Lost Hope

Chapter 1

Goniff ambled into the kitchen where breakfast was coming to a close. He rubbed the top of his head tousling his hair even more and looked about the table. Mrs. B., as she was called, had heard him come in and within minutes placed a plate of scrambled eggs in front of him. He rewarded her with a big grin then sat and dug in. Chief came in the back door and grabbed a piece of toast from Goniff's plate.

"'ey, I was goin' to eat that."

Chief just walked over to the counter, leaned against it and proceeded to eat.

Mrs. B put two more slices on to toast. When they were ready she replaced Goniff's stolen slice and put the remainder on a plate. These she placed on the table and gave Chief the 'Don't argue. Sit.' look. He took it for a moment then sat. All was quiet for a time.

Garrison, even though he was finished, sat quietly enjoying the peace. They had arrived back from Italy last evening with enough time for the debriefing before bed so that was taken care of and there was no mission to plan for. All had gone well so no extra training was scheduled, just a day of peace and quiet. He sat drinking his coffee and staring into space.

Suddenly he realized he was staring at Chief's hand. It so startled him he blurted out the question without thinking.

"What happened to your fingers?"

Suddenly all eyes turned to Garrison and following his stare, to Chief's hand which promptly dropped the toast and vanished under the table. After a nervous pause he answered in a surly tone.

"Nothin'."

Still he felt all the eyes on him. He hated being stared at especially now. Back in prison he would have stopped it by attacking. He could not do that now. He also could not explain what had happened, what he had done.

Being careful not to uncurl his fist he got up from the table and started towards the back door. He had to get away. He knew he could not escape the question or the stares completely but he could delay it for a time. If only he could hide until the damage was healed. No way that was going to happen but he had to try.

Garrison rose to intercept him but Chief was faster and by ducking he managed to elude his commanding officer. He was out the door and down the stairs.

Garrison took two steps after him then stopped.

"What was wrong with his fingers?" asked Goniff.

Garrison turned. All remaining eyes were now on him. He knew how Chief felt.

"Never mind." Planning quickly he added, "You did well on the last mission so if you want to go into the village, I'll give you each a pass. Just stay out of trouble." Not trusting himself he headed to is office.

Behind him he heard the others discussing what had just happened.

Casino had not had time to see Chief's hands so could only speculate. He thought back to their last mission. He could think of nothing that could have affected Chief's hands. He clenched his fists and felt the pain of bruised knuckles. He and Goniff had done all the fist fighting while Chief just had to go into the Italian prison and get the prisoners ready to be rescued. If he had been tortured or beat up it would be his face that would be damaged not his hands.

Goniff came over to stand at his side.

"Did you see?" When all he got was a shake of his head he continued. "It wouldn't be nothin' or Chief wouldn't a took off. Think someone should go after 'im."

"No. Leave him be. He will tell the Warden when he is ready," replied Actor as he gathered his dishes and took them to the sink.

"Yeah. Just after Hell freezes over," muttered Casino. "Did you see his hands?" He looked to Actor and Mrs. B. Neither answered.

Mrs. B knew. She had seen his hand when she gave him the 'sit down' look. She knew from experience. Should she tell the Lieutenant? Maybe he already knew but wanted the young man to face up and admit it. She shouldn't interfere. But then maybe he really didn't know. Maybe if she spoke to the officer he would take it easier on the boy. At least he was not an alcoholic or something like that that could get them killed.

She had to help the boy. He reminded her of her youngest son, Timmy. He was somewhere over in Europe fighting. She feared for his safety. She knew she could not help her son but maybe she could help this young man. In spite of the talk that he was a killer she knew him as a shy, polite young man. When the others left she finished the dishes then drying her hands on the tea towel she headed for the American officer's office. When she arrived the door was almost closed but she could hear him on the phone. Never one to eavesdrop she turned and went back to the kitchen.