The crumbling stone one-room farmhouse had been abandoned for decades, and was now surrounded by dense forest and undergrowth, buried in vines and moss, practically invisible from a distance. The Resistance used this as a safe house, a meeting place, and storage. Inside it was dark and cramped, stacked with crates of stolen German weapons, ammunition, and field rations. Their contact had told them to take any supplies they needed. And it was considerably more comfortable than huddling on the damp forest floor.

Once Chief was satisfied that no one was right on their tail, Actor gave Minna the letter her father had written, and in the dim candlelight, she read it silently. "I knew he really wasn't a Nazi," she finally whispered.

Chief had been surprised she'd agreed to come with them even before she had all the details. She definitely had spunk. Tucking the letter beneath her blouse, she curled up under one of the army blankets on the room's only cot and fell asleep.

Chief sat on a case of Schmeissers and kept watch through a narrow slit in the single boarded-up window, a machine gun resting across his knees. Actor sat next to him in a rickety chair, his arms crossed, and his chin resting on his chest. Chief glanced at his watch, but it was too dark to see. He figured it was somewhere around 2 a.m. Outside, he could make out vague shapes in the limited moonlight.

It had been too long. The others should be here by now. He tried to keep from imagining what might have happened, kept trying to tell himself they were just being careful, taking their time. But it wasn't working. When he'd told Actor he needed to go back for them, Actor had ordered him not to. Chief bristled at the idea that Actor thought he could give orders, but he knew the conman was right. They had to stick to Garrison's plan and get the girl behind Allied lines. Then he could go back. To hell with what Actor said.

To the south, an owl hooted mournfully. It was the same owl he'd been hearing in the distance to the north a few minutes ago. The adrenalin kicked in, and he tuned every sense toward the surrounding forest. Twigs snapping, leaves rustling. Someone tripped and grunted. Not Garrison and the others. Even Goniff wasn't that clumsy. Chief tapped Actor on the shoulder, then motioned toward the door. Instantly alert, Actor nodded his understanding. Chief pulled the door open a crack and slipped out into the surrounding bushes, his knife ready.

A lean shadow of a figure stood twenty feet from him, out in the open, facing the house. A partisan? A local farmer? Using the encroaching forest as cover, Chief silently made his way through the shadows, to the figure's rear, keeping an eye out for any others. There were none. From behind, he slipped his left arm around the guy's neck, and pressed the point of his blade against his jugular. "One move and you're dead, friend."

The boy made a strangling sound, then croaked out, "No, wait. It's me. Marco."

Shit. The horny boyfriend. "What, are you crazy?" Chief loosened his grip and shoved the kid toward the door. "I knew I shoulda killed you back there."

Once inside, even in the darkness, Minna recognized Marco's voice and was instantly in his arms.

"Stupid punk followed us," Chief spit. "How many Krauts did ya bring with ya?"

Marco turned on him, dark eyes blazing. "I don't know who your are, but you're not a Polish man servant. Do you think I would just let you take her?"

"It's alright, Marco," Minna assured him. "They really are taking me to my father."

The anger didn't leave the kid's eyes. "I still don't trust him..."

Only Actor noticed the dark stain covering the boy's left shirt sleeve, and went to steady him. "You're hurt. What happened?"

"Everything was confused...I was caught in the crossfire..."

Actor eased Marco to the cot and asked Minna to bring him one of the first aid kits from a crate in the corner.

Chief's adrenalin was pumping, killing any patience he might have had. The punk was a threat. "C'mon, Actor, leave him. We gotta split. No tellin' how many of his Kraut buddies he brought with him."

"No!" Minna shouted. "You can't just leave him. They'll kill him."

"Nah, he'll bleed to death first."

Actor was ignoring both of them. "Chief, hand me the canteen."

"Actor..."

"The canteen, Chief?"

He bit off an angry reply and tossed the canteen to Actor, then went to stand by the door, opening it the barest crack. If Actor wanted them to get ambushed by a squad of Gerries, the least he could do was warn them of the attack.

"It's not too bad," Actor assured Marco. "The bullet went straight through. But you've lost a lot of blood."

"Please, Signore Moretti, he has to come with us," Minna pleaded. "You can't leave him to the Nazis."

