The second day of Resistance training wasn't any better than the first. Chief had been assigned to work with Lieutenant Judd Kramer, a member of Captain Beal's commando team, on knife and hand-to-hand skills. Kramer was a career soldier, tall and powerful, with the kind of muscles you got from lifting a lot of weights. His demeanor was all military, but the gang tattoo he tried to hide on his left shoulder told the real story.

Kramer made it clear from the start that he was the one in charge, and Chief had no problem with that. The guy was an officer. He needed to feel important. But Chief had learned the hard way that you don't mess with gang thugs, so he just stayed out of the guy's way as much as possible. It wasn't always possible.

The young Frenchman Chief was coaching in the use of an Army combat knife was smart and eager to learn. He didn't speak much English, but they managed to communicate well enough. Chief learned the French words for 'knife' and 'target', and he taught the kid the English versions. Most of what he needed to know, though, had to be demonstrated rather than explained anyway. They'd worked all afternoon at an outdoor target range. In the adjacent field, Kramer was instructing a second young man in hand-to-hand fighting.

"Hey, Indian!"

Chief took a deep breath before turning to see what Kramer wanted.

"Come here. Bring the kid with you."

Chief slipped the knife into the sheath on his belt and headed across the field, taking his time. He'd prefer to have his own blade, but security had confiscated that, as if it were more lethal than the one he'd been teaching with all morning.

As he approached, the Lieutenant pointed down to a spot on the ground in front of him. "Stand here," he ordered.

Chief knew what Kramer had in mind, but he did as he was told, squarely facing the Lieutenant, staring him in the eyes.

"Okay, boys, watch carefully. This is how you take down a punk." He grinned at Chief, inviting him to attack.

Demonstration or not, Chief wasn't about to take a beating from this idiot. He didn't have his gang to protect him now. Never losing the guy's challenging stare, Chief shifted his weight to his left foot, as if he were about to swing with his right. When Kramer reacted, he lashed out with his left, connecting with solid flesh, the electric jolt shooting all the way to his shoulder. While Kramer was off balance, Chief grabbed his wrist, wrenched it backward, and twisted his arm up behind him. The knife slid from its sheath like it was greased, and drew a thin line of blood under Kramer's jaw.

Chief held Kramer motionless until he knew the guy could feel the blood trickling down his neck. Then he released his grip and shoved him away. "Y'all catch that, or do you wanna see it again?"

The two boys were smart enough to keep quiet. Kramer rubbed at his neck, smearing the blood, his glare promising payback.

"I think we're done here." Chief sheathed the knife, and turned and walked away.

gg gg gg gg gg gg

"Better not be stew again," Casino complained as they walked into the crowded mess hall. Two nights of being confined to a cell had done a job on Casino's mood. Chief had learned to ignore it, for the most part. But two nights of being confined in the same cell with Casino was doing a job on his nerves, too. They shared the barracks back at the mansion, but at least he could walk out of that room when he needed to.

They picked up trays and got in one of the food lines that stretched along both sides of the long serving stations. Privates in aprons stood in the middle, doling out the night's selection of mystery meat, boiled potatoes, and green slime. None of it looked particularly appetizing, but Chief had missed lunch. He was hungry enough to eat just about anything. He looked around for Actor and Goniff, who had been working with their trainees on another part of the base. Evidently they hadn't gotten back yet.

Ahead of them, in the opposite line, Kramer and Sergeant Jim Todd were joking together as they collected their meal. Todd was the soldier Casino had been working with.

"How's your screw?" Chief asked him. That's all he figured Beal's guys were there for - to keep them in line.

"Who, Sergeant Straight-Lace?" Casino took the spoon from the private ladling out potatoes and helped himself to two more. "He ain't too bad. Not real thrilled with this detail, though."

"I'll bet."

"How 'bout your guy?"

"Dangerous. Has a gang history."

"Oh yeah? What gang?" Casino sounded more intrigued than concerned.

"Didn't recognize the ink."

"Yeah, well just keep your cool. The Warden's havin' a hard enough time keepin' your neck out of a noose."

"Yeah, the Warden." They hadn't seen Garrison since he'd deposited them in their cells two nights ago. They were escorted to their assignments each morning and back each night by the same armed guards who now stood at all the mess hall exits.

