AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a sequel to both "The Innocence Mission" and "The Enemy". It might help to read those first, but this should also stand on its own.
BOOT CAMP
The map room was stifling. It had remained closed up since its last use several days ago, and the odor of dusty old fabric and stale cigarette smoke choked what little air there was. Garrison propped open the double doors, then pulled back the heavy curtains. He pushed the sashes wide on both windows, letting the fresh air from outside flow through.
In the distance, across the expanse of green lawn, he could see his team in the middle of some kind of physical activity. He squinted into the sunlight and watched for a moment. They were playing soccer. He thought they were suppose be in drills with a new rifle model. He shook his head and sighed. There was no time to deal with it now. General Finch would be arriving any minute. He gave a brief thought to closing the curtains, to keep Finch from catching sight of his delinquent men, but decided it was useless. The General had already formed an opinion about them. Letting him see them having a little fun wasn't going to make much difference, one way or the other.
As he straightened up the table, emptying ashtrays and moving the slide projector to the sideboard, he tried again to think of what Finch might want with him. They had recently rescued the General's daughter from the Nazis, and while he had seemed grateful for their assistance, he had not been so happy with Garrison's decision to introduce her to the ex-patriot resistance community in Zurich. The last conversation he'd had with the General had not been a pleasant one, so he didn't hold out much hope for this one. He stood by his decision, though. Lisa Finch was a grown woman, capable of running her own life. She would have found a way to fight the war even without his help. Putting her in touch with experienced fighters seemed to Garrison to be the best way to help her stay alive.
He'd just slipped the dust cover back over the projector when General Finch knocked on the open door. Garrison turned and came to attention with a salute. He received a curt return salute. "As you were, Lieutenant."
Finch was not a large man, either in height or girth, but his stiff military bearing and impeccable uniform radiated authority. He carried his cap under his arm, and his graying hair was cropped close. The dark eyes and perpetual thin-lipped frown pegged him as a commander who demanded perfection and was difficult to please.
"Have a seat, sir," Garrison offered. "The clerk is bringing up some coffee."
Finch took the chair at the head of the table and pulled several file folders from his briefcase. "Let's get right down to business."
Garrison took the chair next to Finch and waited while the General flipped through the folders, rearranging them. Private Connors brought in a tray with coffee pot, cups and saucers, and Garrison silently directed him to place them on the sideboard. He could have used some coffee, or a cigarette, something to occupy his hands while the General got organized. But he dismissed Connors and waited for Finch to make the first move.
Finally, apparently satisfied with the order of his materials, Finch looked Garrison in the eye. "How is your team, Lieutenant?"
"Fine, sir." That was not the question he'd expected.
"And your man's wounds have healed?"
"Yes, sir. Chief's back up to speed." He pictured the game he'd just witnessed out on the lawn. Chief had kicked the ball clear across the field and had immediately been tackled and thrown to the ground by Casino. Of course his men didn't play by traditional soccer rules.
Finch cleared his throat and leaned back in his chair, some of the starch draining out of his posture. "I don't think I ever properly thanked you and your men for bringing Lisa out of Castel Volturno. I want you to know how grateful I am. You all risked your lives for her. That young man could have been killed."
"Chief. His name is Chief, sir."
"Of course."
"We were just doing our job. How is your daughter?"
Finch straightened again, back in full General mode. "I haven't heard from her. And I'm still not happy that you encouraged her foolish idea of joining the resistance."
"I didn't encourage her, sir. I just gave her some information..."
"I know, Lieutenant. There was really no stopping her." Finch sighed and rose to pour himself a cup of coffee. "But that's not why I'm here. I have a project for you and your team."
That was the last thing Garrison expected from the General, who had called his men common street thugs and insubordinate amateurs.
