It's Never Easy
Chapter 1
"Look, we haven't got time to argue. You'll have to do it. We've no other choice."
"You're nuts! There's no way I can do it. I can't walk in there into a crowd of Krauts. I Can't." Chief glared at the man who was supposed to be the sane one. He was supposed to be the one who came up with the sensible ideas. This one was just stupid. Casino would throw this one out there as a joke or to piss him off but to have it come out of Garrison's mouth, that was just insane. And he was insane if he thought Chief could walk into a room full of German officers.
"Chief, we've come this far. We can't back out now. The case has to be there."
"But a German general?"
"Field Marshal."
"Why can't we wait for Actor? He could do it," he asked out of desperation.
"You know why. Besides he was part of the rescue. He would be recognized as well. You're the only one he didn't see. Come on." He turned and began the trip back to the deserted cellar where they had hid the uniform.
This nice easy mission, like all the easy ones that were sent their way, was turning into a suicide mission. As Chief followed his leader he contemplated the mess they were in. The plan had called for Garrison, dressed as a Field Marshal, to walk into the hotel lobby, place a case in the cloak room and then leave. Being fluent in German made him the perfect choice. Sounded simple enough but when they cased the room Garrison had recognized one of the Germans. On a previous mission the American officer had been caught. It stood to reason that if Garrison recognized his interrogator then he would recognize his would-have-been victim. Chief knew he would be risking the mission and his life if he went ahead with the plan. They had to change it, but for him to do it? He shook his head.
The good thing about being on a large team was that if one couldn't do it, then someone else could only this time there was just the two of them. Less than twenty four hours ago Actor and Casino had been borrowed by one of the other teams who's resident conman/safecracker had been killed before they could complete a vital mission. Goniff and Casino had both been laid low with food poisoning on their last mission. Casino had been recovering so he and Actor had been flown in to Belgium. Goniff, still on a liquid diet, stayed home.
By the time they reached the cellar Garrison had obviously thought it through. "You're right. " He sounded resigned. "There's no way you can do it. You'd be caught right away. This is what we'll do. Stay here outa sight. I'll go into town and get something to dye my hair. Hopefully he won't recognize me." He turned and left.
Chief watched him leave. When he was on his own he was responsible for himself. What had to be done, he had to do it. There was a sort of freedom to come and go as he had to. There was also a hardship. Everything that had to be done he had to do it no matter how hard or how tired he was, he had to do it. Now he was part of a team, a team who looked out for each other, a team who shared the work, each doing his part, each ensuring the survival of the others.
This time he felt he was letting the team down, he was letting the man who had gone out of his way to help him, save him, he was letting him down. The Warden would go in there knowing he was going to get caught all because he was scared. That was the word that had always goaded him to fight. All his tormentor had to do was accuse him of being scared and he was right there fists flying. He was never scared. Never, until now. Now he knew. He was scared. He heard again the childhood tormentors ' Scardy Cat, Chicken', the sing-song 'Baby Boy's a Chicken.'
He hated that. NO! He Was Not a Chicken. He would do it. He would show them. He wasn't scared.
Chief went into the back of the cellar and grabbed the uniform. Yanking his coat off he pulled his sweater up over his head, unbuttoned his pants and slid them down. He stepped out of his pants and into the dreaded uniform.
His mind zeroed in on an old memory. When he was younger he was taken to a Residential school where all the children were forced to wear uniforms and spend half the day marching out under the afternoon sun. He had hated it. Regimentation, boredom, yelled orders, yelled reprimands, beatings…..
He pulled the overcoat over his shoulders and shrugged. It was not a good fit. The uniform was for Garrison. Though almost the same height, Garrison was wider in the shoulders. Close enough. He peered out to make sure the coast was clear then entered the street. He would walk the four blocks, enter the lion's den, place the case and exit. All he could do was hope not to be questioned.
As he walked he thought of Actor. When he was doing a con he started before they got to the scene. He said he was 'getting into character'. So he tried walking tall, straight and proud as he had seen their con man do. He ran the few stock phrases he knew through his mind but none of them really fit. To calm his nerves he began to repeat the words Goyen had taught him.
I am an Apache warrior, brave, strong and fearless. I fight til I die. I am an Apache Warrior, brave, strong and fearless. I am a German Field Marshal, brave, strong and fearless. I will fight until the case is in place.
It seemed wrong to change the words but he was sure Goyen and the elders would understand. This Apache Warrior needed the strength to fight the enemy, the Nazi's and the fear.
By the time he walked up the steps, he was calm, at least on the outside. He would get the job done.
Chief walked into his worst nightmare. Ever since he had been bullied as a child he had hid. Every move was designed to be unobserved. Most people don't notice the quiet ones so he was quiet. If he had to be where there were people he stayed on the fringe. Even his clothes were selected to make him blend in, dark, never flashy. Now here he was, in a room full of bullies. Even his uniform would attract attention. Why couldn't he have been a bell boy. Then all he would have to do was bow a lot. Mentally he measured the distance he had to go. Relatively it was short but to him it felt like the last mile, the one leading to the gallows. There was one other time when he had tried to avoid a crowd but he had been found out and confronted. He had been terrified, his worst nightmare, front and center to a angry crowd, but this time instead of a beating he would be tortured and killed. The worst of it would be that it would be all for nothing. A scaredy cat and a no good useless loser who couldn't even carry out a simple order. Throw in stupid for getting himself into this position when all he had to do was wait for Garrison to do it and there were the three strikes. Three strikes and you're out.