Chief could hear Kramer and Todd laughing. Not the kind of laugh you hear at the punch line of a dirty joke. The kind of laugh that had an ugly edge to it. It never hurt to know as much as you could about your enemy, so he listened more carefully.

"... just added a little surprise to tomorrow's mix," Kramer was saying.

"I don't think that's such a great idea." Todd chuckled, but not enthusiastically.

"Sure it is. We'll just have Fourth of July a little early. The Captain will love it." Kramer flashed the grin Chief had seen out on the training field. And then they moved out of earshot.

Chief followed Casino to an empty table on the far side of the crowded room, and slid onto the bench, with his back to the wall. Casino climbed over the bench and sat next to him. He saw Actor and Goniff come in through the main door and head for the food line. Goniff was limping.

As they ate, he half-listened to Casino bitch about the cell, Sergeant Todd, the food, the weather. But Chief's attention was on Kramer and his cohorts sitting three tables away, talking and joking. Kramer was sporting a bandage where the knife had sliced him, and once his eyes flicked up to meet Chief's.

They were almost done with their meal by the time Actor and Goniff got through the line and joined them, taking seats on the other side of the table. Goniff struggled to get his left leg over the bench.

"What happened to you?" Casino asked around a mouthful of cake.

"I fell," Goniff's shoulders slumped as he rubbed at his left knee.

Actor took a swallow of his coffee. "He and his student were doing timed rope climbs. The rope broke."

"It broke? Just like that?" Casino snapped his fingers.

"Just like that. I dunno what happened. I checked all me gear when we was done last night, just like the Sergeant Major's always tellin' us. I didn't see no frayin' or breaks. Guess I just didn't look good enough."

"Ya gonna be okay?" Casino shoved the leftover portion of his cake across the table to Goniff.

"It appears to be just a sprain," Actor told them. "I'll get the guard to bring some ice to put on it tonight."

Chief pulled his eyes away from Kramer's table. "Did ya keep the rope?"

"Nah, it broke in the middle," Goniff sighed. "Neither piece was long enough to do anythin' with. I chucked 'em in the dust bin."

Casino narrowed his eyes at him. "You thinkin' what I think you're thinkin'?"

"Might be enlightenin' to get a look at that break."

In the seconds that Chief had taken his eyes off Kramer, the guy and his buddies had left their table and were standing across from him, behind Actor and Goniff.

"So they let the little chain gang out of their cages to eat, huh?" the Lieutenant taunted, watching Chief for a reaction. Then he turned to one of his friends. "You know, if they don't keep them locked up, I hear they tend to take off like scared bunnies."

Chief's fingers flexed against the rough table top, craving the lethal weight of his blade. He caught Actor's warning glare from across the table, and felt Casino tense next to him. But he couldn't let it stand. "I hear all that gang-bangin' couldn't keep you from gettin' whipped by a common street punk."

Casino stifled a laugh.

"We can take this outside right now, injun," Kramer spit. "Let's see what you got without a weapon for courage."

Chief slowly rose from the table and stepped back over the bench, his heart pounding with the flood of adrenalin. But this wasn't the time or place. He sucked in a deep breath, turned and started to walk away.

"Yeah, that Lieutenant of yours might not let you come out to play anymore if you can't behave yourself. What would you do if he didn't let you get over to France once in a while to visit your girl friend?" Kramer turned with a smirk to his companions. "There's this sweet little Maquis doxy, used to be a nun. If pretty boy here gets his visiting privileges revoked, then Garrison can have her sugar all to himself..."

His rage exploded. Chief launched himself across the table, scattering trays and food, as Goniff ducked out of the way. He landed on top of Kramer, hitting the floor hard, sending tables skidding, and when his fists started slamming into flesh, they wouldn't stop.

He struggled to pull from Actor's grip on his arm, and Casino's strangle hold around his neck, and he landed two more good punches before they had him pinned to the floor, gasping for breath. Three armed guards had their rifles trained on him. Two more were helping the staggering Kramer to his feet.