"Don't look so surprised, Garrison. I still don't trust them, but I can see the value in their unique skills, when properly supervised. I believe those skills can be put to good use. I've cleared this with your direct command in OSS, and the plan is already in motion." Finch spread his collection of folders out on the table and began his briefing.
gg gg gg gg gg gg
Apparently, the soccer game was over. As Garrison walked across the broad sweep of manicured lawn, he could see Actor seated comfortably at one of the two garden tables in the shade, puffing on his pipe, a newspaper open in front of him. The ornate cast-iron garden set was a remnant of the mansion's absent owners, its white paint now flaking and the flowery relief pattern highlighted with moss and algae. A few cigarette butts littered the ground, left by the staff who occasionally ate lunch here. On a warm, sunny day like this, it provided a much needed respite from the world at war.
At the other table, Goniff and Casino were in the middle of the inevitable card game, the stack of coins in front of Casino indicating who was winning. He didn't see Chief at first. Looking around, he spotted his scout sitting a distance away, against a tree, whittling on a stick.
"Who won?" Garrison dropped his file folders on the table in front of Actor. When they all stared at him innocently, he added, "The soccer game."
"Casino cheated..." Goniff began.
"No score." Actor folded the paper and smiled up at him. "Just a little exercise after the weapons drill."
Garrison pulled up one of the heavy chairs and sat next to Actor. "You'll do the drill again tomorrow."
"Ah, Warden," Casino protested, dragging his chair over to join them. "Rawlins made us clean, load, and fire those guns a million times. How many more times we gotta do it? We're gonna wear 'em out."
"When you have to reload in the field, seconds can save your life. Or the life of a teammate." He let that sink into the silence for a moment, as he gathered his thoughts. He wasn't at all sure how they were going to take this new assignment.
Chief rose from his spot under the tree and came to the table, swinging one of the iron chairs around and straddling it. "What's in the folders?"
"We have a new project," Garrison began. It really couldn't be called a mission. "I just got out of a meeting with General Finch."
"Not 'im again." Goniff pulled his chair over to squeeze in next to Casino. "I thought 'e 'ated our guts. Wot's 'e want us to do now? Invade Berlin?"
"First of all, he wanted to express his thanks for saving Lisa."
Actor rapped his pipe against the edge of the table. "He couldn't bring himself to do that in person, could he?"
"He's still upset that Lisa went to Zurich. But you did good work, and you came out alive. That's all I care about."
"What? So now he wants us to go there and babysit her?" Casino asked.
Garrison pulled a cigarette out of the pack and tamped it against the top folder. Now he had their attention. "He wants us to train resistance fighters."
Actor was the first to fully process this. "Train them to do what?"
"What you do best. Lie, cheat and steal."
They all started to protest at once, and he held up his hands in defense. "The General's words, not mine."
Goniff was indignant. "Yeah, we don't cheat. Well, at least I don't."
"Hear me out. I think this has some merit."
He spent the next fifteen minutes carefully laying out Finch's plan. With the help of Maquis leadership, Allied Intelligence had chosen four promising young Resistance fighters to fly to England for special training. They would receive standard instruction in military weapons and combat, but the young men would also spend two weeks with them, learning the unconventional skills. They would divide into two teams. Two would work with Actor and Goniff at the mansion for a week, while the other two worked with Casino and Chief at a training facility north of London. Then they'd switch teams for the second week.
After he'd covered all the details, Garrison studied their faces, trying to get a read on what they were thinking. "Any questions?"
"No Krauts shootin' at us?" Casino sounded skeptical.
"Two weeks right here in merry old England, teaching eager young minds everything you know."
Goniff leaned back in his chair and scratched his head. "I dunno. I ain't no teacher, Warden."
"Ya can't teach what I know in two weeks," Casino protested. "I wouldn't even know where to start."
"Nonsense. You're naturals. I've watched all of you teach each other. And these boys don't have to leave here as experts. You just need to get them started with the basics."
"We don't have a choice, do we?" Chief was always quick to get to the heart of the matter.
Garrison crushed out his cigarette. "You're right. You don't."
"Come on, this will be fun." Actor was the only one enthused. "Just think of your first mentor, the one who taught you everything you needed to know."
