Author's Note: This takes place not long after the events in "The Fog of War", but it's not necessary to read that one first (unless you want to, of course). For the full background on Garrison and his grandfather, read Dart53's compelling novella, "Believe". Thanks again, Dart53, for letting me borrow from your canon-perfect universe.
THE INNOCENCE MISSION
Chapter 1
Eight months ago, Garrison never would have believed that things could change so drastically. He still had nightmares about that first flight into occupied France, when his stomach had churned with the palpable tension on the plane, and he could almost taste the fear. Each man had handled it in his own way - Actor and Goniff challenged his command with uneasy humor; Casino struggled to remain aloof and nonchalant; Chief huddled, tense and still, chafing at the cuffs. And Wheeler held nothing back, adding layers of anger and hate on top of the fear. Eight months ago he'd had serious doubts about the wisdom of the whole crazy idea, and about his ability to stay in control of it.
Now he looked around him, as the small plane crossed from the Channel over the French countryside, and had to remind himself that these were the same men. Actor sat in the jump seat on his right, lost in a small book he'd smuggled onboard in a pocket. Chief slouched in the seat to his left, eyes closed and head resting against the back of the seat, one leg stretched into the narrow aisle, his hands relaxed on his thighs. Across the aisle, Casino and Goniff had a card game going on the seat between them. The loser would be the first one to jump. Goniff studied his cards and hummed some unrecognizable tune, until Chief kicked him with his outstretched boot. "No singin'."
"Just passin' the time, mate." Goniff continued to hum.
Garrison glanced over at the book Actor held in his lap. "What are you reading?"
"I found this tucked in a corner of the library." Actor closed the book and fingered the worn red leather. "Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass, an 1892 edition. The man understood a great deal about war."
"It was a different war," Garrison sighed. "Maybe someone will write poetry about this one some day."
"Perhaps..."
"Coming up on your drop zone in five minutes, Lieutenant," the navigator called from the cockpit.
"Thank you, Sergeant."
"Ha!" Casino shouted triumphantly, tossing down his cards. "You lose! Goniff jumps first, Warden. For the hundredth time!"
"You gotta be cheatin', mate. I never lose this often." Goniff shrugged and resigned himself to his fate. "Well, the first one out's the first one down."
Garrison checked his own rigging, and watched his men do the same, confident and practiced in the routine. No hand cuffs, no coercion. So different from that first flight.
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He waited for the fourth chute to open before he jumped, and watched as they all landed close together, one after the other gathering up their silks. When he'd gotten his under control, he looked around and saw that they'd all come together in a tight group, and his heart skipped a beat. Goniff was on the ground at the middle of it.
He ran to join them, and knelt beside the prone pick pocket. "What happened?"
"I think his ankle is broken," Actor told him, as he tried slowly and carefully to remove Goniff's left boot. The tight lines around Goniff's eyes and mouth betrayed the obvious pain he was in, and he flinched as the boot slipped free. "Possibly in several places," Actor added.
"I'm sorry, Warden," Goniff apologized through clenched teeth. "I musta landed wrong."
"Jeez, how many times have you done this? How clumsy can you get?" Casino chided.
"It's alright, Casino. It happens. We have to get to cover. Do you think you can stand?"
He slipped Goniff's left arm over his shoulder as Actor did the same on the other side, and they carefully lifted him. "Don't put any weight on it," Actor cautioned. "Just lean on us."
Garrison was about to tell Casino and Chief to finish gathering up the chutes, when he noticed they'd already done it, and the supply duffle was slung over Chief's shoulder. This was definitely a very different team than the one he'd jumped with eight months ago.
As they moved into the tree line, he could tell that Goniff was struggling bravely to move as fast as he could, but the pain in his ankle must've been excruciating. When they were well into the tree cover, they finally eased him down in the dry leaves against a fallen tree, and Actor turned his attention back to the quickly swelling ankle. "I can wrap it tightly, but it will need to be properly set," he told Garrison, concern edging his voice.
Chief had made quick work of one of the chutes, cutting the heavy silk into wide strips. Casino had picked up several straight, sturdy sticks, offering the selection to Actor, who chose the two strongest to use as splints.
Casino and Chief sat on the fallen tree, one protectively on each side of Goniff, and Casino laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Take it easy, you clumsy little limey. Actor'll fix you right up."