Kramer spat blood as his buddies pulled him away. "This ain't over, punk."

gg gg gg gg gg gg

Garrison had been sitting alone in Major Richards' office for 15 minutes. He understood the psychology behind the waiting tactic. He'd used it himself. And it was driving him nuts. He didn't have time for this.

A corporal had summoned him from the Radio Room where he'd been assigned since their arrival at Intelligence Headquarters two days ago. He had a rare and valuable ground-level perspective on things like troop movements, supply routes, and rebel networks, and he was glad he could put it to use, analyzing the massive amounts of German intelligence being collected. But he'd worked through the night, and hadn't had a chance to see his team again since he'd accompanied them to their cells that first night. They had already been out on the training fields by the time he was free from the stacks of decoded messages.

The waiting set his nerves on edge. He stood and wandered over to the tall bookshelves against the left wall, and pulled out a volume at random. The Art of War, but Sun Tzu. Of course. Richards had probably read the ancient Chinese treatise when it was first published, Garrison thought, shaking his head at his own cynicism. That would get him nowhere. From what he'd heard, Richards had been a top-notch commando in his day, but he hadn't seen any real action until the U.S. had joined the war, when he was past his prime. That spoke volumes about that first time they'd worked with Richards, when the rescue mission into Italy had gone so badly. Richards had been commanding from behind a desk since then. Garrison flipped idly through the book for a moment, then shoved it back into its slot on the shelf.

He could only speculate on why Richards wanted to see him. With any luck, the Major had considered the new information about Chief being drugged, and had decided to release them. He now wondered about what Casino had said, that Richards wouldn't investigate beyond the end of his nose. The Major knew his men, and Garrison thought he'd come to value their skills. Would he really give up on them so easily? In the few free moments Garrison had managed to steal for himself, he'd done a little of his own investigating, talking to other intelligence officers, and going through radio and message logs. It had only raised more questions, without revealing any answers.

He lit another cigarette, dropping the match into the ashtray on Richards' desk. Quickly he sorted through the few documents and files lying there, but nothing gave him a clue. He knew the Major wouldn't leave anything out in the open that he didn't intend to be seen.

He'd been so caught up in his own thoughts that he was startled at the door opening. He came to attention as Major Richards strode in, a bit embarrassed that he was caught still standing behind the desk.

"As you were, Garrison. Sorry to keep you waiting."

"No problem, sir." Garrison went back to his chair as Richards rounded the desk, giving him only the briefest of disapproving frowns.

Richards settled himself into his chair, and Garrison sat also.

"What have you decided about my team, sir? It's obvious that Chief..."

"About Chief." Richards cleared his throat. "I've confined him to his cell until further notice."

That caught Garrison off guard. "Why? What happened?"

"He attacked one of Captain Beal's men in the mess hall tonight. Had to be pulled off of him at gunpoint."

Garrison rubbed at the headache forming behind his eyes, trying hard not to let his disappointment and frustration show. At least they hadn't actually shot him. "He had to have been provoked. I know he has a temper, but he doesn't just start a fight without a reason."

"Nonetheless, it was a fight. Lieutenant Kramer has also been reprimanded."

Judd Kramer, the hard-nosed weapons expert on Beal's team. Chief wouldn't have put up with him for long. "Look, Major, keeping my men in the brig has got to be doing a job on their nerves. And Chief has barely recovered from the Paris mission, then being assaulted and drugged."

"You really believe his story, don't you, Lieutenant."

"I do, sir. I know Chief. He had no reason to run."

Richards sat silently for a moment, contemplating his clasped hands. Then he met Garrison's eyes. "What about the girl in Paris?"

"Jeanette? What about her?"

"Come on, Garrison. He's a young man. One who's been locked up with other men for months - years. We both know what that can be like. He may even have real feelings for the girl. She took care of him at the convent in France, when he was injured. That isn't enough incentive?"

As much as he hated to admit it, Richards had a valid point. Although he didn't know the real reason for Chief's disappearance in New York, he could easily guess. But not this time. He knew to his very core that Chief didn't desert, but his gut feelings were hard to explain. And then there was the head wound and the needle mark. And the screwed up messages in Paris.

Garrison redirected the conversation. "I've been trying to find out how the messages about the book pick-up got confused. That was a dangerous mistake that could have cost thousands of lives."