Chief was relieved that Actor didn't immediately agree to that harebrained idea. They didn't need a wounded kid slowing them down. Especially a stupid one.

Actor was about to answer, but Chief cut him off with a raised hand. Someone else was rustling through the undergrowth.

"Garrison?" Actor mouthed silently.

Chief shook his head, and held up four fingers. There were at least that many, spread out through the trees. If the idiot kid hadn't brought them with him, they'd at least tailed him. He stuck a pistol in his belt, then held his knife up for Actor to see, and nodded toward the door.

Actor acknowledged that he understood, and Chief again slipped silently out into the darkness and the bushes. He hoped to hell Actor knew better than to start shooting before he was sure of what he was shooting at.

There were four, spread about twenty feet apart, easing their way as quietly as they could through the dense tree cover. Chief circled wide to his right, coming up behind them, and took out the first one with a quick punch to the heart. The second one was larger, muscular. The heart might be too hard to hit. He chose a lethal slice across the guy's windpipe. He hadn't counted on the loud gurgling noise.

Chief heard the other two turn, their automatic weapons rattling in his direction. He could just make out the shape of the nearest. He had to take the chance, before they mowed him down. He raised his pistol and fired, then dove for cover. His target fell. The fourth soldier opened up wildly with his Schmeisser. The muzzle flash gave him away, and Chief dropped him with one well-aimed shot.

Chief lay in the damp leaves, motionless for long minutes, listening for any hint that there were others. He heard nothing but the night wind in the trees. He rose and checked on each of the fallen soldiers. They were all dead.

With only a fleeting thought that Actor might shoot him, Chief stormed back into the house, and went directly for Marco, still sitting on the cot next to Minna. "You rotten little bastard..." Grabbing the stunned boy by the shirt, he yanked him to his feet and back-handed him across the face.

Before he could do it again, Actor grabbed his arm. "Stop it."

"He led 'em right to us..."

"I didn't, I swear..." Marco was choking in Chief's strong grip.

"No, he wouldn't do that," Minna yelled.

Actor pushed Chief away, and Marco fell back onto the cot. "Get your gear. We need to leave."

Chief glared at Actor, but took a breath, fighting down his anger, and turned to gather up his rifle and ammo.

"Come on, Marco." Actor reached down to help the kid to his feet. "Do you think you can walk?"

Chief swung around. "No way. He ain't comin' with us."

"I say he is."

"He almost got us killed..."

Minna rose and faced him squarely. "If he doesn't go, neither do I."

What was the matter with them? He'd just killed four German soldiers, and they were acting like it was a Sunday stroll in the park. He didn't have time to argue. The woods would soon be swarming with Gerries. As he buckled on his utility belt and slung his rifle over his shoulder, he pinned Marco with a glare. "You better keep up."

gg gg gg gg gg gg

Just as the sky had been lightening, they'd come upon the sentries guarding the small U.S. Army outpost set up in an abandoned farm. Luckily the guards decided to ask questions first, before opening fire, and they'd been escorted to the commander's office in the dilapidated farmhouse. Actor had explained who they were and what their mission was, but the young lieutenant was understandably cautious of strangers with a wild story and dubious ID's. And he had no knowledge of Garrison and the others. While the lieutenant tried to contact HQ to verify their story, he had confiscated their weapons, and locked them in a storage shed. The guards had taken Marco to the medical tent to treat his wound.

The platoon was using the shed to store machine parts and equipment. Any useful farm tools had been looted long ago. All that was left from the original owner was a stack of fire wood and a lewd 1937 calendar.

Chief tested the locked door, and checked the boards nailed over the single window. He walked around the shed, kicking at the base of the walls where he could get to them behind the crates. He could break out of this cracker box in minutes. And almost everything stored here he could turn into a lethal weapon. But what then? Kill American soldiers? Steal guns and ammo? He settled onto a crate of motor oil next to the window, where he had a narrow view through a crack. He hated the helplessness, the thought that the longer they waited, the less likely they'd be to find Garrison and the others alive.

"Try to relax, Chief. The Lieutenant knows what he's doing." Actor took a seat on the crates across from him.

The fact that Actor could almost read his mind was both comforting and unsettling. But they were probably thinking the same thing. Garrison knew how to handle himself in tight situations, but he was also a risk-taker. Sometimes dangerous risks that didn't always pan out.

