Chapter 4 - Dulag Luft

Captain Richard "Ricky" Garrison sat in his cell and thought about what most probably had been his last mission of the war. The squadron had been sent to bomb Berlin, a mission they'd been on many times before. They'd been attacked by the Luftwaffe almost immediately after they crossed the French coast. The B-17 Flying Fortress was a force to be reckoned with, bristling with machine gun emplacements it was more than capable of defending itself and was almost indestructible. He'd forgotten how many times he'd landed back in England with engines either dead or on fire and huge holes in the fuselage, a few hours work and the plane was ready to go out again. He'd gotten very fond of 'Bobby Sue' as they'd called her, painted on the fuselage her saucy artwork depicted a stunning blonde girl smiling coquettishly and wearing almost nothing. The men always gave her well-rounded bottom a pat before each mission for luck, but this time her luck ran out and it was like watching a friend die as she plummeted out of the sky, belly up, one wing and her tail section gone.

Rick definitely knew six of Bobby Sue's ten crew had managed to get out of the crippled Fortress: himself, Vinnie his co-pilot, Josh the bombadier, Carl the navigator, Virgil the flight engineer and Nico one of the waist gunners; they'd all been at the front of the plane when the port wing and tail section had been blown away. He hoped the others had survived but it didn't look likely.

The crew had been rounded up almost immediately by hostile civilians who handed them over to soldiers and they were then taken to an installation. On his arrival Rick had been escorted to the wash-rooms where he'd been allowed to use the toilet under very close and strict supervision to make sure he didn't flush anything of importance he had on him. After that he was taken to a reception room where he was forced to completely strip, the soldiers took away all his clothing and possessions leaving him cold and naked in a small panelled room with a single bed. After a few hours he was given a British Army uniform, most probably from supplies taken after the withdrawal from Dunkirk. There was a small, high window in the room and, if he stood on the bed, he could see pleasant gardens outside and a river in the distance. The guards were very friendly and gave him tea and biscuits before being leaving him for the night. He knew this was to try and put him at ease before his interrogation started.

The interrogation started the next day, after a breakfast consisting of two slices of black bread and jam with ersatz coffee a German officer posing as a Red Cross Official entered his room. He sat down, offered Rick cigarettes and chatted with him to get his confidence. He assured him that he was in no way connected to the German Forces and he had no interest in any military information he may have. He said that any information Rick gave him was for the Red Cross in Geneva only and would not be passed on to the German authorities. He tried hard to convince him there was no reason not to tell him anything, saying he was only interested in Rick's welfare and wanted to let his family know he was safe.

Just like every other Allied serviceman, Rick had been warned during briefings about what would happen and was prepared. He knew he was only obliged to give name, rank and number and had no intention of providing any other information such as squadron number, target, bomb load, defensive armament, or how he got shot down. Every question was met with him repeating name, rank and number, eventually the 'Red Cross Official' departed, looking very upset.

The next morning the door to his room was thrown open and a tall, stern looking SS Officer strode in followed by the bogus Red Cross Official. He stopped short and stared at the American pilot and then barked a few guttural words, Rick shrugged and shook his head. The German looked angry and fixed him with a fierce glare through his round, wire-rimmed spectacles. "You will come with me, now!" he shouted in heavy accented English.

Rick remained sitting calmly on his bed. "Don't think so unless you got a good reason."

The officer pointed an angry finger. "Captain Richard Garrison, you are the son of an American General, the information you have will be very useful. You and your crew will be taken to Berlin and interrogated further."

Rick leaned back against the wall. "Sorry, you got the wrong guy, friend. My daddy's a rancher in Wyoming not a General. There's a lotta Garrisons in the army, better luck next time."

The officer hauled him to his feet and pushed him towards the door. "We are not idiots, we have our spies in your ranks. You are Richard Garrison, your father is General George Garrison and your mother is Mary Garrison. You have two brothers and two sisters, need I go on? You are now my prisoner and I'm afraid name, rank and number will not be accepted as an answer, the Geneva Convention will not apply where you're going."

