The Day of the Generals
Chapter 15
Actor leaned against one of the arches, smoking his pipe automatically, and gazing out at what was once a manicured lawn and had now been taken over by weeds. Despite the chillness in the air that foretold of snow soon, the con man could almost see the perfectly trimmed lawn with all the ladies in their long dresses and wide brimmed summer hats, holding their mallets and watching one woman at a time hit a white wooden ball to send it through an iron hoop or into a different colored ball. His mammà was out there. Croquet was her favorite game to be played with the other female guests. Despite the Great War going on, the aristocracy tried to maintain their normal way of life. The ladies played what in the late 1910s was still a woman's game. Men had not begun to take it over until the 1930s. He remembered his mammà trying to teach him as a child.
Melancholy washed over him. Dio! What was the matter with him? What had happened to his objectivity? Since arriving at the chateau, he found old memories bombarding his mind. Things he kept carefully hidden away were coming to the surface. Along with the good memories of his mother, came the pain of losing her when he was a teenager and subsequently losing that carefree time in his life. Well, carefree except for his disapproving father. Those memories he shoved away.
The family had come to the chateau twice a year. Once in winter to ski and then for the month of August when Roma was so unbearably hot. Switzerland had been a neutral country during that war also, so sometimes the escape from Italy was welcome.
Goniff came out the door onto the portico and sidled up to Actor. The Italian ignored the slight man.
Goniff was used to being ignored by Actor. It didn't stop him. "Do you think we'll ever get back to England?"
"I don't know, Goniff," replied the Italian.
"But you talk to Terry," persisted the pickpocket. "Wot does she say? Why is it taking so long? We been through this before. It never took no three weeks."
"She says there are battles going on and some of the officers cannot attend the tribunal. They must have enough for a quorum, or they cannot vote."
"Wot's a quorum?" asked Goniff.
Actor just wanted to be left alone, but they were all antsy not knowing the outcome. He swallowed a sharp retort, shoved his personal memories back in the recesses of his mind, and continued in a calm voice.
"There are five officers on a tribunal board. They must have at least three to be able to vote. Teresa says some days there are only two. The war does not pause while they decide if we are acquitted or if we will remain . . ."
"Outlaws," said a quiet voice behind him.
"Fugitives."
"Same thing," said Chief.
His reverie interrupted, Actor straighten, clamped his pipe between his teeth and walked back inside. The Duchess was coming down the hall. She gave him a smile and headed toward the kitchen. Surprisingly, she could cook a pretty good meal. Her absence told the con man now was a good time to check on the Warden.
Garrison was just coming out of the bathroom on his crutches when Actor entered the bedroom and shut the door. The con man watched his gait back to the bed. The stitches were out of the wound and it was just a matter of getting him back on his feet again; both of them.
The Lieutenant was stubborn, so it allowed the con man to ask, "Have you tried touching your toes to the floor when you walk yet?"
Craig eyed him and put his foot down on the floor, taking some of his weight on that side.
Actor shook his head. "You are so impatient."
Craig gave a knowing smile. "I seem to recall the same thing about you."
"Umm," replied the Italian. "It is called toe-touching for a reason." The twinkle in his eye belied the stern warning.
"How long before it heals enough for me to walk on it?" asked Garrison.
"Probably like any break, about six weeks," estimated the group's medical person.
"I'd like to at least get on a cane and off these crutches," grumbled Craig.
It's been three weeks now."
"Yes, I know how long it has been. Believe me I know. Perhaps begin putting a little more weight on the leg," suggested Actor.
"Why aren't Chief and Casino fighting?" Craig queried. "They should be getting on each other's nerves by now."
"Oh, they are fighting," assured Actor. "They just take it outside in deference to you . . . and Duchess."
Actor did not say any more than that. Secretly, he was pleased the Warden and the con woman were getting close again. It had been a while since Jenny had been killed and as far as any of them knew, he had not shown any interest in the opposite sex. The man was thirty years old. Much too young to give up women and Garrison did not seem like the monk type.
"Is tomorrow when you try to call Terry again?" asked Craig.
Actor nodded. "It will be promising if she isn't at the Fox. It might mean the tribunal has started up again."
Craig got in bed with a little lift of his leg by the ankle from Actor. He motioned the older man to sit. Actor sat at the foot and relit his pipe that had gone out. Craig was worried about his men.
