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"What can I get you Lieutenant?" Garrison had come up a day early and stopped off in the town that sat just outside the base, the question came from the brand new barman. Goniff had found a good spot, a job with lodgings in a place everyone was sure to gather.

"Roddy! I'll take care of him, luv. The taps gone dry again! Would you go down and see to it?" She smiled down at him as Goniff moved off to do her bidding. "You're staying with us, aren't you? What can I bring you?"

"Yes Ma'am, just over night, and the pub lunch would be fine. If he gets that tap going again I'll have a pint to go with it. And could you add it to the bill for the room, please?"

"You're in number ten at the back? Sure, luv, I'll tack it on for you."

Her voice carried to the corner and Actor raised his glass as he made fleeting eye contact. He was upstairs near the front of the building where he could keep an eye on the street and hear what was going on down in the pub. He'd be able to see the Warden when he came up to go to his rooms.

"Garrison!?" The loud voice was raised from a knot of officers gathered around a table near the back of the room and followed by a large dark haired captain that stalked across to stand over the Lieutenant as he sat at his table. Actor was immediately on alert and watched as the two confronted each other. "Last I heard they tried to court-martial you for cowardice under fire. Too bad they couldn't make it stick."

Garrison leaned back in his chair, his legs stretched out in front of him and his arms crossed over his chest. He tilted his head back and gazed up at the man. "If you know about that Patrick, you know the charges didn't 'stick' because they weren't true." His tone was casual but there was an edge to his voice.

"They just brought you up on the wrong charges. Don't worry they'll figure you out sooner or later. Aren't you in the habit of standing and saluting a superior officer, Lieutenant?"

He was still officially on leave and out of uniform as he sat there in shirtsleeves, and they both knew it. "I'll salute a superior officer Virgil, soon as I see one." The other man narrowed his eyes in anger before he turned on his heel and made his way back to his companions. Garrison recognized the patch on the mans' flight jacket. Virgil Patrick was assigned to the group flying out of the airfield where they'd be working. Great! That was all he needed.

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"It appears you've met that gentleman before." Actor was sitting at the small table in the rooms Garrison had taken at the pub. It was after one in the morning, they hadn't been able to get together any earlier as the pub was a popular gathering place. "Is he going to pose a problem for you on base?"

The Lieutenant ran his hand through his hair and sat rubbing the back of his neck, "He might."

"I guess he doesn't like you much, eh mate?" Goniff had caught the end of the exchange as he climbed back up into the pub after fixing the taps.

Garrison looked across at the little thief, his mouth quirked up in a smile. "The feeling's mutual."

The con man sat back nursing his pipe, "Can you have him reassigned?"

"Probably. But it would take time and it would disrupt the crew he flies with. Maybe it won't be necessary."

Goniff was toying with a small crystal tray that had been on the dresser, the sort of thing people put their change or jewelry in when they went to bed. When he caught the look the Warden was giving him he put it carefully back where he'd found it. "Uh, where'd you know him from, anyway?"

Garrison shook his head and continued to eye Goniff as he answered. "Virgil Patrick was two years ahead of me at West Point."

"Did he trouble you there, as well?" Actor considered the man was probably the type to resent Garrisons' standing at the academy. He'd seen the records and knew the Lieutenant had come first in all of his classes. Envy could cause bitterness and dislike, but that loud voice had been laced with hatred.

"A certain amount of hazing is tradition at the Point, but Virgil and his crowd raised it to an art form. They were especially hard on those of us who didn't fit their ideal of who should be attending."

"You mean he's a moneyed snob?" Goniff asked amazed that the social cast system worked its magic even at America's military academy.

"It's more than that. He comes from an old family. He's got ancestors in the military clear back to the Revolution. If he found out a cadet was from an immigrant family he made it pretty tough on them."

"So just 'cause a your Mum…?"

"My father too, Goniff, he was French. He went to the States to go to school and joined the Army when the first war was declared. They gave him his citizenship when he enlisted. According to them that was bad enough, but when Patricks' crowd found out my mother was German, well, it just made it worse."

Actor didn't like the sound of the man at all. "I'll see to it Reynolds knows about him, but you have to find a way to tell Chief and Casino as soon as you can. You may need protection from him on base."

"Right!,,, and stay out of his way."

Garrison didn't want to think what he'd gone through at the hands of Virgil Patrick and his followers could jeopardize their operation but having the man on base certainly put it at greater risk. He promised them, but they could both see the possibilities presenting themselves in his mind. Maybe there was a way they could use the mans' hatred and suspicion to their advantage.

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"I think we oughta take the guy out. He's too dangerous." Chief didn't like the idea of any extra threat being added in to this job.