"And what have you discovered?" Richards was humoring him. The Major probably thought that was just a mix-up on the part of ignorant, scared partisans.

"Augie said he received the message on Monday night telling him to pick up the book, and not to give it to anyone but his regular handler. I can't find any record in the radio logs of that message being sent. Who is Augie's handler, sir?"

"You know I can't tell you that."

"Is it Captain Beal?"

Richards straightened in his chair and leaned forward on his desk. "It was a near-fatal mistake, I'll admit, but it was just a mistake. Don't try to make a conspiracy out of it. Why on earth would Captain Beal deliberately sabotage a critical mission?"

Had Richards just admitted that Beal was Augie's contact? "You tell me, sir. Maybe it was just a mistake. Maybe this mission accidentally got assigned to two teams. You have access to the mission records. Why don't you check? Maybe there will be some explanation for all of these foul-ups. It seems to me we'd want to find out how this happened and make sure it doesn't happen again."

"I already have my staff checking," Richards sighed, his chair squeaking as he leaned back. "However, none of this changes the fact that your man is dangerously out of control and a flight risk. He will stay confined until General Fremont has a chance to review the matter."

"Sir, that could take weeks..."

"That's all, Lieutenant. You're dismissed."

Garrison stood, gave a stiff salute, and did not close the door gently as he left.

gg gg gg gg gg gg

The guards had been told not to unlock the cells, so Garrison pulled up a metal folding chair on the other side of the bars, between the two adjoining cells, so he could see all of them. He straddled it and rested his elbows on the back, lighting a cigarette.

Casino strolled up to the corner, where the two cells joined. "Got a spare?"

Garrison handed him the pack. "I've heard what Richards and the MP's had to say. Now I want your version."

From his cot in the next cell, Goniff dropped the ice pack he'd been holding on his knee, jumped up, and reached through the bars to take the pack of cigarettes from Casino. "That Kramer bloke started makin' disparagin' remarks about Jeanette and you, so Chiefy let 'im 'ave it."

Garrison raised an eyebrow. "That simple, huh?"

Chief had not moved from where he'd collapsed onto his cot after the guards had taken off the cuffs. When the adrenalin had drained away, he had nothing left to fight with. He rubbed at his bruised knuckles. "Don't matter what he said. He baited me, and I fell for it."

Actor, sharing the cell with Goniff, approached the bars and rested his arms on the chest-high horizontals. "It didn't start there, Lieutenant. Tell him about your rope, Goniff."

"Is that what happened to your knee?" the Warden wanted to know.

"Yeah, me rope broke..."

"It was cut," Chief clarified.

"You don't know that. It mighta just wore out."

"Fat chance."

"Is that all?" Garrison asked.

From where he was standing against the bars, Casino turned to Chief. "While we're all confessin' here, go ahead. Tell him about that little ruckus this afternoon."

He hesitated. He shouldn't have risen to that bait, either.

"Chief?" Garrison prompted.

"He wanted a fight, and he got what he deserved."

"So he already had it in for you in the mess hall tonight."

"He's had it in for me since we got here."

Actor asked the question that had been buzzing in Chief's head since dinner. "How did Lieutenant Kramer know about Jeanette?"

Garrison took a drag on his cigarette. "We all work with a lot of different Maquis cells. He probably encountered her on a mission."

"Yes, I'm sure. But how did he know about Chief and Jeanette?"

Garrison sighed and shook his head. "I don't know."

"It's him, ain't it?" Chief pushed up on one elbow. "Him and Beal. They sent Augie the fake message."

"Like I said, I don't know. I have no proof. I'm working on it."

"Good luck with that." Chief fell back onto the cot, anger and frustration eating away at what little energy he had left. Garrison just wasn't getting it. What more evidence did he need? Officers were all alike. They couldn't get past each other's shiny brass.

Garrison rose and returned his chair to its spot against the wall. "Actor, Casino, Goniff, you have your regular sessions tomorrow. The guards will pick you up at 07:00. Chief, you're stuck here until they decide what to do with you."

He'd known that the minute the MP's had cuffed him. They weren't going to let him out of this cell again. If they had a version of solitary, he'd probably be in it.