Rick turned to hurl a fist, it was caught in a large, powerful hand and twisted painfully. The officer smiled thinly as he took out a set of handcuffs and secured Ricks wrists. "I look forward to our little talks in Berlin." He glared at the Official and dragged his prisoner outside to join the rest of his crew.

Rick looked at the miserable looking group of six men huddled together in the yard, they were also handcuffed. The smallest looked over and smiled. "Cap, there you are."

"Randy!" Rick yelled in delight as he realised one more crew member had survived. Randy was the ball turret gunner, stationed in a tight-fitting, rotating globe in the belly of the bomber. It was normal practice for the smallest man in the crew to take that role, sitting in the confined space of the ball turret for up to eight hours for each mission. He closely inspected his crew for injuries, apart from burns, cuts and bruises everyone seemed to be fine although Vinnie's arm was heavily bandaged, just like him they were all handcuffed.

A covered truck and two open wagons pulled up and stopped next to the group. The SS Officer strode up, accompanied by a dark-haired aide and a low ranking blonde soldier, both wore SS uniforms. "Get in, now," he snapped impatiently.

The aide gave the group a disdainful look and motioned for them to get in the truck with his pistol, the blonde soldier pointed his rifle and nodded his head, the prisoners scrambled in the back and sat on hard wooden benches that ran either side of the vehicle. The three SS soldiers climbed into the front of the truck and waited while three guards from the installation clambered into the back to watch the prisoners. More soldiers got into the wagons supplied by Major Rumpel, the camp's Commandant to escort the SS Officers and their valuable prisoners to Berlin.

Actor frowned as he counted how many soldiers would be accompanying them, he turned to Casino keeping his voice low so the men in the back of the wagon couldn't hear him. "It looks like six in each truck, plus the three in the back making fifteen. I hope Chief and the Navajos can handle them."

Casino turned to him with a look of derision and spoke quietly. "You're jokin' right? Geronimo and the kids will make short work o' those wusses behind us." He pointed at the leading truck as it started off and patted his Schmeisser. "Those are our targets, look at 'em sitting up in the back, it'll be like shootin' fish in a barrel."

Goniff looked at them from the driver's seat as he started the engine. "It's those three in the back I'm worried about. What if they shoot the prisoners while we're dealin' with that lot up front?"

Casino snorted. "They won't even get a chance to blink, that'll be the first place Geronimo'll head for. Nothin's gonna happen to his brother, believe me."

Actor checked the submachine gun resting against his leg. "Did you notice he looks just like Garrison, only a couple of years younger? I nearly called him Warden in the cell."

Casino nodded. "Yeah, no mistakin' that family. Geronimo'd better watch out or he'll be the one givin' the game away."

GG-GG-GG

The convoy headed north-east towards Berlin, Goniff kept far enough back from the lead wagon to give himself enough time to react when things went down. Casino sat next to the door and looked out the window impatient to get things over so they could get away, he was both excited and apprehensive at operating this deep into Germany. He chewed on his lower lip and thought about Chief saying he hoped they wouldn't regret coming with him. He humphed quietly to himself as he realised he felt more alive now than he'd ever done before; the adrenaline flowing through his veins made everything come into sharp focus and he was ready for anything.

Twenty miles down the road the convoy found itself travelling through the German countryside. The road was surrounded by wooded hills as it wound from village to village. Suddenly the wagon in front veered to the side of the road and stopped as the front tyre blew. Goniff smiled as the bang of the tyre covered up the sharp report of a weapon. "I see Chief's not lost his touch with that sniper rifle o' his."

The driver got out, looked at the tyre and waved to the wagon behind that all was well. Goniff and Casino kept watch in the rear-view mirrors and saw the Navajos run out of the trees guns in hand and leap into the rear wagon. The three cons got out of the truck and calmly started firing at the lead wagon.

Rick and his crew had been half dozing under the watchful eye of the guards, they'd felt the truck stop and heard voices. The guards laughed, one of them turned to the prisoners and described a circle with a finger and then said "Der Reifen hat einen Einstich. Boom."

Rick looked at his comrades. "One of the trucks just got a puncture."

Randy leaned back. "Just as long as they ain't expectin' us to fix it for 'em Cap."