"He's dead," Chief stated flatly.
Garrison needed to move the conversation along. "I'll put together some basic plans, and we'll go over them tomorrow morning. Your students will be here on Monday."
He handed each of them one of the folders. He'd saved the real surprise for last. "These are the four who were chosen."
Casino flipped his folder open and stared at the picture clipped inside, then handed it to Chief. They both glared up at him, but Casino spoke. "Denis? You gotta be kiddin', Warden. He's what? Maybe 14?"
"I know. He told them he was 18, and they chose to believe him. It's too late now. He's on his way."
"No way, Warden." Chief tossed the folder onto the table. "He's a kid. I ain't teachin' a kid how to get hisself killed."
"Maybe you two should have thought of that before you turned him loose in occupied France."
"That was different..."
"Was it? You helped him make that decision, now you have a chance to help him stay alive. It seems to me you owe it to him."
"Still don't like it." Chief stood and swung his chair around. "We done here?"
Garrison stood too, signaling the end of the meeting. "The map room, 11:00 tomorrow. After your weapons drill."
gg gg gg gg gg gg
Chief almost hadn't recognized Denis when he got off the plane in London. When they'd left him with the Maquis cell in Calais, he was a scrawny, dirty kid trying to deal with the death of his abusive father. Now he'd grown at least a inch, filled out, and put on weight. His hair was neatly cut, and someone had given him new clothes for his trip to England. He could easily pass for 18.
His companion, Stefan, was older, at least 20, tall and wiry, with black hair and dark, penetrating eyes. He was a young man passionate about his cause. On the drive north to the training camp, he'd told them that his Romani parents were being held in a German concentration camp, and his dream was to liberate them. He wanted to learn as much as he could to help him do that, and he was eager for the weapons and combat training. But he wasn't quite sure how breaking into safes and stealing cars was going to help him.
They arrived at the RAF training base well after dark, and a sergeant escorted them to the large tent that would be their home for the next two weeks. Getting used to planes taking off and landing at all hours would be tough, but at least the accommodations were roomy and comfortable. Along with the five cots, they also had foot lockers, and a table and chairs in the center to use as a work space. All the comforts of home.
Chief tossed his duffle onto the cot farthest from the entrance, and Denis quickly chose the one next to it, plopping down and giving it a bounce. Casino and Stefan picked the cots on the opposite side, and Garrison threw his gear onto the one nearest the entrance.
"Nice digs." Casino dropped his duffle on top of his foot locker. "I'm starvin'. Which way's the mess?"
Garrison glanced at his watch. "We should head over before they close."
"I'll catch up." Chief unzipped his duffle and started unpacking the few things he'd brought with him. What he really wanted was some space.
"Don't wait too long," Garrison warned him as he left the tent with Casino and Stefan.
Denis didn't follow the others, but sat cross-legged on his bunk and watched Chief empty his bag.
Chief didn't like the feeling of being stared at. "You're gonna miss chow."
"Not hungry."
"Suit yourself."
Denis started to say something else, but the roar of a bomber coming in for a landing drowned him out. When the plane had passed, he came over and sat on Chief's bunk. "They told me you were hurt trying to leave Calais," he said quietly.
"Yep." Chief folded a shirt and put it in his footlocker, suddenly aware of the tightness under his right shoulder blade that sometimes ached when he hadn't stretched.
"I'm glad you're okay." Denis pulled the switchblade from his pants pocket and snapped it open. "I've been practicing."
Chief eyed the blade Denis was trying to flip between his fingers. It was the one he'd given the kid at the end of that mission, an old one he was about to get rid of. It hadn't been in very good shape then, and it was even worse now. It was slightly bent, and the hinge was loose. Maybe it was time for the first lesson.
Chief dug to the bottom of his duffle and pulled out his whetstone and honing oil. "That thing could use some work."
He sat next to Denis on the cot and snapped out his own blade. Resting the stone on his thigh, he dropped a spot of oil onto it, and slowly dragged the flat of the blade through it, a few times on each side. Then he handed the stone to the Denis.