As Actor set to work on Goniff's ankle, Garrison considered his options aloud, hoping to distract his second story man from the pain. "Okay, here's the new plan. Goniff, once we get to the safe house, Andre can get you and Actor safely to Calais. Our contacts there can arrange for you to get back to England."
"But the mission..." Goniff started to protest, when a sudden tightening of the binding cut him off.
"Jeez, you lucky little stiff!" Casino admonished. "I knew you'd do just about anything to get out of a mission, but this takes the cake."
"As much as we'll miss you, Goniff, you're not going to be any help to us this time out," Garrison told him. "I'd rather have you back home and healing. This mission's a simple jail break. Casino, Chief and I can handle it."
"Is that the wisest idea?" Actor questioned.
"I need you to stay with him. He can't make it back by himself." He thought he actually saw disappointment in the two men's faces. Were they truly going to feel left out of risking their lives in an active war zone? They would never admit it, but he knew that on some level, they thrived on the thrill, the same way he did.
He slapped a hand on the con man's shoulder. "We're going to have to change your name to Doctor."
"That's Herr Doktor to you, Leutnant Gefängnisdirektor."
Garrison suppressed a laugh. "Come on Chief, you're with me."
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The little apartment behind the dressmaker's shop was a refuge they'd used before, situated on a quiet side street in the small town of La Capelle, only two miles from their drop zone. Andre, the local Resistance leader, had helped them carry Goniff the distance, and then arranged for one of his men in a delivery truck to drive him and Actor to Calais. Their contacts there would be able to radio London and arrange for a sub pick-up off the coast. Garrison felt a twinge of trepidation as he watched the truck pull away and disappear around the corner. Actor was cunning and resourceful, and Garrison was confident he could handle any problems along the way. But it still bothered him that he wouldn't know for sure if they made it safely home until he, himself, was back in England.
"C'mon, Warden, you look like a kid who's just lost his puppy." Casino slapped him on the shoulder. "They'll be fine."
"He was hurtin', Warden," Chief noted softly.
"I know." Garrison quickly pulled his thoughts together and refocused. "There's nothing we can do about it now. We still have a mission to complete."
Back in the relative comfort of their temporary home, Casino rummaged through the cabinets, taking inventory of the supplies, and Garrison settled at the small table with a hand-drawn map of the town.
"Okay, listen up. We're here. The jail's here." He traced the few short blocks with a finger. "Casino, you and I will go check it out while Chief finds a car. We'll hit it tonight."
"Who is this guy, anyway?" Casino wanted to know. "Why's he so important that we have to risk our lives to bust him out?"
"Henri is one of Andre's best operatives, and he has a lot of dangerous information in his head. We can't take a chance on him spilling any of it. And he's been a valuable asset. We owe it to him."
"You know him?" Chief asked.
"I ran a couple of missions with him last year. He pulled me out of a tough spot once."
"Then let's go get him." Casino sounded anxious to get started and get it over with.
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They'd brought the SS uniforms with them. Garrison often wondered if he might be turning into Oberst Brunner, he'd played the part so often. And Casino had become a very convincing German aide de camp, even without speaking or understanding much of the language. It was a con they had pulled off so many times that it was easy to become complacent about it, something he knew he had to guard against.
From what they'd been able to tell from their reconnaissance, the old jail facility was lightly guarded. If they couldn't convince the commanding officer to let them 'interrogate' the prisoner, they'd have a fight on their hands, an option Garrison dearly wanted to avoid while he was two men short. He would have preferred to have Actor's imposing, demanding presence as front man, but he also had confidence in Chief's and Casino's abilities. Failure was never an option.
While Chief waited next to the car he'd 'requisitioned', Garrison and Casino marched into the jail facility and demanded to see the officer in charge. Waving the forged papers Andre had provided, Garrison insisted on interrogating the traitorous resistance fighter they were holding. Major Koenig smiled politely, glanced briefly at the documents, and invited them to follow him down the hallway.
A red flag shot up in Garrison's mind. This was too easy. No argument. No questions. It was almost as if they'd been expected. His heart began to race. He sensed the same tension in Casino behind him, could almost feel the safe cracker's fists clench.
As they approached the cell, Garrison saw Henri peering from between the bars of the tiny window high in the door. He nodded imperceptibly at the man, and received only a small frown in return. Henri looked too relaxed, too comfortable.