"You guys have any plans if the tribunal goes against us?" asked the Lieutenant.
"Most likely stay here until the war is over. We have no definite plans." Actor looked at Garrison reclining against the headboard. "And I suppose you will go back to England."
"I have to," affirmed Garrison.
Actor shook his head. "You know you are welcome to stay with us," he offered, holding up his hand when Garrison began to object. "We are making the offer. You are free to decide when the time comes."
GGGGG
Terry felt older than her twenty-five years. The tension was getting to her. Her father thought she should wait on him. And he wanted to know about her resistance endeavors and what she was doing owning half interest in a bar. So, she avoided him as much as possible and that only made it worse. Then, there was the drawn-out tribunal. It was nonsense, only she used a stronger word in her mind. After her father's initial outburst, and a subsequent dressing down by a man of a much lower rank than his, the General had backed down. Which made him grumpier. It was a vicious cycle. Terry was sometimes tempted to give up everything and run off to stay with the guys in Switzerland. It was only the vague hope that Craig and the six men would be acquitted that kept her from doing just that.
And so, she found herself sitting at the same table with the General on one side and Lt. Johnson on the other. Truth be told, Randy didn't look any better than she felt.
Captain Newcombe was at the far end of the table, sitting in a relaxed manner, watching the repetitious antics of Major Howard. Even the Board was becoming tired of the circus. General Fremont finally had enough and told Major Howard to sit down. Fremont looked at Captain Newcombe and asked if he had anything to add.
"I have nothing new to add," said the British barrister.
General Fremont almost looked relieved. "In that case, all of you will leave the courtroom and the Board will go into executive session to reach a verdict on this case."
GGG
The tension was just as high in the hallway as both parties waited to be called back in. General Hastings sat and glared at the defendants. Major Howard was trying to ignore them. Captain Newcombe and Lt. Johnson were sitting on another bench, not looking at their antagonists. General Garrison was pacing, while Terry was leaning against a wall.
She looked up as a wheelchair with General Gallagher was pushed around the corner towards them. Terry straightened and met them partway.
"I've got him, Corporal," she said with a smile.
"Yes, Ma'am," said the young man, who then turned and left.
"Am I too late?" asked Max. "Do they have a verdict yet?"
"Not yet," said Terry. "They're working on it."
She smiled and bent over to hug the man. It wasn't lost on Will Garrison that his daughter had never hugged him, but she readily hugged their neighbor.
"What are you doing here, Max?" asked Terry as she went behind the wheelchair and pushed it forward to join the others.
"I had to see if that jackass down the hall there gets his way," growled Gallagher.
"Let's hope not," said Terry.
Will stepped up and shook hands with General Gallagher. "How are you doing, Max?" he asked.
Gallagher grinned and rapped on the hard plaster cast under the lap blanket. "Fine, Will. Doc says it will heal and I'll walk fine again."
Terry squeezed his shoulder and smiled.
The two parties remained separated and the larger group got together to chat. For such a long tribunal, the verdict only took a little over a half hour for the Board to agree on. The double doors opened, and two MPs called the people in the hall back in. Everyone took their seats and waited.
General Fremont slowly looked at each of the people seated before him with a stern face. "It is the unanimous decision of this Board that all charges against Lt. Craig William Garrison, Lt. Randall Johnson, Teresa Marie Garrison, Kelly James Garrison, John Carter, Victor Borghese, Charles Coletti, Rodney Grainger and Rainey Sands are found to be invalid and will be stricken from their records." He paused to allow that to sink in.
Terry slumped and momentarily lay her head on Randy's shoulder. He leaned his against hers and then they both straightened.
General Hastings glared at the Board in anger. He was greeted by General Fremont's look of disgust. Fremont continued.
"I am placing a reprimand in the file of General Curtis Hastings for unfounded accusations against military and ancillary members of the U. S. Army and wasting the time of the members of this Board in time of war," declared Fremont.
"Sir . . . !" objected Hastings.
"Enough!" roared Gen Fremont. "Major Howard, remove your client from this courtroom and keep him out unless you both want to spend time in the stockade for disrupting a tribunal."
Major Howard stood and saluted General Fremont. General Hastings rose, did not salute and stormed from the room ahead of his attorney.
"The rest of you will also leave this courtroom, except Teresa Garrison." It was said in a less harsh voice.
