The con's ever-present switchblade seemingly appeared out of nowhere. The hapless German's final thought was one of amazement. The hilt of a knife had suddenly appeared in his chest.
Levering himself off the table, Chief retrieved the knife. Wiping the blade on his pant leg, he crossed the room in two quick strides.
Bounding onto the window ledge, Chief quickly surveyed the area. Satisfied that he had not been spotted, the brunet pounced to the ground and hurried away. At the same time, the German officer came back to the front steps of the hospital. Garrison had not moved. The soldier called out to him. Using every ounce of strength he could muster, the American pushed himself to his feet. He crossed slowly to the open door. With a final step, he simply fell from the car onto the ground. The officer rushed over to him. Garrison looked up at his enemy, seeing the surprise in his eyes. They had gotten away with it. He began to laugh in the man's face. He was still laughing when he lost consciousness, falling face first into the dirt. The soldier jumped to his feet, leaving Garrison where he fell.
Several minutes passed before anyone came to retrieve the unconscious man. He was lifted roughly, tossed onto a stretcher, and carried into the hospital. He roused to fingers of pain shooting through his upper body. The orderlies, one of whom had tended to Chief earlier, carried him to another small room. Across the hall, unbeknownst to Garrison, they were still tending to the removal of the man Chief had killed in his escape.
The world had been reduced to a narrow field for the soldier. He stared upward toward the cracked and peeling ceiling. A sound told him that someone had joined him in the tiny room. Lacking even the energy to turn his head, the wounded man waited until the visitor came into his range of vision.
The newcomer appeared to be a doctor. At least his thinning white hair and the once white coat over an officer's uniform denoted someone in authority. "You are an American, yes? Do you speak German?" He asked in his native tongue.
Far too tired to play games, Garrison simply replied, "Yes."
"You are badly wounded, do you understand?" The doctor asked.
"Yes."
"I am afraid that you may die. I will need to operate immediately."
"I... under...stand," the blond grated out each syllable through clenched teeth.
"I must also make you understand this. They will be asking you questions about your mission very soon. The officer who brought you here has gone to search for your comrade. When he is finished he will return to interrogate you. I have been told that I cannot give you anything that will allow you to sleep during your surgery. He wishes to speak to you as soon as he has returned. Do you understand what I am saying?"
The man's words sank through the fog slowly. Garrison closed his eyes and sighed. They were going to remove the bullets without benefit of anesthetic. He refused to show fear though. Gathering his resolve, the blond opened his eyes and looked into the doctor's own. "Do what...ever you have...to do."
Behind the look of disdain, the German's eyes revealed a grudging respect for this American. It was easy to see that the man had a strength that the doctor was not certain he could show under such circumstances. Then he shut away any such thoughts and turned away to ready his instruments.
Soon one of the orderlies joined the doctor. While the second man held Garrison down on the table, the doctor began slicing into the wounded GI's shoulder with a scalpel. The young blond clenched his jaw. His body went rigid. He tried everything within his power to remove his mind from what was happening to his body. But in the end, all that he could do was scream.
*^*^*^*^*
Chief had not slowed his pace. He knew that time was against them. He had to get to the farmhouse. He had to find the other cons. They would find a way to spring the Warden from that Nazi hospital. Actor had been the unofficial second-in-command almost since the beginning. The Apache knew that if anyone could come up with a plan to rescue their leader, it would be the big Italian.
Unbidden, memories came flooding back to the young con as he sped through the strange woods. When he had first been enlisted to act as part of a special unit for the American forces, he had hated every one of the white men he had been pressed to join. He especially hated the rigid army lieutenant who expected them to follow his orders without question. Then, Chief had only one thought, to get away at the first opportunity. He and Garrison had butted heads often back then. They still did at times. The Warden would never understand him any better than he would understand the Warden. But along the way, something had happened. The Warden had saved his life. Something he would never have expected from a white man. But it had happened. With that single act, whether by design or fate, he had gained Chief's never-ending loyalty.
Chief would not let the Warden down. They would find a way to free the man. If he had to die in the process, he would return for Garrison. He owed him that much. They all did. Pushing himself even harder, the young con sped toward the farmhouse and the barn where the others would be waiting.
It was soon in view. Stopping slowly, Chief watched from the safety of the trees. He knew that he could be walking into a trap. If the Germans had captured the others, he could find his own death or capture inside the old barn. Creeping closer, he listened. Finally, from inside, he heard laughter. The four children they were trying to help had found something to bring them joy in the midst of the madness of adults called war. He touched the door handle. Taking a deep breath, he opened it and joined the other cons and their charges inside.
Chief told them briefly what had happened. After a display of her expertise, and a confession that she too had once been both a con artist and a convict, Sister Therese joined them in their mission. Conning their way into the compound where the hospital was located, they rescued the Warden. Chief watched as the wounded man was lowered from the third floor window with a block and tackle that Actor and Goniff had rigged. He helped to guide the rope, bringing the blond to the ground. While Goniff scurried down the rope to join them, Chief lifted the Warden into his arms.
By the time Goniff reached the ground, Chief had pulled Garrison to his feet. The wounded man slumped against him, and Chief lifted him into his arms. The Englishman reached to help him, but Chief shook his head. "I got him, you check to make sure it's clear."
"Right," the Englishman nodded as he sprinted ahead. The Apache strode after him, Garrison cradled in his arms like a sleeping child.
They reached the ambulance unchallenged. Pulling the door open on the back of the truck, Goniff hopped in and reached for the Lieutenant. Chief lifted Garrison into the back of the ambulance where Goniff supported him while the Indian stepped into the vehicle. They got Garrison settled onto the stretcher.
"I'll go make certain Actor and Sister Therese make it out okay," Goniff said.
Chief only nodded, intent on making certain that the Warden was comfortable. He found a blanket and covered the man. The Lieutenant looked terrible, his face waxy, his breathing labored. He hadn't opened his eyes since reaching the ground.
"Thanks...Chief," the Warden said softly, eyes still closed. Chief found nothing to say, so he remained quiet. Garrison had learned to read the Apache's silences better then most. Reaching out, he grasped the young man's hand, squeezing it with what little strength he could muster. "Thank you, " he repeated. "You saved my life."
With an embarrassed nod, Chief backed out of the ambulance. They were not free yet. There was still work to do if they hoped to get away...
The end