Settling it on his leg, Denis slowly pulled his blade through the residue of oil a couple of times. The grating sound was almost painful. Chief grabbed his wrist and stopped him. "You wanna give it an edge, not grind it off."
Denis tried again, more slowly, with less of an angle.
But the knife was in rough shape. Besides the loose hinge, the spring mechanism was shot, and there were visible nicks along the blade. It looked like the kid had been carving stone with it. Chief jerked it from Denis' hand, stabbed it into the wooden floor, and snapped the blade off.
"Hey! What'd you do that for? You gave me that knife."
Chief reached into his duffle, pulled out a new switchblade, and handed it to Denis. "Don't get attached to your weapon, kid. It's just a tool."
A smile broadened Denis' face as he inspected the new gift, with its shiny handle and smooth, crisp snap. He held it up and attempted to twirl it confidently between his fingers. It slipped, he lost control and yelped, and the knife clattered to the floor. He quickly brought his hand to his mouth and sucked on the cut the razor edge had sliced.
Chief sighed. It was going to be a long two weeks. He picked the knife up off the floor and dropped it back into his duffle, then shoved Denis off his cot. "Go get some grub. You can play with it tomorrow."
gg gg gg gg gg gg
The odd little town that was their 'school' reminded Chief of some kind of weird ghost town out of a bad dream. It looked like part wartime military base and part old English village. The British Army had taken over the crumbling hamlet, thrown up some additional quonset huts and rough pine buildings painted olive drab, and used it as an urban combat training facility. Old cars and trucks were parked randomly along the two intersecting dirt streets, and one of the sheds had been outfitted with a variety of old safes for Casino's students to practice on. After inspecting them, Casino had declared that they all could be opened with a sneeze and a bobby pin, but that they'd do for a start.
Denis' persistent practice with his old knife had paid off. It took him only a couple of tries to get used to the feel and heft of the new blade, and his throws were deadly accurate. However, his knowledge of engines was limited, so Chief began with the basics and helped him hotwire a couple of the older cars. Casino began Stefan's education with the safes.
At midday, Garrison brought them lunch, and they sat on the ground in the shade of one of the half-collapsed stone cottages eating sandwiches made with some unidentifiable meat. At least the water in the canteens was cold and fresh.
Casino finished chewing the last of his second sandwich. "Listen, Warden, this is gettin' us nowhere. These guys could crack safes and hotwire cars from now till doomsday, but none of that's gonna do 'em any good when it comes down to the real deal."
"What do you propose, Casino?" Garrison leaned back against the stone wall and lit a cigarette.
"There has to be some risk, ya know? Some threat. We don't do this stuff in a nice, safe little make-believe town. We got Krauts breathin' down our necks and bombs droppin' on us." Casino reached over and took the pack of cigarettes from Garrison's pocket, and helped himself to one.
"Go on." Garrison's half smile was one Chief recognized. Casino had his interest. Denis and Stefan were listening carefully.
"So we give 'em a mission, see how they handle it."
Garrison raised a skeptical eyebrow.
"Well, not a real mission," Casino clarified. "But still something with a time limit and a payoff."
"Okay, Casino. You and Chief set it up. When do you want to do it?"
"Tonight?" Casino looked questioningly at Chief.
Chief smiled. He liked the idea. Skills were one thing. Adrenaline was a whole different game. "The darker the better," he agreed.
gg gg gg gg gg gg
Garrison took Denis and Stefan back to the base for weapons training while Chief and Casino set up their 'mission'. When Garrison brought the boys back after dark, they got their briefing. They were to work alone together to break into one of the more secure buildings, take some documents from the safe, choose a car, steal it, and make their getaway.
They'd been at it for an hour.
The night was moonless, humid and overcast. Chief knew his eyes had adjusted to the pitch blackness as much as they were going to. He looked both ways along the dark street, but there was still no sign of Denis and Stefan. He stepped back into the shadows between the buildings and leaned against the wall next to Casino.