He walked into the room and stood surveying the crowd of eight or nine German officers. As much as he wanted to race for the cloakroom on the other side of the room he knew he had to act the part. Survey complete he began the longest mile.
Disaster! Someone had approached from his right and was asking him something. He turned and saw one of the hotel staff. German attitude, use it. He glared at the offending man and was pleased to see him wilt and move away. He had succeeded but that was with a civilian, one trained to serve. No German officer would react like that. All he could do was hope no one spoke to him. He put on his coldest angriest face.
It was not enough. Front and centre was a short fat bald officer. Chief was so intent on his role that he did not stop to think whether the man outranked him or not. Didn't really matter, did it. He was being asked something and he had no idea how to respond. The man's face held no clue, it was devoid of expression.
Fighting his way out was not an option either. He was dead.
The question was repeated. He had only one possibility and even that one was weak. He put his free hand to his throat and tried to clear it.
"Ah, laryngitis. Ich habe gerade das ding." He turned away and Chief breathed a sigh of relief. No idea what he said but it was now even more imperative that he get the case to it's designated place fast.
He continued with his mission. The case was placed and he began the return trip. He could still get caught but there was a chance the case would not to be noticed. The plan could still work. All he had to do was walk back out the door alive.
Half way back, so far, so good, then disaster. The same officer was back but this time he handed Chief a glass. Obviously he was to drink it. There was no reason for him to bring him water so he knew it was something stronger. He took the glass, raised it to his nose and inhaled slowly. Peaches, not water. The officer was watching him closely and was starting to look suspicious. He had no choice. He put the glass to his lips and tossed it back. And gagged.
Chief knew beer and whiskey and even moonshine but this was something else. It burned all the way down to his stomach and took his breath away. It took all his skill at hiding his emotions to keep a somewhat straight face. "Danke", he croaked as he nodded in appreciation. That was the correct response, the German was beaming. Then he asked something else but Chief remained looking miserable and gestured towards the door.
"Ja, Ich werde dafür sorgen" he announced and turned away. Chief continued on his way at a slightly quicker pace. The door, he was at the door and freedom, but it was not to be. The officer was waiting for him and proceeded to escort him to a car.
Shit, thought Chief. He's gonna want an address. Shit. Where was Garrison, he wondered as he scanned the street. He was alone. The last thing he wanted to do was get in the car. There, he would be trapped. He had to find a way. He could suggest walking but a sick man wouldn't walk. He looked again in desperation but there was no escape.
He climbed into the car while the driver held the door. It seemed little consolation that the case was in place. Chief sat down and leaned back, resting his head on the back of the seat in spite of the fact it exposed his throat. The officer climbed in on the other side and made himself comfortable. Chief sat up. The officer asked something so he nodded. He was as good as dead as it was.
Chief was scared stiff. All he could do was concentrate on acting as if he belonged and understood. Maybe if he knew where he was being taken then it would be better. Unless that place was to a train going directly to Berlin to see Hitler himself. Understandably he would rather not know that. But where was he being taken? He couldn't even object. Even if he could speak the language he couldn't say 'just let me out here and I'll walk home. They would offer to drive. All he could do was try to memorize the route on the off chance he got away.
The driver put the car in gear and they pulled away from the curb. Chief hoped the ride was long so he could figure out what to do. If they stopped at a hotel, he would get out, thank the annoying little bastard and hoped he would leave him alone. If not …. What if he took him to a hospital? Hopefully there would be a window he could get out. If he didn't leave him alone and insisted on accompanying him then he would have to kill him. He had no alternative.
Another question was asked that Chief didn't understand but before he could respond there was a furious honking immediately behind them. The officer turned to look then spoke to the driver. The car pulled to a stop. Chief was about to get out when a familiar voice spoke at the drivers window.
It was Garrison. He was dressed in a German uniform and he was speaking in German but looking at him so he sat and listened. Then he stopped speaking and gestured to the other car. Chief recognized a rescue when he saw one and silent breathed a sigh of relief. He had no idea what was being said but knew it didn't matter. The gesture was the obvious clue. He nodded. Desperate to get out he was about to open the door then remembered. Instead he motioned and Garrison, ever the dutiful aide opened it for him. He got out, offered his thanks then executed a perfect salute for the German, turned and walked back to the other car.
Keeping up appearances he walked to the rear door and waited for it to be opened. Being so grateful for his rescue but too afraid to blow it he maintained his silence and superior attitude all the way back to the far side of town. Finally Garrison ditched the car near the cellar they had stayed in and they stripped off their jackets. Making sure the way was clear the two men returned to their refuge.