Garrison shook his head, "No. I think we might be able to use him."

"How?" Casino didn't like it either. They already had to worry about spies for cryin' out loud. Why add some jerk with some kind a superiority complex and a grudge to the mix?

"Just think about it a minute. If somebody up here recruited Mitchell to carry that information, someone who's already being bad mouthed might be pretty interesting to them."

"So you think they'll come after you 'cause a somethin' this joker might spout off?"

"They might. Sure puts the stamp of outsider and outcast on me. Just the kind of guy that might get involved in something like this. And if they hear that Mother was German and I was raised over there, they might think my loyalties could be questionable." He'd kept his promise to Actor and arranged this meeting with Chief and Casino as soon as he'd arrived on base. It was easy enough, all he had to do was stop and ask a guard for directions to his quarters, the guard just happened to be Casino. "Actor's letting Reynolds know about him. He'll be able to pull him out of here pretty fast if things get too hot. But for right now we leave him where he is. You guys better get to your quarters before lights out. Can't have you getting into trouble too soon."

Chief laughed in the shadows. "Casino's already taken care of that."

"Shut up Indian." came the growled retort.

Already! Just great! He couldn't leave these guys alone for a minute. "What? What'd you do?"

"Nothin' I'll tell you about it later…Jeeze! We don't have time right now, lights out, remember?"

Garrison laid a restraining hand on Casino's arm. "Wait a minute,,, you find out anything about Mitchell yet?"

"Yeah. He was pretty heavy into the gambling here on base. Dropped a bundle the week before he bought it."

"Uh huh." The Warden had a pretty good idea of what kind of trouble the safecracker had managed to find so fast. As he watched the two head out across the grounds to their quarters he considered that new information too.

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"Sir! I tell you he's a Kraut from the boots up. He was even raised over there!"

"But he's a US citizen, Patrick. He was born in the States, and he's an officer in the US Army. They wouldn't have let him in if there was anything to worry about in his back ground."

"You call having a Kraut for a mother and a Hitler supporter for a granddaddy 'nothing to worry about'? My father found out all about him when we were at the Point together, sir. That guy's trouble!"

"That proves it then, doesn't it Captain?" The Major didn't like this man, he was an arrogant son of a bitch who thought you could only be an American if you were one of the first families to arrive. And he was building himself a little following among some of the young officers. If he could have his way about it, the jackass would be shipped off for some other base to worry about. "If that information was turned over to the authorities and they still let him through, he must be OK."

Patrick stopped arguing. Major Lindmann would never act on his suspicions, never take him seriously. Besides," he thought grimly, " he knew what his background was. Shake his family tree and half of them that fell out would stand up and spout German. He'd have to watch Garrison himself. Get enough on him that he couldn't get out of it this time. He'd see if his father could get hold of his records again, and made a bet with himself that they'd be washed clean of all those close ties to the 'Fatherland'.

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"Colonel Reynolds, sir?"

Reynolds leaned forward and pressed the button on the intercom. "Yes, Sergeant, what is it?"

"I've just had a message from records, sir. Someone's requested Lieutenant Garrisons file."

They'd considered the possibility that the files would be checked, but not openly. Reynolds brow furrowed, what in the devil could this mean? "And who put in that request Sergeant?"

"Major General Wilford Patrick, sir."

The Colonel drummed his fingers on the desk. Staring down at the message Actor had sent through on another man named Patrick. Reynolds tried to come up with a valid reason the General might need Garrisons' records before he answered. "Send out the modified file Sergeant, and ring through to General Fremont"

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"Gentlemen, this is Lieutenant Garrison. He's been sent up here so we can pick his brains." Colonel Husoe waited for the smattering of laughter to die down. "He's been on the ground over there, and the big wigs thought getting his perspective might help us hit those targets we've been missing." There wasn't a mission on but Husoe wanted the group to get a chance to meet this young man. He'd heard about Captain Patrick's visit to Major Lindmann too, and wanted to give the young officer a chance to air that, if he wanted to. He was actually kind of interested in how he'd handle that. "He's also a qualified pilot, but I guess he's developed some sort of bizarre fondness for blisters, because he chooses to remain on the ground." Turning to the young man who sat just behind him he asked. "Would you care to explain yourself, Lieutenant?"

Garrison stood as the Colonel took his seat. "I don't think I can, sir," that earned him a bit of laughter from the crowd, "but I'll answer any questions if anyone has any."

"What're you doing on the ground over there, Lieutenant, you one a those cloak and dagger types?"

