Garrison walked up the incline, his footsteps almost silent on the narrow, grassy path, winding between the trees. Only late evening birdsong could be heard, seeming to enhance, rather than detract from the tranquillity he sought after a long day of debriefings and report writing. He was heading for an old garden bench at the top of the rise, from where there were clear views to the west. Double Summertime meant the light was still sufficient, despite the lateness of the hour, but he knew the way well to his refuge and there was the promise of a spectacular sunset tonight.

Leaving the green scented gloom beneath the leafy canopy, he realised that he was not the only person who had taken the same grassy path that evening. The distinctive figure of Goniff was silhouetted against the changing light. He had already claimed the seat and was leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees, staring at the ground, completely oblivious of nature's art exhibition, with red, gold and blue, already daubed liberally across the western sky.

The Lieutenant stopped walking and watched his pickpocket for a few moments, he was not surprised to find him alone, but had not expected to find him here. The man should not be outside at all, but this was not the time to tell him he was out of bounds. Garrison was well aware that the four cons had cut the bars on their window within days of arrival, they knew that he knew, but nothing had been said. They all needed breathing space and solitude, none more so than the Englishman right now. The officer gave a brief but heavy sigh, the conversation he had to have with his wiry thief was going to take place sooner than he thought. He wondered how the man would react.

"Goniff. You okay?"

"Hey, Warden! Wanna sit down?" The blond looked up as he spoke, ignored the question and scooted to one side making room for his young commander.

"Thanks. Great view." Garrison said quietly. He took a seat and nodded towards the dramatic display in front of them.

"Huh! Oh, yeah! Really pretty. You been up 'ere before?"

"We all need peace and quiet sometimes." The American kept his tone light. "You sure you're okay?"

Goniff heard the concern and compassion in the other man's voice, what could he say? He tried to bluff it out as usual.

"Yeah! You know me, I'm as right as ninepence." There was a short silence. "No Lieutenant, I ain't. Well not quite. How do I accept what I did back in France?"

Garrison could hear, see and even feel the man's anguish. He could not take it away, maybe talking about what had happened would help, but he could get way out of his depth here. Before he had chance to say anything, Goniff spoke again.

"How do you do it Warden? Don't you feel anything?"

The officer took time to consider his response.

"Yes, I feel something. We wouldn't be human if we didn't, and I don't know if we ever fully accept some of the things we have to do. Training helps, but it's nothing like the real thing." He paused, as images of his first time in combat, when serving in North Africa, marched unbidden, into his mind's eye. His memories of the carnage, all too clear. He blocked both the thoughts and the pictures and chose his next words carefully. "Goniff, if you hadn't killed the collaborator, Casino would have died and so would you."

"I've never purposely killed a woman before – not close up like that." The blond dropped his head, looked down at his feet again and shrugged. "I suppose women could have been caught up in the crossfire when we've blasted our way out of places, but this was different." He gave a long sigh and turned to look at his companion. "Ladies, skirts, dames, whatever it is we call 'em – well - they're soft, warm and gentle. They shouldn't be mixed up in war, they should be back at 'ome safe and sound. Men are supposed to love 'em and look after 'em, not kill 'em."

Garrison had no answers. In his own world women were to be cared for, protected and loved, but the wider world was changing rapidly. Goniff shot Janine from the side, he had been face to face with his victim, but it was kill or be killed. Her eyes still haunted him occasionally, ice cold with hate, they held no femininity, no humanity. She would have pulled the trigger without compunction, he'd been quicker.

"I understand."

Cornflower blue eyes, met and held sea green/blue.

"You too?"

"Once," the Lieutenant said quietly. He reached into his breast pocket to retrieve a pack of cigarettes, offered one, took one himself and lit them both. The men smoked in silent empathy for a few minutes.

"I wonder why Janine was working for the Jerries?"

"I don't know Goniff," the officer shook his head. "Money, extra food or maybe she thought she was backing the winning side."

"Do you think they'll win?"

"No."

The blond said nothing. He could not fail to appreciate the man's quiet confidence and firm belief that the Allies would win, so simply conveyed in that one tiny word. The question was, did anyone really win a war? A shiver ran down his spine, it was time to move on.

"You got a girl back 'ome, Warden?"

Garrison glanced at his second-storey man. The cons had been trying to find out details of his personal life since they had arrived, like a bunch of school kids trying to find out their teacher's first name and more. Normally he would have sidestepped or just ignored the question, keeping his distance was as important as getting to know his men. This time something told him to answer and that it would go no further, not that it made any difference.

"Not anymore. I guess she didn't want to wait."