"Warden, that ain't fair," Casino protested. "Kramer started it. I woulda ripped that crumb's head off myself if Geronimo here hadn't beat me to it."

"It's out of my hands. I'm sorry, Chief. But I'll see what I can do."

Chief closed his eyes, feeling the walls closing in on him again, that familiar hollow sensation of being trapped, with no hope of ever seeing the outside again. Just when he thought he'd gained some control, and all he had to do was stay alive long enough. But it was the story of his life. No reason for it to change now.

gg gg gg gg gg gg

When the MP's came to collect the others the next morning, they brought Chief a tray of food. The young corporal apologized that it had probably gotten cold, but joked that it might improve the taste. It was the same MP detail every morning and night, and Actor knew them all by name. Chief was fascinated with how easily Actor had gotten them to open up, how he'd won them over to the team's plight of being unjustly confined. The man had a gift.

Settling onto his bunk, Chief removed the plate covering the top of his breakfast, and picked up the spoon. As usual, there was no knife or fork. He shook his head. The kids running this place had no idea how deadly a metal spoon could become. Maybe it would be a nice project while he was locked up here.

Casino finished buttoning his shirt and came over to give him a slap on the back, a happy grin on his face. "Sorry you're missin' the party, babe. Today we start the fun stuff. Demolition. Gonna see how many tanks, half-tracks, and storage sheds we can blow up. And with nobody shootin' at us."

"Sounds like a real blast." Chief didn't understand why Casino got such a kick out of explosions. They hurt his ears.

"Ha! I get it. Demolition. Blast. Very cute." Casino held out his right hand, as if he wanted to shake. Chief frowned at him, but accepted the gesture, then understood why. Casino slipped a length of twisted cot spring into his hand, then winked at him. "If you're lucky, maybe they'll let you out into the yard. You could probably use a little fresh air."

"Later, mate," Goniff called cheerily over his shoulder.

Actor gave him a quick salute. "Enjoy your day off." Then they all left the cell block, surrounded by armed guards.

When the main door had clanged shut, Chief turned back to the cold eggs and oatmeal. Day off. Right. He'd lost his appetite. He set the tray on the floor and lay back on his cot, inspecting the improvised lock pick Casino had slipped him. As simple as the bent piece of metal was, it must've taken some effort. He hadn't seen Casino working on it. He'd have to pay closer attention. Casino was still holding some secrets close to the vest.

Whenever possible, he'd watched Casino work on locks, and Casino had been generous in sharing his skills with all of them. Although Chief had never tried one himself, he felt like he'd picked up the technique.

He let his mind wander, as he flipped the twisted scrap of wire between his fingers. What if he could get the cell door open? There was still the armed MP outside the doorway into the main hall. This morning it was the kid Actor had called Bobby. He knew he could take him out, but he really wasn't looking to hurt an innocent kid just doing his job. Maybe just leave him dazed for a few minutes, long enough for him to open a window and drop the two stories to the ground. But what then? Run? Prove them all right?

And where would he go? If he thought there was the slimmest chance he could locate Jeanette, he'd find a way to get to France and talk some sense into her. The image of her bruised, swollen face crowded into his mind. He didn't want to remember her that way. He tried to pull up the image he had of her at the convent, sitting in the grass and shelling peas, or helping him clean the fish he'd caught. The girlish innocence of her quick smile, the soft, pale hair escaping from her wimple. Those images hurt, too.

Chief took a deep breath and let it out slowly, pushing the lock pick into his pants pocket, and the memories back into the shadows. He hated this cell, and the helpless, hopeless hole it left in his gut. But he'd long ago decided to trust Garrison, and although that trust felt like it was fraying at the edges, he wasn't ready to give up on it. He'd try to take Actor's advice and embrace the solitude, away from the heat of the training field and Kramer's relentless baiting.

It riled him that he'd fallen for it, let his temper get the best of him, but he also knew he probably couldn't trust himself to hold back now, especially when Kramer was out for blood. He imagined himself putting a shiv through the goon's thick neck, or a fist through his malicious grin. That grin he'd seen on the field yesterday afternoon, and in the chow line last night. And the sinister laugh that went with it, about an "early Fourth of July" and "a little surprise in tomorrow's mix".