"Well, I suppose I wouldn't be able to tell you if I was, but no Lieutenant, I was raised in Germany until I was thirteen. We did a fair amount of traveling then, and I got a chance to go back right before the war started." Right to the point, that question came from Lieutenant Andrew Crossman who was sitting right next to Captain Patrick. The young man was stocky, blonde, and had the arrogant sneer Garrison had seen all too often clothed in an SS uniform.

"You sure you're not a spy, Lieutenant? I understand you speak real good Kraut." Patrick crossed his arms on his chest and glanced at the small group of young men that sat around him.

"I'm sure Captain. And yes I speak German, you'll find a lot of us in the service do. If you scare me awake in the middle of the night you might hear some of it, and my men'll tell you if you make me mad enough I sure know how to swear in it. It's been an advantage to know on more than one occasion, especially on the ground." Thank you Captain Virgil Patrick, he thought, at least I won't have to wait for you to spread it around through the rumor mill.

"So how do you think you'll be able to help us hit our targets?" The young man sitting in the front row had that , here's another know-it-all-expert look on his face.

"I don't claim that I can, but I can tell you what the territory those aerial photos show is really like on the ground. How deep the valleys are, which way the prevailing winds blow. That sort of thing. I guess I'm not the only one they've sent out, there are others on other bases, and there will be other people, people who lived over there, coming to talk to you. I was available though, and I think the brass figured that since I'm a pilot we'd speak the same language. So I'm it, until your real experts' get in here."

"How come you're available, Garrison? You run away from your last command?"

Patrick again. He heard Colonel Husoe shift in his seat and start to growl a warning but cut him off with his answer. "I'm just off medical leave, Captain. As soon as I finish up here I'll be reassigned." The muttering from most of the men in the room told him Patrick was not well liked and didn't have the following he probably thought he had, just the little knot that sat around him, probably the same men who were in the pub the other day.

"Alright, gentlemen." Husoe got up from his chair and stepped in front of Garrison. "This is all informal. The maps and photos are going to be available for you whenever you like, so if you have questions for our friend here, Major Lindmann will get you what you need. And, as rank has it privilege I'm taking him first. Dismissed." As the men stood to leave he called over their heads. "Captain Patrick, I'll want you in my office at Oh seven-hundred."

They waited for the room to clear and then Husoe motioned Garrison to follow him. Nothing was said as they crossed over to the Colonels' office through the thick fog that had descended on the base that afternoon, but as soon as the door was closed the man turned. "Sorry about him. I inherited him when I took this place over. He's a jerk but he's a good pilot."

Garrison smiled back, "Yes, sir. And his daddy's a general."

Husoe hung his head and laughed. "Yeah! Well there is that." Crossing the office he opened a cabinet, pulled out two glasses and tipped a measure of clear liquid from a decanter into both . Handing one to the Lieutenant he cautioned. "Watch out for this stuff, it's wicked," before taking a sip and sliding into the chair behind his desk. He looked up and studied the man that had taken the chair opposite him and wondered what he was really doing up here on his base... "If it makes you feel any better Lieutenant, my folks are Norwegian and he doesn't like me either. How'd you know about his father?"

Garrison took a sip from the glass and shrugged as the liquor burned it's way down his throat, when he could breathe again he answered. "Patrick was ahead of me at West Point."

The Colonel grimaced. "That must have been a great experience. How far ahead."

"Two years, sir." His voice was slightly hoarse, and he coughed a bit on the last word, Husoe didn't seem to notice.

"Well, at least you didn't have to go the whole way with him. That's something anyway. And son, when you're drinking with me, you don't have to call me sir."

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Casino and Chief had been on base almost three days and still didn't have a lead on how Mitchell had gotten the information that had been found on him. Of course they could only get so far asking questions about 'that guy that bought it in the car wreck'. Mitchell, from what they could find out, was well thought of, even if he wasn't very out going. He'd worked over in the meteorology section, was good at his job, and had only been on base two months before his death. The only trouble he got in, if it could even be counted as trouble, was the gambling. He was a regular and usually broke even, until the last game. He'd lost all his money in that one.

Garrison had been hampered by the almost constant presence of Patrick or one of his cronies since he'd arrived on the base. It seemed wherever he went one of them was somewhere in the vicinity, watching. It was making it impossible to communicate with the other two. The weather had been lousy over the channel too. That left the pilots and flight crews free to ask him for information about the places they'd been trying to hit. No one questioned him too closely on when he'd been in the area they were interested in and he didn't volunteer that. Depending on the target, it may have been only a matter of weeks or months since he'd been on the ground near or even in the objective.

