Talismans
From this height, Chief could see across the wide lawns and sculptured gardens to the mansion, rising stately and solid above the trees. From this distance, it could hide its frayed edges and neglected corners. The setting sun glinted from the leaded glass windows, and the turrets gleamed with the pinkish glow of the sunset, like something from a fairytale. It was hardly a fairytale, but it had become home.
Chief pounded a final nail into his last shingle, then shoved the hammer into its loop on his utility belt. He grabbed his shirt from where he'd tossed it over the peak of the roof, wiped his sweaty face with it, and tossed it over the edge of the roof.
"Hey, watch it, mate!" Goniff untangled his head and shoulders from the grimy shirt.
"You're lucky, dad." Chief slid down the roof and easily dropped the remaining six feet to the ground. He snatched his shirt back from Goniff. "Coulda been the hammer."
"Funny."
In the shade of an ancient oak, a cooler of water sat at the end of the charred picnic table they'd salvaged to use as a work bench. The water tasted of metal, but it was wet and cold. Chief downed a full cup and poured another one over his head.
The new shed they'd been working on was almost done. It wasn't as big as the original, the one they'd burned down earlier in the year, but it'd be more than large enough to stow the estate's grounds-keeping equipment. He'd enjoyed the challenge of figuring out the blueprints and turning them into an actual building, even if this whole exercise had been meant as punishment for the fiasco in London. They'd only been a little late getting back from the weekend leave. And they really hadn't needed the MP escort. But Garrison had been steamed.
"Need more shingles?" Casino hefted a heavy bundle from the back of the pickup truck.
"Naw, man, I'm done." Chief scrubbed a hand through his wet hair. "It's almost dark."
"Done?" Casino snorted a laugh. "You still got time to do another whole row."
What Chief was done with was taking orders from Casino. "Yeah, and who appointed you screw?"
Actor emerged from around the far corner, stripping off his own tool belt. "Well, the Warden did entrust the blueprints to Casino."
"Only cuz his uncle or somebody runs a construction company."
"And cuz it was his idea to burn down the first one," Goniff added with a smirk.
Casino swung on Goniff, raising a threatening finger. "Hey, that was your idea, limey. Don't try to pin that on me. I was the one who almost got barbecued in that bonfire, remember?"
Goniff smiled, dipping his head and backing away, his hands up defensively.
Casino dropped the bundle of shingles with a thud. "Look, the Warden gave me the plans and said to get this thing built before the next mission. The more you slackers goof off, the less time we'll have..."
"Too late." Chief was the first to hear the jeep, before its rooster tail of dust gave it away. He took a deep breath and slipped back into his shirt. "Appears the Warden has more important things for us to do."
The sturdy little jeep skidded to a halt next to the truck, and Garrison climbed from behind the wheel, carrying the inevitable briefcase. He paused and studied the new construction. "Looks just about done. Not quite as sturdy as the original..."
"I went right by the plans, Warden."
"I know, Casino. It's fine, I'm sure."
"But we're not going to be able to finish any time soon, are we, Lieutenant?" Actor stated the obvious, as he followed their commander over to the work table and dropped his tool belt.
Garrison unfolded a map from the briefcase and spread it out, using Actor's tool belt to anchor it down. "We've been assigned to sabotage a munitions factory near Strasbourg." He tapped at a spot on the map and traced the blue lines leading away from it. "From here, the Nazis are supplying their forces in both Italy and France. We need to disrupt that supply. We've tried destroying it from the air, but they have it well fortified with heavy anti-aircraft artillery. We've lost too many good flight crews without doing any real damage."
"What else do we know about it?" A worried frown creased Actor's face. "Any diagrams of the layout?"
"No." Garrison shook his head and lit a cigarette, then pulled some grainy photographs from the briefcase. "We have a few aerial shots, but that's about it. From these we can guess at the troop strength, and what the various structures are used for. Everything else we'll have to determine from the ground."
"What about the local resistance?" Actor's frown deepened. "Surely they must have some intelligence on the facility."
"Not really. I have a contact in the area who's usually pretty reliable. But we haven't been able to get in touch with him."
"So what you're sayin' is we got nothin'," Casino griped. "We're goin' in blind and makin' somethin' up after we get there."