Shit!

Fourth of July. Surprise tomorrow. Demolition.

Chief bolted from his cot and grabbed the first thing at hand, the metal tray, sending eggs and oatmeal splattering across the floor. He banged it frantically against the cell bars. "Guard! Hey, screw!"

The hall door swung open, and the young MP just stood there, holding his rifle protectively across his chest. "What's wrong?"

"I gotta see Garrison. Now."

"I don't think...I'm not sure he's..."

"Then Richards. I gotta talk to Richards."

The kid took a step back and stammered, "I'll see if I can find him..."

"Just hurry!"

He left quickly, obviously anxious to get away.

He paced the length of the cell, feeling more caged than ever. Richards would probably take all day to decide if he had time to waste coming to the brig. Chief slipped the bent spring from his pocket and started to work on the lock. It took a couple of tries, but once he felt the solid resistance, then the click, it popped open amazingly easily.

In his haste, the guard had left the hallway door unlocked. Chief eased it open a crack and could see the single MP just down the hall at the desk, on the phone, back turned. Silently, Chief slipped through the door and came up behind the kid, tapping him lightly on the shoulder. When he turned, startled, Chief hit him with a hard right, and he fell back across the desk, the phone receiver clattering to the floor. Chief pulled the kid's sidearm from its holster and shoved it under his belt. Then he slipped the knife from its sheath. Instinctively he tested the blade. It was dull as a rock, but it would have to do. He gave the rifle a thought, then decided it was too cumbersome.

Across from the desk, he used the knife to pry the lock from the window, shoved it open, and maneuvered through. He gave himself only a brief second to consider, assured himself that no one was close enough to see, then pushed off, falling 20 feet to the ground, dropping and rolling just like he did on every jump behind enemy lines.

On the narrow street directly in front of him, several jeeps sat parked. He chose the closest, and the keys were in the ignition. At least the god of engines was on his side. He tried to picture the map of the base that he'd seen two days ago. He thought he remembered the large, open area in the base's far northeast corner. The engine roared to life, and he took off. He needed speed, no matter how much attention it drew. The MP wasn't going to stay unconscious for long.

The gate and the fence surrounding the demolition range were both too sturdy to ram. He skidded the jeep to a halt with a squeal of rubber, and leapt toward the tall chain-link fence. At least the top wasn't angled out. The three lines of barbed wire strung there would be tough enough to get over. He scrambled to the top, avoided most of the wicked barbs, and vaulted over them to the ground. Trying to catch his breath, he collapsed back against the fence and scanned the huge open field in front of him. Far to the north he could make out a cluster of small buildings and a few vehicles, with people moving around them. He thought he recognized Casino.

He took off at a dead run. And then the sirens started. Air raid? Or his escape had been discovered. He ran faster. As he approached the group, he shouted, but no one heard him over the blare of the sirens.

Casino looked up briefly when the sirens had started, but turned back to unloading crates from the back of a truck, stacking them in front of one of the small cinderblock structures. He had two already out and set a third on top of them, then pulled a small pry bar off his belt and started to lever the lid from the top box. Kramer and Todd were at the front of the truck, edging away in the opposite direction.

"Casino!"

Chief hit him at full speed, tackling him around the waist, sending the pry bar and the crate lid flying. They both hit the dirt just as the world exploded in a blinding flash and a deafening whump. A second blast sent flaming debris whizzing over their heads. He scrambled to his feet, grabbing Casino by the shirt, dragging him up. They'd only stumbled three more steps before the force of a third explosion slammed him in the back, and he landed hard on top of Casino.

How long did he lay there, the world eerily silent? His eyes and throat burned. His ears hummed to the rapid beat of his heart. Beneath him, Casino groaned and pushed upward. Chief rolled off of him and onto his back, needing to breathe, but choking on the acrid smoke. He could hear Casino coughing next to him. "What the hell..."

Chief opened his eyes, and for the third time in a matter of days, there were MP's standing over him with rifles. He turned his head to look at his teammate, who was now struggling to sit up. "You okay?" he coughed between ragged breaths.

"Yeah. You?"

"Yeah." The air was clearing, breathing didn't burn as much.

"You're bleedin'."

"So are you."