The guard unlocked the cell door, and the Major motioned for them to step inside. There was no way he was doing that. He demanded to be shown to an interrogation room. Then he heard the Major's side arm slide from its holster, and the guard turned on them, the automatic rifle trained on Casino. Two more armed guards appeared from the far end of the hall.
Henri stepped from the cell, his eyes boring into Garrison's. "These are the men, Major. The spies who have been plaguing this area for months. The other three are probably outside."
"You lousy collaborator!" Casino lashed out before Garrison could stop him, and the closest guard struck him solidly on the back of the head with his rifle butt. Garrison caught him as he collapsed. The guard quickly disarmed them, and shoved them into the open cell. Garrison struggled to stay on his feet, holding onto Casino, as the door slammed shut behind them.
He gently eased Casino onto the lone cot, and heard him groan. He found the hard, bruised knot at the base of Casino's skull, and his hand came away with a smear of blood, where the rifle stock had split open a gash. He pulled one of his uniform gloves from his belt and pressed it against the wound, eliciting another groan.
"Take it easy, Casino."
"What the hell..." Casino tried to sit up, but failed. "This the same guy who saved your ass?" he asked incredulously.
"Yeah. The same guy." Garrison sat on the floor, leaning his shoulder against the cot. How could he have walked into a trap? What had he missed? There must've been some signal he'd overlooked, something that would have hinted at this. Why had Henri turned? Could he now even trust Andre? Or any of the Resistance fighters in the area? He thought of Actor and Goniff heading for the coast with one of Andre's men. But that was out of his control now - his priority was here.
Casino asked the next obvious question. "Where's Chief?"
"I'm hoping he got away. And that he knows better than to go to Andre for help."
"Think he'll be back for us?"
"Eventually."
"Well, maybe for me. I wouldn't blame him if he left you here to rot."
"Casino..."
"Sorry, Warden. Bad joke."
Garrison let out a long breath and tried to concentrate on their options. There were only two. Chief got them out, or they got themselves out. "Do you think you could spring the lock?"
"I can try." Casino managed to sit up, and with Garrison's help, got shakily to his feet. He pulled his small case of lock picks from his hip pocket, but when he saw the large, rusty lock mechanism on the heavy oak door, he knew it was probably futile. And even stretching as far as he could through the small barred window, he still was inches away from reaching down to the lock.
"Okay," Garrison conceded. "Plan B."
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Chief stood motionless next to the car, eyes and ears searching the darkness for every sound and movement. And a chill crawled up his spine. Something was off. He couldn't put a name to it, but he could feel it. Garrison and Casino weren't just going to stroll out of that jail with the Frenchman between them. That never happened. Something told him to get in the car and move it back to the end of the block. He kept the motor running, and from there he could still see the jail's front door, but also the alley's side entrance. He was reassured by the weight of the side arm at his hip, and the knife strapped to his forearm. For good measure, there was the submachine gun on the seat beside him.
They'd only been inside the building for a few minutes - not nearly long enough to persuade the authorities to let them see the prisoner - when two armed soldiers rushed out the front door, searching quickly up and down the street. Two more emerged from the alley entrance, weapons ready for anything that moved. That was all the cue he needed. He quickly threw the car into reverse, backed around the corner, and took off down the street. He was several miles away before they'd had time to find a vehicle and follow him.
What now? He sat in the darkness trying to clear his head. He couldn't go back to the safe house. No matter what Garrison said, he never trusted any of the resistance fighters. Whatever had happened inside that jail was their doing. It was the only way the Germans could have known to come looking for him outside on the street - someone told them he was there.
What did he know about the jail? It was an old two-story building with front and side entrances. There were at least four armed soldiers, along with a commanding officer, who would also be armed. Now that they knew of his existence and potential threat, they'd probably call in more guards. And there was the prisoner. Was he friend or enemy? Did he need rescuing or killing?
How long did he have to devise and execute a plan? If the Warden and Casino were still alive, how long before they were moved to a more secure location, before they were interrogated? He involuntarily gripped the steering wheel and drew in a ragged breath. The memory of his hands tied to the wall above his head, going cold and numb as the ropes cut his wrists, the sharp sting of the riding crop, the sadistic sergeant with the brass knuckles, the taste of blood, made his stomach clench. He couldn't let his mind go there now, and he couldn't let Casino...
To hell with a plan. It was just him and his weapons, and he'd take his chances, trusting his skill and his wits, the way he'd always done. The hardest part was waiting while his watch edged toward midnight. The later it was, the less likely they'd be prepared.