"That's a bit of an exaggeration." Garrison propped a foot on a keg of nails and leaned over, studying the pictures more closely. "We know they have to bring in supplies. And I have a pretty good idea which one of these buildings is used for explosives storage. If we can get a time bomb attached to a supply truck, we have a good chance of setting off a chain reaction that should sufficiently damage the operation."
A chill skittered up Chief's spine as a breeze ruffled his damp shirt. "When do we leave?"
"Tomorrow night. We'll have to jump in at least 20 miles from the site and travel the rest of the way on the ground."
"Blimey, ya mean walk? All that way? How come?"
Garrison sighed and folded the maps up around the photos. "So we don't lose another good flight crew. And us along with them."
"Oh. Yeah."
"If we're lucky, we can snatch a car." Garrison shoved the documents back into the briefcase. "Forget about the shed. Spend tomorrow resting up. We fly out at 18:00."
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In the village of Holtzheim, they hadn't found a single car with gasoline. The few they'd come across were sitting abandoned and rusting on the side of the road or in farm yards, waiting for the day when the war was over and rationing ended. So they'd set out on foot toward Strasbourg, dressed as laborers and carrying the appropriate documents and currency.
They'd only traveled a few miles, enough time for Goniff to complain several times about his feet hurting, when a farmer taking produce to market in a horse-drawn cart offered them a ride. While Garrison sat with the driver, discreetly pumping him for information, the rest of them rode in the back with the bushel baskets of wilted greens, carrots, potatoes, and a crate of irate chickens. Chief tuned out the squawking and let the serene beauty of early morning in the French countryside engulf him.
When he was a kid, his grandfather used old copies of "National Geographic" to teach him reading and writing. He'd spent hours alone losing himself in those pictures of exotic, far away places, imagining seeing them for himself some day. This wasn't exactly the way he'd imagined it. But sometimes the beauty was so daunting that even war couldn't diminish it.
As they approached the outer edges of the city, they gave up their ride. After Garrison bought some vegetables and a chicken, the farmer continued on without them.
Picking up the sack containing the indignant chicken, Casino stepped to the side of the road, out of the retreating wagon's cloud of dust. "Plannin' on startin' your own truck farm, Warden?"
"Gifts, Casino." Garrison swung the sack of vegetables over his shoulder. "We're going to the home of that contact I was telling you about. He has a wife and family. It never hurts to come bearing gifts."
Casino held the thrashing sack out away from himself, to keep from getting clawed through the burlap. "Well, I hope it ain't far, cuz I don't think this thing's gonna enjoy the trip."
"Gimme that." Taking the sack from Casino, Chief wrapped the fabric snuggly around the bird and tucked it under his arm like a football. The chicken immediately calmed down. "Ya just gotta know how to treat a lady."
"Good on you, mate." Goniff patted him on the shoulder. "Now we can have a nice, peaceful walk."
Casino just shook his head and fell in behind Actor and Garrison, already headed down the road.
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Maurice Messier's tailor shop was located in what once must have been a prosperous little neighborhood on the edge of Strasbourg. Now many of the buildings were half blown away by Allied bombing. Garrison had explained that Maurice's business had stayed afloat by taking in cleaning and mending for the occupying German forces. He and his family lived behind the shop. He used to rent out the second floor flat, but hadn't had a tenant since the invasion.
When they had entered, they'd found only Mme. Messier manning the shop. She'd been cautious at first, as she should have been with any strangers, but she'd understood the password and knew the countersign, and she'd hurriedly hustled them into her quarters in the back of the building.
"He went into the hills with the other men two months ago, and I haven't seen him since." Marie Messier flitted around the small common room like a nervous little bird, refilling everyone's cup with what passed for coffee these days in occupied France. "I worry about him, but I know he is doing what he thinks is right. Someone would have sent me word if something had happened to him."
Nodding his thanks for the refill, Chief turned his attention back to the window, but it only looked out onto a narrow alley. Next to him on the window seat, the Messier's flaxen-haired eight-year-old daughter Louise sat snuggled into the corner, staring at him, her arms tightly wrapped around a ragged doll. When he smiled at her, she blushed and smiled back, then shyly averted her eyes. All the others sat around the family's dining table, including Matheo, the Messier's twelve-year-old son, as blonde as his sister, but quiet and brooding.
Garrison sipped politely from his cup. "Do you know if any of his associates are still in the area? Someone who might have some information on the munitions plant?"