There was no self-pity in the young man's words, only a statement of fact. He allowed Eleanor's face to come into his mind, or tried to, but her image was blurred, flickering by like broken celluloid film. It no longer mattered. His 'Dear John' arrived just four weeks after he shipped out to North Africa. The day her letter arrived he'd been upset and angry, but acknowledged there was also an element of relief. Eleanor loved the things he liked least about army life, she'd been delighted to go to parties and dinners in Washington with him, but less than pleased if he went away training or was given additional duties. He'd heard on the grapevine that she was now dating a Major on a nice, safe, home tour in the Capital for the duration.

"Oh! Sorry." The Englishman could not think of anything else to say.

"It happens."

"Well don't you worry – there'll be a nice girl somewhere for you."

"Sure Goniff." Garrison smiled at the thief's certainty.

Once again, silence enveloped the two men, each lost in their own thoughts, as the rosy, riot of colour continued to streak across the western sky.

"Couldn't see sunsets when I was a kid, not from the 'ouse at any rate. Me and a coupla mudlarks used to go down to the Thames, saw a bit of colour in the sky then."

"Mudlarks?" repeated the American looking quizzically at the other man.

"Yeah, they used to look for stuff in the mud on the banks of the river once the tide 'ad gone out. Anythin' decent, they'd clean it up and sell it."

"Kids doing that?"

"Some 'ad no choice, 'ad to sell the stuff so they could eat that day."

The Lieutenant looked though the gathering gloom at the figure beside him, he'd read the pickpocket's dossier many times. The dull dry facts, in bland official terms, hid far more than they revealed of the life he'd probably led as a boy and as a young man in the poorest areas of London. A picture of a scrawny kid, in ragged clothes, without shoes, grubbing about in muddy water crept into Garrison's head, he shook the image away, too Dickensian, but just how far from the reality was it? A long way from his own comfortable childhood and early youth, he was sure of that. He turned again to the man next to him and steeled himself to ask the next question.

"What about you Goniff?"

"Me? Nah! I was never a mudlark." The blond gazed into the distance but saw nothing. "I chose other ways to get money and stuff."

"Sometimes choice is taken away from us."

"I made my own choices Warden, nobody forced me to steal. I'm not proud of it. I knew what I was doing and now..." The Londoner's voice trailed away to nothing. The once vivid colours of the sunset had become dull and began to fade, dusk crept slowly over the shoulders of the two men. It was with a small start that the American realised his companion was speaking again.

"When you gave me the chance to work wiv you and the others, I saw it as a way out and not just prison." Goniff paused. Garrison watched and waited as the man searched for his next words. "It was a way out of the bloody awful mess that I've made of my life. A way to be a normal bloke, live a normal life, wiv a proper job and a wife one day, maybe that 'little cook' I keep going on about." A smile flickered briefly, but died, he paused again and licked his lips, nervous about the answer he might get to the question he had to ask. He took a deep breath and looked straight at the Lieutenant. "You gonna send me back to prison Warden?"

The length of time between question and answer seemed endless to the thief. Had he really blown his last chance of ever making something good of his life? This young officer was holding his future in his hands.

"No Goniff. I'm not." Garrison heard the shuddering sigh of relief from the man beside him. He got to his feet and walked around the back of the bench, resting his fingers lightly on the Londoner's narrow shoulder as he passed, he made his way towards the path through the trees.

The Englishman bowed his head again, swallowing hard, he sat still, breathing deeply, trying to steady himself and gather his wildly spiralling thoughts. His future was back in his own hands again. All he had to do now was to prove to his commander that he had made the right decision, and try to survive the war.

A frown furrowed Garrison's brow, as he walked, he made a mental note to speak to Sergeant Major Cobb and rescind the out of bounds rule with immediate effect. The non-com wouldn't like it and might try to argue, but it would be done. The officer wanted no additional restrictions on his men. He knew they went out through the window with the cut bars, not only to get into the mansion grounds, but to go for a drink at the pub in the nearby village. Every time they'd been out, they'd come back of their own volition, the rule was no longer relevant.

"Hey Warden!"

The American was jolted back to the present by Goniff's call, he stopped and turned. The pickpocket was following, scampering across the grass, he skidded to a halt in front of him.

"Fancy a drink, Lieutenant?"

The officer folded his arms across his chest, glanced down at his watch and raised a sandy brow.

"Too late for The Doves." He said, looking directly into the gamin face of the thief.

"Oh yeah! – Well – er..." Goniff dropped his gaze and scuffed the earth with the toe of his boot for a moment. He raised his eyes, grinned and tapped the side of his nose with his right index finger. "I 'appen t' know where Actor keeps his good stuff."

The men exchanged a look of two twelve-year-old conspirators about to go stealing apples. Garrison's mouth curved into a half smile.

"So do I."