Everyone jumped as the sound of gunfire erupted around the wagon. The guards stood up and covered the prisoners with their Schmeissers. Suddenly the back of the wagon opened and a dark-haired German soldier dived in sending the guards flying, they quickly recovered but didn't retaliate as they saw the uniform presuming it was a soldier from the truck following them.

Chief rolled up and buried his blade in the first guard's throat, he immediately whirled round and stabbed the second under the ribs, twisting the knife as it slid up to pierce his heart. The third guard tried to jump out but was dragged back inside, he turned to face his attacker and received a glancing blow to his neck severing both his carotid artery and jugular vein. Chief lowered the guard to the floor as he bled out in less than fifteen seconds.

Rick was shocked at the speed and ferocity of the attack, it had happened so fast he didn't have a chance to react. The soldier looked up and for a split second it looked as if he was surprised to see him, he recovered so quickly Rick thought he must have been imagining it.

A quiet voice said. "Rick Garrison." It was a statement, not a question. Rick nodded. The soldier opened the canvas at the back of the truck, a team of four men dressed in German uniforms leapt in, threw out the dead Germans and crouched on the floor keeping watch. The soldier peered out over their heads at the last truck in the convoy. "They all dead?"

One of the team looked up. "Yeah, all dead Boss." Rick was surprised to hear an English accent, the apparent leader of the group, 'the Boss' was definitely American.

The Leader stepped between the airmen to the front of the wagon and called into the cab. "You all ok? You get 'em?"

The airmen looked at each other in surprise as a New York accent floated back. "Yeah, we're fine babe, those Krauts never knew what hit 'em. Everyone alright back there?"

The Leader quickly scanned the airmen. "All good, let's get outta here." He held on to the canvas as the wagon lurched forward and picked up speed, he then turned and made his way to join his men at the rear to keep watch out the back.

Rick reached out and tapped the Leader on the leg, he whirled round knife in hand ready to strike and then stopped as soon as he saw him. Rick motioned for the man to sit down opposite him, he watched as he folded up his blade, stowed it away in a leather sheath on his right forearm and leaned back against the canvas looking at him. Rick looked at the team, they were all young men, he noticed they all had the same leather sheath strapped to their forearms. He leaned forward. "Who are you and how do you know my name?"

The Leader stretched out his legs, his dark brown eyes regarded Rick with a level gaze. "Special Forces, we were sent to get you out."

Rick shook his head in disbelief. "No-one sends in a Special Forces team to rescue a lowly bomber pilot and his crew. Why are you here and why are you dressed like Krauts?"

The Leader gave him a small smile. "Can't run around in broad daylight dressed in Allied uniforms can we? We're here 'cos you're a General's son and the Krauts would've used you to get information, just like that SS Major said."

Rick stared at him in surprise. "How do you know what he said? You weren't there."

The smile broadened into a grin as the Leader tilted his head towards the front of the wagon. "He's sittin' up front with the other two, they're with us."

Randy leaned forward and held out his handcuffed hands. "If you're on our side then get us outta these."

The Leader shook his head and put on a turtle helmet. "Uh uh. We got two hundred miles to go before we reach Switzerland, there'll be roadblocks. We can con our way through by tellin' 'em we're transportin' prisoners but we gotta look the part, the cuffs stay on for now."

GG-GG-GG

Three hours later Rick appreciated the wisdom of keeping the cuffs on as they passed through the fourth road block of the journey. Every time the canvas flap had been raised and the passengers in the back subjected to a quick inspection. Rick noticed that the quietly spoken leader of the men now sat next to him positioning himself between him and any threat from the outside. Every time they stopped he'd silently taken out his blade and held it down by his side ready for trouble and only put it back when they were once again on their way. Rick didn't know why but he felt safe with this man by his side, it was as if he knew more about him than his name but he was sure he'd never met him before.

Dusk was falling when the wagon halted and everyone got out. Rick and his crew were uncuffed, they stood rubbing their wrists and looking around them, the wagon had been parked up in the middle of a dense patch of trees well hidden from any traffic passing on the road. The Special Forces team spaced themselves out and stood guard. Rick looked at the Leader and looked towards the trees. "We gotta take a leak, over there alright?" He nodded.