Minna sat huddled on the wood pile at the far end of the shed, her knees pulled up in front of her, her arms wrapped tightly around them. "How long will it take them to get an answer back from their headquarters?"

"It's hard to tell," Actor told her. "Communications on the front lines aren't always the best."

Chief heard the medic and Marco coming before he saw them. "Looks like lover-boy'll live."

The door squeaked open, and a corpsman walked in, guiding Marco in front of him. "Whoever took care of that wound did a good job. He's going to be fine."

"Thank you, Corporal." Actor took Marco's arm and led him over to sit next to Minna.

"And I brought you these." The corporal handed around some C-ration cans, a few utensils, and two full canteens. "Thought you might be hungry. If you need anything else, just knock on the door. There's a private right outside."

The lock clicked solidly back in place when the corpsman left. Chief knew he should be hungry, but his stomach was in knots. He opened his can of stew and took it over to Minna. He had no idea when she'd last eaten.

Marco swatted his hand away, splattering the stew across the floor. "Get away from her."

Chief really wanted to just smack the idiot, but he kept his voice low. "What's the matter, punk? Afraid I'll steal your girl?"

Marco lunged at him, a balled fist ready to swing, but Actor jumped between them. "Gentlemen, this is not helping." He pushed Marco back toward the wood pile. "You wanted us to bring you along, son. Now you need to show a little gratitude."

Marco glared at them both, but sat back down, and Minna put a comforting arm around his shoulders.

Actor gave Chief a little shove, and they both moved to the other end of the shed. Chief didn't want to take his eyes off the hot-headed kid. He was a threat. But he settled back next to the window, getting control of his anger.

Actor opened his can of stew and dug in. "Ah, to taste a real gourmet meal again..."

Chief watched Minna and Marco sharing their meal, smiling and talking softly, as if they were on a picnic. "What does she see in that jerk?"

Actor glanced up from his stew. "Who knows what's in the mind of a teenage girl."

"She risked her life draggin' him along."

Actor shrugged. "The heart wants what the heart wants."

Chief turned his attention back to the window. "I don't think the heart's the part of anatomy they're thinkin' about right now."

"Surely you've been in love? Willing to sacrifice everything for the sake of your inamorata?"

He had. And it had been a mistake. He shook off the memory.

The sound of voices and someone else approaching the shed grabbed his attention. This time he couldn't see anything through the narrow vantage point of the small crack. They'd taken his knife and sheath, but he still had the blade in his boot. Out of reflex, he pulled it out and snapped it open.

When the door swung open, Garrison was the first one through, followed by Casino.

Relief swept through Chief in a wave. "Good way to lose a kidney, Warden."

Actor was on his feet. "We were wondering what happened to you."

Garrison's smile gave away his own relief. "We tried to draw the Krauts away from you. Looks like it worked."

"Partially," Actor explained. "We left four dead Germans back at the rendezvous site."

Casino noticed the extra kid sitting on the wood pile. "Looks like you been pickin' up strays along the way."

"Tried not to." Then Chief's relief evaporated. "Where's Goniff?"

Garrison's smile disappeared. "He was bringing up our rear. He fell behind, and the Krauts grabbed him."

"Clumsy little limey probably tripped over his own bootlaces," Casino added.

"We circled back and found where they took him, but we were outnumbered and out-gunned. We came back here for weapons." Garrison handed a rifle and an ammo belt to Chief. And his knife and sheath. "We have to hurry. We need to get back there before the SS does."

"They'll just let us go? They've authenticated our identities?" Actor sounded surprised that it had happened so quickly.

"I worked a little West Point magic with the CO. But he won't spare anyone to watch the kids. You'll need to stay with them, Actor."

"But Warden..."

"She's the mission. You need to keep her safe. If they have to pull back, you go with them. We'll catch up."

Reluctantly Actor agreed. Chief buckled on his sheath and the ammo belt and then approached Marco. He held out his hand and snapped his fingers. "The garrote?"

Marco just stared at him.

"The braided leather. C'mon, kid, I know you have it. You'll be sorry if I have to take it offa you."