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He parked the car on a deserted street several blocks away, and checked his weapons. His side arm was fully loaded, and he had three extra magazines on his belt for the MP40. Although he knew it wasn't necessary, he double checked the spring mechanism on his knife, too. He wanted to lose the helmet - it only got in his way - but he knew the German uniform was good camouflage, and would keep the Krauts guessing long enough to give him an advantage.
Staying in the shadows, he walked the remaining distance to the alley beside the jail, and forced himself to observe quietly for another fifteen minutes, before making his move.
The side entrance was probably locked and guarded on the inside. The main entrance was the only way to go, so he took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, readied his weapon, and walked in the front door like he owned the place.
A single guard, a corporal, sat dozing at the front desk. He startled awake as Chief approached. "Guten Abend. Kann ich Ihnen helfen?"
Chief aimed the machine gun directly at his chest. "Yeah, you can 'helfen'. Gimme the keys."
The soldier obviously didn't understand anything more than that he was being threatened, so Chief grabbed him by the arm, yanked him out of the chair, and pushed him toward the door leading back into the building, making sure the gun never lost its target.
As the door swung open, the corporal bolted for the interior, shouting warnings and diving for cover. Two additional soldiers at the far end of the row of cells pivoted, bringing their weapons with them, but their instant of hesitation was enough. Chief cut them both down with one machine gun burst, then turned it again on the corporal, who was crouched on the floor, reaching for his side arm. The man froze.
"The keys!" Chief demanded, grabbing the corporal's hand gun and flinging it down the hall.
"Chief?" He heard Garrison's voice from one of the cells. "Die Tasten."
Chief addressed the corporal again. "Yeah. What he said."
Never taking his eyes off the bore of the gun, the corporal reached into his pocket, pulled out the large ring of keys, and extended them toward Chief.
"Open the cell."
The corporal didn't need to understand the words to understand the meaning, and he did as he was told.
Casino was the first out, and to Chief's relief neither he nor the Warden looked any the worse for wear. Casino gathered up the weapons of the fallen soldiers, and handed a machine gun to Garrison.
"What do we do with him?" Chief asked, indicating the corporal still holding the key ring.
Before Garrison could answer, Casino swung the butt end of his weapon, striking the soldier on the side of the head, and he crumpled to the floor. "Payback," Casino growled.
"That works," Garrison agreed. "Now I have some payback of my own."
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When they were well away from town, Garrison took the time to check the gash on the back of Casino's head. It had bled profusely, like most head wounds. But once he'd gotten it cleaned up, he was relieved to see that it seemed superficial. And Casino claimed that the dizziness had subsided.
He filled Chief in as he guided the car farther south. He still couldn't comprehend why someone who had been a loyal and passionate Resistance fighter, someone who had risked his own life to save others, had suddenly turned. He'd thought himself a good judge of men, and it bothered him that he'd so badly misjudged Henri.
"Maybe they have somethin' on him," Chief suggested.
"Maybe," Garrison considered. "I can't imagine what they could hold over him that would make him betray his beliefs."
"Maybe he's just been a dirty, rotten turncoat all along, waitin' for the opportunity to do the most damage," Casino offered, idly loading and unloading his hand gun in the back seat.
"Maybe..." Garrison let the thought trail off. "But I need some answers."
"And when you get your answers, then what're we gonna do with him?" Casino wanted to know. "Just shoot him?"
"He comes with us."
"Oh great," Casino snorted. "We're gonna drag a belligerent Nazi lover half way across France with us. How's that gonna work?"
"We're SS, he's our prisoner. Easy as that."
Casino rolled his eyes. "Yeah, piece a cake."
Ignoring Casino's skepticism, Garrison turned his attention back to the countryside. "Turn right at the fork," he instructed Chief, "and pull over into the orchard. Henri's farm is about a half mile up the road."
The farmstead consisted of a cottage, a barn, and various animal enclosures. Fields of wheat and barley lay to the south, past a small stand of oaks. As they approached on foot, the area looked deserted. If there was a vehicle, it was hidden in the barn. There wasn't even any sign of livestock. Garrison motioned for Casino to flank left, and for Chief to go right, and he stayed behind the cover of a large maple tree at the front of the cottage.
"Henri?!" he called. Silence. He tried again. "Henri, we need to talk."
The reply was a gun shot, the bullet pinging off the tree above his head.