The seven airmen wandered over to the trees under the watchful eye of the team. Vinnie sidled up next to the Captain. "You sure these guys are on the up 'n up and it's not some trick to get us to talk?"

Rick nodded towards the enigmatic figure standing by the wagon. "You saw him kill those guards, he wasn't pretending, he and his team are risking their lives to get us out. I trust him."

They walked back to the wagon. Rick stopped suddenly as the tall SS Officer appeared round the side of the vehicle, he halted, took off his cap and glasses and gave him a beaming smile. "Captain Garrison, a pleasure to meet you again. I trust you and your men are well?" The voice was deep, cultured and had an Italian accent, a far cry from the guttural tone of earlier in the day.

The dark-haired aide and the blonde private followed behind, climbed into the back of the wagon and hauled out eight mission bags which had been hidden under the benches. They threw them on the ground and jumped out after them. The aide opened the first bag and started pulling out civilian clothing. He threw a pair of trousers at Virgil. "Here you go babe." He glanced round at the airmen. "Get those old uniforms off, I think we got enough for everyone."

Rick smiled, now he knew the source of the New York accent. He felt a tap on his shoulder, he turned round to find the Leader standing with his mission bag in his hand. "We're about the same size, I got some stuff you can wear." They sorted through the bag and changed, the 'Boss' insisted Rick wear the warm coat that had been in there.

Rick watched as the Leader took a long carry case out of his bag, he opened it and started to assemble a rifle. Rick waited until he was finished and held out his hand. "Can I have a look at that?" The weapon was readily handed over. Rick turned it round in his hands and hefted it, the balance was perfect. He knew a lot about rifles but had never seen anything like this before. "What is this?"

The Leader smiled. "Sniper rifle, modified Springfield, had it made special so I can take it on missions."

Rick gave it a look of approval as he handed it back. "It's great and it just packs away in that case? What's the range?"

"Killed a man over a thousand yards." The quiet voice made it a statement not a boast. There didn't seem to be any pride in the act, it was just something that he'd had to do. The young, dark-haired Leader went up even higher in Rick's estimation. The two of them walked back to the main group.

The blonde ex-private was rummaging in the mission bags. "Where's the grub gone? I'm starvin'. Come on fellas it's gotta be somewhere." Rick smiled, another Brit.

The New Yorker took a tin of rations out of a bag and threw it over. "Here you go Limey, it's cold rations tonight. We'll make Zürich soon, maybe we'll eat at that little café by the Limmat tomorrow. I'm sure the owner will remember us." Cigarettes were passed round and the rest of the rations were shared out and eaten before the Leader indicated they were leaving, he slipped his rifle over one shoulder and a Schmeisser over the other. "I'll take point," he waited while everyone picked up the bags.

Rick looked at the wagon and then at the New Yorker. "Why aren't we going in that?"

The man gave him a sarcastic look and snorted. "That's an army wagon and, if you haven't noticed, we ain't army no more. Anyway the rest of the route's cross-country, sorry fly boy, you're gonna have to walk the rest of the way to Switzerland. Don't worry it ain't far now."

Rick looked at him in alarm. "What if something happens?"

The man pointed towards the Leader. "Just you stay real close to Geronimo over there. He won't let nothin' happen to you, he'll keep you safe."

Casino smiled as he watched the two brothers set off together, he picked up his bag, hefted his gun over his shoulder and joined the remaining airmen as they started after the scout. The Navajos shadowed the group, drifting silently through the trees like ghosts. Casino knew they were there but it was very hard to see them, he smiled, Geronimo had trained them well!

They'd been walking for a few hours when Carl, the flight navigator looked around, turned to the fair-haired man walking next to him and nodded at the point man. "How does he know where we're goin'? I haven't seen him look at a map all evening."

Goniff smiled proudly as he looked at Chief walking ahead followed closely by Rick. "He always knows where he is, he navigates by the stars. He's taken us halfway through France and over the mountains from Italy to Switzerland without gettin' us lost once. He don't need no map."