Marco shrugged and pulled the thin leather strap out of his pocket. Chief snatched it from his hand and followed his commander out the door.

gg gg gg gg gg gg

The small squad of German soldiers was protecting a bridge that crossed a ravine, probably intending to use it for troops attacking Allied lines. It was only a few miles from the American encampment they'd just left. They'd sat motionless in the underbrush for twenty minutes, on a rise just south of the camp, as the Krauts went about their daily routine around the single large tent.

"I count six," Garrison whispered. "There could be more in the tent. Chief, think you can handle the two at the end of the bridge?"

Chief had been watching them. They were becoming more and more relaxed as the day grew warmer. They stood together smoking and talking, their weapons slung lazily over their shoulders. He could get each one with a knife from the cover of the bushes on the embankment below the bridge. "Piece a cake," he assured the Lieutenant.

"Casino and I will handle the other four, and whoever comes out of that tent, but it's going to get loud."

"If Goniff's in there, I sure hope he knows to duck," Casino said.

Garrison tapped Chief on the shoulder, and he slinked off through the woods toward the ravine. Behind him, he heard Garrison and Casino move down the rise toward the camp. He knew they'd wait until he made his kills before they opened up.

The two guards had their backs to him, deep in their conversation, paying no attention to their surroundings. Chief's first throw hit true, striking the guy in the heart. Just as he released the second knife, the other one moved, reacting to his partner falling against him. The blade hit him in the shoulder, and he dropped to his knees, clutching at the knife sticking out of his back.

Shit. He hated this part. Chief scrambled up the bank and pounced on the writhing soldier, deftly slipping the garrote around his neck. Then he pulled with all his strength, the leather cutting into his hands. He knew he could close his eyes, not watch. But something inside him told him he had to. It was his duty, his penance, to witness the life he was taking drain from the bulging eyes. Then the soldier was still.

Quickly he retrieved both knives. The gunfire around the tent had slowed. Three soldiers already lay dead, but the fourth was behind the jeep at the front of the tent, keeping Garrison pinned down behind a line of sandbags. Casino was nowhere to be seen. But Chief had a clear shot, and he took it, hitting the Kraut in the head. And then things went deathly quiet.

Until Casino shouted from inside the tent. "Chief, get in here!"

Casino was kneeling next to Goniff, who was sitting on the floor, his hands tied behind him around the tent's center pole. He looked dazed, not quite conscious, with dried blood matting his hair. A dead German half blocked the entrance.

Casino was struggling with Goniff's bindings. "I can't get this damn knot untied. Gimme your knife."

While Casino cut through the ropes binding Goniff's hands, Chief did the same with the ones around his ankles.

Garrison put his head through the tent flap. "How is he?"

"Alive," was all Chief was willing to say, lifting Goniff carefully, and pulling him over his shoulder.

"Look what they're storin' in here, Warden." Casino kicked one of the dozens of gasoline cans stacked at the back of the tent. "There's enough gas here for the entire Kraut army."

"Good. The tent will go up like a Roman candle."

"What? You really gonna leave that bridge standin'?"

"No time. Besides, our guys might need it. Now let's get moving before company shows up."

With Garrison's help, Chief eased Goniff onto the back seat of the jeep, then climbed behind the wheel. The jeep roared to life, and as he pulled away, Casino tossed a grenade toward the tent. Chief felt the heat of the explosion on the back of his neck as he sped toward the road and the Allied lines.

gg gg gg gg gg gg

It was uncertain when they would fly out. Whenever there was space on a transport heading back to England. With the ramping up of the Allied invasion of Italy, the airbase south of Naples was a lot busier now than it had been the first time they were here. There were so many cots lined up in the barracks that it was hard to move around. And if possible, it was even hotter than it had been the last time.

Actor and Casino had found their bunks and immediately fallen asleep. Goniff was spending the night in the medical facility, under the watchful eye of the doctor. He had a gash on his head and a concussion, but was otherwise in one piece. The love birds were being debriefed by Garrison and some of the brass. Chief sat for a while on the cot they'd assigned him, flipping through an old Life magazine, but he knew sleep wouldn't find him until he was back home in his own bunk. Home. Now there was a word he never thought he'd own.

The magazine wasn't holding his attention. He needed air. He needed space. He found his way to the quonset hut that served as a mess hall. At this time of night, it was deserted. He scrounged a cup of leftover lukewarm coffee and a tin of cookies, and took them to a table in the corner, where he sat leaning against the wall, his legs stretched out along the bench.