"No. No one. They were all being watched too closely. They all disappeared together." She set the coffee pot back on the stove and took the chair next to her son. "I believe the Bosh have stopped watching the shop since Maurice left. You are all welcome to stay upstairs for as long as you like. I apologize that it has not been cleaned for some time, but it is dry and comfortable."
"Thank you. We'll take you up on that." Garrison smiled, then turned to the others. "We'll do some reconnaissance this afternoon to see if we can find a good vantage point to..."
"I can show you." It was the first thing Matheo had said since they'd arrived.
"Matty, no. I don't think..."
"But Mama, I know the woods around there better than anyone. I even know some of the guards."
"Matty, this is not a game. These men are..."
"Mama, please, I want to help..."
Garrison broke in, leveling a serious gaze on the kid. "Thanks for your offer, son, but things will get dangerous. You need to be around to protect your mother and sister."
The boy slumped into his chair, back to his sulking.
Draining the remainder of his coffee, Garrison stood and gathered his gear. "Let's get settled in, guys. We've got a busy afternoon ahead of us."
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Chief knew this was going to be one of those extended missions, spending days carefully gathering information and coming up with a plan, then discussing it and revising it, poking at it from every angle, until Garrison was satisfied that it was workable. But even the planning stages involved a lot of risk.
While Actor, Goniff and Casino staked out the road leading up to the plant's main gate, he and the Warden checked out the security along its eastern side. They had scaled the outer barbed wire-topped fence and stayed quietly hidden in the low brush for at least an hour, watching the rutted dirt track that circled the facility inside the fence line. A vehicle carrying a machine gunner and two armed sentries circled slowly every fifteen minutes. When the road was clear, they moved forward through the trees and undergrowth to the second line of fencing that topped a low ridge overlooking the compound. Garrison threw a dead branch against it, and sparks flew. But from this vantage point through the fence, they had a partially unobstructed view of the compound below, nestled in a small, shallow valley. While Garrison settled in with binoculars, Chief skirted the electric fence for a quarter mile in both directions, trying to find a better view.
Before approaching Garrison from behind, Chief signaled his presence with the three-note whistle, then scooted onto his stomach into the leaves next to his commander.
Garrison set down his binoculars and examined the map lying on the ground in front of him. "Any luck?"
"Naw, this is the highest point along this side." Chief picked up the binoculars and scanned the scene below, a warren of drab, square buildings of various sizes surrounding one large warehouse-like structure in the center. Two trucks were backed up to a loading dock, and the men carrying heavy crates onto them looked to be the size of toy soldiers. There was a substantial parade ground in front of the warehouse where a Nazi banner snapped in the breeze, and a squad of men marched through a series of drills. Chief could almost make out the shouted commands that wafted up the hill on the wind. On top of the warehouse, a pair of soldiers manned an anti-aircraft cannon. A second one was partially visible, mounted on top of another building farther to the west. They were angry-looking monsters - hard, cold killing machines. Chief lowered the binoculars.
"I've only seen trucks leave. I haven't seen anything come in." Garrison folded his map, shoved it into his shirt, and watched quietly for a moment, until Chief handed him back the binoculars.
"Maybe they don't get deliveries every day."
"Maybe." Garrison flipped his wrist over and glanced at his watch. "I want to get a look at the north side before it gets too dark."
The rustle of leaves was soft, then a rock skidded downhill. Chief caught Garrison's arm, keeping him from rising. They both held their breath. Another hushed whisper of leaves.
Chief rose and ducked into the bushes to his right, the blade slipping silently into his hand. He circled cautiously until he spied the flash of blue fabric through the trees. Before the kid could take another step, Chief was beside him, with a firm grip on his shirt collar. "What're you doin' here?"
Matheo stood frozen in Chief's grasp, his eyes glued to the knife.
Chief pushed him forward, back toward Garrison. "That's a good way to die young, kid."
The thin line of Garrison's frown gave away his displeasure as he brushed the dirt from his hands. "You shouldn't be here, son."
"I know. Please don't tell Mama."
Garrison's eyes narrowed. "Did you follow us?"
The boy nodded.
Chief studied the wiry kid and his quick, intelligent blue eyes, and remembered what Matty had said about knowing these woods. He was a slick one - probably didn't have to make the effort to climb that first fence. "How'd you get past the barbed wire?"
Matty smiled. "Come. I'll show you."