He'd wandered out to the field that fronted the hangers to watch some of the men play ball. There was a keen rivalry between the motor pool and the guard detail, and the game had just ended with the motor pool up by two runs thanks to their newest member. He waited for the crowd to thin out so he could congratulate the young man. "Looks like you could have a job after all this is over… You're good."

"Hey! I thought you said you never played ball, kid."

Chief shook his head. "I never said that, Pappy. I said I didn't like to play."

"How can you not like to play when you'r so damn good at it." Casino's voice held a note of disgust. "I should a known from the darts you'd be able to hit the ball,,, but so far!"

"You loose some money Casino?" The younger man asked in amusement.

"Well a course I lost money!" he grouched. "I could hardly bet against my own team, could I?"

The crowd was gone, the men heading to the mess tent for the evening meal, and they were left alone in the shade of a large storage building. Garrison scanned the area for his constant companion and found him lounging against one of the fuel tankers. He could watch them all he wanted, at least he was far enough away that he couldn't over hear them. "We need to come up with a way to meet that won't disturb my shadow too much. Any ideas?"

"Well, some of the guys run, out here around the fence line or along the runway." Chief ran on the estate and so did Garrison. When the Warden's schedule allowed it they ran together to stay in condition, there was an undercurrent of competitiveness in those runs. "I even seen some officer types out here. 'Course it's all flat" he added with a hint of a smile. "Not much of a challenge."

'OK, you're on. First thing in the morning. You can pass any information along to Casino when you see him in the barracks." He'd been toying with the ball and tossed it back to Chief as he turned to go. "It was a good game. I better not hang around here. I don't want to get them suspicious of you two. See you in the morning."

They waited for Garrison to move off, watching as his shadow fell in behind him, before they started across the compound to the mess tent. Casino turned to Chief and raised a questioning eyebrow. "There's gonna be another game tomorrow. You wouldn't wanna put a bet down for me, would ya?"

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Chief had been out for about fifteen minutes before the Warden showed up and started to warm up for his run. He decided to sprint to the end of the run way and pick him up on the way back. He came abreast of Garrison just as he was passing the control tower and fell into step with him. "Don't see your friends anywhere, you give 'em the slip?"

"I don't think they have anyone posted on my door. Once they find out I'm into early morning exercise we might have some company."

"That guy yesterday didn't look like he was really into this kinda thing. He looked a little soft." Chief had slowed a little to pick Garrison up, and he was puzzled that they hadn't picked up the pace. Even at a decent speed back on the estate they'd been able to talk, the rhythm of their foot steps and the fact that they were concentrating on the ground ahead had made it easier, especially for him, and he'd found himself telling the Warden things, stuff he'd never told the other guys. This was bothering him, compared to their normal speed they were practically walking. "You OK, Lieutenant?"

"I'm supposed to be slow, I just came off medical leave, remember?"

"Yeah?" Chief shot a look at the other man along his shoulder. "Well your actin's getting better, you don't look so good," and he slowed down a little bit more.

Garrison chose to ignore the observation. "What did you guys find out about Mitchell?" As he listened to the meager facts they'd managed to gather together he found he was struggling a bit to keep up with the young man. When he'd heard all they had found out the next question came out short, clipped. "Just gambling?"

"S'the only thing we've come up with so far. Even that's not really out a line for this place."

"Win or lose?"

"Little a both." The young man shrugged as they continued along. "Last game he lost big. Seems he had to take a loan to get him through to pay day."

"Who?"

"Dunno. Could be a money man on base. Could a just been a friend."

They'd finally reached the end of the strip and had turned back to retrace their steps. "Officers allowed?"

"Sure,,, the younger ones. The guys like to take officer money." They were slowin' down a little more and the Warden didn't seem to be keepin' a straight line. It took a little while for the next question to come.

"Get me in?"

Chief frowned over at the Lieutenant, he was really startin' to sweat. He didn't think anybody could fake that, not even Actor. "Don't see why not. They play in the storeroom off the motor pool. Everybody knows it. Guess as long as the game's honest the MP's just let it go."

"When?"

"Every night there's no mission in the morning. This lousy weather they'll be in there tonight, startin' 'bout six. Things really get rollin' after chow. That was one thing that made Mitchell a little bit popular. He could tell 'em if they could plan a game for the next night or not." The Warden finally pulled up and when Chief turned he caught him holding his side. "You OK?"

"Cramp. Have to walk it off. I'll see you tonight." When he looked up he waved the younger man on, "Go on. I'll be fine," and watched as he jogged off towards the mess tent. After pacing off fifty yards or so, and retracing his steps, he headed back towards his quarters and the showers. He wasn't hungry anyway, and with everyone else at their meal he'd have a clear shot at what was left of the hot water.