Part 3, Buckshot
Chapter 4.
This time they were sent to Denmark where one of their agents had been captured and by now most likely killed. The agent had been carrying what he thought was a German code transmitter. London wanted to get it in hopes of deciphering the code. He was to bring it to the coast where a fishing boat would bring him to England. When he failed to make the rendezvous, London was notified. Garrison and his remaining felons arrived by sub. It was up to them to find out what had happened.
Chief preferred being on a mission. It was safer to steal booze from someone you would never see again. It also gave him two hours each night to do it in while he was supposed to be on watch. It had been easy up until now. Tonight his luck ran out. He had found the restaurant and got inside. Then with three bottles of booze in his hands a very protective dog had appeared out of nowhere. He had managed to escape but he had dropped all but one of the bottles and torn the leg of his pants. Back at his post he checked all around to make sure nothing had happened then set to work. He filled the flask then took several pulls at the bottle before stashing it. He checked his pants again. He would have to figure out how he would explain the tear that Garrison was sure to notice. He regretted dropping the other bottles. The one bottle was going to have to last him until tomorrow night when hopefully he could get some more. It was going to be a long twenty four hours. Have to ration it, he thought, as he took a sip.
As he feared Garrison asked about the tear. He made out like he hadn't noticed and said he must have caught it on a nail. He had never been a good liar and the officer gave him a doubting look. He pretended he didn't notice or care but he was worried. He would have to be more careful.
What they had found when they reached the agents last position in Kolding, was his house, unoccupied and ransacked. When Garrison asked his neighbours he was told that the last they saw of him he was talking to a trio of German soldiers. He had not been seen since. That was five days ago. They had to presumed he had been captured and killed, the transmitter back in enemy hands. There was nothing they could do now. It briefly crossed the officer's mind to break in to the local Nazi headquarters and see if the item was still there but realized that it had to have been moved by now. If Actor had been with them they might have gone in as an SS officer and found out something. They would make their way back to the pick up point.
All they had to do was travel about forty kilometres to the pick up point. Chief had stolen a car and was driving them in style until they had run out of gas. With no other vehicle in sight and dusk falling rapidly they had decided to spend a few hours in a farmer's barn before continuing their journey on foot.
Goniff had never liked taking the watch, Chief was better at it and besides the bloke liked it. But Garrison said go so he went. It was cold and windy so he pulled up his collar and turned his back to the worst of the weather. He spotted a low wall a few yards away and moved over to it. By squatting down in front of it he would be able to keep from freezing. He moved to the end and peered around the corner. From there he could see the back of the house. If he looked down the other leg of the wall he could see the barn. It was a good spot. He crouched back down and blew on his hands before tucking them in his arm pits. The night was cool. When they had been in the car or even walking it was not too bad but this sitting idle was getting to him. He peered around the corner then pulled back abruptly. Some one, probably the owner of the barn, was coming towards him and he had a shotgun.
The man must have seen them and crept out after them. Goniff saw the gun being raised and he took off. He knew he should lead the attacker away then circle back but it was hard not to just run to the others. He had been chased before but never by an irate gunman. The blast was expected but even so the resulting pain was a shock. There was no centralized pain just a burning all over. He ran, dodging left and right until he had to stop, gasping and weak kneed. He crouched, waiting to catch his breath, listening. There was no sound so he rose carefully and made his way back to the barn. The old man was just coming out of the barn. He looked around and then headed back towards the house. Goniff waited. Where were the others? They had obviously heard the shot and taken off, but where were they now? Slowly and carefully the English born thief began to circle the barn. A gently 'psst' got his attention and he smiled as Casino's face appeared out from behind the chicken coop.
"'es gone back to 'is 'ouse."
"All right," said Garrison, as he led them back to the barn. Once inside Goniff walked over to a bale of straw and sat. Technically he was supposed to be on guard but right now he needed to just sit for a bit. Being chased and shot at had shaken him up. He preferred to be in and out, unseen. He lay back but sat up almost immediately and turned to give the bale an accusatory glare. Seeing no reason for the sharp pains he opened his coat and peeled it off. One look at the back and he knew. With a sinking heart and pain flaring in his back he turned to Casino and said quietly, "I'm bleedin'."
Casino looked up from where he was trying to fix somewhere to sleep and looked to his team mate. The very small voice told him that this was serious as did the pale skin and huge eyes staring back at him. There was no evidence of injury so he looked down to what Goniff was holding. It was his jacket, a dark jacket so if there was blood on it he could not see it. "Turn around. Let's see." When he did Casino started to laugh.
"It's not funny, Casino," he whined.