The other men rose and headed for the door, except Will.
Fremont then focused his attention on Terry. "Miss Garrison, I would like you to stay. We have questions we wish to ask of you."
Terry nodded, expecting that. Gen. Garrison stood beside his daughter with crossed arms. "I'm staying because I want to hear those answers too."
Fremont turned his glare to the General. "General Garrison, you were allowed to sit through this tribunal as a courtesy as it involved three of your children. We are all tired of your interference and will not put up with it any longer." He crooked a finger at the two MPs. "You will leave this courtroom now or I will have you removed to the stockade for interference in a military tribunal. Do I make myself clear?"
Terry stared straight ahead but was fully aware of the anger radiating from the man standing beside her.
"Come on, Will," called Max from his wheelchair by the door. "There's got to be a pub around here somewhere. I'd rather buy you a drink than have to bail your backside out of the stockade."
Garrison saluted the Board, turned on his heel with a stiff back and headed for the door.
"Excuse me, Sir," Terry mouthed to General Fremont, who nodded approval. "Hey, Max," she called out. "Second block on your right when you go out the front of this building. They have a pretty decent Ploughman's lunch too."
Max winked at her and followed Will into the hall.
Terry turned her attention back to the Board and saw grins on two American faces. General Fremont was just shaking his head. The other two officers just sat, silently watching.
"What may I try to answer for you, Sir?" asked Terry.
Fremont tented his fingers in front of him on the table. "Do you know where your brother and his men are?"
Terry hesitated a second. "I know what country they are in and the general vicinity, but not the exact location. They have moved Craig twice now."
"Would you care to be more specific as to the general location?" asked Fremont, not figuring he was going to get an answer.
"Truthfully, no, Sir," said Terry, going on to explain. "The resistance group they are with are not with SOE or OSS. I will not compromise their operation and possibly their lives."
"I will give you that," said Fremont. "Can you get hold of them?"
"I can try to reach the resistance and see if they can set up a radio contact with Mr. Borghese. I don't know how long that will take. I will try to get across the urgency of the matter."
Major Richards and Colonel Hammond were watching her seriously now.
"Do you think they will come back?" asked Fremont.
Terry took a deep breath and sighed. "Craig will come back as soon as he is physically able. And I don't know when that will be either. As for the others, I don't know. They are used to being on the run. They could very easily do that again. And I wouldn't blame them," she added. "As I have said, this is their fourth tribunal in a year and a half, and my third in the year I have been with them." Her eyes swept the faces of the men before her. "Can you in all honesty condemn them for not trusting it is safe for them to come back? They have been lied to by the Army. They risk their lives on missions behind enemy lines that could mean death to any and all of them. And when they bring somebody out, they have to worry that some hare-brained officer will get a bug up his backside and file charges against them because he doesn't like what they are. German prisoners of war are treated better than these men."
General Fremont studied the girl, unsure if he should reprimand her or not. She had valid points.
Terry went on. "Sirs, look at their track record. They may not always be successful, but they do their darnedest to be. And look at what they have done against all the odds. How many lives have they saved by getting information or imparting information that kept our troops from being massacred? But the most important thing, Sirs, is they come back. Every time, they come back. When Mr. Borghese was in a prison camp, badly injured, escaped and made it to Switzerland, he could have stayed out of the war. He was listed as dead. He knew that. And yet he came back. Why? Because they want those paroles. They do things to get those paroles that few other people could do."
Gen. Fremont looked at both of the officers who knew and worked with Garrison and his bunch of convicts. Both were watching to see what he would say next.
"What do you two say? You work closely with these men," probed the general.
Major Richards spoke first. "I have been in with Garrison and his men. I tried to get them killed. Instead they saved me, Garrison, and the person we were after, and showed a strong loyalty to Lt. Garrison. It made me rethink the way I looked at them. I'd like to get them back, Sir."
Fremont's eyes moved to Col. Hammond. "And your opinion, Colonel?"
"Sir, I have not been in with Lt. Garrison and his men, but from the things I have seen them accomplish, I agree with Major Richards. It would be a wise thing to get them back."
The comments by the officers were digested by the General. He looked back at Terry. "I know you, young lady. I am sure you have more to say."