Casino glanced at his watch. "They're sure takin' their sweet time. I coulda cleaned out a dozen safes, stolen three cars, and knocked over a pawn shop by now. Think they split?"
"Nah. Where would they go?"
"Good point." Then Casino chuckled. "Think the Gerries got 'em?"
"Then we got bigger problems."
Chief heard the heavy footfalls of the two boys running up the street. He alerted Casino with a touch, and they edged farther back into the shadows.
Both young men skidded to a halt in front of a rusty jeep, and Denis threw the hood up, spouting something in French. Stefan replied angrily and joined him under the hood. They banged around the engine for a moment, evidently unable to find the right connections in the total darkness. The escalating argument could probably be heard in Paris.
Casino stepped out of the shadows, pulled his sidearm, and fired two quick shots into the air. Both boys jumped, and Denis hit his head on the raised hood.
"Merde! What was that for?" Denis rubbed his head.
"The whole British Army could hear you comin'." Casino holstered his pistol and joined them out in the street. "Did ya at least get the papers?"
Denis reached into his shirt, then paused. He quickly searched all his pockets, but still came up empty, and he turned to Stefan.
"Don't look at me. You were so anxious to try to open the safe."
"I must've dropped them."
Casino threw his hands up in frustration. "That's just great. Two dead agents and no invasion plans. We're definitely gonna lose the war." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "How 'bout we debrief at the pub. I could use a beer"
gg gg gg gg gg gg
The Pig and Whistle was a lot like The Doves, and probably every other pub in England, Chief figured. Cigarette smoke mingled with the odor of stale beer and unwashed bodies. On a weeknight it wasn't crowded, but most of the customers were in uniform. They found an empty table in a far corner, and Chief sat with his back to the wall.
Casino returned from the bar with a plate of bread and cheese, and set another pint in front of Chief.
"Where's mine?" Denis demanded.
"You need to go easy on that stuff, babe. You already had two."
"I can hold my liquor. All I drink at home is wine."
Casino dropped into his chair and propped a leg on the table. "Yeah, well limey beer ain't Bordeaux. And reveille's still at 5 a.m."
Denis grabbed Stefan's half-empty glass and took a swig.
Stefan snatched it back. "He's right, Denis. You're going to regret this in the morning."
"There. Listen to the voice of experience," Casino agreed.
Stefan just smiled, probably remembering his first hangover.
Chief took a bite from one of the thick slices of stale bread and had to wash it down with a swallow of beer. He'd been in a lot worse places and drunk a lot worse things than warm, watered-down beer. There were a lot worse places he could be right now. In a cell at Statenville Prison or in a firefight with Krauts were just a couple that came to mind. He added a slice of the pungent cheese to the bread, and it tasted better.
Denis nudged Stefan and mumbled something in French.
"Hey. English, okay?" Casino reminded them. "Those are the rules."
"The two girls over there look lonely." Denis pointed toward a table near the door where two nicely dressed young women were getting settled and looking around.
Casino gave them an appraising look. "A little outta your league, don't ya think?"
"No, not at all. Come on, Stefan. They'll love our accents."
Stefan rolled his eyes and smiled, then followed Denis as he wound his way to the girls' table.
Casino slapped Chief on the arm and reached for a slice of bread. "Look at how he moves, how he constantly plays with that shiv. He wants to be you so bad he can taste it."
"You're crazy."
"Don't tell me you don't see it. Every kid needs a hero. You didn't have one when you were his age?"
The face that came unbidden to his mind was one Chief hadn't thought of in a while. Not until that night in the leaky farmhouse near Calais, and then again on the lawn at the mansion the other afternoon. And it was no more a welcome memory now than it was then. His name had been Howard, but they'd called him Snake, because he was quick and mean. Snake had been 17, one of the older inmates at the reform school, and almost out of the system, full of hot air about all the things he'd do when Social Services was no longer breathing down his neck. To Chief, those stories had been like a dream, the freedom he hungered for so badly it hurt. He'd learned how to make a shiv by watching Snake. The same shiv that ended Snake's life.