Chief, who had gone up to the loft to watch, peered down through the opening in the floor, then lightly dropped down. He came over to investigate.
"It's all right little buddy. You caught a load of buck shot. Take your shirt off." They had to help Goniff take it off but when he did Casino said, "pants too".
"Why?" demanded Goniff indignant and frightened .
"Cause I think there may be a few that … " and he laughed again.
Goniff gingerly touched his butt then sighd. "Blimey. I aint taken 'em off. Just …" and he peered around to see as he pulled his boxers down three or four inches.
Still smirking, Casino said, "here, sit down. Chief?" Knowing what was coming the quiet one pulled out his knife, released the blade and handed it over.
"Anybody got any booze?" asked Casino. An open silver flask appeared at his elbow. After sterilizing the blade he poured some on the patients back and was rewarded by a scream as Goniff jumped in response to the pain.
"Bloody 'ell. That 'urt worse than the pellets." Casino didn't think about the pain until he actually heard it in the other man's voice.
"Sorry, Goniff. I'll try to be quick." It was a genuine apology.
"Try to be gentle. And give me a swig a that. I need it more than me back does." Chief passed the flask forward. "Thanks." He drained it and handed it back. No one saw the look on Chief's face.
It took about fifteen minutes for the safecracker/medic to remove all the pellets. He would have liked to anoint his back again but there was no more in the flask. He had to make do with putting the patient's shirt back on him with a warning to have it checked when they got back. They all made a mental note to stay clear of Goniff's back.
The doctor had checked when they got back to England and pronounced him fit, his back was healing nicely but he could not forget the pain and humiliation that would be tied to the smell of Whiskey for a long time. That smell would always remind him of laying on his stomach on a scratchy bale of hay, shirtless, boxers pulled down further than he was comfortable with, as Casino stood over him, digging holes in his back with Chief knife.
Later when they were back at their base, Chief woke up from a nightmare. He had stood in the middle of a field and fired his gun at a parade of soldiers. As one fell another appeared. They marched past him and he kept on shooting. He woke up shaking in agony. After a moment listening for any sound he got up and went to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a shot of whiskey and then another. Finally the shakes stopped and he went back to bed. It took a long time before he went to sleep and the next thing he knew it was morning.
Over breakfast Garrison asked him if he heard anything last night. He had heard someone walking around and wondered who it was. Chief reached over for his coffee mug with both hands to prevent the cup from shaking and shook his head. He hated lying to the man but then he reminded himself how he had yelled at him in the jail that night he had been arrested for defending him. He tried to tell himself the man did not deserve the truth but knew he was just protecting himself even though he did not deserve it.
Each morning he told himself that today he would put the past behind him, he would forget and not need to drink anymore. He did not need it. He could do this. Each day he failed. The guys were going to the Doves. He had to go or they would suspect. Just one drink turned into two, three, and more. Casino had a birthday, so Garrison offered each a drink at dinner, target practice and he needed a drink to ease the shakes. Always something. Sleep eluded him, his night cap helped so he continued that ritual. He thought he was safe with that until the night he heard Garrison's bedroom door open just as he finished his shot. He quickly ducked down behind a large arm chair and watched in the dark as Garrison moved silently into the room. He moved about the room, past the bottle of scotch and over to the window. Chief shifted back around the other side of the chair and held his breath. Finally he turned and left. Chief waited until he heard the bedroom door again then he hurried out of the room and back to bed. That was close but he had made it. He swore that he would not do that again.
Breakfast was a quiet time with each man lost in his thoughts. Chief was not feeling too good and the sight of food was not helping. What he really needed was a stiff drink. He poured himself a coffee and took a slice of toast.
All was quiet until Garrison spoke. "I don't want to have to put a lock on that room, Casino, stay out of the booze," he warned.
Four heads popped up, only one had a shocked guilty look and it wasn't Casino. Fortunately all eyes were on the accused who was looking at his accuser. "Whatta you talking about. I ain't been in your booze."
Again Chief was lucky. Garrison said no more, neither did Casino. The warning given, the matter was apparently dropped. Having a late night drink was too dangerous. Chief was going to have to stop. That night he tried. He spent the day working hard, chopping wood, running the obstacle course, anything he thought might tire him out and it worked. He fell asleep fairly quickly but it did not last. He was soon wide awake, sweating and shaking after another nightmare of bloodied bodies. He tried taking deep breaths then counting sheep but they turned bloody. He finally got up and went out into the hall and paced. The next thing he knew he was in front of the liquor cabinet again. He clenched his shaking hands and turned around. He couldn't. He couldn't stop and he couldn't keep doing this. What was he going to do? Frustrated, he placed his fists against his temples and pressed. What was he going to do?
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