"Nooo...!" It was a long, anguished wail from inside the cottage. "You have to leave. They'll kill him."
"Kill who, Henri?"
"Denis. They have Denis. They have my son. Now they'll think I helped you escape."
So that was it. The Germans were holding a hostage. "Put the gun down. We can figure this out."
The door creaked slowly open, and Henri staggered out, his rifle still aimed at the tree. "I'm sorry, Craig," he sobbed. "They said they'd hurt him. I didn't know what to do." It was obvious Henri had been drinking, and the rifle wavered ominously.
"Just drop the gun, Henri. Tell me where they're holding him."
"They think I helped you get away. They've probably already killed him..." The rifle drooped.
Garrison took a cautious step from behind the tree, keeping his weapon aimed. "You don't know that. If you tell me where they have him, we can get him."
"No, it's too late, you've killed him..." The rifle swung up, the shot echoed through the woods. And Henri fell face first to the ground, a dark stain spreading across this back.
It took a second for it all to register. Casino stepped from behind the cottage, his hand gun now at his side. Chief came from the trees to his right. Garrison knelt beside the fallen Frenchman and felt for a pulse, then sat heavily in the dirt. "He's dead."
"He was going to kill you, Warden..."
"I know, Casino." He wiped his shirt sleeve across his eyes, an odd wave of anger and grief washing through him, and sheer frustration at the senselessness.
"Back home we call that suicide by cop." Chief stated, reaching a hand down to him. Garrison took it, letting Chief pull him to his feet.
"Let's get him buried. Then we'll figure out what to do about his son."
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Garrison knew they couldn't remain at Henri's farm for long. It was the first place the Germans would look, once the mayhem at the jail was discovered. While Chief stood watch, he and Casino quickly dug a shallow grave at the edge of the orchard and covered it as best they could with large rocks, to guard against scavengers.
"So where do we start looking for this kid?" Casino asked, shoving the last stone into place.
"Andre might know something," he guessed. Now that it was clear that Henri had acted alone, he felt a little more confident about the cell leader. "I didn't even know Henri had a son, so I have no idea what age boy we're talking about."
"How 'bout this age boy," Chief said, emerging from the woods, pushing a bedraggled teenager in front of him, a tight grip on the boy's collar. "He was hidin' in the barn."
The boy's dark hair was long and dirty, his clothes were torn, and he looked like he hadn't eaten in a week. He stood only a little taller than Chief's shoulder, and he might have been 12 or 20, Garrison couldn't tell. But he saw a mixture of fear and hate in the defiant blue eyes. "Ătes-vous Denis?"
"Je ne vous dis pas ne importe quoi!" the boy spat.
"Do you speak English?" he tried again.
The boy just glared at him, until Chief gave him a rough shake. "Answer the man!"
"Take it easy, Chief. He thinks we're SS."
"Where's my father?" he demanded.
"Denis, I'm sorry..."
For the first time, the boy saw the fresh grave and immediately understood. He walked slowly to it and stood staring down. "You killed him," he finally whispered.
"I didn't have a choice..."
Garrison held up a hand to silence Casino, and spoke softly. "Denis, he was drunk, and scared to death the Germans had killed you. He didn't know what he was doing."
The boy stared dumbly down at the pile of stones covering his father's grave. Garrison wanted to give him all the time in the world to grieve, but his gut told him the Germans were going to come down that road any minute. He stepped up quietly behind the boy. "I'm Craig Garrison. I was a friend of your father's. We were sent here to rescue him, and now we're going to rescue you. But we have to get out of here now."
"I don't need to be rescued!" Denis lunged for Casino's MP40, lying in the grass next to the grave, and swept it up, leveling it at them. "Major Koenig will probably give me a reward for recapturing you."
"Ah, c'mon, kid! The same Kraut that held you hostage?" Casino was incredulous, in spite of the weapon pointed at him.
"I wasn't a hostage. They were protecting me."
"Yeah, and I'm Santa Claus." In one swift motion, Casino swung out and snatched the gun from the kid's hands, and held it up for the others to see. It was unloaded, all the magazines still on Casino's belt.
Garrison could only give him a 'what the hell were you thinking?' look, and Casino shrugged. "I still have my hand gun."
"Yeah, well, hostage or not, you're coming with us." Garrison gathered up his jacket and cap, took the boy firmly by the arm, then turned to his men. "Let's get moving before company comes. And please try to keep your weapons loaded."