When the door squeaked open, he looked up. Marco was weaving his way toward him through the maze of tables. The boy's arm was now in a sling, and someone had given him clean fatigues. The shirt drooped from his shoulders, and the pants bunched at his ankles, dragging on the floor. He looked like a kid playing army dress-up.

Marco stopped ten feet from him, watching him as if he were some wild animal about to attack. "Can I talk to you?"

"Nothin's stoppin' you."

The boy cleared his throat. "My English is not very good, and I do not speak Polish..."

"Neither do I."

Marco frowned, but then the lightbulb came on. "No. Of course not." He cleared his throat again, and took a cautious step forward. "I wanted to say that I am sorry I caused so much trouble. I really did not know the Germans were following me. It's just that I was scared for Minna. I never would have done anything to put her in danger."

"Didn't look too scared when you were tryin' to get in her pants."

"That was...well, it just happened, and...I like her very much..."

Chief smiled, deciding the kid didn't need anymore torturing. "It's okay. I got it."

Marco looked at his boots. "I will miss her."

"You ain't comin' with us?"

"No. This is my home. My mother and sisters...I have to stay and fight." He shuffled his feet, then took another hesitant step forward. "I am worried about what will happen to her when she gets to England. She likes you, and she seems to trust you. Will you take care of her?"

"Not my job. She's going back to her papa."

"I do not trust her father," Marco spit. "He has done evil things with the weapons he creates."

Chief sat forward and studied the boy. He didn't trust Major Vogel either. The man had risked his own life to help save Chief's, but someone who could betray one allegiance could just as easily betray another. "At least she'll be away from the fightin'," Chief assured him.

"Yes, she will have that," Marco sighed. "When you see her, tell her that I...that I will be thinking about her." He turned and headed toward the door.

"Hey, kid," Chief called, and the boy turned back. "Good luck."

Marco smiled and the door slammed behind him. Chief stood and drained the last gritty dregs from his coffee cup. The kid probably won't live to see 17.

The stench of whatever had been for dinner was getting to him. He picked up the tin of cookies and took them outside to the wooden bench that faced south, across open farmland. There was a sliver of a moon, and the Milky Way glowed into infinity overhead. The pathway of spirits traveling to heaven, his grandfather had taught him. It must be a real traffic jam these days.

Behind him he heard someone stroll around the corner of the mess hall. "Mind if I join ya, mate?"

He did, but he kept his mouth shut. The guy sounded like Goniff.

The bench creaked as the young man sat next to him. "Nice night, ain't it?"

Chief put another cookie in his mouth and offered one to his new companion.

"Thanks."

For a quiet moment, the guy munched on his cookie, appraising Chief's muddy pants and torn shirt. "You're gonna get in trouble bein' out of uniform and all."

"Not regular army," Chief explained.

"Oh, you're with that special unit that came in this afternoon. I 'eard about you."

So much for secrecy. A crowded air base wasn't any different from a crowded prison. Everybody knew everybody else's business.

The Brit grinned at him. "Ya off duty? Why ain't ya in town, takin' advantage of a little rest and relaxation?" He put a lascivious spin on the 'rest and relaxation'.

"Maybe later."

The young Brit held out his hand. "I'm Jonny. Jonathan to me mum."

Chief accepted the handshake. "Chief."

"Just Chief?"

"Just Chief."

"Oh, I get it. A secret code name."

"Somethin' like that." Chief thought maybe a helpful hint might convince the guy to leave. "You headed in for a little rest and relaxation?"

Jonny shrugged. "I was at the pub for a wee bit. Had a coupla pints. All me mates were out to find a bit a skirt. But I got me a special little bird waitin' for me back 'ome, ya see. Just wouldn't seem right. She's the only girl I want."

"Lucky you."

"Yeah, look 'ere." Jonny pulled a wallet-sized picture from his shirt pocket and handed it to him. "This is me and my girl just before I shipped out. Ain't she a looker?"

Chief took the picture. Even from the small black and white image, he knew those unruly curls were ginger, the smiling eyes were bright green, her lipstick was red. He had the same involuntary reaction he always had when he looked at her. It was the other automatic reaction that caught him off guard - the lump that rose in his throat. He smiled and handed the picture back. "You're real lucky, friend."