Terry sucked in a cheek. "General Fremont, when this happens again . . . it's not an if, it's a when . . . perhaps some of you could take a look at the charges and the circumstances before you call a tribunal? It would make things a little less tense for all involved and potentially keep from tying up all of you officers. They have been acquitted all four times. I hope that means something." She gestured in frustration.
"Try to get them back, Miss Garrison. We'll go from there." The look he gave the girl was less stern than usual.
"Yes, Sir," she said. "Thank you, Sirs." Her eyes swept the men at the table again. "All of you."
"Dismissed," said Fremont absently, already moving on in his mind to his next problem. Suddenly he realized he had just dismissed a civilian. "Good bye, Miss Garrison."
Terry paused. She had only done this once before to Kevin. She snapped to attention, and seriously gave a sharp salute to General Fremont. He looked at her in surprise and after a second, gave her a full salute back. She turned on her heel and walked to the door. The MPs opened it for her.
GGG
The return to the mansion took a lot longer than two hours. Terry had to pry the men out of the pub, then catch the Fox's supplier before he closed, and fill the trunk and back seat with cases of liquor before she could even begin the drive back.
Will was silent until they were outside of London.
"You don't like me, do you? None of you kids do. You have no respect for me. Why?" he asked.
Terry flexed her fingers on the steering wheel and gathered herself before answering. "We love you. You're our father. Like you? Not particularly. Respect you? We respect your military career. It's pretty distinguished."
"I want to know what your problem is with me," persisted Will.
"No, you don't," said Terry, wishing she could safely drive faster and get this over with. It was going to be tight getting to the Fox in time for Actor's call as it was.
"I want you to tell me," ordered the older man.
"All right. You were never there for us. Yes, you were stationed in D.C., but you can't tell me you couldn't get more than a week off a year to come home during peace time. You were home long enough to get Ma pregnant. You called me a slut for living with Jake in New York. Yet, when I had to spend a year with you in D.C., you'd parade your sluts in the house in front of your daughter and have them spend the night a few times a month. What does that tell me about your respect for your daughter? And you did the same thing when Craig was there. Then you sent me here to spy on Craig and the men."
"So why did you come here then?" asked Will sharply.
"To get away. I didn't want to end up back on the ranch. Obviously neither did Chris or Kelly. You yanked Craig out of the Air Force Academy because you wanted him to follow in your footsteps. You didn't care what he wanted." Terry shot a glance at her father. "Don't be surprised if Craig doesn't stay in the Army after the war. He hasn't said anything, but he never does."
"You know, I could send you back to the ranch," threatened Will.
"Go ahead," said Terry calmly. "I'll be back here before you can bring your next slut into the house in Washington."
Will was silent after that. Until they started driving faster. "Are you trying to kill me off now?" he asked.
"I have to get this to the Fox tonight."
When Terry pulled the car up into the car park at the Mansion, she stayed in it with the engine running.
"You're going to the bar?" he asked incredulously.
"I told you I was."
"I'll go with you."
"No, you won't," said Terry firmly.
The look on the girl's face made him slam the car door shut. She backed up, turned around and shot out down the drive, leaving him standing at the base of the stone steps.
As it was, it was 11:30 before she parked in the alley. Leaving the boxes in the car, Terry bounded in the backdoor and down the basement steps.
Madge looked up at her sadly. "You're too late. He's gone."
Terry slumped into the chair beside their radio operator. "Did he say when he's going to call back?"
"Another three days," said Madge. "I told 'im the tribunal was back on."
"It's over," said Terry. She swung her head around to look at the Cockney woman. "I need to talk to him. Is there any way you can contact the resistance and get a message out to Actor to call back tomorrow, same time?"
Madge nodded. "There's a window coming up. I'll try to get a radio message through. Are they cleared?"
"Yes," said Terry, "but I don't want them told anything. I need to talk to Actor first and tell him."
Madge studied the girl. Terry had placed her elbows on the desk and was resting her forehead on the heels of her hands.
"You all right?" asked Madge softly.
Terry shook her head. She sat back up and looked at her friend. "Dad's been pushing at me, and he pushed it too far today. I said things to him I shouldn't have said."
Kit had told Madge about the trouble with Will Garrison. Maybe it was a good thing Terry had said things she shouldn't have said.
"You staying?" the blond woman asked.
Terry nodded. "I need a break. I can't go back to Dad right now."
At one o'clock, Madge was able to contact Georg to send a message out to Actor in the morning.