Chief swallowed half the glass of beer, clearing the lump of dry bread from his throat. "What he needs is to grow up."
From across the room, Chief couldn't hear what the boys were saying, but both the girls were smiling as Stefan brought a round of drinks to the table. He briefly wondered how far they should let this go, but he figured the girls would end it as soon as they'd finished their free beer.
Chief was only dimly aware of the RAF sergeant that came through the front door, until he approached the table where Denis, Stefan and the girls were huddling and laughing. Then the conversation got loud.
"Playtime's over, sonny. It's past your bedtime." The beefy sergeant took Denis roughly by the arm and pulled him out of his chair.
Denis yanked his arm free, only to have Stefan try to pull him away, speaking to him calmly in French.
Denis jerked from Stefan's grasp, and the knife flashed out.
Chief bolted from his chair and shoved his way across the room. He grabbed Denis' wrist, twisting it behind the kid's back, and propelled him toward the rear door. Casino had rushed after him and was speaking to the soldier, trying to smooth things over.
Chief pushed through the heavy door, into the alley, spun Denis around, and slammed him against the stone wall. "What the hell were you thinkin'?"
"I coulda taken him..."
"He's not your enemy."
"But he..."
"Shut up. Gimme that." He twisted the knife from the kid's hand and slammed him hard against the wall again, his breath coming in seething gasps. "You pull your knife, you better be goddam sure you wanna kill somebody."
"Chief?"
He hadn't heard Casino and Stefan come out the back door. He grabbed the front of Denis' shirt, pulled him away from the wall, and threw him at Casino. Denis staggered, and Casino caught him before he fell.
"Get him outta here." And he stalked away down the alley.
gg gg gg gg gg gg
The walk back to the airbase took a while, but it wasn't long enough. By the time Chief reached the front gate, he was sober and sweating, but he was still angry. He'd created an arrogant, out-of-control punk, a kid with a deadly weapon and a taste for using it. Denis had not given a thought to what that would have cost him, what it would have cost all of them. Maybe he should've let the sergeant beat the crap out of the kid. That's probably what would have happened. Except that Denis had become very good with that blade.
The tent was dark. He slipped quietly inside and to his cot, not wanting to wake anyone, but Garrison slept lightly. "Chief? You okay?"
"Yeah." Chief pulled off his boots and stretched out on top of the blanket. Denis' cot was rumpled but empty. "Where's the kid?"
Casino's bunk squeaked as he sat up. "In the head, losin' the rest of his beer. Stefan went to make sure he's okay."
"Serves him right."
Garrison came and sat on Denis' bunk. "What did you guys think was going to happen? He's 14."
"Ease up, Warden." A match flare briefly illuminated the tent as Casino lit a cigarette. "It was my idea, and you already read me the riot act."
"We don't have time to nursemaid his hangover."
"We all lived through our first one, right? He'll be fine."
The tent flap swung open, sending a dim beam across the floor from the security lights outside. Denis staggered in, followed closely by Stefan, who wasn't quite supporting him with the hand on his shoulder, but was ready to catch him if he collapsed.
Garrison rose from Denis' cot and helped Stefan ease him to the mattress. "How are you feeling?"
Denis groaned and curled into a ball.
"Mess call's at 06:00," Garrison reminded them, as he returned to his own bunk.
Lying in the darkness, with his eyes closed, Chief could hear the creak of metal as Casino and Stefan settled back onto their cots. He was too tired to undress, the ache in his right shoulder just enough ward off sleep. Garrison hadn't mentioned the incident in the alley. He realized that Casino had covered for him, something he hadn't expected. But that didn't solve the problem. Just taking the knife away from Denis wasn't going to make him any less stupid.
The cot next to his squeaked as Denis turned over. His voice was a whisper. "Chief?"
"What."
"I'm sorry."
"Shut up and go to sleep."