The spot at the base of the fence was not far from where they'd climbed over earlier. Hidden below a briar thicket, partially buried in the dirt and rotting leaves under a large rock, was a neatly cut slit in the chain link, large enough for a skinny 12-year-old to scurry through. Chief and Garrison had a little more trouble, but made it through with only a tear to Garrison's shirt sleeve.
Matty moved the rock back into place and made sure the dirt and leaves looked undisturbed. "The Bosh fixed the first one I made, but they've never found this one."
They moved quickly away, melting into the tree cover, Garrison pulling Matty by the arm. "Do you know what would happen if they caught you?" he reprimanded.
"They'd take me back to Mama and yell at her to punish me."
Garrison rolled his eyes. "Maybe if you were six. But they're not going to take any chances with this place. They'd ship you and your mother and sister off to an internment camp. Or worse."
Matty smiled as if he hadn't heard a word the Warden said. "Do you want to see the tunnel?"
That brought Garrison up short. "What tunnel?"
"The one that goes through that hill over there and under the camp."
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Matheo was able to scamper through the prickly briars and over moss-slick fallen trees like a monkey, and Chief and Garrison scrambled to keep up. After a mile of this, they stopped next to a single-lane paved road that emerged from the dense forest to the north and seemed to disappear directly into the rocky hillside. A heavy gate guarded by armed sentries was letting trucks through the first fence. Just visible up the road was a similar gate through the second fence, also well guarded.
Lying quietly in the undergrowth next to Garrison, Chief studied the surrounding woodland. On his other side, Matheo started to speak, and Chief gave him a hard nudge to shut him up. As they waited, several cargo trucks were checked through the gate, their payload of crates barely visible through the opening in the canvas flaps on the back.
"Explosives," Garrison whispered, peering through the binoculars. "They bring the raw materials in this way and ship the finished product out the main gate."
A smaller, sturdier van followed the explosives carriers up to the gate. The metal doors on the back of this one were tightly closed and secured with heavy chains and locks. There were no visible guards other than the driver and another soldier in the front seat. Garrison lowered the binoculars for a wider view. As the driver waited for his turn at the check point, he got out and lit a cigarette, then inexplicably banged his fist twice against the side of the truck.
Matty duplicated Garrison's whisper. "Replacement workers."
Garrison frowned. "In a locked armored truck?"
"Prisoners," Matheo said. "Prisoners build their weapons."
"Allied prisoners?"
Matheo nodded solemnly.
With a sigh, Garrison dropped his forehead onto his folded arms.
"What now, Warden?" Chief had heard that the Nazis used slave labor in their factories, but he couldn't believe Garrison would knowingly blow up POW's.
Garrison scooted back out of their hide and silently beckoned them to follow him back the way they'd come. "This changes things," he finally said.
As they made their way along the main road into the city, the silence and the distant concentration in the Warden's eyes told Chief that the beginnings of a plan were clicking into place, and he had a feeling that tunnel was going to play a part.
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Three maps vied for space on the Messiers' dining table, as Garrison flipped back and forth between them. With one foot propped up on a chair, he lit another cigarette and shook out the match. "My guess is that the prisoners are kept somewhere inside the factory building, probably never seeing the light of day."
"And we're just gonna blow the whole place up, POW's and all?" Casino gestured at the diagram sketched onto the top map, now showing the location of the tunnel entrance. "Just like that. Boom. Collateral damage."
"Not if we can help it." Garrison continued to stare at the diagram as if the answers were hidden there in code. "If we can get inside that factory building, we have a chance of setting off our chain reaction and using the distraction to free the prisoners."
"Get inside?" Goniff spoke up from his comfortable seat on the sofa. "Ya mean just walk up to the front door and ask for the grand tour?"
"Goniff's right, Warden." Actor sat opposite Garrison, also studying the layout. "Even posing as German officers, we would need unassailable credentials just to get through the first check point."
That wicked light appeared in Garrison's eyes, the one that meant he'd found a plan. And it would be risky. "But the prisoners don't need credentials," he smiled. "If we could get hold of one of those prison transports, we could just drive right in."
The same glow lit up in Actor's eyes. "Of course. Hijack the truck, take the place of the driver and guard, free the prisoners, and take their place, too. How often do they bring in new prisoners?"
Garrison shook his head. "I don't know. We'll have to wait and..."
"Every other day," Matheo interrupted from where he'd been sitting quietly next to Chief in the window seat.
Mme. Messier dropped her sewing, looking up at her son with alarm. "Matty, how many times have I..."