The terrain was getting rougher and harder to see in the waning moonlight, the Leader was setting a good pace and Rick was feeling tired after his long ordeal, suddenly something caught his foot and he stumbled awkwardly forward, he immediately felt a hand grab hold of his arm and steady him. A quiet, concerned voice sounded close his ear. "You ok Rick?" Rick took a step forward and gasped as pain shot through his ankle, the Leader pulled Rick's arm over his shoulder to support him. "Lean on me, we're in Switzerland, not far to go now 'til we're in Zürich."

There it was again, that feeling of knowing someone he hadn't met before. Rick tried to look at the man walking beside him. "Who are you?"

The dark figure concentrated on navigating the path ahead. "Told you, Special Forces."

GG-GG-GG

It was early morning when the fifteen men walked into Zürich in small groups to avoid notice. The four cons knew the way to the safe house situated in the middle of the city next to the Limmat River so Chief assigned each of them three men to take in. Each group was a mix of airmen and Navajos: Goniff had Nico the gunner and two Navajos, Edwards and Dalgleish, Casino had Randy the ball turret gunner, Carl the flight navigator and McAllen, Actor was given Vinnie the co-pilot, Josh the bombadier and Fuller. Chief escorted Rick and Virgil the flight engineer.

Rick tried not to lean too heavily on the man supporting him, he knew he must be tired but he didn't show it. Once they were in the city and on level ground he tried to walk on his own but his ankle gave way, once again the Leader took position under his arm and steadied him. "Let me help you Rick, I'll get you to the safe house, you can rest and get that ankle seen to." Rick nodded and let him guide him through the city, Virgil followed close behind, looking in awe at the undamaged buildings around him, the war seemed very far away.

One by one each group made it to the safe house, the airmen collapsed into the comfortable chairs and grinned at each other unable to believe they were free and out of Germany. Actor had stopped at a tobacconists and purchased several packs of cigarettes and some pipe tobacco for himself. The packs were handed round and the air was soon fuggy with smoke. Chief waved his hand and coughed, he motioned for Actor to follow him outside into the fresh air, they had a quick talk and headed off to arrange transport back to England.

Rick watched the Leader and the tall Italian leave. He turned to the blonde Brit with a questioning look on his face. "Who is he?" he asked.

The Brit looked puzzled. "Who's who mate?"

Rick pointed at the door. "The man who just left, the one you call Boss. Who is he? I'm sure I know him from somewhere."

The Brit gave an easy laugh. "Oh you've never met him before mate, you don't know him, but he knows you, he's your..."

The New Yorker gave a loud cough and a warning look, he shook his head. The Brit hesitated, suddenly unsure what to say, he paused and took a nervous puff on his cigarette. "...he's your rescuer, that's who he is, he rescued you from the Jerries. He had to know who you were so he could rescue the right man."

Rick suspected there was something else going on but he was too tired to keep digging. "Well, whoever he is he's a damn good fighter, I've never seen anyone as quick with a blade as he was back there."

The New Yorker took a long drag on his cigarette. "Yeah, Geronimo's the best in the business babe. You don't wanna pick a fight with him."

Actor and Chief made radio contact with London and arranged for a plane to come and pick everyone up. They didn't give any details, just that it was for fifteen men and needed to be done as soon as possible. Chief requested two trucks and a jeep to be waiting when they landed.

On the way back to the safe house Actor stopped outside his bank, he waved Chief inside. "We might as well go in and open your account while we're here." As they were waiting for the Manager Actor explained why they were there. "The main benefits of having a Swiss bank account are a low level of financial risk along with a high level of privacy. Swiss law prevents the bank from disclosing any information regarding your account, even its very existence, without your permission. I've always found it very useful." Half an hour later the paperwork was finished and a bemused Chief found himself the owner of a Swiss bank account.

Actor walked up to a counter and withdrew some cash. He smiled at Chief's quizzical look. "We've got nearly eight hours to wait for the plane, there's fourteen hungry men and a starvin' Goniff to be fed, how else are we going to get some food at the café?" He looked around the bank. "It's a shame we haven't got enough time to set the others up, maybe next time we're here."