The boy ignored her. "They arrive in late afternoon, like today."
Garrison's eyes narrowed. "Is it usually the same driver and guard?"
"No, almost never. They bring the prisoners from all over."
"Matty, you must stay away from there. I've lost your father. I can't lose you, too."
Garrison walked over and laid a hand on the boy's shoulder. "She's right, son. You've been playing with fire. You're not a child anymore. They won't hesitate to treat you like the enemy." He glanced up at Mme. Messier as if in apology. "But any other details you could give us would be a big help."
As Mme. Messier looked on with a frown, the boy filled in an amazing amount of information he'd gathered over months of just being a local kid, doing kid things. On the map, he showed them the route prisoner transports usually took on their way to the factory. He gave them guards' names and shift change schedules, telling them which shifts were the strict ones, and which were more easygoing. He identified several of the buildings inside the compound, including the soldiers' barracks and the administrative offices. And he knew where his father had stashed a supply of explosives.
By midnight, they had the outlines of a solid plan.
The Messiers had retired to their sleeping quarters several hours ago, but the five of them had gathered around the maps and continued to rehash the details until Garrison was certain every aspect they were able to control had been considered.
The Warden lit the last of his cigarettes, crushed the empty pack into a wad, and tossed it into the middle of the cluttered table. Coffee cups sat half empty, and the ashtrays overflowed. "Security is tight, Actor. It's going to be a tough con."
"Nothing I cannot handle."
Garrison considered his con man through the haze of smoke, the only sound in the room the tick of the clock on the wall. Chief had never seen the Warden doubt Actor before, but that's what he seemed to be doing now. Actor had nearly blown a caper once when he was distracted by a dame, but that was early on, when they were all still feeling their way. Actor had never blown a con.
"Really, Lieutenant," Actor scoffed. "Have I ever let you down?"
Garrison finally shook his head and crushed out the remainder of the cigarette. "No, you're right. It's been a long day. Let's clean up here and get some sleep." He gathered up the ashtrays and handed them to Chief. "Get rid of the ashes."
"Why me? They ain't my coffin nails."
"Just do it."
Chief matched Garrison's challenging glare, but took the ashtrays anyway and headed out the back door.
The narrow alley was as black as midnight in hell, but as he wandered from one end to the other, his eyes adjusted. He scattered the ashes as he went, and they caught on the light breeze, sweet with the promise of rain. Where the alley met the eerily quiet street, he stopped and spit out the chewed remains of the match stick.
The curfew left Strasbourg soundless except for the distant howling of a dog, and the blackout left the night sky salted with stars. Absently, he tore the cigarette filters into shreds, letting the freshening breeze carry them away, and he let the constellations replace his darker thoughts. The big dipper was easy - Northern Male, as his grandfather used to call it. And Pegasus. And Cassiopeia, the Northern Female.
When the door squeaked open behind him, he expected to see Casino or Goniff sneaking out for a late smoke. But it was Matteo who walked up beside him puffing on a cigarette.
"Your Mama know you smoke?"
"No. You won't tell her, will you?"
"None of my business."
The boy leaned quietly against the wall, blowing smoke into the damp air, trying to look older than his 12 years. With his solitude disrupted, Chief turned to head back inside.
"What's the medal you wear around your neck?" Matteo evidently didn't want him to leave.
"Nothin'. Just a metal."
"It's St. Christopher, isn't it? It is said he protects travelers. Is that why you wear it?"
"It was a present. From a friend." He'd given it back to her when the thought of her hurt too much, but she'd returned it. Her note had said he still needed it. He'd gotten used to its slight weight around his neck.
"When you go to destroy the factory, he will protect you. It is why I wear this." Matteo held up the small gold cross on the chain around his neck. "So God will take care of me."
"I take care of myself, kid. This is just a hunk of metal." He rubbed his thumb over the raised image on the medallion, then dropped it back inside his shirt.
The clouds were moving in, and the first drops spattered on the pavement. Tomorrow would be a long day of preparation that could make or break the whole mission. The rain wouldn't help. Chief headed for the door and went inside, leaving the kid by himself, finishing his cigarette. The others had already retired to the second floor. The cups and saucers were washed and put away, and the table cleared of the jumble of maps. Chief quickly rinsed and dried the ashtrays, and after setting them back on the table, he pulled another match stick from his pocket and returned to his window seat to listen to the rain.